“I won’t forget this evening,” Valois said. “It’s my first experience dining here, and I thank you for inviting us.”
“You won’t thank us when you hear what we have to say,” Serafina said. Led by Rosa, they laughed. She was glad to see Valois in this setting with his wife, Francoise, and their son, shy at first until Arcangelo and Teo asked him to sit next to them.
Clothed in a deep rose gown and wearing matching evening shoes, Tessa pointed to the pool and gardens filled with people strolling even at the late hour. They were theater goers enjoying intermission or perhaps a lover’s tryst, Rosa told her.
They took their places at two tables, both set with fine china, silver place settings, and crystal goblets. In the center of each table was an elaborate silver epergne filled with flowers flanked on either side by candelabra. The four younger people sat at one table, Serafina, Rosa, Carmela, Inspector and Madame Valois at the other. After they settled, the waiters brought out three bottles of champagne on ice, poured the bubbling liquid into flutes and disappeared, closing the double doors to their room. Valois stood and proposed a toast to the Palais Royal, its gardens and fountain, the restaurant, the evening, and to their continued collaboration.
“There’s been a mistake,” Serafina said. “We are nine and there are ten places, an empty one next to me, unless you mean for me to eat for two people.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Rosa said. She got up and walked out of the room. Valois looked at his wife and down at his plate and Arcangelo, Teo, and Charlus took the opportunity to excuse themselves and stand at the window. They pressed their hands to the glass and pointed out buildings and statues. Charlus’s arm shot out, gesturing to an unseen spot beyond the formal gardens. “My school’s across the river beyond the Invalides,” he said. “Louis Le Grand.”
“You’re lucky,” Teo said, and Arcangelo pulled at his sleeves.
“Don’t worry,” Tessa said to him, “you know more about donkeys and horses than anyone else.” Arcangelo’s face flooded with color.
Rosa returned a few minutes later, escorted by a man wearing a dinner jacket. As they approached the table, the young men returned to their seats. When they drew closer, Serafina started in her seat, but she bit her lip, trying to show as little emotion as possible. Her heart flew to her throat and she felt light-headed, but she sipped mineral water and steadied herself. Loffredo walked with Rosa to the table. Loffredo, looking gaunt but smiling. He was free and Serafina struggled not to run to him.
“Thanks to you, our countryman is free,” Rosa said and clapped, inclining her head to Valois.
“An evening of surprises,” Valois said, straightening his table napkin while Loffredo seated himself next to Serafina and smiled at her. Underneath the table, his hand found her knee.
They drank, and Serafina, blinking and trying to control her voice and her mind, announced their discovery at La Maternite this afternoon.
There was silence.
Valois touched the satin lapels of his dinner jacket, surprised at Elena’s appointment with Dr. Tarnier on the afternoon of April 16. “Since the coroner claimed that she died almost twelve hours earlier, either the countess has extraordinary powers of rejuvenation or could not have been the woman in the Rue Cassette, and we have another mystery on our hands.” He opened his notebook and wrote something.
“And a different murder,” Serafina said. “And different suspects,” she added looking at Valois.
“Unless Dr. Tarnier’s assistant was mixed up with the dates,” Rosa said, adding that they didn’t speak to Tarnier directly because he was out of town, but to the chef de la Maternite who obtained his appointment book.
Squeezing Loffredo’s hand, Serafina, whose cheeks were burning, looked at Rosa who gave nothing away. But Serafina’s ardor, like a passing breeze, quickly died when she saw Francoise staring at them. After all, at the table sat an inspector of La Surete Nationale and his wife, the latter more discerning when it came to matters of the heart, Serafina knew. Carmela seemed to sense the danger, too. She frowned, her eyes darting from her mother to Valois. Serafina took a large swallow of mineral water and pressed the linen to her lips, her cheeks beginning to cool.
She realized the delicate position she was in. Valois must not know of her affair with Loffredo. She glanced at the inspector and decided there was no threat from him, but his wife was another matter. Francoise Valois’s eyes flicked around the room, taking in more than the decor. She seemed to inhale the relationships of people with one another. Now her eyes moved from Loffredo to Serafina and a slight smile played about her face.
Beyond Serafina’s present situation was another problem. What was she feeling? It wasn’t passion for the man seated next to her-well, not an overwhelming force, at any rate. She stole another look at him. He was grayer, more chiseled, but impeccably attired and groomed. His recent suffering was apparent and fired her compassion. She knew he was incapable of murder, had been wrongly accused because of the mistakes and deception of others. She felt sorry for the man who had lost all claims to inheriting his wife’s fortune. Had their affair run its course, or had the fear of discovery dampened her ardor for the moment? If her eyes swam, so did her soul. Best to stuff her confusion for the evening. Now it was time for her to solve the mysterious disappearance of Elena.
She had other questions. If they found Elena alive and well, would Loffredo still be implicated in a murder? She was unsure and must ask Valois, but she didn’t see how. After all, where was his motive?
Francoise Valois put down her glass. “Dr. Tarnier would not allow a discrepancy in his appointment book. It is unthinkable. I know the man and the hospital. He is an esteemed and exacting physician, a very popular chief of surgery at La Maternite.”
“Nonetheless, we must check the dates with him when he returns to his office next week,” Valois said. His voice was stony.
“His assistant returns Monday,” Serafina said.
Valois shrugged. “Of course we’ll speak to him, but before we approach Madame de Masson, I think we must hear it from Tarnier’s lips.”
Valois turned to Loffredo. “You’ve told us that you and your wife were estranged, that you had little contact with each other except as her escort to certain functions whenever she requested your presence. She’d write to you and you’d travel to Paris to be at her side, not staying with her, but were a frequent guest at a small hotel on the Rue Jacob.”
Loffredo nodded.
“Do you know anything about her condition or her physicians? The other men in her life? Her current suitor? To your knowledge, was she with child?”
Loffredo removed his hand from Serafina’s and stole a glance at her before replying. “When I arrived in Paris, Elena told me that she was with child. I was surprised. She didn’t tell me who the father was or who her physician was. And I’m afraid I didn’t ask.”
“Why would she choose the chief of surgery at La Maternite to be her physician?” Rosa asked. “And why would she choose a physician at all? Wouldn’t she want a midwife?”
Rosa had a point.
“Unless she felt there might be complications. She is a primigravida with close to forty years,” Francoise said.
“And there could indeed be other complications,” Serafina said, “considering Elena’s nature. She’s had many lovers.” Rosa looked at Serafina. They’d known each other for so long, and Serafina was sure Rosa was thinking the same thing, the possibility of disease. They were Italian and the Valois were French. What would they think of people who spoke so unreservedly about their own? Worse, Serafina hinted at a subject best left untouched in polite society under any circumstances, but decidedly not mentioned at table. And yet she knew that this was a murder investigation and they were pressed for time. Secrets and innuendoes only hindered progress.
During the rest of the conversation concerning Elena’s condition, Loffredo kept his eyes fixed on the menu.