The Essence of Malice Page 5
I declined to answer that question. “And so when he had to leave Como so urgently it was because Helios Belanger had died.”
“Yes. He received word that morning, I believe.”
I thought of the urgent matter Mr. Duveau had spoken of when he was prepared to depart for Paris. I had assumed it was a woman, but it had been a more urgent matter than that. I wondered what the relationship between he and Helios Belanger had been. He certainly hadn’t seemed overly upset at the news.
Another thought occurred to me. “André Duveau is very fond of flying, and Helios Belanger died following an aeroplane crash.”
“Yes,” Milo said. “I had thought of that. I mentioned it to Duveau, in fact. He admits that it was probably his enthusiasm for flying that drew Helios to the hobby. He lamented it, or seemed to.”
I wondered. Was it possible that André Duveau had something to do with the crash that had killed Helios Belanger? But, no. He had been in Como with us at the time. It didn’t seem likely that he might have been able to participate in a murder plot in Paris, especially if Helios Belanger had been poisoned the night he died.
“He also mentioned that Monsieur Belanger had taken to drink in recent months. Perhaps that might account for the plane crash.” That contradicted what Madame Nanette had told us about Helios Belanger not liking to dull his mind. Which one of them was mistaken?
I didn’t know whether to be impressed with Milo’s investigative skills or severely put out that he had gone sleuthing without me. My curiosity got the best of me. “Did you learn anything more?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. I tried to bring up his dealings with Belanger during a casual conversation at a baccarat table, but he was losing badly and his focus was on the game.”
That was a pity, but a connection with the family was still an excellent development. André Duveau was the answer to all our difficulties. He would be close enough to the Belangers to provide valuable information, but, as an outside connection to the family, we would not be intruding upon his grief. I began to wish that we had made plans to dine with him in Paris. Perhaps he would be too occupied to see us. What then?
“I can see the wheels turning,” Milo said. “But for pity’s sake, darling, let me finish my coffee before you begin concocting schemes.”
“I might remind you that it was you who brought this mystery to us,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Which is why I am going to deal with it. I don’t want you getting too deeply involved.”
“Milo…” I began to protest.
He held up a hand. “All right, all right, darling. Before you start formulating some outlandish plan for meeting with him, I’ve taken care of that, too. We’re having dinner with him tonight.”
“Tonight?”
He smiled. “You are not the only one capable of underhanded behavior.”
“Yes,” I said, sweetly returning his smile. “I realized that a long time ago.”
6
WINNELDA HAD BEEN very distressed that I did not intend to purchase a new gown for my evening out in Paris, but I felt suitably turned out in my gown of pale mauve satin crepe. It had a high neckline and flutter sleeves with a low-cut back that ended in a chiffon bow. It was the perfect color for spring, and I had been in the mood for something less severe than my wide array of dark gowns.
André Duveau had suggested a nightclub called Arabique for dinner, and Milo had agreed to it. I had never visited it before, nor even heard of it, and was not sure what to expect. I found it was a very elegant establishment. Leaving the coat check, we went down a short flight of marble steps into an interior courtyard of sorts, created by marble pillars that met high above our heads to form keyhole arches. Colored fabric draped down from the ceiling and large potted palm trees added to the exotic effect.
“We are meeting Monsieur Duveau,” Milo told the headwaiter.
“Of course. Right this way, monsieur.” I had noticed that there were tables outside the courtyard, set into little alcoves with vaulted ceilings. Others were situated near carved wooden screens that provided some measure of privacy. The waiter, however, led us to a table near the dance floor. André Duveau rose when we reached the table. The waiter pulled out the chair nearest Mr. Duveau for me, and Milo was just about to take a seat when a lovely blond woman in a chartreuse evening gown appeared at his side, speaking excitedly in French.
“Milo, it is you! I was sure it was. There can’t be two men in the world who look like you.” Then she flung herself into his arms and kissed him squarely on the mouth. I watched this exchange with great interest.
“Hello, Nadine,” he said, gently prying her off him. “How are you?”
“Very well. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“Yes. Allow me to introduce my wife, Amory. Darling, this is Nadine Germaine.”
“How do you do?” I said politely, examining her gown and only slightly jealous that her coloring should be so complemented by a shade that would look absolutely hideous on me.
I took it as a good sign that she was not at all flustered to learn that I was Milo’s wife. “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ames. I adore your husband.”
“Don’t we all,” I replied.
“And this is Mr. Duveau,” Milo went on smoothly.
“How do you do?” she said before grasping Milo’s arm. “Come and meet my friends, will you? I’ve told them all about you. They’ll be thrilled to meet you.”
He looked down at me. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” I replied. I had learned to be gracious in the face of Milo’s many admirers, though one had never been quite so admiring in my presence before.
“I won’t keep him long,” she promised, leading him away.
I smiled at Mr. Duveau, who appeared to be doing his best not to appear too curious. For my part, I was actually glad that Milo had been called away. It would give me the opportunity to talk to Mr. Duveau alone. Perhaps he would be more receptive to my questions than he had been to Milo’s.
