Chapter 23
I had been in the Dubois family’s mansion for eight hours.
After my moment with Enzo, a kind man showed me to my room, across from Gina’s, with its own bathroom. He mentioned we could use the landline to call for service if needed, just like in a hotel.
I’d love to say that the mansion’s eccentricity or the grandeur of the place kept me awake, but I was out like a light. I woke up in the largest bed I’d ever seen, barely recalling the journey from the car to the mattress. At least I had remembered to set my alarm.
We were about half an hour from Bordeaux, in a spot with little around, not much apart from fields and cows.
It seemed strange to build a mansion here, but it seemed suitable for a family like the Dubois; it made sense.
Away from the gossip, it was the perfect place for them to plot their schemes, tucked away from anyone with a phone camera.
It was eight in the morning on a Sunday, and I would have loved to stay in bed and enjoy the calm.
But there were 24 hours left until the deadline to spend the Club Montari money, I was at the Dubois’s family manor, and what awaited me as soon as I set foot out of bed was a very nice and also very awkward brunch with the two guys I had kissed the night before.
The sound of knuckles rapping against the door jolted me from my thoughts.
I got up, my feet sinking into the soft, warm carpet.
Beside the bed, a plain wheeled cart served as a makeshift nightstand, holding a glass of water and an ibuprofen.
I downed them in one go. The last day’s hangover had simmered down to a dull ache at the base of my skull.
I could have gone without the ibuprofen, but I opted for the easy route.
The room stretched wide, shadows pooling in corners. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror that covered the entire wall, bordered with a silver frame, a mess of tangled hair and smudged eyeliner, the remnants of last night clinging to my face. I would take care of that later.
I had locked the door with a bolt, which I released with a flick of my wrist.
“Finally!” Gina burst into my room. “Damn it, V. I’ve been knocking on the door for ten minutes. I could hear your phone alarm from the hallway.”
If there was anything stranger than waking up in a millionaire’s mansion in France, it was Gina getting up before me.
“I didn’t get a wink of sleep,” she explained, and then she dropped a pile of clothes on my bed.
“I don’t know if there’s anything you like,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, “Elo?se gave them to me.”
Elo?se. It seemed my friend hadn’t spent the night in the room that nice little man had assigned her. I dropped into the seat across from her and sifted through the pile of clothes. Not a trace of pink. I let out a low groan, my eyes barely open, and her laughter echoed in response.
I chose a white dress, short, with wide sleeves and a corset-style fitted waist. Elo?se and I were different sizes, but Gina did her best to adjust the bodice to my waist. The dress covered enough and had an elegant flair.
It was giving white tie, in the sense that it was white and so tight that my breasts were like a tie around my neck.
I still get dizzy thinking about how hard it was to breathe in it, for God’s sake. I wished that day would end soon.
“Aren’t you going to brunch?” I said to Gina, seeing her lying back on my bed, still in her pyjamas.
“I am,” she stifled a yawn. “Tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how likely is it that the French included a decent chicken tikka masala on the menu?”
I chuckled. “Slim to none, I just hope they have chocolate crepes.”
Gina sat up like a zombie resurrected at the mention of food, back straight, eyes wide open.
“Crepes! If they have ham and cheese, I think I could let go of the chicken thing.”
I slapped her thigh.
“You’re not going to eat crepes with your dear Elo?se looking like that. Get dressed!”
I planted my feet on the ground and started to get up. There were a few things I wanted to take care of before meeting the Dubois. I admit, I was eager to snoop around the house a bit.
“Wait,” Gina stopped me. “I saw him earlier.”
I thought she was talking about Bastian.
To be honest, I didn’t understand the ins and outs of the relationship Gina, Elo?se, and he had put together in just over a day.
Both of them were dating Elo?se. Elo?se was dating both.
Did I think Gina was moving too fast by traveling to another country to meet the family of the girl she had met the night before?
Yes. Did it surprise me? No. Gina has done crazier things for love in the few months we’ve been sharing a flat.
“What? Did he walk into Elo?se’s room? Did he kill the mood?”
Gina pursed her lips, squinting at me.
I quickly realized my mistake.
“No, Vera. I’m talking about…”
“Oh. Enzo.”
“Elo told me they are siblings,” she added, biting her lip.
