Harlequin's Shadow

Chapter 29: Giraffe in a Green Tutu

Thursday, September 15, 2005.

When Neal returned from France, he found himself once more switching between worlds. Sara's apartment was a safe refuge in a universe to itself. She didn't pressure him about what occurred in Europe. She understood aspects of the op were off-limits. Instead they focused on their private lives and ignored the rest.

But when he kissed her goodbye that Wednesday morning, he had to morph back into Neal Caffrey, grad student. Bianka was waiting for him at his first seminar. Conning her was a delicate dance of pretending to be infatuated without going too far. Neal was glad he'd secured Peter's approval to alert Richard and Aidan. The musketeers were called back to duty.

Now that the university was in session, Richard was once more occupying the studio to Neal's left. When he arrived on Wednesday, he found Richard had scribbled "AFO" at the top of Neal's whiteboard, a reminder of their vow to be All for One just like last autumn. As if to reinforce the message, he popped into Neal's studio several times that evening to prevent any Hungarian fireworks from erupting. Aidan's answer to the challenge was predictable. He gleefully volunteered to call a last-minute fencing practice whenever Neal needed a save.

By Thursday he was fully recovered from jet lag and any lingering effects of the drug Adler had given him. He was sorely tempted to cancel the appointment with Christie. He wasn't running a fever. He felt fine. Perhaps that night with Sara provided the cure. She was constantly in the back of his mind, continuing to work her magic.

It was a quiet day at work since it was a travel day for the other team members, so Neal kept the appointment. When he described to Christie what he'd experienced, she was inclined to write it off as drug-related. He'd been so sure it was Astrena, but as the memory faded, so did the certainty. After submitting to more blood work, he was free to prepare for his evening.

He'd invited Sara to his favorite restaurant, La Palette, a bistro on the Upper East Side near the Met. The owner, Chef Jacques Legault, was a good friend.

When Neal and Sara decided to start dating, they formed a pact to gradually disclose some of their secrets to each other. La Palette made the ideal venue. It already held a secret for Peter.

Contemporary art covered the walls of the bistro. Jacques had painted a couple of them, but most were works by struggling artists. In exchange for borrowing their art, Jacques gave them a discount on their tabs. One of Neal's paintings was installed there permanently. At the time he'd donated it, publicity was the last thing he wanted. He'd left it unsigned and Jacques knew not to divulge his name. So far Peter hadn't guessed which painting was his, and it had become a game for him to discover it on his own.

This was Sara's first time to visit the bistro. Neal introduced her to Jacques simply as Alicia. Would Henry be so devious as to question Jacques? Neal considered it a distinct possibility. Since Ydrus also could be monitoring his movements, they both wore their wigs. Neal had alerted Jacques about his disguised appearance in advance and made the reservation under the name of Matthew. Jacques was familiar with Neal's work for the FBI and hadn't questioned the need for subterfuge.

Neal had reserved one of the secluded alcoves for their use. The bottle of Chablis Grand Cru was already chilling at the table.

"To Matthew and Alicia," Sara said, clinking glasses with him. "Jacques appeared to enjoy the deception. Does he know about your job?"

He smiled in acknowledgment. "Jacques owns the building. He rents out the apartments on the upper floors to artists, offering them a bargain rate. After the days with Adler, I sometimes crashed here. Once in a while literally."

"Then he's familiar with your former career path?" Sara asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah. He's friends with Mozzie, too." Jacques was a former counterfeiter and forger. He'd served time in France. When he was released, he opened a restaurant in Dijon. Some years later, he met his future wife who was an American banker. When they married, he immigrated to New York and opened the bistro. His wife passed away several years ago.