Enchantée
The bell tinkled softly as they walked in.
“Bienvenue à L’Espérance, monsieur, mademoiselle. Enchantée !”
Stepping away from the receptionist’s desk and into the dining area, Elena and Dan looked quite the pair; she with her striking green eyes, red dress and a silvery-platinum ring on her finger; he in his cream suit and polished black shoes. The effect was somewhat ruined, though, when Dan tripped over his own feet and nearly landed face-first on the carpet as they sat down.
“Care to pass me the menu, Dan?” Elena held out a perfectly-manicured hand.
“No — I mean, yes,” Dan replied absently, continuing to gaze to his left, where stood a rather uninteresting portrait of a sheep chewing a baguette. To his far right, the embossed, heavy menu card sat on the rosewood table. Its golden lettering shone dimly in the candlelit ambience of L’Espérance.
“I said, hand me the menu card, Dan.” A flicker of annoyance crossed her bright eyes.
Dan suddenly seemed to register what she was saying. He clumsily tried to lift the menu card one-handed, swung it neatly into a very large glass, and sent icy water flying into Elena’s splendid silk dress, who flinched at the sensation.
This time the whisper came with more than a touch of asperity. “Gosh, what’s the matter with you? Why on earth are you behaving like a dork? You’re embarrassing both of us!”
“Sorry,” muttered Dan nervously as he dived down beneath the table to snatch up the miraculously un-shattered glass and return it to the table. It was hard to say which was redder when Dan hoisted himself back into his chair: his face or Elena’s dress. “Won’t happen again.”
Elena was meanwhile leafing through the offending menu with as much dignity as a half-soaked dress could allow her. “Hmmm…” she mused as she studied the card carefully. “I say we should get… a quiche Lorraine and a croque madame. What do you think?”
“M-hm,” replied the other absent-mindedly, now staring at the tapestry on the wall behind Elena. “Anything’s fine by me.”
Elena raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It wasn’t like Dan to ignore food, especially this kind of exotic food, at the most expensive French restaurant in town. Nevertheless, she figured that she could wheedle out an explanation later on. She shrugged and beckoned a passing waiter to their table, and gave him instructions. As they waited for the dishes to arrive, Elena studied Dan closely. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen; nervous, twitchy, restless, eyes darting all over the place, at this, now at that, never still for more than a few seconds. She sighed. When Dan had asked her out, she’d figured that the trepidation was borne of the fear of rejection, and that once it was done with, he would revert to a more normal disposition. She hadn’t counted on the fact that the twitchiness might be a permanent fixture of his character.
Yet he’d been much calmer and surer when he’d come to pick her up, all smiles and smoothness and suit and tie and tapered trousers. All that warmth slowly kept ebbing away as they were being driven to their dinner, much like the sun fades away behind dark clouds when a thunderstorm is imminent. And now Dan’s inattentiveness towards her was beginning to feel like the winds that follow: irritating and icy. He’d not so much as looked properly at her since they’d reached their destination.
Wait.
He was looking at her now. Surveying her face, her eyes, her ears, her hair… everything. Or so it seemed. Elena was a bit unnerved at the sudden interest. “Dan, what — ” she began.
Dan suddenly flung down a heavy steel spoon on the floor at his feet and slid off his seat and crouched down — looking for it, Elena supposed. Then he crawled underneath the table, beneath the heavy patterned cloth that covered the wood. By now Elena was sure that he’d lost his mind and was just about to announce that she’d had enough of his oddities, that she was off to have her dinner someplace else, which would be less expensive and totally devoid of nutters.
That was when she felt his hands on her ankles, yanking her down roughly. She jerked downwards, her head sliding down and bumping the cross-rail of the chair painfully. At the same time, she thought she heard something small whizzing through the air above her and hitting something — someone — with a dull thump. The victim let out a surprised “Ow!” and whimpered, and then there was silence.
“What on Earth was that?” said a woman incredulously.
“A frozen egg, by the looks of it. Now that’s a novelty!” someone else remarked, as casually as if he saw men being pelted with random projectiles wherever he went.
“It won’t seem so novel when it’s you who’s been knocked out cold in your dessert, sir!” another voice growled. “Hey, you — what’re you looking at? Run get a towel and some cold water! And your manager! I want to know who runs this place!”
“Yes, sir, I’m on it,” another voice replied, and then there was the sound of footsteps hurrying away, getting fainter. The silence in the candlelit room suddenly gave way to loud whisperings and mutterings.
Elena felt Dan’s hand on her shoulder from behind, tugging. She emerged from under the table and found Dan standing beside her, looking at the unconscious man, a middle-aged balding fellow with a large brown moustache. For some inexplicable reason, Dan looked less quivery and more confident now. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking straight at her.
