| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove Part Two |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 14:26:29 03/03/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 14:10:08 03/03/01 Sat
Ascending the grand staircase, I hold my breath in awe, as I behold the beauty of the gaming hall of the casino. The immense glittering room lit by large crystal chandeliers, and decorated by renaissance sculptures transports me back in time. Looking upwards I gaze at the immense colored glass domed ceiling surrounded with ornate sculpturing. The street urchin in me is stunned by the immense beauty of this establishment. I try to catch my breath and keep my composure as we venture into the grand gaming hall. I have a role to play—the child in me must remain hidden.
Tables abound with gamblers gathered to play baccarat, roulette, and blackjack. A playground for the rich and famous. I feel myself guided towards the far end of the room, as Jones prattles on about some nonsense. I nod out of politeness, but my attention stays drawn to my elegant surroundings. While I feel attracted to the beauty of the casino itself, I can’t help thinking of all the kids on the street this squandered wealth could feed.
I remember all the odd jobs I’d perform just to scrape together enough cash for a measly meal and a pack of cigarettes. In fact it was one such odd job that brought me down that back alley that night. The night that changed everything. Granted Section afforded me the luxury of not wanting for anything. Anything except my freedom.
After six years inside Section, I find the air thick with cigarette and cigar smoke stifling and unpleasant. But deep within I feel the small but ever present urge to take a few drags on a cigarette. Brushing that thought away, I continue to walk alongside Jones, as he leads us to a roulette table in the corner of the room. After a few spins of the wheel, I excuse myself, and head to the ladies room.
With the mirror before me, I examine my appearance. The elegant low cut sapphire blue evening gown hugs my curves. I adjust the dress a bit, and then reach for my purse. From it I remove a tube and reapply my lipstick. A dark haired woman in her early thirties walks up alongside scanning herself in the mirror before exiting the ladies room. Adjusting my scarf around my shoulders I prepare to return to the grand hall.
I watch as the woman walks with an air of confidence, heading directly toward a nearby baccarat table. Putting her arm around the handsome gentleman seated, she places a small kiss on his cheek, before taking a seat beside him.
Having spotted our targets, I work my way back toward Jones. I see the excitement on his face since he’s racked up a small pile of chips at the roulette table. Leaning in over his shoulder I whisper,
“I have visual confirmation. Knowles and his wife are at 11 o’clock. He’s in a tuxedo. The wife is beside him in the emerald green gown.”
The profile on Richard Knowles runs through my head. An antiquities collector who has a side business in the buying and selling of guns, particularly of the automatic and semi-automatic variety. It’s this side business, that’s afforded him the lifestyle he and his wife live.
His wife, Desiree, not only shares his love of beautiful things, but also has the role of business partner. Knowles transformed her from the mousy college student he met studying abroad in Paris, to the glamorous sophisticated socialite she is today.
Having cashed out, Jones takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I fight my gut reaction to pull my hand away. Instead I smile and trace my hand across his cheek. Then, placing my hand in his, I try to prepare myself mentally for our introduction to the Knowles.
~~~~~
Somehow we manage to get through the awkwardness of introductions. ‘Mr. Lovegrove’ and Knowles begin chatting about a mutual acquaintance. The whole time, I keep wondering if our cover is believable. With Michael, that was rarely a concern.
Mildly animated, Desiree engages me in conversation about everything from my childhood to my marriage. I half expect my nose to look like Pinochio’s by the end of the evening. I finally turn the conversation to her, looking to get some insight into her psychological workings. But I learn little more than I already know from her profile.
She and Knowles met in Paris. After finishing her dual degree in Art History and Business, they married in a small ceremony in St. Lucia. Five years later, they remain childless, living a jet-set lifestyle. When not traveling, they call Paris and Chicago home.
I look over to the card playing and see that Jones has now lost the money that he had won at the roulette table. But he remains amiable, chattering away. As Desiree’s attention turns to her husband and Jones, I allow my eyes to wander. Fine mahogany tables filled with anonymous guests dressed in their finest. I can’t help but feel naked, my insecurities in plain view for all to see. The fear that these rich socialites can see through my façade is ever present. Can the pauper truly transform into the princess with a pair of glass slippers? Especially without her prince?
A chill runs through me, while at the same time my heartbeat quickens. I hope my eyes have just deceived me. Please. He can’t be here. Why would he risk it?
I graciously excuse myself, and head to the adjoining room. Scanning the room, I don’t catch sight of him. Perhaps I had been mistaken. I hope. Entering the last arched doorway, I slowly walk through the salon. Patrons at the bar fill the room with talk and laughter. I begin to doubt my own eyes and chide myself for being silly enough to think Michael had been watching me.
