The Same River Twice (Vintage Contemporaries)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A New York Times Notable Book
Odile Mével is a French clothing designer, her American husband, Max, an independent filmmaker. When Odile agrees to buy a selection of ceremonial May Day banners in the Soviet Union and deliver the contraband to Paris she earns a new job description: smuggler.
Soon her fellow courier disappears, her apartment is ransacked, and her friend’s houseboat is firebombed. While Max has no inkling of Odile’s dealings, he finds himself embroiled in a baffling film world mystery of his own. As their escapades deepen and their deceptions multiply, Odile and Max discover their secrets are connected—endangering not only their marriage but their lives.
good; very, very good. Thank you so much.” When Groot followed him to a battered oak desk and, without sitting down, began counting out in cash the payment they’d agreed upon, Max set up his tripod and vidcam facing the port side of the boat. He trained it on the spot where he thought it most likely that Rachel, Groot, and the Nachtvlinder would next intersect, amidships more or less, and walked casually away, signaling Jacques to take over when the time came. Then he went outside. Standing just
Kukushkin had been making sport of him in New York, at Balakian’s gallery, when offering to find out who they were. Whatever the truth, Turner understood that he could no longer pretend to be uninvolved. He picked up the phone and punched in Odile’s number. The line was still ringing when Gabriella swept in with the day’s obituary clippings, which she deposited in his inbox, and two plastic shopping bags stuffed with small objects wrapped in newspaper. When Odile’s voice invited him to leave a
her, but now her concern carried an element of resentment. I can’t involve myself in this, she thought. She removed her sweater and blouse, washed her face, neck, and arms, then dried herself with a guest towel and tossed it into the hamper. Fresh lipstick, a little perfume. She’d never had to work much on her looks. After surveying herself in the mirror, she put her blouse and sweater back on, flushed the toilet, and returned to complete her business. “There are how many all told?” Turner
entail. The lobby of the theater was attended by a bored young man seated behind a table on which he’d laid out a game of solitaire. He hardly glanced at her before pointing to a descending staircase. “Downstairs,” he said, dealing himself another card. The staircase lights were out, and a familiar dread—of darkness, of basements, of bottomless descent—passed over Odile as she moved down to the lower level. The foyer there, too, was dark. Spotting a set of doors, she pushed through them into an
not complete her thought. From the quai came a briskly cadenced sound. All three turned to look. Six black-uniformed police, trotting two abreast in tight formation, were headed across the packed-sand quai to the Nachtvlinder. “Oh, my God.” Rachel fell back a step, her hand over her mouth. “Stay cool, guys.” Max handed the sound boom to Jacques and took over the camera. “We’re all on the same side.” “Better watch it,” Jacques said under his breath. “They’re CRS.” “Riot police? But doesn’t