Part 8
“I don’t have any power.”
“You have the recording.”
“The recording does not protect me.”
“It frightened him.”
“So would a fire alarm. That doesn’t make it a legal strategy.”
Celeste breathed out.
“My mother believed Elias’s family would blame her if his final decisions displeased them. She started keeping duplicates.”
“Did you know about the altered documents?”
“I knew Adrian was trying to change the governance structure.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I did not know he had already done it.”
“Did you hear him admit it before the library?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Mara stood again.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Where?”
“In my apartment.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“No.”
“Did you record him?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was going to marry him.”
The answer was so plain that Mara had nothing ready for it.
Celeste continued.
“You think that makes me monstrous.”
“I think it makes you responsible.”
“Yes.”
The word carried neither defense nor shame. Only fatigue.
“Will you meet me?” Celeste asked.
“Where?”
“A public place.”
“Bring anything your mother left.”
“I need time.”
“You have had three months.”
Celeste ended the call.
They met the next morning in a hotel café near the lake. Celeste arrived wearing a beige coat and dark glasses despite the cloudy day. She chose a table near the kitchen doors, where waiters passed every few minutes carrying trays.
Mara had brought Lucien. Celeste objected.
“I asked to meet you.”
“You asked for protection.”
“I did not ask for a lawyer.”
“He is a trustee.”
“Worse.”
Lucien removed his coat and sat down.
“I can leave,” he said. “After you tell us whether you intend to lie.”
Celeste took off her glasses.
“I understand why people dislike you.”
“Most reach that conclusion faster.”
A waiter approached. Celeste ordered sparkling water. Lucien ordered coffee. Mara ordered nothing, then changed her mind and asked for toast.
The normality of the exchange unsettled her. Celeste had watched her on the library floor with the detachment of someone observing weather. Now she adjusted a spoon that was already straight and asked whether the hotel made its own marmalade.
When the waiter left, Lucien placed his phone on the table.
“This conversation is not being recorded,” he said. “Unless one of you is recording it.”
Celeste looked at Mara.
Mara lifted both hands.
“No recorder.”
“Do you sleep with it now?”
“It is in evidence storage.”
“That was a joke.”
“I know.”
Celeste looked almost embarrassed.
From her handbag, she removed a photograph.
It showed Isabelle Armand standing beside Elias Bellmont in the villa’s winter garden. On the back, someone had written a date and three words in French.
Mara read them.
Under the blue.
“What does it mean?” Lucien asked.
“I don’t know,” Celeste said.
“Where did you find this?”
“In my mother’s jewelry box.”
“Did Adrian see it?”
“No.”
Mara studied the image.
The winter garden had blue ceramic tiles beneath its central fountain. Elias and Isabelle stood near a marble bench. Behind them, a climbing hydrangea covered one wall.
“Under the blue could mean the tiles,” Mara said.
Celeste shook her head.
“The fountain was renovated years ago.”
“When?”
“Before my mother died.”
Lucien turned the photograph over.
“Could it refer to a blue folder?”
“My mother did not write notes that obvious.”
The toast arrived. Mara spread marmalade on one piece because doing something with her hands felt necessary.
Celeste watched.
“Adrian believes the memorandum proves Elias intended to restrict him personally,” she said. “If it exists, he will destroy it.”
“Why did your mother keep it?” Mara asked.
“Because Elias asked her to.”
“Why tell you?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then how do you know?”
Celeste touched the photograph.
“After she died, Adrian asked whether she had ever discussed his grandfather’s private instructions. It was the first question he asked me after the funeral.”
Lucien’s expression hardened.
“And you still agreed to marry him?”
Celeste looked at him.
“My mother had just died. Adrian arranged everything. The hospital, the transport, the memorial, the bills. He stayed with me when everyone else returned to their own lives.”
“That does not answer the question,” Lucien said.
“It does. You simply do not like the answer.”
Mara tore the toast in half.
“What changed?”
“Nothing at first.”
Celeste glanced toward the kitchen doors.
“He became more careful after Elias died. More generous in public. Less patient in private. Then he began asking me to sign financial authorizations I did not understand.”
“Did you sign them?”
“Two.”
“For what?”
“A holding company and a property transfer.”
Lucien leaned forward.
“Which property?”
“My mother’s apartment.”
“Why would Adrian control that?”
“He said it would simplify tax matters after the marriage.”
“Did it?”
Celeste’s mouth tightened.
“The apartment now belongs to a company controlled by his attorney.”
Lucien sat back.
Mara felt an unwelcome flash of satisfaction. Celeste noticed.
“You think I deserve that.”
“No.”
“You thought it.”
“I did.”
“Thank you for not pretending.”
The waiter brought Lucien’s coffee and Celeste’s water. Outside, a tour boat moved across the gray lake with only six passengers on its upper deck.
Lucien said, “You must give a statement to the police.”
Celeste looked at the photograph.
“If I do, Adrian will release private correspondence between my mother and Elias.”
“Were they involved?”
“No.”
“Then what is damaging?”
“My mother discussed Elias’s health, his fears, and his opinions of his children. She also wrote about my father’s debts.”
“Embarrassing is not the same as dangerous.”
“You have never been the daughter of a woman whose employment depended on discretion.”
Mara said, “Neither have you, apparently. You were her daughter while she was alive.”
Celeste looked at her.
The remark was cruel. Mara knew it before she finished speaking.
Celeste’s face changed, but only around the eyes.
“You are right,” she said.
Mara looked down at the toast.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Let it remain accurate.”
May you like
They left without agreement.
Lucien took the photograph for examination. Celeste promised to consider a statement. Mara returned to the guest apartment with the feeling that she had failed at something she could not define.
