Sweet Revenge

French curses.
    “Lucille. Goddammit, where did you put my red bag? Do I have to do everything myself?”
    “Sounds like a real sweetheart,” Adrianne commented. Lucille only rolled her eyes and hurried off. If she threw a temper tantrum over a bag, Adrianne imagined Madeline would have apoplexy over the loss of her sapphire. Never pays to be greedy, she thought, then went off to search the guest room.
    Twenty minutes later she heard the front door slam. It took her less than ten more to locate the safe in Madeline’s fussy red and black bedroom. It stood behind a false front in a vanity covered with pots and jars.
    Standard combination, Adrianne mused with a cluck of her tongue. One would have thought Madeline would have spent as much on her security as she had on her wardrobe. Hefting the tank once more, Adrianne went out to find Lucille waiting for her.
    The maid had spritzed herself with her best perfume.
    “You have finished?”
    “Any mouse that tries to sneak in here is dead meat.” This was going to take some delicate footwork, Adrianne decided as Lucille smiled at her. “The mademoiselle is gone?”
    “She won’t be back for at least an hour.” The invitation was obvious as Lucille took a step closer. Adrianne felt a giggle well up and had to remind herself this was no laughing matter.
    “Wish I had a little free time now. But I’ve got some later. What time does she let you off?”
    “She has moods.” Pouting, Lucille toyed with the collar of Adrianne’s coveralls. She’d never been kissed by a man with a beard. “Sometimes she keeps me all evening.”
    “She’s got to go to bed sometime.” Since Adrianne had plans for Madeline that evening, she thought it best to make some for Lucille as well. “Can you get out, say, midnight? You could meet me at Bester’s in Soho. We’ll have a drink.”
    “Only a drink?”
    “That depends.” Adrianne grinned. “I live right around the corner from the club. You could come by and give me … a French lesson. Midnight.” She ran a quick finger down Lucille’s cheek, then headed for the door.
    “Maybe.”
    Adrianne turned and winked.
    An hour later, in a blond wig and pink sweater set, Adrianne paid cash for two dozen red roses and an elegant champagne dinner for two in a private dining room of a country inn an hour’s drive from London.
    “My boss wants only the best,” Adrianne explained in a stern British accent as she handed a fistful of five-pound notes to the manager. “And, of course, discretion.”
    “Of course.” The manager bowed, careful not to show too much enthusiasm. “And the name?”
    Adrianne lifted a brow, a la Celeste. “Mr. Smythe. You will see that the champagne is properly chilled by midnight.” As she spoke, she added a twenty-pound note.
    “Personally.”
    Stiff-backed, head erect, Adrianne walked out to the car she’d rented for the trip out of London. She couldn’t prevent the briefest of smiles. By now Madeline would have received the first delivery of roses, and the romantic, mysterious invitation to a midnight supper in the country with a secret admirer.
    Human nature was as important a tool as limber fingers. Madeline Moreau was very French, and very vain. Adrianne didn’t doubt for a minute that the Frenchwoman would step out of her flat and into the limousine Adrianne had arranged, leaving her flat empty. Madeline would be disappointed, naturally, when her anonymous admirer proved a no-show. But the Dom Pérignon and her own curiosity should occupy her for a while. Adrianne doubted if Madeline would return to London before two. By then Adrianne would have the sapphire, and Madeline a brilliant French temper tantrum.
    It took her very little time once she was back in her rooms to go over notes and recheck her timing. The second delivery of roses, with a foolish, lovesick poem and another plea for an intimate evening would be arriving on Madeline’s doorstep within the hour.
    She’d never resist it. Adrianne lit a match to her notesand watched the paper catch flame. Her instincts were right about this, she assured herself. Philip Chamberlains intrusion might have been simple coincidence, but The Shadow preferred tidy calculations. She smiled to herself. At this point Philip was giving her the best possible cover. She’d be seen going to dinner with him, then coming home again. She would make certain no one saw her leave her suite at midnight.
    Adrianne was in the best of moods when she dressed for