‘Yes, I know, you don’t have to tell me,’ Alexandra interrupted.
‘They’ll examine the boot, the seats and so on,’ Vandoosler went on. ‘You must have heard of the kind of thing. You’ll get it back when they’ve finished with it. There we are, that’s all,’ he said, patting the young woman’s shoulder.
Alexandra sat quite still, with the vacant look of one who is surveying a scene of total disaster. Marc was wondering whether he should kick his bloody godfather out of the house once and for all, take him by the shoulders of his impeccable grey jacket, punch him in his beautiful face, and push him out of the window.
Vandoosler looked up and met his eyes, ‘I know what you’re thinking, Marc. It would make you feel better, I’m sure. But save your breath and leave me alone. I can be useful, whatever happens, and whatever they pin on her.’
Marc remembered the murderer whom Vandoosler had allowed to get away, against all the rules of justice. He was trying not to panic, but the scenario that his godfather had outlined was perfectly plausible. Very plausible even. He suddenly heard once more Kyril’s little voice saying that he wanted to have supper with them because he’d had enough of the car. Had Alexandra taken him with her the previous night? The night she had gone to fetch the body? No, surely not, it was too awful to contemplate. The child must have been thinking of some other journey. Alexandra had been driving round at night for eleven months.
Marc looked at the others. Mathias was crumbling a piece of bread. Lucien was dusting a shelf with the dirty tea towel. And he was waiting for Alexandra to react, to explain, to start shouting.
‘It makes a lot of sense,’ she said at last.
‘Yes, it makes sense,’ Vandoosler agreed.
‘You’re crazy, say something else!’ Marc beseeched Alexandra.
‘She’s not crazy at all,’ said Vandoosler. ‘She’s very intelligent.’
‘But what about the others?’ said Marc. ‘She’s not the only one who would inherit Sophia’s money. There’s her mother…’
Alexandra clenched the handkerchief in her fist.
‘Her mother’s out of it,’ said Vandoosler. ‘She hasn’t budged from Lyon. She’s been to her office every day, Saturdays included. She works part time and fetches Kyril from school every afternoon. Cast-iron and checked.’
‘Thank you,’ breathed Alexandra.
‘Well, what about Relivaux?’ asked Marc. ‘He must surely be the one who stands to get the most, isn’t he? And, what’s more, he has a mistress.’
‘Relivaux’s not looking too good, that’s true. Quite a few night-time disappearances since his wife vanished. But he didn’t do anything to try and find her, remember. No body, no inheritance.’
‘Oh, come on. He knew she’d be found sooner or later.’
‘It’s possible,’ conceded Vandoosler. ‘Leguennec isn’t letting him off the hook, don’t worry.’
‘And what about the rest of the family?’ asked Marc. ‘Lex. Who else is there in the family?’
‘Ask your uncle. He seems to know everything before anyone else does.’
‘Eat some bread,’ Mathias said to Marc. ‘It’ll relax your jaw.’
‘D’you think so?’
Mathias nodded and passed him a slice, which Marc munched idiotically, as he listened to Vandoosler communicating more information.
‘The third inheritor is Sophia’s father, who lives in Dourdan,’ Vandoosler said. ‘Siméonidis père is one of his daughter’s greatest fans. He never missed any of her concerts. In fact he met his second wife at the Paris Opera. The second wife had come along to see her son, who just had a walk-on part, and she was very proud of him. And she was also very proud to have met, simply by the accident of being next to him in the stalls, the father of the prima donna. She probably thought he could help her son, but things went further, they got married and they live in his house in Dourdan. Two points: Siméonidis isn’t rich, and he can still drive. But the bottom line is this: he’s passionately devoted to his daughter. He was absolutely prostrated to hear of her death, he has collected everything there is to know about her, press cuttings, photos, the lot. Apparently it takes up a whole room in his house. So – true or false?’
‘Well, it’s what the family say,’ Alexandra murmured. ‘He’s a nice old man, a bit bossy, maybe, but he married a stupid woman second time round. She’s younger than him, and she seems to be able to do what she likes, except where Sophia is concerned. Anything to do with Sophia is sacred, and she’s not allowed to poke her nose in.’
‘This woman’s son is a bit odd.’
‘Aha,’ said Marc.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Just odd in the sense that he’s a bit slow, a bit gormless, doesn’t settle to anything, a bit of a voyeur, I’d say, and living off his mother’s money at the age of forty. He’s pretty useless: now and again he gets some little business going, but it doesn’t last-in short, he’s pathetic rather than sinister. Sophia got him a few more walk-on parts, but even when he didn’t have to say anything, he was no good, and he soon got tired of it.’
Alexandra was wiping the table absently with the handkerchief Lucien had given her. Lucien was looking concerned about the handkerchief. Mathias got up to go and work at Le Tonneau. He said he would give Kyril something to eat in the kitchen there, then take a few minutes off to bring him back to the garden house. Alexandra smiled at him.
Mathias went upstairs to get changed. Juliette had insisted that he be properly dressed under his waiter’s uniform. This was tough for Mathias. He felt as if he were bursting under three layers of clothes. But he understood Juliette’s point of view. She had also requested that he stop getting changed half in the kitchen, half in the restaurant when the customers had left, ‘in case someone saw him’. Mathias failed to see what was so embarrassing about that, but he didn’t want to upset her. So now he got changed in his bedroom, which meant he had to leave the house fully dressed, underpants, socks, shoes, black trousers, shirt, bow tie, waistcoat, jacket and he felt really uncomfortable. But he liked the work. It was the kind of job that doesn’t stop you thinking while you’re doing it. And sometimes, if they weren’t too busy, Juliette let him go home early. He would not have minded staying all night with her, but since he said very little, she was unlikely to guess that. So she let him go home. As he buttoned up his hateful waistcoat, Mathias thought about Alexandra and the number of slices of bread he had had to cut to keep the situation under control. Vandoosler senior certainly didn’t beat about the bush. All the same it was amazing how many slices of bread Lucien could eat.
Once Mathias had gone, everyone fell silent. It was often like that living with Mathias, Marc reflected. When he was there, he hardly said anything and nobody took any notice of him. But when he left, it was as if the stone bridge they had all been standing on had suddenly disappeared and they had to find their balance again. He shivered and gave himself a shake.
‘You’re sleepy, soldier,’ said Lucien.