But I feel a light touch on my arm. Without turning, I know it is him. I expel a breath before facing him.
“You’re risking a lot. If Jones were to see you….” I stop sensing that I appear to care more about that then he does. But if Jones were to come to know that Michael was alive, and that I was the one responsible for that…I shudder to think what that would mean.
“Jones is of little concern to me.” Michael replies. I feel his green eyes carefully studying me.
“Just stay away, Michael. I don’t need you following me like some heart broken puppy,”
I whisper icily.
Without even blinking, Michael responds after a pause, “Midday tomorrow, the change of the guard. I’ll find you.”
Before I could even muster a reply, he walks away without another word.
What was that all about?
I need something to calm me. I ask the bartender for a glass of wine. After a few swallows, memories rush in. The nights when Michael would bring a bottle of wine. Each time something different. But the end result always was the same. Our bodies meshed, passions aflow. I’d give myself to him completely.
I shake my head trying to rid myself of my conflicted feelings. As I take another mouthful of wine, I sense a body sitting down beside me. I look to find a pair of familiar blue eyes looking back at me with congeniality. So much so, I find it a bit unsettling.
“So this is where you wandered off to.” Knowles starts. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
“No, not at all,” I reply forcing a smile onto my face.
~~~~
“I was just telling your husband that we should try to schedule dinner together. The four of us. Perhaps tomorrow evening,” Knowles suggests. Turning to the bartender, Richard orders a glass of Scotch. Looking to me he asks if I need another drink. I shake my head in response indicating I’m fine with the glass I currently have. Perhaps I could have used another glass of wine, but remembering my experience of the previous evening and morning, I think better of it.
“Dinner sounds lovely.” I finally reply hiding my surprise at the quickness of this development. Jones must have done more groundwork on this than I’m aware of.
“The Café de Paris is always a good choice. Or perhaps we should try Le Grill since this is your first trip here. It’s a splendid rooftop restaurant atop the Hôtel de Paris. An excellent choice provided the weather is nice, which undoubtedly it should be. A unique atmosphere where you can see deep blue of the Mediterranean dotted with sails in one direction and the snow-topped mountains in the other. There’s no other place in the world like it.” His gray-blue eyes sparkle as he leans in toward me.
I study Richard more closely. He’s an attractive man in his late thirties, with an athletic physique and a hint of gray in his dark hair. However, sensing something in his body language, I feel a little uncomfortable. Especially knowing his wife could wander into the salon at any time.
“Do you and your wife come to Monte Carlo often?” The operative in me interjects as I toy with the napkin before me. I don’t want to completely rebuff him, since his attraction could prove useful later. But I don’t want to appear too easy either.
“Yes, for both business and pleasure. But we try to focus on the pleasure aspect as much as possible.” His eyes remain focused on me.
“For a first time visitor, what sites do you recommend?”
Richard thinks a moment, then replies, “Desiree adores the Japanese Garden as well as the Exotic Garden outside the city. And the Oceanographic museum is a popular tourist attraction. Then, of course, as a first time tourist in Monaco, you must visit the Prince’s Palace. You should plan to go before midday so that you can see the Changing of the Guard.”
A wave of realization overtakes me. It must be what Michael was referring to. With my wheels still turning, Richard catches me off guard with his next statement.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. I like to know a bit about my clients before we get down to the nitty-gritty.” Richard pauses. “Your marriage to Charles…I gather it is one of convenience. “
I raise my brow. My mind is flooded with possible scenarios, as I wait to see where Richard is taking this conversation.
“I must confess, I saw your lover leaving the salon.”
“Really. What makes you think he’s my lover?” I ask with some defiance, trying to find a way out of this turn of events.
“Body language. The way he looked at you. And you at him. Granted, you seemed unhappy with his presence here tonight. Perhaps, Mr. Lovegrove would be displeased to see his wife meeting her lover under his nose,” Knowles prods.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I look him directly in the eye.
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of spilling the beans.” Richard concedes.
But his last statement doesn’t make me feel any more secure. He has something over me and we both know it.
I hold up my empty wine glass and announce that it’s time I return to the gaming room. As I reach for my purse, Richard swallows down his Scotch, and quickly insists on paying my tab. With some hesitance, I accept. He then puts his arm out to escort me back to the Baccarat table. I don’t trust his intentions, but I graciously accept it with a smile.
~~~~~
I pass my fingers across the soft fabric of the scarf Nikita left behind in the bar. A hint of her perfume teases my senses, producing a flood of memories that I had tried so desperately to push aside. I place the scarf down on the dresser, moving away in a concerted effort to focus on the facts rather than my emotions.
