The Man in the Black Suit

  Acacia lifted her glass and clinked it against the others.

  “We’ll be delaying our departure until tomorrow,” Nicholas announced. He gave Acacia an apologetic look.

  She turned to his mother. “How were your travels?”

  “Long. Tahiti is a magical place, but getting to and from it is something else altogether.” She sipped her champagne.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. You have a beautiful home.”

  Madame’s expression brightened. “Every time I go away, I forget how lovely it is here. The house is usually empty, except for the staff. It’s good to have company again.”

  Silence fell over the table as they ate their breakfast, though it eventually gave way to polite conversation.

  Nicholas gave Acacia furtive glances, attempting to catch her eye.

  Acacia didn’t want to have a silent conversation with him in front of his mother, so she avoided his gaze.

  She tried very hard to keep her tone light, but she felt incredibly tense. She didn’t like surprises.

  When they’d finished their meal, Madame Cassirer turned to her. “Would you like to accompany me on a walk?”

  Acacia tried to hide her shock. “Yes, of course.”

  “Good.” Madame stood and so did Nicholas, who pulled out her chair for her.

  She patted his unscarred face and kissed him on both cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”

  Nicholas came around the table to help Acacia with her chair. “I didn’t know they were coming,” he whispered.

  Acacia knew she couldn’t respond under Madame’s watchful eyes. She gave Nicholas a small nod.

  “I’ll see you later?” His expression was hopeful.

  “Yes.” She smiled. She had no right to be put out because the Cassirers had returned to their home. She didn’t want Nicholas to mistake her discomfort for peevishness.

  She turned her head and caught Madame observing them, a smile at the edges of her mouth.

  Nicholas stood aside as they crossed to the end of the terrace and down the steps.

  At five-foot-eleven, Madame Cassirer was taller than Acacia. She was long legged and thin and elegantly dressed in a simple navy dress with a string of pearls.

  “How are your sandals?” Madame stopped and inspected Acacia’s footwear. “Are they comfortable?”

  “Yes.” Acacia eyed Madame’s low-heeled navy and white shoes, with the interlocking gold Cs at the toe. They weren’t exactly walking shoes, but they were handsome.

  “There’s a footpath. We won’t have to worry about sinking into the grass.” Madame forged toward a winding trail that was covered in pea-sized gravel. Her expensive shoes made a crunching sound.

  Acacia followed and tried to think of appropriate subjects that would be safe for conversation.

  “How did you meet my son?” Madame waited until Acacia was at her side before she continued to walk.

  “We met at a hotel in Paris. I was the concierge.” Acacia saw no reason to obscure the truth.

  “Ah. Which hotel?”

  “Hotel Victoire.”

  “That’s a lovely one. We have a flat in that neighborhood.” Madame peered at her. “I’ve always felt that concierges were extremely well-educated. Did you study in Paris?”

  “Yes, at the Sorbonne.”

  A look of sadness shadowed madame’s face. “My daughter studied there. I don’t suppose you knew her?”

  Acacia shook her head.

  “She was older than Nicholas, so probably she graduated before you started.” Madame’s face grew wistful.

  “Nicholas took me to the gallery last night. You must be very proud of your daughter’s work.”

  Madame turned to face her. “Nicholas took you to the gallery?”

  “Yes.”

  Madame lifted the pearls she wore around her neck and pulled the strand back and forth. “He hasn’t set foot in the gallery in years. None of us have.”

  Acacia wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

  Madame dropped her pearls. “I haven’t been to Paris recently, although I always enjoy my visits. Do you live inside the city?”

  “Yes, in the fifth arrondissement.”

  Madame smiled. “The Latin Quarter and the Sorbonne. I like that part of the city. It’s very interesting.”

  They walked in silence as the path wound through an expanse of trees. Soon they could no longer view the house.

  “How long have you been seeing my son?”

  Acacia flushed. “We aren’t seeing one another.”

  Madame stared at her critically. “But you’re friends.”

  Acacia was at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure what Nicholas had shared with his mother about her situation. It seemed Madame Cassirer had the wrong impression.

  “I was in a bit of trouble, and Nicholas kindly brought me here while I sorted it out,” she admitted.

  “Good,” madame said softly. “It sounds like my son has returned to the right path.”

  Acacia wondered how much his mother knew of his various activities. She must have had some awareness.

  A lamppost came into view next to the path. As they approached, Acacia realized it was an old gas lamp, made of iron and glass.

  When they reached the lamppost, madame stopped. “I have a confession to make.”

  Acacia steeled herself.

  “When Nicholas told me he’d brought someone home, I was curious. When the staff told me the someone was an attractive young woman, I flew back immediately.

  “Nicholas hasn’t brought someone home in a very long time.” Madame smiled. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined.”

  Acacia grew flustered. “You’re very kind. But I need to tell you that there isn’t anything romantic between Nicholas and me. He’s asked me to assist him with concierge services during his trip to Santorini, and I agreed. Our connection is professional.”

  “He wouldn’t have taken you to the gallery if you were only colleagues,” madame replied briskly. “The gallery represents too much sadness and loss.

