The Vintage Caper

come?”
    “Why not? I’ve never been on a snoop before.”
    Leaving the hotel, they turned up the hill and followed the Boulevard Charles Livon until they came to a pair of massive iron gates, which had been left open. A driveway led up through the darkness toward a distant glow, presumably coming from the house.
    “Now I’ve seen everything,” said Sam. “A one-man gated community.” He set off up the drive, a slightly nervous Sophie one step behind.
    She tugged at his sleeve. “Sam? What do we say if someone stops us?”
    “First, we stop whispering. Then we say—oh, I don’t know, perhaps we’re a couple of innocent American tourists and we thought this was a public park. But remember, we don’t speak French. Smile a lot. You’ll be fine.”
    As they moved farther up the driveway, the sound of traffic from the boulevard dropped to a muted rumble. Another two hundred yards found them at the end of a clipped lawn the size of a football field, and beyond it, ablaze with lights, the home of Francis Reboul.
    Sam let out a soft whistle. “This place could give the White House an inferiority complex.”
    They stopped to take it in. The building in front of them at the far end of the lawn was colossal—a three-story, three-sided pile, with the two shorter sides enclosing a graveled forecourt. Almost lost in a corner of the forecourt were half a dozen black limousines parked in a precise row, and by the light streaming through the ground-floor windows they could see a knot of uniformed chauffeurs, chatting and smoking as they waited in the cool night air.
    “Party time,” said Sam. He looked at his watch. “We’d better not hang around. The guests may start coming out.”
    They were turning to leave when they were hit in the face by the beam of a powerful flashlight. A security guard and a German shepherd came out of the night toward them. Neither of them looked welcoming.
    Sam could feel Sophie freeze beside him. He took a deep breath, held up his hands, and smiled into the glare. “Hi. We’re kind of lost. Do you speak English?”
    “ Que faites-vous ici?”
    “No, I guess you don’t speak English.”
    The dog whined softly, and pulled his leash taut.
    “We’re looking for our hotel,” said Sam. “The Sofitel. Hotel Sofitel?” He waved his arms, doing his best to seem like the kind of man who could lose one of the most conspicuous hotels in Marseille.
    The guard came a little closer. He looked every bit as menacing as his dog. Sam wondered if they took it in turns to bite. With a jerk of his head, the guard pointed the beam of his flashlight down the path. “Au bout du chemin. Puis à gauche.”
    “Gauche —that’s left. Right? Gracias —no, wait— merci.” Sam turned to Sophie. “I’ve had it with these goddamn languages. Next year we’re going to Cape Cod.”
    The guard’s scowl deepened, and he gestured again with his flashlight, as though trying to sweep them away with the beam. The dog’s teeth gleamed in the light. Sophie took Sam’s arm and started to steer him, still muttering, back down the driveway.
    Safely back on the boulevard, Sophie breathed a sigh of relief and started to laugh. “Was that a good snoop? He was not at all gentil , that man.”
    “Poor guy,” said Sam. “What a lousy job—walking around all night with a dog is enough to make anyone cranky. I wonder if he’s a permanent fixture, or if he’s just there for the guests. Judging by those chauffeurs, Reboul has some pretty fancy friends. And a pretty fancy house. I’m looking forward to taking a look at the inside.”
    They reached the hotel and picked up their keys at the desk. Sophie tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long day, and Bordeaux seemed a long time ago.
    “Are you all set for tomorrow?” asked Sam. “It could be your first day as a book packager. This is where it could get interesting.”
    “I’ve never met any book packagers. What do they wear?”
    Sam grinned. “Something persuasive. Sleep tight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “Bright and early?”
    “Bright and early.”
    Sam stood under the shower and let his thoughts go back over the day. Philippe promised to be a great asset; he was helpful, had a good sense of humor, and was smart enough to see at once the possibilities of a scoop. Also, he gave the impression of being, as Sophie had said, slightly louche . There was a touch of the rogue about him. This was a quality that Sam had no problems identifying with,