Weird.
As the hotel bellhop led her and Roxanne toward the stairs, Gen looked up, way up, to the landing that was probably labeled the second floor but was more like the third if the elevation was taken into account.
Oh, she hoped this guy didn’t want her to haul her burgeoning baby-belly up that many stairs.
The guy asked Gen, “Do you have any luggage, ma’am?”
“Um, no,” she said. “Not with us. It’ll be brought later.”
“Oh, yes,” Roxanne agreed with her. “Later.”
“Very good,” the bellhop said, his neutrality suggesting that arriving in the middle of the night without luggage was a perfectly normal occurrence at the Hotel de Paris.
Gen wondered just how many people had checked into this five-star hotel in Monaco, right next to the highest-rolling casino in Europe, with no luggage.
Maybe people did and sent their servants to buy underwear and toothbrushes.
She said, “Thank you. Is the restaurant still open by any chance, um, sir?”
Belatedly, Gen saw his nametag read Issouf. She should have used his name. Dangit.
Issouf said, “We can open it for you if you would like.”
Gen was starving. They were not kidding when they talked about eating for two, especially when one of them was going to grow up to be a giant British earl like his daddy. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to cause a fuss. Is room service still going on?”
“I’m afraid not,” Issouf said. “We can make a small exception and open the restaurant for you. It is no trouble at all. Of course, the Hotel de Paris is pleased to offer you anything you want to eat, especially if you are in a—” his gaze strayed down to her baby-earl bump and then away, “—delicate condition.”
“I admit that I am starving. Maybe toast? And some fruit? Just anything. I can eat it here in the lobby instead of in the restaurant. I’m sorry to put you out, but I am a bit desperate.”
Issouf said, “We shall open the restaurant. Come.”
Gen turned to Roxanne. “You can go up to your room and crash if you want.”
Rox rolled her eyes. “Geez, I’m not going to let a preggo woman eat alone in a hotel in the middle of the night.”
Issouf unlocked the restaurant and served them with a kind smile the whole time. If he was cursing her under his breath for making him open the restaurant in the dead of night, he did an excellent job of covering it up.
Roxanne sipped a cup of herbal tea, while Gen did ask for dry wheat toast, fruit, and ginger ale.
Every now and then, she still got a little nauseated. During the first trimester, she’d had all-the-damn-day sickness for three months and was still queasy a lot of the time, and she was careful to keep a little food in her stomach to keep that crap from coming back.
They chatted and caught up in the empty restaurant in the night-quiet hotel, enjoying just being together. Roxanne was a firecracker with a sharp sense of humor and a deep streak of honor, too. Gen’s Texas soul appreciated Rox’s down-to-earth conversation.
When Issouf was back in the kitchen somewhere, Roxanne leaned over the table and whispered, “Do you think he bought that Maxence Robert thing?”
“Not in the slightest.” Gen nibbled the brown, crunchy toast. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to find that runaway dog. No one’s even around to question at this time of the morning. Even the most delinquent gamblers have passed out by now.”
“At least we got a trip to Monaco out of it,” Roxanne said.
“Yep, there’s that.”
Issouf speed-walked out of the kitchen, bearing a tray with two cups on it. He placed one in front of Rox. “Another lemon and rose tea for the lady.” He positioned a steaming cup of pale amber tea in front of Gen, “And a special tea for you. It is ginger, turmeric, and mint. It is good for ladies with stomach problems during delicate times.”
A bit of sediment floated at the bottom of the fragrant tea. “That’s all that is in there, just those things?”
Gen was being exceptionally careful of what she ate, even though Arthur assured her that all Finch-Hatten babies were healthy and enormous, even during plague years. He had records.
Issouf had set his tray aside and counted on his long fingers. “Yes, just ginger, turmeric, and mint. My wife drinks this tea, and we have five healthy children. Very healthy. Do you want honey?”
The thought of gestational diabetes loomed every time Arthur assured her how absolutely enormous Finch-Hatten babies were. “No, thank you, on the honey. The tea smells great as it is.”
Issouf pressed his lips in a tight smile, obviously pleased.
Gen added a substantial tip as she signed the room charge and passed it to him, and Issouf smiled a little wider as he tucked the receipt in his shirt pocket.
He seemed to consider things for a moment, his bulbous eyes glancing at the plaster curlicues on the ceiling before he mentioned offhandedly, “I am sorry that I overheard you talking earlier. You are here to look for a man named Maxence?”
“Um, yeah,” Gen said while exchanging glances with Rox. “Maxence Robert.” She sipped the tea, which was mild and herbal. She could definitely taste the mint and ginger, and it felt like her stomach settled as soon as it touched her tongue. Dang. The man with five kids did indeed know how to make a pregnancy tea. “Wow, that is great. Ginger, turmeric, and mint?”
Issouf nodded. “But they must be fresh. No powders. I muddled the mint leaves and the ginger and turmeric roots in a mortar and pestle before steeping them, and then strained the tea. About this Maxence you mentioned, I feel I should not press, but one of your husbands inquired at the desk whether Maxence Grimaldi had stayed here or at another Four Seasons property yesterday.”
Roxanne rolled her eyes. “Casimir. He’s a bull in a china shop when it comes to cross-examining witnesses.”
That was true. Arthur was exceedingly well-trained in every type of operational security and could have gotten the information without dropping Max’s surname. Gen asked Issouf, “Do you know something that would help us?”
Issouf pressed his lips together, shushing himself, which Gen had learned from Arthur meant that she needed to pay very close attention to what he said next. She leaned forward in her seat and sipped her tea.
He sighed just a little, a resignation. “The desk declined to answer, citing our usual discretion. It is true that we are very discreet as to which guests are staying in the hotel and with whom.”
Gen refrained from snickering at his insinuation. Hey, would you look at that? Arthur’s British training was working. She said, “The hotel’s discretion is legendary.”
“But it seemed, from your conversation, that there was a problem with your Maxence, the one you’re looking for.”
“Yes, he’s missing. We’re worried about him, and we’re worried enough to fly here in the middle of the night to find him.”
“Because he’s here for an accounting convention.”
“Something like that.”
“If there were a Maxence of some last name staying here at the Hotel de Paris as a guest, we would know whether he had returned to the hotel this night and around what time.”
Gen raised one eyebrow at Rox, who was watching Issouf intently. Gen said, “We are concerned about his safety. We’d appreciate anything you could tell us.”