Chapter 14

“WAIT,” MARKOV SAID TO Lindsay. “I promise you. This is the place Quest always comes. And she always eats late…”

“This late? It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.”

“Trust me. One-fifteen—no later. You could set your watch by her. That’s what she’s like.”

“Markov, I know what she’s like. She doesn’t talk, for a start. About the most I’ve ever heard her say is ‘Hello’ and ‘Good night.’”

“She talks to me…If anyone knows anything about Maria Cazarès’s death, Quest will. She’s Jean Lazare’s favorite model. He found her. Come Wednesday, come the Cazarès show—”

“Which will be canceled. Come on, Markov.”

“—she’s due to be the star of the show. I’m telling you—she’ll know something. What’s the alternative? You want to sit around the hotel with a whole pack of airheads listening to rumors half the night? With Quest, we mainline, right? We tap right into the power source.” He paused; his dark glasses turned in Lindsay’s direction. “What’s the matter with you, Lindy? You’ve been as jumpy as a cat all night.”

“I’m upset. Shocked. That’s obvious, surely? Who wouldn’t be? I can’t believe she’s dead. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“And?”

“And I ought to call the hotel again. Markov, I told you. I need to talk to Rowland McGuire.”

“Lindy. You have tried five times this evening to reach McGuire.”

“He was out, Markov. He might be back now.”

“—And when you call him, Lindy, there’s these little signals I’m picking up. Like, serious agitation…”

“He’s my editor. I need to talk to him.”

“Sure.” Markov gave a huge yawn. “And editors edit. They sit at a desk—in London, in his case—and they edit away. Ring, ring, fax, fax, kill those Markov pictures, I don’t like waifs… I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, Lindy, but I seem to remember that around fifteen seconds ago it was war. I seem to remember you were going to wipe him out.”

“That was last week, Markov. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Just your mind, Lindy? And how about McGuire? I mean, how come he’s abandoned his desk, how come he’s suddenly on a plane, in Paris? I’m revising my ideas of this man, Lindy. Like I had the wrong angle before, the wrong aperture, wrong shutter speed, wrong film. What’s brought him hotfooting to Paris, Lindy, my love? Is it work? Is it a woman? Fill me in.”

“Don’t be so damn stupid, Markov. Of course it’s not a woman. I’ve no idea where you get these ideas.”

“Looking at you, sweetheart, that’s where I get them.”

“Well, if you knew McGuire better, you’d know you were wrong. It’s work, Markov—pure and simple. And I’m not sure why he’s here. His deputy is holding the fort in London. I spoke to Max, not Rowland.”

Lindsay hesitated. She had finally reached Max about an hour before, and Max had been in diplomat mode. According to him, someone now needed to be in Paris urgently, and since Gini was unavailable, it had been jointly decided by Max and Rowland that Rowland should go.