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Authors: J. Robert Janes
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as?’ I asked sharply.
‘ Merde, how should I know? A painting. Can’t you understand what a place like this costs? Can’t you understand that the price of everything we might sell is down?’
‘Either of the Lautrecs in your bedroom would fetch two hundred forty thousand francs at least,’ commented Marcel dryly.
Vuitton glanced at his wife. Henri-Philippe looked as if he had swallowed something he shouldn’t have but didn’t want the hostess to know.
‘The dancers?’ exclaimed Jules, the argument bound to flare into absolute outrage now. ‘How could I possibly sell those?’
‘Quite easily,’ said Marcel, ‘but they would leave shadows on the walls to remind you of the loss.’
He knew—oh, how he knew my husband, almost as well as I, if not better. The sweaty red silk kerchief was still knotted about his swarthy throat. The bristles were still there under the chin and on the cheeks.
Subdued, Marcel had hardly spoken a word at the table. He had been short of money and had tried to borrow without success. Now I understood his outburst perfectly, or so I thought at the time.
‘Of course,’ he shrugged, ‘there’s another matter. Perhaps you should ask your charming wife about it.’
The smile from Jules was swift and unkind, the looks from the Vuittons of broken glass. ‘What did you do with it, Lily?’ he asked.
‘With what?’ I managed.
‘The jewel box.’
Jean-Guy, that brooch … ‘I don’t know what you mean. What jewel box? Your mother’s? It’s locked up in the bedroom, in the bottom drawer of that armoire your father bought.’
There was only the two of us now, one at either end of that table, the faces of the others but a blur to me. ‘You know very well what I mean,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’
I shrugged, gestured with my hands, and tried to lie my way out of it, then foolishly said, ‘What box? What jewellery? Is this something you’ve hidden away and tried to keep from me?’
He smiled again, triumphantly now, but then let it fade, and I knew, as he glanced at the Vuittons, exactly how much he resented my intrusion into his affairs and theirs.
‘It was in the attic, Lily. Some bits and pieces my father gave to Angélique Morin.’
‘His mistress!’ I said, wondering what the hell the Vuittons had to do with it?
Jules ran an agitated hand through his hair and then let me have it, ‘Yes! The woman who meant more to him than my mother ever could.’
‘So?’
‘So I want it back. All of it, Lily. If there’s to be any selling to pay the taxes or whatever, I’ll be the one to make that decision.’
‘And myself? Don’t I have some say?’
‘It’s not your concern. What I do with my family’s home and finances is my affair and mine alone. To put it bluntly, it’s none of you business. Jean-Guy will inherit everything.’
I was shocked. ‘And Marie? Does she get nothing? Would you give everything to your son and nothing to your daughter for fear she would marry and someday inherit it all should Jean-Guy die? God forbid such cruelty. In a father who should care, it’s shameful.’
‘Lily, I want the jewellery. What did you do with it?’
‘Me? Pah! I know nothing. Ask them—ask your friends. Ask Marcel here. Perhaps he knows. Perhaps he was short of money.’
At an urgent knock, one of the nurses entered, saying, ‘Dr. Laurier, excuse me, please, but …’
‘Well, what is it?’ asked Dr. Laurier. ‘I told you not to bother us.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s an urgent call from Paris, form an Inspector Gaétan Dupuis. He’s asking if we have a patient by the name of Lily de St-Germain.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Two thirty-seven.’
‘Tell him to call back at a decent hour. There’s no one available to talk to him at present.’
‘He won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Then tell him we don’t have any patients by that name.’
The nurse leaves us and Dr. Laurier says, ‘Would you like me to make us some coffee? I’d offer
‘ Merde, how should I know? A painting. Can’t you understand what a place like this costs? Can’t you understand that the price of everything we might sell is down?’
‘Either of the Lautrecs in your bedroom would fetch two hundred forty thousand francs at least,’ commented Marcel dryly.
Vuitton glanced at his wife. Henri-Philippe looked as if he had swallowed something he shouldn’t have but didn’t want the hostess to know.
‘The dancers?’ exclaimed Jules, the argument bound to flare into absolute outrage now. ‘How could I possibly sell those?’
‘Quite easily,’ said Marcel, ‘but they would leave shadows on the walls to remind you of the loss.’
He knew—oh, how he knew my husband, almost as well as I, if not better. The sweaty red silk kerchief was still knotted about his swarthy throat. The bristles were still there under the chin and on the cheeks.
Subdued, Marcel had hardly spoken a word at the table. He had been short of money and had tried to borrow without success. Now I understood his outburst perfectly, or so I thought at the time.
‘Of course,’ he shrugged, ‘there’s another matter. Perhaps you should ask your charming wife about it.’
The smile from Jules was swift and unkind, the looks from the Vuittons of broken glass. ‘What did you do with it, Lily?’ he asked.
‘With what?’ I managed.
‘The jewel box.’
Jean-Guy, that brooch … ‘I don’t know what you mean. What jewel box? Your mother’s? It’s locked up in the bedroom, in the bottom drawer of that armoire your father bought.’
There was only the two of us now, one at either end of that table, the faces of the others but a blur to me. ‘You know very well what I mean,’ he said. ‘Where is it?’
I shrugged, gestured with my hands, and tried to lie my way out of it, then foolishly said, ‘What box? What jewellery? Is this something you’ve hidden away and tried to keep from me?’
He smiled again, triumphantly now, but then let it fade, and I knew, as he glanced at the Vuittons, exactly how much he resented my intrusion into his affairs and theirs.
‘It was in the attic, Lily. Some bits and pieces my father gave to Angélique Morin.’
‘His mistress!’ I said, wondering what the hell the Vuittons had to do with it?
Jules ran an agitated hand through his hair and then let me have it, ‘Yes! The woman who meant more to him than my mother ever could.’
‘So?’
‘So I want it back. All of it, Lily. If there’s to be any selling to pay the taxes or whatever, I’ll be the one to make that decision.’
‘And myself? Don’t I have some say?’
‘It’s not your concern. What I do with my family’s home and finances is my affair and mine alone. To put it bluntly, it’s none of you business. Jean-Guy will inherit everything.’
I was shocked. ‘And Marie? Does she get nothing? Would you give everything to your son and nothing to your daughter for fear she would marry and someday inherit it all should Jean-Guy die? God forbid such cruelty. In a father who should care, it’s shameful.’
‘Lily, I want the jewellery. What did you do with it?’
‘Me? Pah! I know nothing. Ask them—ask your friends. Ask Marcel here. Perhaps he knows. Perhaps he was short of money.’
At an urgent knock, one of the nurses entered, saying, ‘Dr. Laurier, excuse me, please, but …’
‘Well, what is it?’ asked Dr. Laurier. ‘I told you not to bother us.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s an urgent call from Paris, form an Inspector Gaétan Dupuis. He’s asking if we have a patient by the name of Lily de St-Germain.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Two thirty-seven.’
‘Tell him to call back at a decent hour. There’s no one available to talk to him at present.’
‘He won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Then tell him we don’t have any patients by that name.’
The nurse leaves us and Dr. Laurier says, ‘Would you like me to make us some coffee? I’d offer
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