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I process that information while gathering my things. “Did she go to the police?”
“No. She’s in a taxi now, headed in the direction of your residence.”
“So, the accident just happened…” I take a deep breath, collecting my thoughts. “Rue de Rivoli… She was there yesterday, too, with Marianne. They went to the Louvre and then spent the evening in the Tuileries Garden.”
“She went back there alone this afternoon.”
“To the Louvre?”
“No, the fun fair in Tuileries,” he says. “She hung around the fun house for two hours.”
“Doing what?”
“Apparently, waiting. When a short man with a pencil mustache showed up, she talked to him for a good half hour.” Grandpa pauses to cough. “After that she talked to another guy, a tall black man with a beard. And then she walked to the street and got run down.”
“I have no idea who those people are, and what she may have been discussing with them,” I say, still dazed.
“Your wife has been keeping secrets from you.”
“Indeed, she has, and it looks like they nearly got her killed.”
I thank Grandpa for his tip-off, call Rudy, and run out to the parking garage. By the time I reach the car, Rudy is already at the wheel. We peel out.
“Is Her Grace all right?” he asks. “I’m not sure I understood what happened…”
“A motorbike ran her down on rue de Rivoli,” I tell him as I dial Camille’s number.
She picks up at once.
“Where are you?” I bark.
“In a cab. I’ll be home in five minutes.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” I say. “In the meantime, I’m getting Angie to call a doctor to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m not hurt—” she begins before falling silent.
I can almost hear the cogs turn in her head as she connects the dots. “Did your grandfather’s detectives tip you off?”
“It was Grandpa who called me. That motorbike—”
“It was a scooter,” she corrects me, as if that changes things.
“Who cares? Someone may have tried to kill you.”
“Oh, please! People drive crazy in Paris. You’ve noticed that, right?” She pauses as if expecting me to answer her rhetorical question.
While I agree that Parisian drivers tend to be uncivil, I also think Camille is much too cavalier about this.
Then she adds, “Coming from a place where every vehicle and bike stops to let a pedestrian cross the street, I simply wasn’t careful enough. That’s all.”
Rudy enters a tunnel. It’s impossible to make out what she says next. I hang up. The moment we come out at the other end, I call Angie and ask her to get a doctor to the apartment ASAP and check Camille.
Fifteen minutes later, Rudy and I enter the penthouse. Camille is already home being examined in her bedroom while Angie and Marianne wait in the salon.
I take off my jacket, plonk myself on an armchair, and close my eyes.
What a surreal ending to a surreal week!
