AllFreeNovel
Share Us
René stays downstairs when we go up to the museum. Cress oohs and aahs over all the tea-making accoutrements, but I just want to stuff my face with pastry in the tea salon. With a little effort, I coax her down for some sustenance. The shop has dark wooden counters, long tables displaying products like jam, cookies, and special tin collections, as well as shelving that houses each tea canister in its own cubby.
Cress points out the different Marco Polo teas to me when she suddenly spins around. I see René moving toward us as a shortish guy with ink on his wrists, takes his hand off Cress’ shoulder. He’s dressed in jeans, an untucked Oxford shirt with a frayed collar, and a worn cardigan that strains against overdeveloped biceps and quads. Deep grooves around his mouth and a gray cast to his skin give him the air of a man who has spent too much time indoors. Silver threads through his thick black hair. He’s got a day or two worth of scruff.
“Yavuz,” Cress exclaims. “I forgot you were coming to Paris.”
“I thought I’d already be back in London, but Emre wants Tanik and me to stay for another week. Even though his studies keep him occupied, he’s homesick.” His English is excellent, but he has a strong accent I can’t identify.
René bristles with suspicion. Cress gives him a bright smile. “René St-Pierre, this is Yavuz Arslan, a friend of Max and JL. We spent some time with him in London.”
René nods but doesn’t stick out his hand. “Heureux de faire votre connaissance.”
“Ravi de te rencontrer également,” Yavuz responds.
“We’re going to have a girls’ tea, Yavuz, but perhaps you’d join us tomorrow for the awards dinner at the Victor Hugo House. It begins at 7:00 p.m. If you come to our hotel, Le Pavillon de la Reine, we can have a drink at the bar and walk over together.”
“Delighted. I will see you at six thirty.”
“Dress is formal. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“No, of course not. Thank you so much for including me.” He smiles. “Güle güle. Bonne journée. À bientôt.” We watch as he walks out of the shop, his slightly rolling gait hinting at some old injury to his left leg.
“What was that first part?” I ask.
“He said goodbye in Turkish before he switched to French.” René stands stolidly, arms crossed, projecting an air of disapproval.
“Turkish. Is he connected with Nasim Faez?”
Cress pulls a face. “Tangentially. Zehra, his sister, was in one of the Jeeps blown up in the terrorist attack in Istanbul that Faez engineered in 2003. She was Max’s girlfriend.”
“Max had a girlfriend? Complicated.”
“Yeah, well...”
We watch him turn left off the Rue Bourg-Tibourg, “I can’t imagine he has a tux.”
“Rentals, Micki. Rentals.”
Through an archway, we enter a room with mustard-colored walls, formal tables covered with potted palms, an atrium-style window, starched white tablecloths, and rattan chairs that recall the French colonial past.
Cress studies the menu. “Is it too early to have the Afternoon Tea with First Flush Darjeeling?”
“Pas de problème, Madame.”
I ask for the same.
“How did Max meet this guy?”
“Max got to know Yavuz when he was working in Turkey in 2003.” She presses her lips together. Guess there’s more to the story she’s not telling me, but I decide not to pursue it. I only know a little about Max’s time in Istanbul, but I know some difficulties they had in their relationship were because he was so secretive about that part of his life.
“I’m surprised you invited him to dinner.”
She shrugs. “We have an extra seat. Allan is probably going to be behind the scenes, and I hate to think of the opportunity going to waste. I don’t like Yavuz much, but he and Max do have a connection.”
Once our selections have arrived, she changes the topic, going immediately on the attack.
“Why didn’t you show JL the texts when we got in? You had an hour before we met in the lobby”
I cross my arms over my chest. “We had sex instead.”
