Nightingale by Aleksandr Voinov

Author:Aleksandr Voinov [Voinov, Aleksandr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 44 Raccoons
Published: 2015-11-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

When Yves had barely dared worry about Falk, the man finally showed up after the show in the Palace, or rather, outside, walking swiftly toward Yves as he left through the backdoor, Maurice with him.

Damn, Maurice.

Yves pushed a little away as Falk closed in, face flushed. Whatever had kept him until so late, he’d clearly been racing the curfew. “Good evening,” Yves said pleasantly. “Monsieur Harfner.”

Falk smiled, then stopped just outside his reach. “I’m late.”

Yves could feel Maurice’s stare, so he glanced up and met his eyes. “I’ll explain this later. Can we take him along?” He spoke low and quick so Harfner had no chance to understand what was being said.

“Are you crazy, Yves? Getting involved with him?”

“He saved my life when the bomb fell. The least I can do is invite him for some food and listen to him.” Yves half turned away from Maurice to smile reassuringly at Harfner. He might be exaggerating, but he didn’t feel like telling the whole story. Maurice would only understand it in the worst possible way.

“You’re a fool,” Maurice hissed, then gave Harfner a smile that was as poisonous as only Maurice could make them. “Please, do come along.”

Maurice had the use of a car—and Yves shuddered to think what he did with the vehicle that was clearly on loan from a German.

They drove through the dark and silent streets, Maurice’s face pinched with what was no doubt a shade of anger, as if anybody watching him drive could have mistaken him for an even-tempered man. He accelerated harshly and braked just as savagely until they’d made it to his villa. Even Harfner looked relieved when he could escape with all limbs intact.

“Do you have a pass?” Maurice asked.

Harfner tapped his breast pocket, but Yves wasn’t sure he’d actually understood the question.

“Let’s go inside.”

“With him?” Maurice hissed at Yves. “You are mad.”

“That’s why he’s here. I promised him to . . .”

“What?”

“A meal, if nothing else. And I can’t take him anywhere else, not with von Starck . . .”

“Damn right you can’t! If he hears of this—”

“Maurice, please. Help me this once.”

Maurice again looked at Harfner, who’d watched their exchange with blank-faced interest. Even Maurice had to understand that continuing to bicker in front of the German would look suspicious. The question was whether he cared.

“He’s not staying in my house overnight,” Maurice muttered as if to himself, then smiled again at Harfner. “After you, monsieur.”

No servants were awake, which meant no witnesses, though considering that they were Maurice’s servants, they’d seen much worse. Maurice ushered them into one of the sitting rooms. “Wine?”

Yves nodded. Harfner said something in the affirmative, in French, which made Maurice glance ironically at Yves, as if Harfner were a trained dog that Yves had taught a droll trick. He turned around and left, returning with two bottles of wine and a plate of shortbread, which he placed between them.

“If you’re hungry, there’s some soup in the kitchen.” He rubbed his temple gingerly. “I feel a migraine coming on, so I’ll leave you two alone.

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