The Mirror

Chapter 11: A Charmed Life

La Grenouille French Restaurant. Wednesday, February 23, 2005.

"I've enjoyed our reunion," Raquel said, sliding closer to Neal on the banquette. "You should visit me sometime in Venice. We'll explore its treasures together."

For the past couple of hours, Neal and Raquel had feasted on delicacies prepared by La Grenouille's master chef. Neal hadn't visited the restaurant since his days with Adler, and it brought back memories of being there with Kate. He could picture her sitting beside him. At the time, the French-speaking waiters and the luxurious setting with its fresh flowers and oil paintings in gilt frames on brocade-covered walls had reminded him of Paris. Now he felt like he'd been thrown back into a fairytale.

The discreet tuxedo-clad waiter placed Grand Marnier soufflés in front of them and refilled their porcelain coffee cups. Raquel had worn a black silk crepe dress. They were sitting side by side on a banquette upholstered in crimson velvet.

"I'm glad that it's frigid outside," Raquel said. "I hope Keller freezes into a block of ice." They'd spotted him outside a storefront as they entered the restaurant.

"In that case, we should stay here as long as possible."

Raquel ran a finger up his arm. "But afterward, we'll return to my suite. You still need to steal the ring, and I won't make it easy."

"Is that so?" They'd spent the first hour on safe topics, discussing Egyptian amulets and the latest tomb discoveries, but for the past several minutes Raquel had become decidedly more amorous. The soft lighting of the restaurant cast everyone in a romantic glow. A few years ago in Berlin, he would have been ecstatic over her attention, but not now.

"So who is she?" Raquel asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, Neal Caffrey. I'm fully aware of how alluring I am, but you're not interested. Who stole your heart?"

Neal frowned. "I never ask about your lovers."

"Well, whoever she is, she's very lucky." Raquel sighed as she looked at him. "Such a waste of a golden opportunity. She'd never know."

Neal shook his head and smiled. "I would."

"In that case, I have a Senet board in my suite—a lovely item I collected in Boston earlier this week. But playing the Ancient Egyptian game won't be as pleasurable as what I'd had in mind."

* * * * *

It was close to three in the morning by the time Neal returned to the loft. June had gone to bed hours ago. He longed to also, but first he had a call to make.

"Allo, Neal."

"I'm glad I caught you, Chantal. I tried earlier and you were out. Your answering machine isn't working, by the way."

"I haven't had the time to have it repaired. I can't talk for long. I'm in the middle of preparing the cassoulet for the day, and my sous-chef's sick. I could use your knife skill."

Neal thought of her standing in the kitchen of her bistro, surrounded by gleaming copper pots and molds. "I wish I could help too."

"Have you decided what to do about the Braque painting?"

"No, I'm still working on that. This is about a different matter. I wanted to warn you about someone who may approach you, seeking information about me. His name is Garrett Fowler. He traveled to Paris under the alias of Russell Thompson." Neal described his appearance and Chantal promised to let him know if she heard anything. It was unlikely that Fowler's flight to Paris had anything to do with Neal unless Keller was working with Adler. Keller knew Chantal used to be married to Klaus, and he could have told Adler.