“This is a beautiful nightclub,” I said. “Milo and I have been to Paris many times, but I’ve never been here.”
“I thought you would appreciate the ambiance,” he said. “I must admit many of the places I prefer are not quite so … savory.” He smiled that rakish smile of his. “I hope you are not scandalized by that admission.”
I smiled dryly. “Mr. Duveau, as you’ve just witnessed, years of marriage to Milo have made me practically immune to scandal.”
He grinned, and his eyes flickered in the direction Milo had gone with his young friend. “I expect he appreciates that you take his reputation in stride.”
“Not in stride, perhaps,” I replied, “but I have come to understand that not everything is as it seems.”
“An excellent philosophy. One that is true of life in general, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He took a drink of his wine, and I took the opportunity to change the subject.
“I’ve greatly enjoyed the perfume you gave me, Mr. Duveau.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. I thought it would suit you.”
“What was it that made you decide to go into the perfume industry?”
“My father died a few years ago and left me a rather sizeable inheritance, but my mother had hoped that I would do more with my life than simply risk it flying aeroplanes after the war. I had a … friend, a woman, who was terribly fond of perfume. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I began to develop something of an interest in it myself. I thought I might as well invest in something worthwhile.” He flashed a smile. “It’s business, but a bit frivolous by some standards, so it suits me.”
“I did not know that you were connected with Helios Belanger.”
I said it abruptly to gauge his reaction, and it seemed to me that his smile faltered ever so slightly. Whether it was the pain of loss or something else, I wasn’t sure.
He took another drink of his wine and when he spoke
again his expression had returned to normal. “I worked with him, yes. When I realized that I wanted to work with perfumes—seriously, as something more than a hobby—he was the first person I sought out. He is one of the top names in France, in all of the perfume industry, and I have always wanted to have the best.”
“How did you manage to meet him, to convince him to work with you?” It was forward of me to ask, but I did wonder how it was that someone who had no experience had gained the ear of the top man in the profession.
Mr. Duveau hesitated for a moment, and then smiled somewhat ruefully. “Well, to be honest, it was his daughter, Cecile, who was my friend. She introduced me and, I am sure, influenced her father to take an interest in me.”
“I see.” So Mr. Duveau and Cecile Belanger had had a romance. This was becoming quite interesting.
“Monsieur Belanger and I worked together closely for nearly a year, in fact, but there were … difficulties.”
It was very apparent he did not intend to elaborate upon the difficulties. I could well imagine, however, that they had something to do with his relationship with Cecile Belanger. Romance and business were seldom a successful combination.
I thought sympathy might elicit further confidences. “He sounds as though he might have been a difficult partner,” I said.
“Oh, we were not partners,” he said with a laugh. “Helios would not have accepted me as an equal. We worked well enough together, however. We disagreed on many things, but he was a man with an excellent head for business and unwavering determination. We parted on fairly good terms, and of that I was glad.”
“Then you no longer work with the Belangers?”
“No, I decided to venture out on my own sometime last year.”
“So you’re now a competitor?”
“Hardly that. I can never hope to equal his success, but I enjoy dabbling in perfumery and am hoping to find a niche for myself. Shazadi is my first scent.”
“I’m sure it will be a great success.”
“Thank you.”
I ventured back once more to the subject of Helios Belanger. “Monsieur Belanger’s death was such a tragedy. I’m sure it’s a very great loss for the industry.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said in a tone that revealed nothing of his feelings. “He was a genius, in his way.”
I leaned forward slightly. “It’s fascinating to meet someone who worked with him. What was he like?”
He took a cigarette from his pocket and took his time about lighting it. I wondered if he was trying to decide what to tell me. “It is hard to say what he was really like,” he said at last. “He was a dragon of a man, always looking around a room as though trying to determine who he could breathe fire onto next. Everyone was in awe of him, and a bit afraid. I suppose I was the same, but I admired him greatly.”
“I’m rather interested in perfume,” I said, lest he think I was prying too deeply into his personal affairs. This statement of interest was not a falsehood. I was becoming more intrigued by the moment. “The science of it fascinates me. I feel the process is rather like magic.”
He smiled, much more at ease now. “Yes, well, I wasn’t much familiar with the process itself, though I’ve started a small laboratory of my own. If you want to know how such things work, I can introduce you to Cecile. She has a mind for all of those kinds of details.”
So he and Cecile Belanger were still on speaking terms.
It seemed he had followed my train of thought, for the corner of his mouth tipped up. “It was not a bitter parting. Cecile and I both find that there is no need to hate each other just because love has faded. She would be happy to show off her gardens and laboratory to you.”
“I’m sure the family will be concerned with mourning at a time like this.”
A hint of amusement crossed his features. “Do you think so? I’m afraid you don’t know the Belangers.”
I didn’t have time to find out what he meant before Milo returned to the table.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, taking his seat. “Nadine is the younger sister of an old friend of mine. She’s a model now and lives here in Paris. Have I missed anything?”
