Everything she did was for Larry Douglas.
When Noelle posed for photographs, she visualized her former lover picking up a magazine and recognizing her picture. When she played a scene in a movie, she saw Larry Douglas sitting in a theater one night in some far-off country, watching her. Her work was a reminder to him, a message from the past, a signal that would one day bring him back to her; and that was all Noelle wanted, for him to come back to her, so that she could destroy him.
Thanks to Christian Barbet, Noelle had an evergrowing scrapbook on Larry Douglas. The little detective had moved from his shabby offices to a large, luxurious suite on the rue Richer, near the Folies-Bergère. The first time Noelle had gone to see him in his new offices, Barbet had grinned at her surprised expression and said,“ I got it cheap. These offices were occupied by a Jew.”
“ You said you had some news for me,” Noelle said curtly.
The smirk left Barbet’ s face.“ Ah yes.” He did have news. It was difficult getting information from England under the very nose of the Nazis, but Barbet had found ways. He bribed sailors on neutral ships to smuggle in letters from an agency in London. But that was only one of his sources. He appealed to the patriotism of the French underground, the humanity of the International Red Cross and the cupidity of black marketeers with overseas connections. To each of them he told a different story, and the flow of information kept coming in.
He picked up a report on his desk.“ Your friend was shot down over the English Channel,” he said without preamble. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Noelle’ s face, waiting for her aloof facade to crumble, taking enjoyment in the pain he was inflicting. But Noelle’ s expression never changed. She looked at him and said confidently,“ He was rescued.” Barbet stared at her and swallowed and answered reluctantly,“ Well, yes. He was picked up by a British Rescue boat.” And wondered how the devil she could have known.
Everything about this woman baffled him, and he hated her as a client and was tempted to drop her, but Barbet knew that that would have been stupid.
He had attempted once to make a pass at her, hinting that his services would be less expensive, but Noelle had rebuffed him in a manner that made him feel like a clumsy lout, and he would never forgive her for that. One day, Barbet promised himself quietly, one day this tight-assed bitch would pay.
Now, as Noelle stood in his office, a look of distaste on her beautiful face, Barbet hurriedly went on with the report, eager to get rid of her.
“ His squadron has moved to Kirton, in Lincolnshire. They’ re flying Hurricanes and—” Noelle was interested in something else.
“ His engagement to the Admiral’ s daughter,” she said,“ it’ s off, isn’ t it?”
Barbet looked up in surprise and mumbled,“ Yes. She found out about some of his other women.” It was almost as though Noelle had already seen the report. She had not, of