  “It’s about time Nicholas became friends with a woman of substance. I’m delighted and will not be persuaded otherwise.”

  Acacia was too polite to argue. She liked Nicholas’s mother. She couldn’t help but contrast her behavior with that of the hotel guest from Lyon. Certainly Madame Cassirer had been most welcoming and gracious.

  She gestured to the lamppost. “What do you think of this?”

  Acacia gazed up at it. The lamppost was incongruous with the trees that surrounded it, as if someone had planted it in the middle of a forest in an act of whimsy.

  “The lamppost reminds me of a children’s story.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

  “Just so.” Madame looked at the lamppost thoughtfully. “My daughter was fond of that book when she was a child. She used to come here in search of Aslan. Many years ago, there was a driveway. When my husband’s parents changed the location of the drive, they had the road dug up and planted grass. They left the lamppost.”

  “I’m so sorry, madame, for your loss,” Acacia said gently.

  Madame turned her head. Her face crumpled. But with a tremendous force of will, her features evened out. “Has Nicholas spoken to you of Riva?”

  “A little. I was so impressed at how accessible the gallery collection is for people of varying abilities.”

  “Nicholas must have done that,” madame whispered.

  “Part of each exhibit has been reproduced in Braille, so the visually impaired can experience the artwork. And once a month, the gallery hosts patients with dementia or Alzheimer’s and their caregivers. The gallery plays music and invites them to sit and enjoy the exhibits.”

  Madame closed her eyes briefly.
“I didn’t know.” She opened her eyes. “When you lose a child, it opens a hole that will never close. In our case, I’m sorry to say that much of our lives center on Riva—on her absence. I avoid the gallery.”

  She lifted her head resolutely. “I need to visit it. What a wonder you are, my dear.”

  “I studied art,” Acacia volunteered.

  “Did you? Which period?”

  “Impressionism.”

  “Oh yes, that’s my favorite as well. We had a lovely Degas but…” She closed her mouth.

  Acacia nodded. “Nicholas told me.”

  Madame gave her a funny look. “He told you about the artwork that was stolen?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was a time I thought we’d never be able to speak about what happened. Nicholas must trust you to share such things.” Madame came closer. She touched Acacia’s cheek maternally. “You are a kind girl. I don’t suppose I can persuade you to take tea with me this afternoon? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a tea party.”

  Acacia smiled. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Good.” Madame Cassirer smiled in return and they set off for the house.

  Later that evening, after everyone else had retired, Nicholas and Acacia sat by the pool.

  They’d dressed for dinner at the request of his parents. Nicholas had worn one of his black suits and now wore his dress shirt and trousers, his dark blue tie undone and askew around his neck. He’d shed his shoes and socks and was presently dunking his bare feet in the salt water.

  Acacia sat next to him in a gauzy, peach-colored gown. Her high heels lay abandoned next to Nicholas’s shoes, and she too immersed her feet in the pool.

  It was a clear, starry night, and Acacia watched the heavens in breathless wonder. She could never have imagined her path in life would lead to this beautiful place. She could never have imagined such an enjoyable evening with someone else’s parents.

  A champagne bottle sat in a silver bucket nearby. Nicholas refilled their glasses from time to time as they sipped unhurriedly.

  Nicholas broke the silence at last. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

  The breeze lifted a lock of Acacia’s hair and plastered it across her lips, where it stuck to her lipstick. Nicholas caught the hair between his fingers and pushed it behind her ear.

  “Thank you.” She saluted him with champagne.

  “Thank you, Acacia. You’ve been very patient and very charming, despite being surprised by my relatives.”

  “Your parents are lovely. I enjoyed meeting them.”

  “Thank you for humoring my mother. She misses Riva.” Nicholas’s eyes met hers. They were filled with gratitude.

  “It wasn’t a chore. I haven’t been to a tea party in years. Did you know your mother lent me a hat? It was a massive, elegant thing she’d worn to Ascot in England.”

  “The hat, the walk, the interior design of your apartment in Paris—these are all things she would have done with my sister.”

  “I know.” Acacia’s tone was sympathetic. “She misses her.”

  “I don’t know how to talk to my mother.” Nicholas lifted his foot from the water and dropped it, which caused a splash. “What’s your mother like?”

  “She’s strict. She’s serious, but she loves me fiercely.”

  “Fiercely.” Nicholas grinned. “I like that. My mother has been known to be fierce, too. She’s a Rottweiler in Chanel.”

  Acacia threw her head back and laughed. The comparison of the elegant and refined Madame Cassirer to a Rottweiler was absolutely ridiculous.

  “What a beautiful sound that is,” Nicholas whispered.

  “What sound?”

  “Your laugh.”

  Acacia smoothed the skirt of her dress and took care that the hem didn’t fall into the water. “It isn’t for me to say, but I think your mother misses you.”

  Nicholas lifted his glass. “She knows where to find me.”

  “You know where to find her, as well. She rushed home because you were here.”

  “I think we both know why she rushed home,” he remarked drily.

