Jeff smiled. "Ah, too bad. We used to go hunting together. Before he had his accident, of course."
"Accident?" the count asked.
"Yes." Jeff's tone was rueful. "His gun went off and shot him in a very sensitive area. It was one of those stupid things." He turned to Tracy. "Is there any hope that he'll ever be normal again?"
Tracy said tonelessly, "I'm sure that one day he'll be as normal as you are, Mr. Stevens."
"Oh, good. You will give him my best regards when you talk to him, won't you, Duchess?"
The music stopped. The Count de Matigny apologized to Tracy. "If you'll excuse me, my dear, I have a few hostly duties to attend to." He squeezed her hand. "Don't forget you're seated at my table."
As the count moved away, Jeff said to his companion, "Angel, you put some aspirin in your bag, didn't you? Could you get one for me? I'm afraid I'm getting a terrible headache."
"Oh, my poor darling." There was an adoring look in her eyes. "I'll be right back, sweetheart."
Tracy watched her slink across the floor. "Aren't you afraid she'll give you diabetes?"
"She is sweet, isn't she? And how have you been lately, Duchess?"
Tracy smiled for the benefit of those around them. "That's really none of your concern, is it?"
"Ah, but it is. In fact, I'm concerned enough to give you some friendly advice. Don't try to rob this chвteau."
"Why? Are you planning to do it first?"
Jeff took Tracy's arm and walked her over to a deserted spot near the piano, where a dark-eyed young man was soulfully massacring American show tunes.
Only Tracy could hear Jeff's voice over the music. "As a matter of fact, I was planning a little something, but it's too dangerous."
"Really?" Tracy was beginning to enjoy the conversation.
It was a relief to be herself, to stop playacting. The Greeks had the right word for it, Tracy thought. Hypocrite was from the Greek word for "actor."
"Listen to me, Tracy." Jeff's tone was serious. "Don't try this. First of all, you'd never get through the grounds alive. A killer guard dog is let loose at night."
Suddenly, Tracy was listening intently. Jeff was planning to rob the place.
"Every window and door is wired. The alarms connect directly to the police station. Even if you did manage to get inside the house, the whole place is crisscrossed with invisible infrared beams."
"I know all that." Tracy was a little smug.
"Then you must also know that the beam doesn't sound the alarm when you step into it. It sounds the alarm when you step out of it. It senses the heat change. There's no way you can get through it without setting it off."
She had not known that. How had Jeff learned of It?
"Why are you telling me all this?"
He smiled, and she thought he had never looked more attractive. "I really don't want you to get caught, Duchess. I like having you around. You know, Tracy, you and I could become very good friends."
"You're wrong," Tracy assured him. She saw Jeff's date hurrying toward them. "Here comes Ms. Diabetes. Enjoy yourself."
As Tracy walked away, she heard Jeff's date say, "I brought you some champagne to wash it down with, poor baby."
The dinner was sumptuous. Each course was accompanied by the appropriate wine, impeccably served by white-gloved footmen. The first course was a native asparagus with a white truffle sauce, followed by a consommй with delicate morels. After that came a saddle of lamb with an assortment of fresh vegetables from the count's gardens. A crisp endive salad was next. For dessert there were individually molded ice-cream servings and a silver epergne, piled high with petite fours. Coffee and brandy came last. Cigars were offered to the men, and the women were given Joy perfume in a Baccarat crystal flacon.
After dinner, the Count de Matigny turned to Tracy. "You mentioned that you were interested in seeing some of my paintings. Would you like to take a look now?"
"I'd love to," Tracy assured him.
The picture gallery was a private museum filled with Italian masters, French Impressionists, and Picassos. The long hall was ablaze with the bewitching colors and forms painted by immortals. There were Monets and Renoirs, Canalettos and Guardis and Tintorettos. There was an exquisite Tiepolo and Guercino and a Titian, and there was almost a full wall of Cйzannes. There was no calculating the value of the collection.
Tracy stared at the paintings a long time, savoring their beauty. "I hope these are well guarded."
The count smiled. "On three occasions thieves have tried to get at my treasures. One was killed by my dog, the second was maimed, and the third is serving a life term in prison. The chвteau is an invulnerable fortress, Duchess."
"I'm so relieved to hear that, Count."
There was a bright flash of light from outside. "The fireworks display is beginning," the count said. "I think you'll be amused." He took Tracy's soft hand in his papery, dry one and led her out of the picture gallery. "I'm leaving for Deauville in the morning, where I have a villa on the sea. I've invited a few friends down next weekend. You might enjoy it."
"I'm sure I would," Tracy said regretfully, "but I'm afraid my husband is getting restless. He insists that I return."
The fireworks display lasted for almost an hour, and Tracy took advantage of the distraction to reconnoiter the house. What Jeff had said was true: The odds against a successful burglary were formidable, but for that very reason Tracy found the challenge irresistible. She knew that upstairs in the count's bedroom were $2 million in jewels, and half a dozen masterpieces, including a Leonardo.