I leaned to remove Milo’s handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. “Just that little spot of lipstick on your chin.”
He smiled and wiped it away as I continued. “We were just discussing the death of poor Helios Belanger,” I said. I wanted Milo to know that I had been working while he had been enjoying being fawned over by a pretty young woman and her friends.
“Ah, yes,” Milo said, with the perfect imitation of barely concealed boredom. “Amory’s developed rather an obsession with him. She’s gone mad about perfume as of late.”
“It’s not an obsession,” I protested, a bit irritated, despite the fact that this description of my interest fit perfectly with what I had been telling Mr. Duveau. I turned my gaze back to him. “But I am terribly interested.”
“You see?” Milo said. “You mustn’t indulge her or she’ll never stop pestering you.”
I kicked him under the table, but I recognized the warning in his words. I was, perhaps, pressing too hard. My interest was already extremely apparent. I didn’t want to overdo it.
“There we disagree, Ames,” Mr. Duveau said with a smile. “I’m always happy to indulge a beautiful woman.”
I glanced with poorly veiled triumph at Milo before turning my attention back to Mr. Duveau.
“You mentioned Cecile Belanger worked closely with her father. What about the others in the family? Are they involved in the business as well? It’s not nice to be so interested in gossip, I suppose,” I said lightly. “But when my friends find out that I was in Paris when Helios Belanger died and met one of his business associates, they’ll want to know all about it, all the inside information on what the family is like.”
“Then I won’t disappoint you.” He flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the table. “The older son, Anton Belanger, is a cool customer, not much like his father. He has always been a very serious, ambitious man, but intimidated by his father. For years, he has been fighting his father’s rule as much as he dared and waiting for the moment when he might be able to implement his plans for the business. Perhaps he will make a success of it. He is intelligent, sharp.”
“Married?” I asked.
“Widowed. His wife died shortly after Helios’s first wife, Elena, did. It was a difficult time for Anton, I’m sure.”
“I see. And there is a younger son, I believe?” I asked to prod him on.
“Yes. Michel.” Though he tried to answer the question casually, there was no mistaking his dislike for the younger Belanger brother. I wondered what had caused it.
“I know Michel Belanger,” Milo said. “If there was ever a single thought of business in his head he didn’t let it interfere with his drinking or his women.”
Duveau smiled. “That is an accurate assessment.”
I felt suddenly that we had pushed the conversation far enough for the time being. I had been so inquisitive that I was afraid he would soon grow suspicious, if he wasn’t already.
The waiter came to take our orders then, and after he left I let the subject drop. Milo followed my lead and shifted the conversation to gambling clubs. While they talked, I pondered Mr. Duveau’s description of the Belanger family. It was much as I had heard from Madame Nanette and the gossip magazines. I felt somewhat discouraged. I didn’t really see how secondhand accounts of the personalities of the Belanger family members might be useful in determining if one of them had killed their patriarch.
Our dinner came, and we ate, the topics of conversation ranging from gambling to horses and then to aeroplanes. More than once I fought the urge to yawn.
At last Mr. Duveau pushed his plate away. “But enough of this dull talk, Ames. I’m afraid we’re boring your wife.” He rose from his seat and held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
“I’d love to.” I to
ok his hand and he pulled back my chair with the other hand as I rose.
“You don’t mind me sweeping your wife away, do you, Ames?” he asked, when I was practically already in his arms.
“By all means,” Milo said.
André Duveau moved around the dance floor as the band struck up “Fascination,” and a mellow-voiced gentleman began to sing. Mr. Duveau was an excellent dancer, and for a moment I took simple pleasure in our movement around the floor.
“I’m sorry if I appeared too inquisitive about Monsieur Belanger,” I said at last. “Milo always says I’m much too interested in other people’s business.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I find your interest charming. In fact, I have an invitation that I think will appeal to you.”
“Oh?” I asked. He had mentioned introducing me to Cecile Belanger. Perhaps he had meant it. I hoped that was the case.
“Helios Belanger was poised to release his newest fragrance soon. It’s been something of a closely guarded secret. There is a grand party scheduled for tomorrow at the Belanger residence to reveal the design of the bottle.”
This was the event I had read about in Winnelda’s gossip magazine. The timing of Monsieur Belanger’s death was unfortunate, to say the least.
“I imagine it will be costly to cancel such a thing,” I mused aloud. “But perhaps they can reschedule it for some future date.”
He gave a dry laugh. “They’re not going to cancel it.”
This truly surprised me. I had not even considered the possibility that the party might go on. “But in the wake of Monsieur Belanger’s death…”
“The family is more desperate than ever to make sure that Parfumes Belanger goes on being the success it has been for the last twenty years. They want to prove that they can carry on without him.”
“But what will people say?” I asked.
“People will whisper behind closed doors that the party is in poor taste and then come out in droves to attend it.” He shrugged. “I don’t think Helios would have wanted it any other way. He was very proud of his creations.”