“Is Mademoiselle waiting for someone?”
“Yes,” Noelle replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
She was suddenly acutely aware of her wrinkled dress, and the fact that she carried
no purse.
“Is your friend a guest of this hotel?”
She felt a surge of panic rising in her “He—er—not exactly.”
He studied Noelle a moment, then said in a hardened tone, “May I see your
identification?”
“I—I don’t have it with me.” she stammered. “I lost it.”
The detective said, “Perhaps Mademoiselle will come with me.” He put a firm hand
on her arm, and she rose to her feet.
And at that moment someone took her other arm and said, “Sorry I’m late, cherie, but
you know how those damned cocktail parties are. You have to blast your way out. Been
waiting long?”
Noelle swung around in astonishment to look at the speaker. He was a tall man, his
body lean and hard-looking, and he wore a strange, unfamiliar uniform. He had blue-black
hair with a widow’s peak and eyes the color of a dark, stormy sea, with long, thick lashes.
His features had the look of an old Florentine coin. It was an irregular face, the two
profiles not quite matching, as though the minter’s hand had slipped for an instant. It was a
face that was extraordinarily alive and mobile so that you felt it was ready to smile, to
laugh, to frown. The only thing that saved it from being femininely beautiful was a strong,
masculine chin with a deep cleft in it.
He gestured toward the detective. “Is this man bothering you?” His voice was deep,
and he spoke French with a very slight accent
“N-no,” Noelle said, in a bewildered voice.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the hotel detective was saying. “I misunderstood. We have
been having a problem here lately with…” He turned to Noelle. “Please accept my
apologies, Mademoiselle.”
The stranger turned to Noelle. “Well now, I don’t know. What do you think?”
Noelle swallowed and nodded quickly.
The man turned to the detective. “Mademoiselle’s being generous. Just watch
yourself in the future.” He took Noelle’s arm and they headed for the door.
When they reached the street, Noelle said, “I—I don’t know how to thank you,
Monsieur.”
“I’ve always hated policemen.” The stranger grinned. “Do you want me to get you a
taxi?”
Noelle stared at him, the panic beginning to rise in her again, as she remembered her