Jeff’s eyebrows raised questioningly. “Sorry. I didn’t hear the name.”
“De Larosa,” Tracy said evenly.
“De Larosa…De Larosa.” Jeff was studying Tracy. “That name seems so familiar. Of course! I know your husband. Is the dear fellow here with you?”
“He’s in Brazil.” Tracy found that she was gritting her teeth.
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 château.”
“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 consommé 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 petits fours. Coffee and brandy came last. Cigars were offered to the men, and the women were given Joy perfume in a Baccarat crystal flacon.