Chapter 18
The VIP section, where the party guests were watching the game, joined in the collective euphoria, leaving their champagne glasses on the small wooden tables attached to the seats.
I had never seen a stadium like this. Then again, I had never been a special guest at any event before. I relaxed in the wide, comfortable seat while Alex shouted and jumped around like one of the fans.
“That’s Marc Rideaux!” he shouted, pointing to a massive man who looked too tall to even fit through my front door.
Not that I was imagining him coming through the door of my house.
I smiled and nodded, putting the phone away. I had thanked Enzo, but with my enthusiastic companion keeping me company, I wouldn’t need extra information about the game.
I looked for Bastian and Elo?se. As if they wanted to distance themselves as much as possible from me (something impossible, as the seats were assigned at the entrance), they sat at the far end of the VIP area, right at the front.
There was a group of people around them, but none of them was Laurent Dubois.
The match lasted for a while, and I sat in silence until the moment of truth arrived at eight in the evening.
The game ended with cheers for the Bordeaux Belleviste, who had won by two points in the final seconds.
The team left the court, and the attendees began to leave the stadium. It was party time.
A group of hostesses dressed in green flooded the VIP area. Some of the Dubois party guests had already gotten up from their seats, impatient for the game to end and the fun to start. I was feeling the same, to be honest.
I had located Laurent Dubois. He was turned away from me, accompanied by a tall, thin woman.
They chatted with Elo?se and Bastian, which didn’t surprise me.
Laurent Dubois knew that his beloved daughter was dating him, but…
Did he also know that Bastian was part of Saidi?
Or had they decided to keep that precious information hidden?
From the way the man’s shoulders lifted with his relaxed laughter, I guessed that was another secret of my colleague. First, he hid it from André, then from Laurent Dubois. Maybe that information would be useful to me someday.
I could have walked in their direction, pretended to greet Bastian, and let him be forced to introduce me to Mr Dubois… but my date had other plans. Alex ran after one of the hostesses, grabbing my arm.
“Allez!” he said.
He looked like a kid in a candy store, ironically, because in a way, he was.
“If you wanted to come so badly,” I asked, following the other guests. I had lost sight of Dubois again. “Why were you selling the tickets?”
“Oh…” he said, widening his smile. “I won them in a raffle. I saw the price at which other people were selling them and… I couldn’t resist selling them. I needed that money.”
I knew. Even though he thought I didn’t. How I’d love to tell him that the money he had was not mine but the host’s. I could almost picture him bolting out of the stadium, hot dog in hand, if he knew.
With a sigh, I followed him inside. White stone columns stood at each corner, supporting a ceiling adorned with small, dim lamps.
The low tables, scattered with sculptures of fallen lotus flowers glowing with embedded light bulbs, added to the delicate ambience.
The entire room seemed to breathe spring’s freshness, even as winter loomed just around the corner.
Roses, tulips, and climbing vines adorned every surface, and the round tables were draped in expensive white cloths featuring Art Nouveau patterns, save for one bold purple exception.
“But,” Alex said, pulling me from my thoughts as we searched for our seats at tables GC48 and GC49. “You didn’t have to say you wanted both tickets. I mean, I know I’m here using one of the tickets, but I kind of need the money for both…”
“You can keep it. I don’t want the money.”
He opened his eyes wide.
“All of it?”
Doing that felt right. I might not be able to use the money to pay for anything substantial for myself, but maybe… Maybe I could give it to other people. I could go around London buying random shit from those who needed it the most.
I told myself I would do that as soon as I got back home.
“Buy yourself a real belt, for God’s sake. Would you do me that favour?”
Alex pulled out my chair and thanked me. We sat down.
The rest of the guests followed suit. Soon, the only empty table was the one belonging to the Dubois family, with the purple tablecloth.
Then they walked on stage. Laurent Dubois, all business, and his daughter, Elo?se, who flashed that perfect smile, the one that made her Instagram famous, dimples and all.
I would’ve loved to sit through her charming little speech. I’m sure it was riveting, but my phone buzzed. My mum. Fantastic timing. I jumped out of my seat so fast I nearly tripped, muttered something to Alex about needing a minute, and slipped out of the room.
“Before you say anything,” I began, breathless, “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up about tomorrow. Please tell me you haven’t made the dessert yet.”
My mother sighed, a mix of frustration and worry clouding her voice. “Why not?”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to deliver the one phrase every mother dreads hearing: “Don’t be scared,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I have something to tell you.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more tentative. “What is it, Vera?”
I rubbed my temples, trying to find the right words. “Mom, I… I’m in a bit of a mess. I’m dealing with something much bigger than I thought.”
“Is this about your job?” Her voice wavered. “I’ve heard you mention it a lot lately.”
“Something came up, and I don’t know how it is related to my case, but it is. I just need to figure things out here.”
My background has never been one thing I like to discuss. Not even with mum, not even over the phone, in a different time zone than she was.
“I took extra turns all weekend,” she sighed. “I was hoping you could help me around the house.”
I felt a pang of guilt. “I know, mum. And I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll help you next week.”
Her silence was heavy. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I just wish things were different. I wish we didn’t have to fight so hard just to stay afloat.”
“I know,” I said softly. “I wish the same. But right now, I need to focus on getting through this. I promise I’ll explain everything when I can.”
I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
“Just… be careful, okay?”
