Hunting Ground by J. Robert Janes Read Free Book Online

at the far end of the room—reflected, too, in the fireplace mirror—there was a gorgeous Majorelle armoire of burled, inlaid walnut whose tall, floor-to-ceiling mirror was flanked by subordinate closets and topped by a curve of bevelled glass and walnut.
    Tommy inspected everything with the enthusiastic eye of a connoisseur while I watched him with feelings of embarrassment. How many times had I stood naked, reaching out to open that thing? How many times had Jules seen my reflection in both of those mirrors, the front, the back, from the two ends of that room?
    There was humour in the look Tommy gave me, mischief too, the devil. ‘I like it,’ he said in that horribly accented French of his. We were to nearly always speak en français, and I still can’t believe that he got away with it for so long.
    ‘Let’s have a cognac in the library,’ I said. We’d lighted a fire there.
    He stood grinning at me, and I knew then that if he wanted me, I would betray my husband. But we had the cognac, and the betrayal came later. Much later. Please don’t be disappointed.
    Millet’s Goose Girl Bathing hung on the wall above an armchair. Millet had sketched her in the forest, of course, for there everything is elemental—either this or that, life or death, and the shadows, the shadings that were draped about her and in among the trees and blades of grass told you this.
    An absolutely gorgeous painting, one of my favourites.
    Tommy warmed his cognac by the fire. He hadn’t wanted to sit in one of the stiff-backed Louis XIV armchairs, not him. He had kicked off his shoes and had plunked himself down on the floor, knees up, elbows resting on them. No tie now, the shirt collar open.
    I remember thinking then how much he must like to be by a fire. Again, it was something elemental. He didn’t just want to look at those flames, he needed to. They were a part of him and he of them.
    I sat some distance from him in one of the chairs. ‘Lily, why did you choose that particular shop? I’m just curious. Nothing else.’
    ‘Me? I had overheard Jules and Marcel talking about it. Marcel is an artist. Jules has always been interested in rare and beautiful things. I thought … Ah, how should I know? A place to start, I suppose.’
    ‘Auguste Langlois, Maison des Antiquaires. La plus belle vitrine d’art et d’antiquité .’
    This had been written on the window above. ‘Was there something wrong with that shop, other than what I encountered?’
    He caught the note of anxiety but shook his head. ‘I just wondered. Langlois would have cheated you and I couldn’t have that. Jules has sold things there, has he?’
    ‘I … Ah, I don’t know. I shouldn’t think. No, my husband wouldn’t have. Not him. He’s a collector just like his father was.’
    Tommy swirled the cognac in his glass. Dipping a fingertip into it, he flicked it at the fire. ‘This is good stuff,’ he said, tossing off the last of his.
    ‘One shouldn’t waste it,’ I countered.
    ‘I didn’t. The bluer the flame, the better the cognac.’
    I thought I knew what he was thinking and said, ‘Apart from a very small amount, my husband doesn’t give me any money. Everything is done on the account, as it was in the days of his father.’
    ‘Then you’ll accept the thirty thousand francs I’m still prepared to give you for those earrings?’
    ‘I don’t think I can leave just yet.’
    ‘But you know you’re going to have to. Sooner or later, the Germans will be here. France won’t stop them, Lily. For the present, they’re unbeatable.’
    ‘How is it that you can be so sure?’
    Silent for a moment, he withdrew into himself, then said, ‘I can’t. It’s just a feeling I think the two of us share in private. Like myself, you’re afraid they really can’t be stopped and that it’s going to be a very long and unpleasant war. The Nazis …’
    Again, he left things unsaid, making me wonder what he did. ‘Has your husband been called up?’ he