Jones and Nikita, on a mission posing as husband and wife? I wonder who concocted this scenario. Why would Centre be interested in the Knowles? This question nags at me. Generally, Section would be involved, not Centre.
And how does this all connect with Nikita’s role in Centre? When exactly was she recruited? For what purpose was she chosen? How did I miss the signs?
I assumed that the sadness I sometimes saw in her eyes was due to secrecy that our relationship required. Or the constant reminder of our mortality within Section. I never imagined it to be from the tangled lies she lived with.
Why am I alive? Is it because Centre wants me alive? Guilt, on Nikita’s part? I want to believe it’s actually because Nikita loves me, but I can still feel the chill from her icy expression that day. I find it hard to reconcile her inconsistent actions and words that day with the woman I came to know in such detail over 6 years. The woman who embraced life despite its pitfalls. Who fought each injustice that she encountered. And who picked away at the hard shell I protected myself within. The woman I still love.
My gut tells me there is more than I know. It also tells me that she’s in over her head. I laugh to myself. It was Nikita that forced me to acknowledge the value of intuition. But sometimes she’d rely too much on intuition and not enough on the facts before her.
Fact: Nikita is working for Center and Mr. Jones.
Fact: This charade was going on for some time—enough time for her to collect a file of intel on each key member of Section.
Fact: She recommended me for abeyance, but only after I insisted that I had betrayed Section for her. Had I forced her hand?
Fact: She went out of her way to ensure I didn’t die as part of the abeyance mission. But I certainly had not made it easy for her to assuage any guilt she may have had. Granted it had been wise not to trust her, but my refusal to take the field router had more to do with my anger at her than any real logic. Hatred and love. Two emotions so closely bound, as I have come to know.
So where do these facts leave me? In a hotel room spying on my lover. Does that make me a lovesick fool? One of those men I had looked at with disdain, dismissing their need for emotional connection. I honestly don’t know.
~~~~~
I am awakened by the sound of running water in the bathroom. Rubbing my eyes warily, I remember where I am. The Hôtel de Paris.
Seeing the early morning sunlight peeking in behind the drapes, I sense my escape. I slip on my satiny robe and creep to the balcony. Opening the French doors, I behold the crystal blue sky above dotted by a few thin clouds. The distant sound of waves crashing on the shore lulls me. Gripping the sculpted rail, I feel like I could just stand here forever, allowing the light breeze to dance through my hair.
Breathing in the salty air, I observe a few white sails in the distance. Boaters sneaking in that early morning sail. Perhaps a pair of lovers watching the dawning of a new day together. Thoughts of Michael invade my consciousness. I had my chance. I could have just sailed off with Michael that day. I could have forgotten Section. Forgotten Centre and Mr. Jones. Why didn’t I?
I breathe a deep sigh. Reminders of him assault me no matter where I go. And today I must decide. Do I meet him on his terms? Or do I let this opportunity pass?
I hear footsteps approaching from behind. I close my eyes as the disappointment wells within me. Reality has found me again.
“It promises to be a delightful day. Yes, simply delightful!” Jones’ voice invades my space.
Clad in a pair of khaki slacks and a white T-shirt, Jones appears cheerful and ready for the new day. His lips reach my cheek, planting a small kiss. I quickly move past him, returning to the ornate hotel room.
“Perhaps I was mistaken. The forecast suddenly appears a bit icy.” Jones mutters. I simply ignore his comment.
“Granted I felt a bit put out having to sleep on the sofa, but now this? I think as your husband I deserve to be treated better than that.”
I roll my eyes. After plopping down on the bed, I glare up at him. My robe slips a bit revealing my bare shoulder.
“Knowles believes it to be a marriage of convenience. I’m more than happy to let him keep that impression.” Perhaps I was getting too bold in my handling of the head of Centre, but for some reason I didn’t care. The fact that I still saw him as that parasite neighbor of mine could have something to do with it.
“Are you saying we’re not convincing enough as lovers?”
I think he’s saying this in jest. At least I’m hoping so.
“Not to someone who’s livelihood relies so much on reading people. No. But with a lot of money involved, he knows that even strange pairings are possible.” Actually I learned that lesson early on with my mother. Money made even the creepiest guy Prince Charming for the evening. At least to her. I still found them creepy.
At Jones’ unusual silence, I quickly grab up my necessities from the dresser and rush past him to the bathroom. If I intend to meet Michael at midday, I need to get moving. I just hope Jones doesn’t question my absence. Returning with a few shopping bags in tow should do the trick.
~~~~
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