“Yes, I think so,” Elena replied, gingerly touching her head and feeling relieved to find that it wasn’t swollen or bruised. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “If you hadn’t acted quickly, it would’ve been me lying here instead of him. But…” a very worrying thought occurred to her. “Why would anyone want to knock me senseless?”
“I dunno,” replied Dan, looking around. A curious group had surrounded Mr. Moustache, headed by a waiter sprinkling cold water on him. “Could just be a madman. Though I suppose we’d best leave, it would be foolhardy to push our luck further. The assailant could — ”
“STOP! That’s an impostor! You don’t work here!” The manager had finally arrived, ruffled and furious. Everyone — staff and patrons alike — turned to identify the recipient of this command.
Elena recognized, with a chill, the waiter she’d given her order to. He was just at the door, one hand on the handle. Despite his getaway just having been foiled, he did not look at all flustered. Instead, he gave a bored smile, folded his hands behind his head and yawned at the manager. “Guess the game’s over, is it? Well, maybe I should surrender.” He suddenly spotted Elena. “Ah yes, mademoiselle, I forgot about your order, how thoughtless of me. Here, catch it!”
Quickly, deftly, he uncrossed his arms and threw two small white oval objects in the air, one from each hand. Before either Elena or the manager could grasp what was happening, both were down and out on the floor. Dan craned his neck and saw the marksman dashing wildly down the pavement through the open door. Within seconds, the heavy city traffic swallowed him up.
When Elena came round again, groggy and disoriented, she discovered that she was propped up on a chair. Slithering in and out of focus was an assortment of people she did not know. Someone was caressing her forehead, which was vaguely wet; someone else was squeezing her hand gently.
Voices… sounds… dim colours… a dull nagging ache in her forehead… her lips fluttered.
“Where am I?” she croaked. “How long has it been?”
Dan’s face, white and concerned, came into view looming over her. “Still at the restaurant. You’ve been unconscious for an hour.”
She tried to stand. Her legs felt heavy and disused. “Sit still for a minute. It’ll be fine,” someone said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She turned to see its owner and realised that it was Mr. Moustache — who’s been the first (and unintended, she reminded herself) victim of the egg-man. He looked all right to her. “Fine.” she repeated, and she sat.
Ten minutes later, she walked slowly out of L’Espérance, one arm around Dan for support in case her legs began wobbling again. Dan had already booked a cab. They found it waiting beside the pavement and climbed into it. They drove in the darkness for a time, Dan filling her in about what happened during her blackout, and when they reached Elena’s mansion, she hopped out and thanked Dan profusely for all his help, who shrugged.
“I did what I had to. The dinner-date was my idea, as was the venue. If I hadn’t initiated all this, you’d have had one scary experience less in your life. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”
“No — it wasn’t your doing. You didn’t hire that guy to throw things at people, did you?”
He did not reply, just looked at her searchingly with those inky black eyes.
She gave a shaky giggle. “I’d best be going now; it’s been a mad day. Take care.”
Back in the safety of her bedroom, where no one could hurl more frozen eggs at her, Elena began to relax. She put on soothing music on the entertainment system and decided to take a hot shower to clear her head. The golden earrings came off first, then the silver bracelet. Distracted by the day’s events, she spent five whole minutes trying to prise out an imaginary ring from her left hand before noticing that something was wrong.
The ring.
Elena leapt to her feet and stared at her hands, horror-struck. So, this had been the motive of her attacker — to steal her precious platinum ring. But… she’d gathered from Dan that the man had fled just after throwing the eggs. That meant he did not have the ring. But then… who else might? A memory floated before her, vague, indefinite, yet present: a cluster of people, standing surrounding her, caressing her hands. It must have been one of them. It would’ve been as easy as taking candy from a sleeping child. In the heat of the situation, no one would have noticed a discreet hand slipping it into a pocket; not Dan, not the manager, nor anybody else. But she had to try and get it back.
Dan.
She needed to call him at once. He might know a few names among those who’d been inside the restaurant at that time. Perhaps he could get some leads regarding the whereabouts of the ring. If they could act fast enough.
Fortunately, the line connected and crackled into life almost instantly. It was as if Dan had been waiting for her to call.
“Elena,” his voice was neutral, but slurred; whether from sleep or drink, she could not tell. “Missing someone, are we?”
“Dan. This is serious. Someone stole it today, in the restaurant, while I was unconscious — you’ve got to help me get it back or — ”
“Hold on, hold on. What is this ‘it’?”
