CHAPTER 11
WE DROVE DOWN THE long driveway of the Hotel Metropole, past two parked Rolls-Royces, a Bentley, and an Aston Martin.
“Checking in, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Luggage?”
“Just the overnight bag and backpack.”
He gave me a claim check and whisked away the car. I do not think they wanted the little Fiat 500 parked in front of the entrance any longer than was necessary. The doorman pulled opened the door and with a slight nod, said, “Monsieur, Madame. Welcome to the Metropole.”
We walked in to the most elegant lobby and bar and straight to the reservation desk. “Bonjour, Monsieur. May I help you?”
“Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy.”
“One moment, please. Yes. It was made yesterday for tonight only?”
“Yes.”
“Passports, please. Thank you. Credit card, please. Sign here. Thank you, Mr
