Part 4
The dismissal was unmistakable.
Amélie turned toward the door.
“Did Madame de Varenne ask for me?” Claire said.
The housekeeper paused.
Étienne looked at her.
“No,” Amélie whispered.
Then she left.
The door remained open a hand’s width. From the corridor came the fading sound of her shoes.
Claire picked up her tablet and entered Amélie’s name before she could forget it.
“You enjoy making staff uncomfortable,” Étienne said.
“I asked two questions.”
“You place people in situations they don’t understand.”
“Do they understand why I’m here?”
“You assume there is something to understand.”
Claire looked at the cabinet. “What is beside the linen?”
“A container.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were standing beside it when I arrived.”
“I stand near many objects without cataloguing them.”
“May I see it?”
“No.”
The refusal came too cleanly.
Claire felt a small change in her breathing and slowed it deliberately. She had been told that her face became transparent when she was angry. Her mother called it the Delaunay curse: warm brown eyes, expressive brows, no talent for pretending. Over the years Claire had trained herself into subtler reactions. A slight tightening at the center of her forehead was usually all that remained.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because you came to examine my son, not inventory the room.”
“Products used around an infant can be relevant.”
“It wasn’t used around him.”
There it was again.
Not I don’t know what it is.
Not it’s harmless.
It wasn’t used around him.
“You’ve said twice that nothing was used near Louis,” Claire said. “I didn’t ask that until now.”
“I understand where this kind of conversation goes.”
“Where?”
“Toward insinuation.”
“Only when the answers create one.”
He crossed to the side table and lifted the water glass. He did not drink. Condensation darkened his fingertips.
Claire watched him put it back untouched.
“Who locked the nursery door?” she asked.
“It sticks.”
“That isn’t what happened.”
“You’ve decided that.”
“The manager used a key.”
“Old houses have locks.”
“On the corridor side?”
“For privacy.”
“Whose?”
His jaw flexed.
The baby made a soft sound.
Both of them turned.
Louis’s face tightened briefly, not in pain but in the uncertain prelude to waking. Claire rested one hand lightly against the blanket over his chest and rocked the mattress with barely perceptible pressure. His features relaxed.
Étienne watched her hand.
Something in his expression loosened, then closed again so quickly she might have imagined it.
“He dislikes being moved after feeding,” he said.
“When did he feed?”
“Eight.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Did you feed him?”
“No.”
“The nanny?”
“Yes.”
“The nanny who went home before dinner?”
“I said before dinner. I did not say when she left.”
“You told me she had gone home.”
“She has.”
Claire looked toward the door. “I’d like her telephone number.”
“You won’t have it.”
“Then call her yourself.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She was dismissed.”
The room became very still.
“For what?”
“Negligence.”
“Related to the rash?”
“No.”
“What kind of negligence?”
“That is an employment matter.”
“When was she dismissed?”
“This evening.”
“Before or after the marks were noticed?”
Étienne looked at the bassinet instead of Claire.
“That matters,” she said.
“She became emotional.”
“That isn’t a time.”
“She was asked to leave after an argument.”
“About Louis?”
“She had become unreliable.”
“How?”
“She made accusations.”
Claire waited.
His left thumb moved across one of his rings.
“What accusations?”
“That the house was unsafe.”
“For the baby?”
“For everyone, apparently. She was unstable.”
“Did she mention a product?”
His eyes met hers.
That was enough.
Claire felt the shape of the evening alter. Until then she had been dealing with an obstructive father, an absent grandmother, a missing caregiver, and a child with an unseen rash. Now there was a dismissed nanny who had claimed the house was unsafe, a locked nursery, and a silver container Étienne insisted had never been used near the bassinet.
None of those facts proved harm. Together, they made leaving impossible.
“I need to speak with Dr. Renard,” Claire said.
“No.”
“I’m not requesting permission.”
“There is no signal.”
“I noticed.”
“The landline is downstairs.”
“Then I’ll use it after I examine Louis.”
Étienne moved between her and the bassinet.
It was the first openly obstructive thing he had done.
He did not touch her. He did not threaten. He simply occupied the space with practiced authority, broad enough that Claire would have to move around him or ask him to move.
She kept her voice even. “You’re interfering with the visit.”
“The visit is over.”
“No.”
One small word. Quieter than his had been.
For the first time, surprise entered his face.
Claire had been afraid of powerful families since her second year at the clinic, when she had questioned bruising on a six-year-old whose father funded a hospital wing. The bruises had eventually been explained by a climbing accident, but not before the family lawyer accused Claire of defamation, incompetence, and personal hostility. The complaint had been dismissed. The fear had not.
It returned now as dryness in her mouth and a pulse under her jaw.
She did not mistake fear for a warning to obey.
“Move aside,” she said.
Étienne studied her.
Downstairs, someone laughed loudly. A burst of music followed when a door opened, then vanished behind thick walls. Dinner continued. Glasses were filled. Guests likely discussed horses, markets, elections, art, and people not present to defend themselves.
Upstairs, Louis slept between two adults who disagreed about whether his body was allowed to become evidence.
Étienne stepped away.
Not toward the window this time. Toward the cabinet.
Claire moved to the bassinet immediately.
She loosened the blanket near Louis’s shoulder but did not lower it yet. First she examined the neckline of the sleeper. The cotton was dry. No unusual moisture. She touched the back of his neck. Warm, not sweaty.
“Was this sleeper changed with the linen?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who would know?”
“The nanny.”
May you like
“Name?”
He exhaled. “Sophie Vallon.”