  “When you danced with your mother after dinner, I could see she was happy to be with you again. She was smiling.”

  Nicholas glanced at Acacia from the corner of his eye. “You wouldn’t dance with me.”

  Acacia stiffened. “I’ve already explained to your parents that I’m working with you. It wouldn’t have been professional for us to dance.”

  “Perhaps not.” He jostled her elbow. “But friends dance.”

  “We aren’t really friends, Nicholas.” Acacia kept her voice low so as not to give offense.

  He looked down at his feet and moved them below the surface of the water. “Right.”

  She elbowed him in return. “For all you know, I have an incredibly long list of faults.”

  “I doubt that.” He refilled their glasses.

  “Your mother told me she didn’t know about all the accessibility programs at the gallery.”

  “We stopped talking about the gallery after what happened. I continued my involvement, but my parents withdrew.”

  “You should be proud of what you’ve done.”

  Nicholas bobbed his head.

  When he didn’t comment, Acacia continued. “Art is for everyone, but without access, it becomes elitist.”

  “That’s what my sister used to say. She thought art was a necessity, not a luxury. She instituted an open admission policy one day a month. We’ve continued that. One day each month we provide admission to everyone, free of charge.”

  “I wish other galleries and museums would be so open.” Acacia put her champagne down and clasped her fingers in her lap. “I don’t understand what it’s like to lose a sister. You have my deepest sympathy.”

  Nicholas turned to look at her. “Thank you.”

  “A loss like that can’t be repaired or forgotten. There will always be an absence. But my observation is that many people find meaning and purpose by focusing on a loved one’s legacy, by ensuring she or he isn’t forgotten.

  “Whether or not your mother realizes it, you’ve been building your sister’s legacy. You’ve expanded the programs she was committed to and added new ones as a tribute to her. You’ve devoted yourself to finding the artwork that was stolen. Your parents weren’t able to do those things, so you did them. You should be proud not only of your family and your sister, but of yourself. Your devotion and hard work are very noble, Nicholas.”

  He frowned a little.

  When his eyes came to hers, they were troubled. “I’ve failed.”

  “How have you failed?”

  “I haven’t found the artwork. I haven’t brought her killers to justice.”

  Acacia sighed and looked up at the heavens again. She was quiet for a moment. “Do you know the story of Sisyphus?”

  “I read Camus at university.”

  Acacia smiled. “Not that version. The ancient myth in Homer’s Odyssey.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I suppose the relevant points are the same. Sisyphus is condemned to roll a boulder up a hill. Zeus causes the boulder to fall to the bottom of the hill at the exact moment Sisyphus reaches the top. Over and over, Sisyphus exerts himself to roll the boulder up the hill, only to be forced to repeat the activity again and again for all eternity.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I fail to see how this applies to our previous conversation.” Nicholas gave her a half smile.

  “It’s the effort that’s praiseworthy. It’s Sisyphus’s perseverance and resilience that we admire. I think we find something courageous and noble in the determination of others and ourselves.” She turned to Nicholas. “I hope your quest for justice is successful. But even if it isn’t, there is something courageous about the quest itself. I admire that.”
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  “For God’s sake, don’t make me Sisyphus.” Nicholas threw half his champagne back with one swallow.

  “I can’t make you anything,” Acacia whispered. “But I recognize nobility and courage when I see it.”

  He sighed heavily and hung his head.

  “Nicholas, you only fail when you give up. Every time Sisyphus places his shoulder against the boulder and rolls it up the hill, it’s a victory over the gods. They cannot break him. In your mission to find your family’s artwork, you honor your parents and your sister by not giving up. And that is a noble victory.”

  He nodded.

  “Friends?” She placed her champagne flute next to his.

  He looked her in the eye. “Friends.”

  They clinked their glasses together and drank.

  “Thank you,” Nicholas murmured.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “WITH YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF HOMER, you must have been to Greece?” Nicholas’s voice broke into Acacia’s musings.

  “Never.” She looked across the aisle of the private plane to where her new friend and employer sat. His scar was visible, so she was careful to make eye contact.

  Nicholas hadn’t removed his prosthetic until after they’d boarded the plane. Acacia wondered if he always hid his scar around his parents. Surely they knew about it.

  Madame and Monsieur Cassirer had breakfasted with them before they left for the airport. Apparently, the Cassirers had decided to stay in Cologny awhile longer.

  During the previous afternoon, Madame had volunteered her design services to Acacia for her apartment, and she had gratefully accepted. She drew up an impressive plan and suggested fabrics and paint, to Acacia’s delight.

  Acacia hadn’t expected to be treated with such kindness and generosity by Nicholas’s parents. Their openness to her almost made her ashamed of how she’d mistrusted Nicholas.

  But trust was earned. Acacia remained self-protective, but she’d begun to trust him a little. He’d sent Rick to watch over her when the BRB’s protection had been compromised. He’d warned her to remove her valuables from her apartment, which enabled her to leave Claude with Kate. He’d whisked her safely to his parents’ compound and offered her a job.