Chapter 33
We descended to the main living room, trailing behind Mr Dubois like a group of preschoolers at lunchtime.
The catering staff who were still in the house had pulled back the curtain that divided the room in half and set up a large wooden table in the centre.
The table, meant for many more guests than we were, seemed ridiculously large in proportion to the number of dishes laid out.
I was grateful for it. The more space there was between the Dubois and me, the better.
I chose to sit in a corner, away from Enzo, Laurent Dubois, and their friends.
Gina, after circling the table a couple of times, sat down next to me.
“Elo?se still hasn’t arrived,” she said with a smile that tried to mask her unease.
Bastian, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his displeasure. I gave him a discreet kick under the table, and he looked up at me, a hint of irritation in his eyes.
“Stop,” he complained.
“Smile a little,” I whispered. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
When everyone was seated, Mr Dubois spoke.
“If you don’t mind…” he said, looking around, “we’re going to wait for those who are missing.”
“It won’t be necessary,” Talia said. She had just entered the room, wearing a long, light-coloured dress with thin straps, adjusting some shiny earrings on her left ear. “Sorry for the wait, something came up.”
Laurent Dubois placed his hand on his wife’s waist. “No problem, chérie. Either way, Norman is still missing, so is Elo?se,” he commented. “Maybe I should go fetch them.”
Talia scanned the table, searching for a free seat. Her eyes landed on Enzo, and she flashed a quick smile before stepping away from her husband. “I think Elo?se was upstairs,” she said.
“I’ll go fetch them,” Dubois insisted, but his words were cut off by the sound of the chair scraping against the marble floor. “Excuse me,” he added, hurrying off.
What happened next is still a blur in my memory.
Talia approached Enzo, her dress glimmering in the light of the room.
Maybe it was the shock, but it felt like watching a movie scene in slow motion.
Mr. Dubois had just gotten up when Norman Plaskitt appeared at the opposite corner from the man, as if he had known in advance where each guest and each Dubois family member would sit.
A bang. A gunshot rang out, piercing through the room.
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
Then came the screams, piercing and frantic, followed by a second bang.
Chairs scraped against the floor, followed by the shattering sound of dishes breaking.
Bastian’s face twisted from confusion to stark fear.
I tore my gaze away from him, scanning the room for the source of the chaos.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. I mean it. I don’t think I’ll ever erase the image of Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore lying on the floor, a gunshot wound to her stomach, from my mind.
The chaos erupted as soon as the first people began to descend the stairs from the second floor. I can’t recall whether the initial scream came from Talia or the staff.
Elo?se lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, her form stark and tragic against the gleaming marble floor.
Next to me, Gina stood frozen, rigid. Laurent Dubois kneeled beside his daughter, shouting, yelling, howling.
Someone called an ambulance. Then, Enzo lifted his sister’s lifeless body and carried her out of the house.
Some of the other guests covered their faces, hands over their mouths, nausea from the shock winning over their bodies.
Others lifted their hands to their heads, frightened, tearful eyes glancing at each other.
The chauffeur took the Dubois outside. The staff tried to calm the rest of the guests.
Many cried, many called taxis, and many stared at the bloodstain Elo?se had left on the floor, not knowing what to do.
No one had seen who fired the gun, but everyone had different theories. One of those people had shot Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore.
I felt bile rising from the bottom of my throat.
The food grew cold on the table. Some of the staff began to clean up the table, leaving the crime scene untouched. I was one of the last to leave the house.
No one saw Elo?se’s body again, given that Enzo had taken her outside, and the ambulance arrived soon after. The guests began to whisper.
“Is she dead?”
“Is she dead?”
After the ambulance arrived, the police came, and the whispers shifted.
“She’s dead.”
“Who could have done it?”
They cordoned off the stairs with yellow tape and removed everyone from the house.
Gina’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open as she froze, the colour draining from her face.
Somehow, Bastian managed to push both of us into a police car.
We spent several hours at the station, the Bordeaux Gendarmerie running around, interviewing everyone who had been at the Dubois mansion that afternoon.
No one had seen anything suspicious. No one had noticed any change in the victim or any of the guests. No one had heard the first gunshot. No one had had any contact with Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore since lunch.
Except for me.
I was the last person who had seen her. I was the last person who had spoken to her.
I kept that detail to myself. If I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, I had to stay silent.
Confessing wouldn’t help; my conversation with Elo?se couldn’t clarify what had happened afterwards.
I knew that placing Elo?se chronologically in one room or another in the house would help them understand what had happened. But that wasn’t my problem.
I’d had enough.
Bastian spent a long time arguing with one of the police officers, who insisted on keeping us there until they clarified the situation. I don’t know how he did it, but soon after, Gina, he, and I were on the first flight back to London.
“Bastian,” I said once the plane took off, trying not to disturb Gina. “I have something important to tell you.”
Bastian glanced my way, his head tilted to the left.
I could only imagine how tough this was for him.
He had known Elo?se for months, and despite their complicated relationship, he was the type who never wished harm on anyone.
It had been an emotional rollercoaster for all of us.
But I had to get this weight off my chest. This piece of information I didn’t know what to do with.
“What’s wrong?” Bastian asked, concern etched across his face.
“Earlier, when we were in the living room waiting for dinner, I saw…”
Bastian jumped, sitting up straighter. He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice until I could barely hear him.
“You saw something? Do you know who did it?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
I shook my head. “It has nothing to do with Elo?se,” I said, tracing the name of the girl with my lips without saying it out loud, in case Gina could hear me. “It’s about Ivet.”
Bastian’s frown deepened, his eyebrows sinking further.
“Ivet Birtwistle? The nanny?”
“I saw a picture of her. It was from many years ago, but…”
“But what?”
“But I remember her face; her features were very distinctive.” I tried not to raise my voice, but fear made it come out higher than I intended. “Bastian, the woman we went to visit isn’t Ivet Birtwistle. She was someone pretending to be her.”