Part 71 (1/2)
”Oh, do stay, gentlemen. I'd so like you to meet my husband,” I said, rolling the word around in my mouth with suppressed triumph. Sylvie ran to take Florent's cloak, and I noticed she had the oddest expression on her face. Mustapha was behind him. Florent's dark, intelligent eyes took in the entire scene in a moment. A strange smile crossed his face.
”My, what an honor,” he said mildly. ”Lawyers. Could they be relatives? I think not. There is no family resemblance. If they claim to be of the family, they must be illegitimate.” He paused to enjoy the effect. etienne's face turned most satisfactorily red.
”You lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d-” etienne exclaimed. Mustapha's hand went un.o.btrusively to the sash at his waist, but I stopped him with a glance.
”My dear husband,” I addressed Florent, ”my brother has been so kind as to bring a witness with him. Sweetheart, what would you say to owning a distinguished residence in the Cite? My inheritance, now that my brother has so kindly confirmed my ident.i.ty.”
”The Hotel Pasquier? But isn't it a little dreary, my love?” answered Florent, fully in the spirit of the thing.
”Never mind, precious. We could redecorate it with the money from the sale of the lovely little country property my grandmother left to me. I do hope you have looked after it well for me, Brother.”
”You b.i.t.c.h!” etienne exclaimed. I looked at Florent, and he looked at me. The thought flashed through both our minds. Check and mate in two moves.
''Maitre Pasquier, is this true?” asked etienne's companion.
”Never...I...”
”etienne,” I broke in, ”you cannot have it both ways: either I am your sister, and you conspired to rob me of my inheritance, or I am not your sister, and you are attempting to rob me now of my property. Do, please, decide in front of this obviously respectable witness whom you have so conveniently brought with you.”
''Maitre Pasquier, my reputation-you have deceived me...”
”So you still can't make up your mind, Brother dear? Then let me help you. The police are fully informed of this case. Perhaps they even suspect you of having murdered that poor girl you went and identified as me. Mustapha, I would like you to take a message to Monsieur de La Reynie...”
”Come away, come away-you can settle the claim later.” etienne's companion tugged at his sleeve.
”What, going so soon? Just when our conversation has become so charming?” asked Florent as etienne's companion dragged him to the door. ”What a pity. Perhaps another time? Farewell, gentlemen.”
As the door shut behind them, Sylvie applauded and exclaimed, ”Bravo, bravo! Just like at the theatre, magnificent!” Florent and I grinned at each other.
”But unfortunately, unlike the theatre, in real life the curtain does not come down,” announced Florent. ”He may be back. And if he investigates your claims, the very least that will happen is that our marriage will be revealed to the wrong parties. It's not good. I hadn't planned for this.” He began to pace up and down, and his brow was drawn up in a frown. ”d.a.m.n him! d.a.m.n him! If he'd come a month later...! Now I'll have to think of something else.”
”Astaroth says he will arrange everything,” Sylvie announced.
”Will you and that wretched demon shut up? I'm thinking!” exclaimed d'Urbec in pure annoyance. Sylvie burst into tears.
”Now, now, Sylvie,” I consoled her, ”Monsieur d'Urbec is just upset. He didn't mean any insult to the Prince of Demons, I'm sure.” Suddenly, I needed to sit down. etienne had brought a train of ugly memories with him, memories of Uncle, of Father dying in his great bed, of Mother, blind and insane, staggering into the furniture. I did not dare to speak of them, or even to think them for long. I wanted to hide from memory. I sat, putting my hands to my face. I felt transparent with exhaustion. A wraith, a wisp of vapor. ”Oh, how will I manage the Comtesse de Soissons's reading this afternoon?” I leaned my head on the back of the chair. ”I'm simply too drained to read in the gla.s.s.”
”What?” asked Florent. ”The comtesse is in town? Why isn't she at court in this season? Everyone who is anyone is at Saint-Germain. Something serious is going on. I only wish I knew what.”
”Oh, I don't think so. With that woman, it could be anything from indigestion to a new lover,” I answered.
But I was wrong. As I was helped out of my carriage at the foot of the great stairs in the carriage court at the Hotel Soissons, I saw Primi Visconti descending them. He was hunched against the sharp March winds, his cloak pulled tightly around him, his head bent down, the picture of despondency.
”Hey, Monsieur Primi!” I called into the wind, and he tilted his head up and a.s.sumed a jaunty expression as if he hadn't a care in the world.
”Why, h.e.l.lo, Madame de Morville. My congratulations: you look younger every day.”
”No thanks to you, Primi. Tell me, what is it today? Another duel of the fortune-tellers? Or shall I be put on exhibit with a clockwork figure and a dancing bear?”