He choked a bit on his wine. Setting down his glass, he said, “Sure, no problem. Babs it is.” His gaze drifted to my chest again between the lapels of his jacket and he quickly took another drink. “That’s a delicious Bordeaux,” he said studying the deep red of the liquid in his glass. “Great earthy notes, with a burst of fruit.” He swirled the wine and held up his glass. “Juicy, full-bodied, and great legs.”
Our eyes met and I watched the color slowly rise in his face as he realized what he’d just said. “The wine,” he said quickly. “I was talking about the wine. I was president of the wine club back in college.”
“Of course,” I said, a little surprised. He seemed too big and too American to know the difference between a nice Bordeaux and a glass of grape juice. I slid the copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel from my bag, noticing the edge of the letter peeking out of the middle. I hastily removed it from the book and tucked the letter back inside my bag, hoping he hadn’t seen it. I wasn’t quite ready to share that bit of information with him. Or anyone. Or ever. I wasn’t even sure why I’d brought it, except that at some point while packing I must have listened to my conscience. I opened up the front cover of the book, revealing the Le Mouton Noir address stamp in the front.
“That’s why you were at the bookstore yesterday,” Drew said.
When I nodded, he continued, “My father told me about the bookstore—how it was a hub of Resistance activity, and that La Fleur met many of her contacts there. I thought it would be a good place to start.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“No. I didn’t stay.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was worried about you since you seemed so bent on self-destruction yesterday, and I followed you at a discreet distance to make sure you made it back to wherever you came from. When I saw you enter the Ritz, I figured you’d be all right.”
I felt the blood rush to my face, embarrassed and yet a little bit charmed. “Yes, well, here I am. Safe and sound. And I’m afraid I don’t really have any more information about this La Fleur woman.”
He gestured with his hand for me to speak more quietly. “Be careful about mentioning her name. She’s a national hero here in France for the work she did during the Resistance. Not sure if it’s more legend than fact, but women have been naming their daughters Fleur for the last two decades in her honor.”
A sour taste began at the back of my throat and I quickly washed it down with another gulp of my drink. “I only heard the name a few times. From Kit, right after he’d returned from the camp at the end of the war. He wasn’t well, physically or mentally.” I looked up at Drew Bowdoin and saw the compassion in his eyes, and knew that he understood. He was here for his father, after all. “He was delirious. Calling out in his sleep. It happened several times, but not in any context that I could make sense of. I wasn’t even sure it was a person until I learned about who La Fleur was later. They must have worked together in the Resistance is all I could piece together.”
“Yes, they did. According to my father, La Fleur began as a courier between the various Resistance groups. She was successful because she knew people in the right places—higher-ups in the Nazi regime, perhaps. Or influential Parisians. It’s unclear how, but she did have access. And after what my father told me about her . . .” He paused as another round of drinks arrived at our table. “Babs, do you know those ladies—”
I cut him off. “What did he tell you?” I leaned over the table, feeling his jacket slip from my shoulders and the sodden neckline of my dress gape open. I smacked it with the palm of my hand to close the gap, but it was unclear if it had any effect.
“That she may have saved many lives according to those Resistance members interviewed after the war. But to my father, she was a traitor.”
“Because of the failed drop.” It was difficult meeting his eyes as his gaze was now trained firmly at the middle of my forehead.
“Yes. Some sort of treasure of rubies and diamonds. And something to do with a white wolf with a cross.”
“A white wolf with a . . .” My eyelids lowered slowly before I brought them back up again. “What is that, exactly?” My words seemed to be bumping into each other.
“My father never found out. Whatever it was wasn’t delivered. La Fleur never showed. And when the diamonds and rubies began showing up among the Nazis, my dad was removed from the field and branded a traitor. He was never charged, but he was never sent on another mission and never received any of the medals that were his due because the cloud of suspicion never left him. He blames La Fleur, believes she’s actually the one who gave the treasure to the Nazis. And then allowed him to take the fall.”