She stared.
“What?”
“I didn’t even know Lady Offchurch was here, until that guy I was having dinner with pointed her out and practically dared me to steal her necklace. He just happens to be the local Gestapo.”
Gun metal glinted in the gray eyes.
“Why, you chiseling...” Then she laughed a little. “So you do it to me again. Why do you always have to be bad news, stranger? It could have been so much fun.”
“It still could be,” he said impudently, but she stood up and slipped past him towards the sideboard. He strolled lazily after her and said, “By the way, when do you expect to get that imitation?”
“Maybe the day after tomorrow.”
And again he felt that tenuous cold touch of disbelief, but he kept it to himself, and held out his glass for a refill.
“On account of Wendel — that’s the name of the gendarme — I’d better not risk being seen with you in public.” He looked across the alcove into the kitchen, and said as the idea struck him, “Tell you what — if we can’t eat out together, we can still dine. I’ll bring some stuff in tomorrow and start fixing. I forgot to tell you before, but I’m as good as any chef in this town.”
“You just got a job,” she said.