Perfect Strangers

‘I know it’s locked,’ he said irritably.

‘Can’t you just pick the lock?’ she asked, her voice getting lost in the wind.

Josh gave a laugh.

‘I know you think I’m some sort of criminal mastermind, but I sell watches for a living, remember?’

‘You mean you’ve never done this before?’

‘No, Sophie, I haven’t. Have you?’

Sophie bent to look closer at the skylight’s fastening. It had a hefty iron padlock, but the latch was badly rusted and the wood around it hadn’t been painted in decades.

‘Hand me the screwdriver,’ she said.

Reluctantly, Josh gave it to her and watched as she slotted it behind the hinge and pulled. With a creak, the wood splintered and the hinge swung free.

He raised his brows in surprise.

‘Who’s the criminal mastermind now? Try the other one.’

With a little waggling and yanking, the second hinge also cracked and Josh was able to lift the whole window free. Sophie peered down; it seemed a long drop.

‘How are we going to do this?’ she said, but Josh was already in motion, swinging his legs over the edge and letting himself down slowly.

‘Go back to the front door,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

When Josh opened the apartment door, he was grimacing.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, stepping inside.

‘Not exactly a soft landing,’ he grumbled.

‘Do you want me to fetch a stretcher?’ She grinned.

He swatted her on the arm as she looked around the apartment. It was exquisite, all gold leaf, velvet and polished wood – even the dust sent swirling up from the antique rug from Josh’s fall seemed to dance and sparkle in the sunlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘Wow, what a place.’

At once elegant and relaxed, it was tastefully and expensively furnished with antiques – matched Chinese vases sat on a walnut bombe chest painted with gold roses, and a white marble fireplace dominated the room. There were intricate parquet floors and gilt-framed carved mirrors on the white walls, making it seem even bigger than it was. Sophie walked over to a pair of double doors that opened on to a balcony overlooking Paris.

‘Oh my goodness, look at the view!’ she gasped. She could see the Quai d’Orléans and the two towers of Notre Dame stretching into the powder-blue sky and a Bateau Mouche chugging along the moss-green waters of the Seine. She could picture Nick having his morning coffee on the terrace, watching the world go by, smiling at his luck. It suited Nick, this place, she thought sadly, it really did.

‘This isn’t an open-house viewing, princess,’ said Josh. ‘And there’s a decent chance someone heard the racket of us breaking in, so I think

we’d better do what we came to do, don’t you?’

She knew he was right. ‘So what are we supposed to be looking for, exactly?’

‘Anything that might tell us what Nick was up to, why someone might be after him and what they think you know.’

‘Not much, then,’ said Sophie, pulling a face.

‘Do your best.’

She moved over to a writing desk covered with an old-fashioned blotter and opened a drawer. It was filled with papers: bills, letters, a bank statement. Sophie’s eyes widened.

‘Look at this,’ she said. ‘La comtesse’s bank account.’ She had never seen so many figures on a statement.