“It’s my ring… the one I wore to dinner today. It’s pure platinum and has diamonds studded into it. It’s a family heirloom — been with us for around three hundred years, handed down from mother to daughter. If I lose it, I’ll never hear the end of it. You’ve got to help me get it back, Dan, please — the damn thing’s worth more than two hundred thousand dollars at least — ”
“I see.” Dan’s voice was now steady and clear, and to Elena, reassuring.
“So, do you know anyone who was — ” began Elena again, but Dan interrupted her.
“Tell me, Elena,” he said slowly, as if measuring each word, “does this ring of yours have three diamonds, with one larger than the other two?”
“Yes, and — ”
“Finest quality seventeenth-century Egyptian craftsmanship?”
“Yes,” she replied urgently, “but — ”
“The centre of the bridge slightly chipped?”
“That’s the one, yes, but how do you know?”
“I’m something of an expert in old rings, or so I like to believe.”
Elena wanted to reach out into the screen and punch him. “If you’re not gonna help, spell it out, I’ll go and file a missing report at the police station now — ”
“Ah, cute idea, but I’m afraid that would be useless. For multiple reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
“For one, if you go to the police now, they’ll start an investigation. The moment they do, there’ll be scores of men and women trying to find it — but not to return it to its rightful owner. They’ll want to keep it for themselves, such a nice little piece of jewellery, you know… everyone would be most impressed at the next party they attend. Or maybe sell it where bad people sell valuable things at unjustifiable prices.” He paused for effect.
“The second reason is more pertinent to our case. It is because I have your ring.”
“You WHAT?”
Elena could not believe it. Dan, sending men to assault her? Dan robbing her? All the nervousness and hesitancy being part of an elaborate set-up? The same chivalrous, caring, bumbling Dan she’d known for months? It seemed so wrong, so unnatural. “But you saved me the first time! And you got me home safely…”
“That was a part of the plan, you see. I told you, Elena, when you got off, that I did what I had to. I did what I had to for stealing your ring. Keeping up the front ’til the end was essential to my reaching the airport in time.”
“Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke.”
“Nope — I’m perfectly serious. I can send you a photo right now if you want. If you want one, tell me quick, because once aeroplane mode kicks in I’ll be cut off for a few hours.”
This was getting worse by the second.
“You’re flying? Where to? Why?”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. If you seriously want your precious bit of metal and stone back, be sure to visit Abercrombie’s Auction House on the 27th of June, six o’clock in the evening, Johannesburg time. Three days from now. Better bring half a million dollars with you, I hear auctions tend to get a bit expensive. Although, admittedly, you might find that slightly difficult.”
Elena did not know whether to laugh or cry, so she kept her voice level. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think so?”
“Because, on closer inspection of your possessions, you may also find yourself a couple of credit cards short.”
Dan gave a short, sharp chuckle and disconnected the call.
Three days later: 27th June, 2021, 17:45 (Johannesburg time)
Elena’s phone screen lit up and began to ring.
“Well, let’s see who it is? Oh, hello, it’s my Danny boy! Missing someone, are we?”
She could tell from the sharp intake of breath that Dan was more than a little taken aback at her tone. He tried to sound unfazed.
“Are you coming or not?”
“I can’t, even if I wanted to. I seem to have misplaced a few credit cards. How’s the auction going?”
“Well enough. We’ll get to your little family relic in… what? Ten minutes?”
“That’s cool. I hope that the auction house has high security, you know… it would be a shame if someone tried to steal all the curious little artefacts…”
“If you’re trying to psyche me out, that’s not going to work. You see, Abercrombie’s cares about the safety of its trinkets, unlike some women who just wear them to wherever they want and think that they’ll be safe. Your ring is in some underground vault even now, protected by lasers and stuff…”
“That’s a real comfort. Tell me, Dan, in which other topics do you have expertise? Because, clearly, the history of auction houses is not one of them.”
Dan was rattled.
“Spell out what you want to say, Elena, we’re running out of time here.”
“Do you know who owns Abercrombie’s?”
“If I do, if I don’t — what difference does it make? I’m going to be quite a bit richer in an hour or so, whoever owns this place!”
“Well, there lies the problem. You won’t be getting any richer anytime soon, I promise.”
“What are you going to do, set the CIA on me? Or perhaps MI6?”
“Nothing. I need to do nothing at all. I did what I had to, already.”
Dan said nothing.
“You see, Dan, I own Abercrombie’s Auction House. I inherited it from my mother last year. We went there once, just to meet the management and get to know them. They’re a very nice lot… highly committed… I’m sure they’ll treat you well enough.”