“I will,” I assured her. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
When I returned to the room, the speech had ended, and a baked fish dish had appeared at my seat.
Alex was making faces at it while murmuring that he would have preferred to be left alone with the hot dog cart.
In front of us, there were two men and an older woman who laughed at their jokes every three seconds.
“Kids your age only eat junk!” said the man, a bald, fat gentleman who had been playing with the fish instead of eating it.
“Antoine, you have no idea what kids your age do,” interjected another man. “You left that behind a long time ago.”
The woman didn’t chime in. She was focused on her tiny bits of bread and occasionally laughed in a thin whistle.
“What I know,” the man spoke again, “is that when I was young, I wasn’t lucky enough to walk around with such beautiful girls.”
The poor woman next to him seemed to think otherwise. I smiled with my teeth, hoping my disgust didn’t show on my face.
“What are your names?” asked the second man.
My teenage companion answered with his mouth full, dragging out the gggg.
“I’m Vera. With an r, not a g.”
“Verra. Where are you from, dear?”
“Spain. But I live in London. I go to Cutnam Law.”
The man looked at me with interest.
“And how come you came all the way here for a game? A fan of our Belleviste or supporter of the family?”
“Let’s just say…” I replied, drowning out Alex’s sorbet, “I’m an acquaintance of Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore.”
The fish was awful, and talking to those men made me feel like I was stuck at a wedding. Waiters buzzed around, swapping out plates of unfamiliar dishes with sorbet between courses. The only thing people actually finished was their drinks.
The first man looked at me with more interest.
“Oh, really? I don’t remember you. But I haven’t seen her friends in years. The only memory I have is of Elo?se sending a group of little girls from one side of her father’s house to the other.”
His words made me remember something Larousse had said when I visited him with my boss.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are you Antoine Benit? Friend of Mr Larousse?”
“The same!” he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “Do we know each other?”
“Do you know him?” Alex asked with his mouth open.
“Not really. I’ve heard of you.”
The man laughed, giving his friend an elbow.
“Did you hear that, Joseph? I’m famous.”
The other man looked at me with a furrowed brow. The woman was still focused on her dessert, a ball of ice cream in a terrifying green colour. I had no idea who she was. But…
“And you are Joseph Badou,” I stated, addressing the thinner man.
“Tell us, did Larousse tell endless school tales to bore anyone who would listen, eh?”
He probably did. If these two men were friends of Timotheo Larousse, the same ones who had witnessed the argument between Antonia Hawtrey-Moore and Ivet…
“Elo?se didn’t mention that her father’s friends would be coming. How come you’re here?”
Joseph answered.
“Between us, it would be a bit rude not to come to a Dubois charity event, wouldn’t it? Though it’s not like we were particularly excited, given the situation…”
“We don’t want our actions to negatively affect Tim in any way.”
Got it. The importance of good press! If Timotheo Larousse’s friends showed a good relationship with the Dubois family… or, on the contrary, if the Dubois continued to accept those closest to Larousse among their own…
The public opinion would be more inclined to doubt Larousse’s involvement in Antonia’s murder.
“Yes,” I conceded. “Our support is important; Elo?se deserves to see familiar faces among all these people.”
Though I was sure she would have preferred not to see my face ever again.
“I agree. Well said, Vera. We’re almost like her uncles!”
I gave a modest smile. If I played my cards right, I could get something out of them.
“I’m just sorry that…” I began, then, looking down, I said, “Oh, well, never mind.”
Antoine pressed his fat belly against the table, urging me.
“What is it, dear?”
“That they’ve seated us so far from them,” I whispered. “I don’t understand why they would do it!” I feigned bewilderment.
Although the seats had been assigned by ticket number, it was clear that those personally invited by the Dubois formed the inner circle of the room, seated at the white tables adjacent to the purple one.
If Alex and I had these seats, it was because we hadn’t been personally invited by them. And neither had Antoine Benit and Joseph Badou.
“Oh, that.” Antoine shifted in his seat. “I don’t have a clear answer for you. Do you, Joseph?”
Joseph Badou scratched his chin. He mimicked his friend’s cautious tone.
“I guess there are too many guests in here tonight.”
I sighed, making sure my smile didn’t disappear. “Yes, I agree. I wish Elo?se had warned me, I’m not too fond of crowds. Did she ever mention it would be like this to you, gentlemen?”
Badou and Benit exchanged glances.
“She didn’t. We didn’t get the chance to speak to her before the event.”
Joseph Badou nodded.
“She’s been a little… Secluded, I would say. But we’re here supporting the family. Nothing else.”
I held his gaze. No, they hadn’t spoken to Elo?se since Antonia’s death, even if they were her dad’s closest friends.
What did that tell me about Larousse? I weighed two possibilities, both equally heavy: either Elo?se wanted nothing to do with Larousse’s case, or she believed the men had something to hide.
Nothing else. Change of subject.
“This dessert is inedible,” I said.
Both men laughed, and with that, the conversation was over.
They had revealed more than they intended.
Now I knew the topic of Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore was dangerous territory.
She was the link between the family Timotheo and Antonia had created and the family she had left behind.
A link that, in the eyes of the press, had remained cordial until now.
Until Antonia’s death changed everything.
Laurent Dubois had kept his daughter close and everyone else at a distance. What did he know that the public was unaware of?