French Twist

By Christiane France

When the markets collapse and Sean Hannesay loses everything, including his job as a financial advisor, he considers himself lucky to find work as a delivery boy for The House of Lost Treasures. A job that’ll keep a roof over his head and put food in his stomach while he waits for the economy to improve and he’s able to find something better.

But being a delivery boy in the antique business turns out to be more interesting and exciting than Sean expected. After a couple of months spent fetching and carrying like a character in a Dickens novel, Sean’s next assignment takes him to Paris, France, to take possession of a 17th-century cross pendant. From the moment he arrives, Sean’s involved in one strange adventure after another, until he finally meets up with Raoul Dassin, the man from whom he is to collect the pendant. A man who instantly captures Sean’s attention and refuses to let go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christiane France
• Release date: Jan 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386014300

Book preview

French Twist

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When the markets crashed and Sean Hannesay’s position as a financial advisor went down the toilet, along with his investments and the company he worked for, he ended up flat broke. Both his recently renovated condo and his late model car had also become forfeit to the bad economy, and, for a while, the future had looked more than a little bleak. At least that was until Sean’s love of antiques and the tight job market convinced him to accept poorly paid employment at the House of Lost Treasures.

He’d thought learning about the inner workings of the antique business might prove interesting and possibly rewarding, especially as recent events had shown him the wisdom of having a backup plan in the form of a second career. However, the entire two months he’d been working there, he’d spent his entire time fetching, carrying, wrapping, and delivering, constantly on the run like an errand boy in a Dickens’ novel.

At thirty-two years of age and with a good education, it wasn’t the kind of situation Sean had expected to find himself in. Still, he was better off than many of his former fellow employees and friends, so it wasn’t totally bad. He had a job that paid the rent on the tiny, one-room basement apartment he’d found within walking distance of where he now worked, and kept the wolf from the door when it came to the necessities of life such as food. Anyway, one of these days, as the experts kept predicting, the economy would turn around and things would bounce back to the way they were. At least, that’s what everyone hoped.

Sean stared out the dirty, rain-streaked window of the taxi taking him from Charles de Gaulle Airport into the city of Paris, and wondered when, if ever, that day would come. His knowledge of the business world and the financial markets told him it probably wouldn’t be for quite a while yet. And, even when it did, things were bound to be much different—money would be a lot tighter and if there were any perks or bonuses, they would be both small and few and far between.

For now, a minimum-wage job that included the odd compensation like a trip to Paris sure beat stocking grocery shelves or mopping floors. Sean had always dreamed of traveling to exotic locations and Paris was at the top of his list. He’d just never found the time. But now, thanks to an unadvertised division of his new employer’s business empire, the one that specialized in locating items their wealthier clients had either lost, mislaid or simply lusted after, here he was in Paris, living the dream.

His instructions were to wait at the hotel until a man named Raoul Dassin contacted him and a meeting could be arranged for Sean to take delivery of the seventeenth-century, diamond-studded, gold cross pendant shown in the picture tucked in Sean’s wallet. Sean knew the cross wasn’t particularly valuable or eye-catching. In Sean’s private opinion, the thing was downright ugly. Maybe eight, possibly ten grand, absolute tops, at auction on a good day, or so his boss figured since the metal might or might not be gold, and the diamonds could well be bits of glass. The value of the piece lay solely in the fact it had once belonged to one of the mistresses of an erstwhile King of France, and later to one of her descendants, who also just happened to be one of the House’s oldest clients. Apparently, it was a family heirloom believed lost in the chaos of post-WWII Europe, or so the story went. That was, until recently, when the pendant had showed up in magazine photos taken at a charity ball in Paris, adorning a young woman’s cleavage, and the House had been asked to do a longtime client a favor.

Sean knew the route taken in this case had been for his employers to first identify the wearer and find out exactly who owned the piece. Once ownership was established, they entered into negotiations for the possible purchase and sale. Sean suspected such negotiations were not always successful, but this time they had been. The owner was willing to sell, so all that remained was for someone to collect the pendant from the current owner, who lived in Paris, and bring it back to New York for return to the client.

Although Sean still felt a little jazzed about being chosen for this particular job, it was pretty much the same as what he did every other day of the week. Collecting and delivering merchandise from or to the firm’s wealthier clients who lived in ritzy apartments on Park Avenue or at other socially acceptable New York addresses was the job the House had hired him to do, and that’s what he did. The only real difference this time was the pick-up was in Paris, France, and he’d needed a passport to get here.

He wished he could still remember more than a few words of the French he’d learned in high school. Since he didn’t, if anything went wrong or he screwed up in some way, he’d just have to find someone who spoke English to help sort it out. Sean knew he was worrying for nothing. All he had to do was follow the precise instructions his boss had given him and everything would be fine.

Sean knew the normal practice when the House acquired items for their clients from other countries was to have them shipped to New York by an international bonded courier. However, this time the circumstances were a little unusual. Before the money was released and the deal closed, the client had insisted on verification by someone they felt they could trust that the cross was indeed the one they’d lost. And since, according to Sean’s boss, the client wanted this done by one of the House’s employees rather than some unknown foreign agent, they’d been quite prepared to pay any and all expenses involved.

His instructions were, once the meeting had been set up and Sean met with the owner, Raoul Dassin, that he first examine the cross. Once that happened, it was Sean’s responsibility to check for the secret, indentifying mark he’d been told was engraved on the reverse side. If Sean was satisfied the mark was exactly as the client described, meaning the cross was indeed the genuine article, he would call his boss back in New York to confirm, wait for the money transfer to be completed, then he would take possession of the cross and return home. If there was no such identifying mark, he was to make an excuse, and leave immediately.

After a hair-raising ride through narrow, winding streets that had Sean fearing for his life rather than appreciating the scenery, the driver slammed on his brakes, said something Sean figured was probably rude as well as unintelligible and pointed to the meter.

Sean handed over the amount indicated, plus what he felt was a more than reasonable tip bearing in mind the nasty attitude, and eased himself and his bag out of the vehicle. The moment he closed the door, the taxi and its driver were gone, shooting off without a word of thanks, before Sean had a chance to make certain he had all his possessions and he’d been dropped at the correct address.

He patted his pockets—his wallet and passport were both there. And, according to the number painted in black on the wall to one side of the door and the name of the hotel above it, he was at