The conversation we had last night came back to me all at once. What Laurent Dubois had told me, what Bastian had discovered. It wasn’t a topic I could just let pass. Gina had to know.
I lowered my voice, just in case.
“Listen, Enzo is helping me with the money issue,” I said. “It doesn’t matter who he is or what his family is like. He’s with me.”
“That’s great!” I replied. “Maybe I can convince Elo?se to help us, too. She has a lot of influence, right?”
It pained me to shatter her dream with what Dubois had told me. I recognized that look in her eyes: Gina was already daydreaming about the future. If I dated Enzo and she dated Elo?se, we could be family. We could get married on the same day and wear matching dresses.
But I didn’t believe in fate, and I wasn’t sure that was the future I envisioned, either. Not with so many things happening around us.
“Elo?se can’t know,” I said, carefully choosing my words, “not yet. Not until we know how the Club’s money ended up in my hands.”
I told her that Mr. Dubois had revealed that Antonia Hawtrey-Moore had left a small part of her inheritance to Elo?se.
Nothing had gone to her current husband, nor to Laurent Dubois…
nor to Enzo. An inheritance of ten million pounds.
The Club belonged to the Dubois family, but if Elo?se was as much Dubois as Hawtrey-Moore, it wasn’t too far-fetched to think the money came from her.
Or was it?
“I don’t know… Why would she give you the money? She didn’t know who you were before Friday at the Club, right?”
“No,” I admitted.
That was a big flaw in my reasoning, because I was sure that whoever had sent me the money had personal reasons for doing so.
“There’s one more thing,” I said, remembering Laurent Dubois’ words.
It was not a clue, just a name, a simple fact.
I planned to investigate it anyway. “The chauffeur. A guy named Norman. Norman Plaskitt. He’s the only person left here who connects Antonia with her old family, besides Elo?se.
He was on the list of suspects I found in André’s office. ”
Gina raised an eyebrow.
“Are you planning to talk to him? What do you expect him to know, Vera?”
“Fair question,” I said with a slight smile. “But lucky for you, you’ll be the one having that talk, so you can fill me in later.”
Gina started to reply, then paused, her face uncertain. She shut her mouth again, clearly unsure of what to say.
“I can’t handle this on my own,” I added. “Laurent Dubois already has his suspicions about me. If I start digging into family matters, it’ll only confirm what he’s thinking.”
Gina let out a hiss, her brow furrowed. “Let me get this straight. Enzo is Elo?se’s brother, and he’s helping you find out where the money came from.
You think Elo?se sent it to you, somehow or for some reason you can’t even think of.
You’ve travelled to France to talk to a billionaire who hasn’t told you anything important.
And, to top it all off, now you want me to question a man who appears as a murder suspect on a somewhat shady list you stole from your boss,” she said all in one breath.
I gave her an apologetic smile.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Gina sighed, her face showing exasperation.
“I love you, V, but I think you’ve completely lost it.”
“Just talk to him,” I brought my hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please. Just a few questions.”
“About what? Elo?se? The inheritance?”
“Both things, yes.”
Gina looked at me for a moment.
“Alright,” she finally agreed. “But you owe me a big one.”
Anxiety twisted in my gut as soon as I left the room, the kind that tightens your chest and makes your palms sweat.
Time felt like a ticking bomb, and every second that passed made my heart pound.
I paced around the mansion, racking my brain for ways to spend the money.
I should have been doing that instead of attending some stupid brunch.
Besides, I kept imagining the police showing up at my door, returning to Cutnam, only to find an order of arrest under my name for spending money that wasn’t mine.
It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake the dread.
Now, sitting here, detained, the irony of it all is almost laughable. But that came later.
What horrified me most wasn’t the money issue or what would wait for me in London, but the sheer extravagance of the house itself, clouding everything else.
According to the emergency map next to the stairs leading to the second and third floors, the mansion had twenty rooms, including two kitchens (yes, two!) and numerous bathrooms. The Dubois were a small family: a father, a new wife, a rarely seen daughter, and a son who never showed up.
The sheer scale of the place was absurd.
“No, dear,” a woman in a white apron, the head of the service, told me in French, “we’re not here just for the brunch. The catering handles that. We work here every weekend, the whole team. Is that what you’re asking about?”