If I couldn't be touched by Smith, the sun was a decent alternative.
Claude opened the back door of the town car for me, at the same time as I reached clumsily for the handle of the passenger door at the front. I clapped my hand to my forehead and apologized as I shuffled over and climbed into the back.
“The car's not yellow, so I forgot,” I said, laughing. “I'm not used to having a driver.”
“Maybe I should paint zis car yellow,” he said with a wink. “It would be cheery. And the look on Mr. Wittingham's face, it would be priceless.”
“Do you always drive for him when he's in Montreal?”
“I drive for him in any city. Where he goes, I go.”
“Really.” I put on my seat belt and tapped my fingers on my leg as Claude crossed around the vehicle and got in the driver's side.
He must have been reading my mind, anticipating all my intrusive questions about the mysterious Smith Wittingham, because before I could say a word, he said, “Of course, where I drive my boss is confidential. As are all the details of my employment.” He gave me a friendly smile in the rear view mirror. “But I think we will have a very nice time today. I know all the most wonderful places for ladies to go shopping.”
“Are you going to park the car and come in shopping with me?”
“If you would like me to. If not—” he held up a book of crossword puzzles “—I have my puzzles. Now, where are we going? Jewelry? We could go to Birks. Clothing? There is a Chanel boutique at Holt Renfrew.”
“Oh.” My heart started to race. “Um. Holt what-now?”
“It is a chain, like Saks or Barneys,” he said. “I also know of some smaller boutiques. Local designers. You can buy Chanel any day when you're in New York.”
“Honey, I can't even buy knock-off Chanel from a street vendor. Hmm. Then again, I have his shiny credit card, so Smith is buying today, which seems fine in theory.”
He chuckled. “Some things are not so confidential, you know? You have been dating Smith for how long now, one week? You must know he is on the Forbes billionaire list. If he has sent you shopping, he will not be like the typical boyfriend who makes the gasping face at the price tag.”
He was right.
“Take me to this Holt Renfrew place.”
“At once,” he said, his pale-blue eyes in the rear view mirror crinkling with a smile. “Actually, it is very close by. Just a few blocks. We could walk, but it will be nice to have the car for all the clothes that you will buy.”
“We'll see about that.”
He pulled the car out into traffic, still chuckling.
Holt Renfrew.
Oh, yes. Yes, please.
The art-deco, gray stone building rose up on its corner in the heart of downtown Montreal. Dressy, busy-looking people, each woman skinnier than the last, rushed back and forth past the department store's colorful window displays.
The air inside the store was clean and smelled of luxury—leather, brand-new wool, and hints of perfume as fresh as ozone crackling at the edge of the ocean.
I'd left Claude with his crossword puzzles in the car and braved the store on my own. I wasn't alone for long, because a pair of stylish women approached me as I wandered through the front area, afraid to touch anything.
Conscious of my knees shaking, I said, “Bonjour. Comment-allez vous?”
Without batting an eyelash, the taller, older one warmly said, “Bonjour. How may we ass-eest you?”
I told them I needed some things to wear for dinners and parties, and the younger woman, a dark-haired beauty with rouged cheeks, clasped her hands together in excitement. “Oh, fun!” she exclaimed. “With your exquisite coloring, such creamy skin and lovely red hair, I have many ideas.”
“Lapis blue,” the older woman said. “Her eyes, yes?”
They both nodded knowingly, and from that moment on, they stayed at my side, like the best combination of personal assistants and good friends.
I tried on several things, and while they were quick to offer alterations for a custom fit, I found that most everything the ladies picked for me fit perfectly.
I didn't look at price tags, and I averted my eyes from the total when I made my purchase. If the dresses and shoes cost more than a year of college tuition, I didn't want to know. The women asked me about jewelry, but I politely demurred.
Clothes and shoes were one thing, but jewelry was different. Jewelry was like cash, because it could be purchased today and easily hawked at a future date. A more opportunistic (and probably smarter) girl would have loaded up on diamonds, shopping until the credit card combusted in a puff of smoke. I was neither a prostitute nor an embezzler, so that idea didn't sit well with me.
If I was going to get jewelry, it would have to come from Smith.
After the Chanel boutique and the rest of Holt Renfrew, Claude loaded my haul into the trunk of a car.
“On to the next stop?” he asked. “We have not yet been to Ogilvy. There you will find more unique items. Perhaps a funny hat with feathers?”
“I think I've done enough damage to Smith's credit card,” I said, laughing.
“Mmm,” he said, his voice ringing with doubt as he rearranged the items in the trunk. “I see no jewelry boxes in those bags. Only shoes and dresses. Tsk tsk.”
“I have a lot to learn, don't I, Claude?”
“You will learn. Back to the hotel?”
“Not yet. I wonder if you might take me somewhere… silly.”
He closed the trunk and gave me a cool, appraising look with his pale-blue eyes. I shivered and wondered how pretty his wife was.
“Silly?” He gave me a twisted smile and opened the car door for me.
“Yes, silly. The kind of place I'm too embarrassed to name. That kind of silly. Something you would keep confidential.”
A smile curved his lips and his icy eyes sparkled with mischief.
“I know just the place,” he said.
We didn't drive far from downtown before we entered a less dense area with low-rise, old stone buildings and visible graffiti. Teens in black T-shirts rolled by on skateboards. We turned down a pretty, tree-lined street with colorful flower boxes.
Claude slowed the car down as we rolled past shop windows with red neon lights and mannequins in strappy bondage gear. I felt my pulse quicken with excitement, albeit a different excitement than I'd experienced at Holt Renfrew.
“Silly like this?” he asked.
“Exactly.”
The car stopped in front of the shop, which literally screamed SEX from signs in the window.