The Diamond Caper by Peter Mayle Read Free Book Online Page A

original purpose was to provide refined young English ladies with somewhere to stroll where they wouldn’t be pestered by “licentious locals.”
    Sam passed this historical nugget on to Elena, who was immediately intrigued by the thought of licentious locals. “What about that guy?” she said, as a young man with a baseball cap worn backwards hurtled past them on a skateboard. “Do you think he’s licentious? How can a girl tell?”
    They stopped for a quick coffee, and Elena showed Sam a laconic text message from Frank Knox that had come in overnight:
Please tell Castellacis they will be paid in full. Ouch.
It was a reminder that the mysterious theft remained a mystery.
    “Poor Frank,” said Elena. “I bet he can’t wait to retire.”
    “What’s he going to do?”
    “Same as me, I guess—relax, and forget about the insurance business.”
    “You’re doing pretty well so far. Tell me—you’ve met the famous Coco. What did you think of her?”
    “Tough. Smart. I can imagine her being quite a handful. But what I’ve seen of her work is terrific. What are you laughing at?”
    “You’ve just described yourself. The two of you will make quite a pair. This is going to be fun. Oh, I meant to ask you: Is there going to be a problem between you two after that little misunderstanding at the party?”
    “With Francis, you mean? No, not at all. When I called her to make a date for the meeting, I explained, and she was fine. Actually, she said she can’t wait to meet you.”

Chapter 7

    Coco met them at the door of her suite—smiling, charming, and, as expected, quite unabashed about her detailed inspection of Elena’s outfit. Sam was amused to see Elena doing exactly the same thing, her eyes going from the summer sandals that displayed Coco’s scarlet toenails, up past the beige linen trousers and on to a sleeveless top of black silk. With this vital exchange completed, Coco led them to her office.
    It was simple, uncluttered, verging on minimalist—a complete contrast to the Belle Époque splendors of the rest of the hotel. A collection of austere black-and-white architectural photographs hung on walls the color of pale cream. In the center of the room was a round black conference table, with half a dozen black leather chairs. The floor was dark polished wood, and in one corner stood a small bronze statue of Mies van der Rohe, on a plinth engraved with his inscrutable but famous motto:
Less Is More.
The overall effect of the room, as Sam said later, had made him feel that he should have worn his best black suit for the occasion.
    While they were getting settled around the table, Coco gave them a brief description of the premises. “Through that door over there, I have a small apartment—nothing very grand, but it’s convenient. And through the door opposite are two offices; one for me, and one for my colleague, Monsieur Gregoire.”
    Right on cue, Gregoire appeared, welcomed Elena and Sam with crushing handshakes, flexed his shoulders as though preparing for a bruising physical encounter, and launched into his mantra of no bribes, no kickbacks. Despite the fact that he had gone through this dozens of times, he still managed to sound mildly astonished that, in a wicked world, such scrupulous probity still existed. He ended with a brief outline of the Cabinet Dumas’s terms of business before handing over to Coco.
    The leather albums were produced, and Coco took Elena and Sam through a guided tour of her work, stopping from time to time to respond to questions and comments. “And now,” she said to Elena with a smile, “it’s your turn. I want to hear all about your new house.”
    Elena produced her iPad and moved closer to Coco so that they could share the screen. “The place is a mess right now, but it could be great. Anyway, here’s the ‘before’ part of the project.” And she began to show Coco the photographs, starting with the interior of the house: the dreadful bathroom, the poky bedrooms,