“Free safety?”
“Yes, that’s it. He wears many hats for me. Langdon was a commando before he retired—British Special Air Service. Very tough fellow. Anyway, we’ll hold the wedding and reception here—providing she says yes, of course. You two should come, you really should. You don’t mind iced tea, do you?” she asked, pouring for them. “Not really the beverage of the wealthy, but I love it.”
Sam and Remi each accepted a glass from her.
“So: Arnaud Laurent . . . My great-great-great-something grandfather. You’re interested in him, yes?”
“Very much,” Remi said. “First, may I ask why you agreed to see us?”
“I’ve read about you, about your adventures. And your charitable work. I admire the way you live your lives. You know, at the risk of being crass, there are families here that are frighteningly rich, so much so that they couldn’t spend all their money if they tried and yet they give none of it away. As far as I’m concerned, the tighter you cling to money, the tighter its hold on you. Don’t you agree?”
“We do,” Sam replied.
“So that’s why I agreed to see you: I knew I would like you, and I was right, and I was also intrigued about how Arnaud fit into whatever quest you’re on—you’re on a quest, yes, an adventure?”
“More or less.”
“Marvelous. Perhaps I can tag along sometime? Well, I apologize, I’m running at the mouth. Do you mind sharing with me the nature of your work?”
Remi and Sam exchanged glances, each reading the other’s expression. Their instincts, which were more often right than wrong, told them they could trust Yvette Fournier-Desmarais.
Sam said, “We stumbled across a bottle of wine, very rare, that might be connected to Arnaud—”
“Napoleon’s Lost Cellar, yes?”
“Well, yes. Maybe.”
“That’s fantastic!” Yvette said, laughing. “Wonderful. If anyone should find the cellar, it should b
e you two! Of course I’ll help in any way I can. You’ll do the right thing, I know. Back to Arnaud: In all fairness I should tell you you’re not the first ones to ask about him. A man called my attorney a few months ago—”
“Did you get his name?” Sam asked.
“My attorney has it, but I don’t remember. Something Russian, I think. Anyway, the man was quite insistent, even a little rude, so I chose not to see him. Sam, Remi, I can see from your faces this means something to you. Do you know who I’m talking about?”
“We might,” Sam replied. “We’ve run into our own ill-mannered Russian and, given how far he’s been willing to go, we’re probably talking about the same person.”
“You haven’t had any unwelcome company?” Remi asked her.
“No, no. And I’m not worried. Between Langdon and his three cohorts—who are lurking around here somewhere—and the alarm system and Henri here, I feel completely safe. Not to mention I’m a fantastic shot with a pistol.”
“Something you and Remi have in common,” Sam said.
“Is that true, Remi, you’re a marksman?”
“I wouldn’t go that far—”
Yvette leaned forward and tapped Remi’s knee. “When you can stay longer we’ll go shooting, just us girls. There’s a wonderful beach club in Menton not far from here; they have an indoor range. So, back to our Russian villain: He was very interested in Arnaud’s crypt on Elba. I assume that’s why you came to see me?”
“Yes,” Remi said.
“Well, we told him nothing. I suspected he’d already been there and came away disappointed, which was why he was so badly behaved.”
“What do you mean?”
Yvette leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “A few years ago there was some vandalism on Elba, just teenage children running amok, but it got me thinking. Given who Arnaud is, and how . . . zealous some Napoleonophiles can be, we decided to move Arnaud’s sarcophagus.”
“To where?” Sam asked. “Off the island?”