Chapter 5
I slip on my shoes and take the stairs at a jog. On the main level, I walk through the kitchen to the dining room, where the French doors open to the private grounds.
Paranoid or not, I won’t risk exiting through the front.
In the sheltered garden, I hurry to the pebbled path, winding through evergreens and budding blooms. When I round a corner, I find a woman standing in silence.
Shiny blonde hair styled to perfection, she wears a navy jacket over a silk blouse. When she sees me, she goes rigid, her gaze narrowing with sharp accusation.
“Hello,” I say, frozen in place.
She scowls. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Her scathing eyes travel over me, and I shrink inside my T-shirt, feeling every stray thread of my frayed blue jeans. It doesn’t matter if that’s how they’re designed. Beneath her withering stare, I don’t feel fashionable. Only disheveled and inferior.
“I’m…I’m Brooke,” I stutter, pulling off the hat and glasses. “I’m staying in the end unit.”
My explanation changes nothing. She continues to level me with a glare. “The gardens are for family.” She punctuates every word, each knocking me down an inch.
“I’m sorry.” Flustered, I step back, the one and only rule sounding in my brain like a siren.
Don’t disturb the family. Don’t disturb the family.
Face flaming, I retreat another step, hands up in apology. “I didn’t realize.”
“Please,” a second voice breaks in, “you are welcome to use the gardens.” The words carry from behind the shrubbery, and a woman in a wheelchair rolls forward to reveal herself.
Much older than the blonde, but equally elegant.
Even sitting, her stature is regal, gray hair twisted in a classy chignon.
She darts her sharp gaze to the other woman. “Please, excuse my daughter-in-law. I’m sure Chantal is only surprised.” Her voice is smooth as silk, barely catching on the pointed barb.
The blonde stands taller but stares at the ground. I get the sense of an established hierarchy. And Chantal is not on top.
The woman in the chair rolls closer. “My name is Musidora Marteau.” Everything about her shouts authority, and I’m certain I’ve met the mistress of the house.
“Luci said you’d arrived late.”
“I did. My flight was rerouted.” The heat recedes from my cheeks, but then I remember my suitcase clattering in the courtyard. “I hope I didn’t wake anyone.”
“Not at all.” She lifts her chin and studies me, friendly but appraising. “Will you be with us for a while?”
“A couple of weeks.”
At this, Chantal makes a sound in her throat and stalks away, as if sharing a roof with a commoner is too much to bear.
Musidora continues to hold her smile, ignoring the other woman’s behavior. “We want you to be welcome and at home.” Crossing her hands in her lap, she nods once, as if she’s made a decision. “You should join us for dinner. Tomorrow night.” Her words offer invitation, but her voice issues command.
I feel like I can’t refuse, but the idea jangles my nerves. Dinner means conversation, conversation means questions, questions mean evasion.
Which is a nice word for lying.
“Thank you, but I’d hate to be a bother.”
“Nonsense. You’ll have a chance to meet the rest of the family.” She wiggles her brows. “So no one will accost you if you dare wander in the garden.”
I can’t keep my lips from turning up at the corners. The older woman and I have a silent exchange, acknowledging Chantal’s rudeness without saying a word.
I move closer, holding the hat to my chest like a shield. “Your home is beautiful, and it’s nice that you all live here together.”
“Oh, yes. Chantal and my son Vincent, their two boys. And Luci, of course.”
She doesn’t mention Luci’s parents, and I don’t ask. Instead, I work up a cheery grin. “I’m on my way out for groceries, but I’m glad I got to meet you. And dinner tomorrow, what time should I—”
“Eight o’clock. You’ll be welcomed at the front.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, telling the lie smoothly, like the actress I am. But this family speaks English as if born to the language, and I get the sense nothing slips past Musidora Marteau.
She inclines her head. “Enjoy the city.”
As she rolls back to whatever she’d been doing before, I continue on the path, my muscles melting with relief, as if I’ve passed a test I didn’t know to study for.
Dinner wasn’t on my schedule for tomorrow, and I hate to give up the time I could be working instead. But I also don’t want to offend Musidora. Clearly, she’s the family matriarch.
At least I know how to mingle with the privileged few, a skill required to navigate Hollywood. Whether Los Angeles or Paris, one thing holds true.
The rich and powerful are a different species.
The gardens span half the length of the park, but eventually I reach the back gate. More black metal bars but older, the door opening with a creak to a shaded alley.
Stone walls enclose the walkway like a labyrinth, three paths curving in different directions. Children’s voices carry on the air, so I let them guide me toward the park.
As I round the outer wall of the mansion gardens, I find a mismatched patch of cobblestones, the stones slightly off-color and more worn than the rest. Ivy trails over most of the wall, but the exposed lower section looks like a metal door.
Where does it go? Does it lead to the gardens? Maybe an old entrance no longer in use?
Curiosity overrides my good sense, and I glance in both directions before easing closer to search the ivy. Pieces of the vines pull away in chunks, leaving roots clinging to the iron.
Instead of damaging the plant, I switch tactics, gently spreading leaves, searching for a doorknob. Instead, I find a metal plate and a heavy padlock. My fingers brush over metal, climbing higher and higher until they bump over a hard rim.
I move aside more ivy, revealing a long, narrow window in the door. I close one eye and peek through.
But there’s no garden on the other side, only darkness and the stink of mold filtering from the hole.
The door leads underground.
Stepping back, I rub my nose and exhale, trying to rid myself of the musty smell. Nothing but an old door to an old set of stairs. Probably leading to the basement of the mansion.
Nowhere I’d want to go.
Suddenly chilled, I turn and walk down the path, happy to leave the alley and the mysterious door.