The Essence of Malice Page 6

  “I’m sure it will be an eventful party,” I said.

  “Would you like to come?” he asked.

  The invitation was more than I could have hoped for. In addition to being the ideal opportunity to meet the members of the family and evaluate Madame Nanette’s suspicions, I would, on a more superficial level, enjoy attending such a highly anticipated event.

  Still, I hesitated. I didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “I know you want to come and are too polite to say so,” Mr. Duveau said with a smile. “So I shall spare you the dilemma of deciding. I insist that you come. It’s going to be the talk of all Europe, and I know you’d regret missing it.”

  “I am a bit curious,” I admitted.

  “Then that settles it,” he said.

  I let it go at that. After all, I had no intention of declining such an invitation. Murder or not, I imagined this would be a party to remember.

  7

  “I MIGHT HAVE known you’d have much more success with Duveau than I did,” Milo told me in the cab on the way back to our hotel. I had related the news of our invitation to him, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit smug that I had gained us entrée to an event that might prove the key to forming a connection with the Belanger family.

  “There are times when persistence wins the day,” I said.

  “Yes, I’m sure it was your persistence that did the trick,” he said dryly.

  “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

  “You know what I mean. Men have only to look deeply into those dove-gray eyes of yours to fall under your spell. I saw how very much he seemed to enjoy holding you in his arms.”

  Milo, completely secure in his own charms, had never minded my interactions with other men, and I knew perfectly well what this was about, why he was feigning jealousy when there was no cause for it.

  “If you expect me to apologize for his attentiveness, I have one word for you,” I said.

  “Oh?” he asked, and I could feel him smiling in the darkness. “And what might that be?”

  “Nadine,” I answered succinctly.

  He laughed. “Yes, I thought you might have something to say about that.”

  I had to admit that I didn’t find it quite as amusing as he did. Despite the indifferent show I had put on for Mr. Duveau, Nadine’s enthusiastic greeting had begged the question of just how close she was to my husband. I hesitated, trying to decide how best to phrase my inquiry. Finally, I came out with it: “Is there anything I need to know about her?”

  “Nothing more than what I’ve told you.” There was no hint of guilt in his tone, but, as he never seemed to feel guilty about anything, this was not particularly telling.

  “Do you really expect me to believe she is merely the younger sister of one of your friends?”

  “Whatever you choose to believe, that’s the truth,” he replied easily. “Her brother Francois Germaine and I were at school together. I visited him on holiday many times, and she has made a nuisance of herself for as long as I can remember.”

  “She’s a very pretty nuisance,” I noted. “Just the kind you like, I believe.”

  “Come now, darling. You didn’t really mind her?”

  Had I? I considered. After a very rocky patch in our marriage, I was learning to trust my husband, despite the reputation he had earned for himself. Though there were still times when the nagging doubts resurfaced, I understood that a great deal of what had been printed about Milo was untrue or grossly exaggerated. There was no denying the way women flocked to him, but I could accept the careless way he welcomed their attentions as long as his heedless words did not lead to heedless actions.

  “No,” I replied. “I suppose I didn’t mind her. In any event, I have more important things to consider.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  “Such as what I’m going to wear to that party tomorrow night.”

  * * *

  I WASTED NO time the following morning in beginning my preparations for the Belangers’ party.

  While I felt that the gowns in my wardrobe were fine for a night out in Paris, something a bit more extravagant might be in order for a grand event like the Belanger party.

  I realized that it might be difficult to secure a gown on such short notice, but I had an excellent relationship with a couturier called Madame Lorraine, whose evening gowns were always exquisite, and I believed there was a good chance that she would have something for me.

  If I was going to go shopping, it was important that I looked as though I was not in need of anything newer or more fashionable than what I already owned. That was the way to the heart of Parisian modistes—the appearance of complete indifference to their fashions. To get the best of their clothes, I needed to dress as though adding to my wardrobe was the last thing on my mind.

  To this end, I wore one of my newest acquisitions, a smart white suit with an attached capelet and a white hat that came down at an angle over my forehead. It was a very fetching ensemble that I had purchased from a well-known fashion house, and I expected Madame Lorraine would be eager to trump it if she could.

  I made my way to the shop on the rue de Rivoli. I frequently purchased gowns there while in Paris, and Madame Lorraine also sent a good many evening gowns to me at home. I gave my name to the salesgirl, and a moment later Madame Lorraine came to meet me. “Good morning, Madame Ames. It is good to see you again.”

  “And you, too, Madame Lorraine. I hope you have been well.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Her eyes swept over me with a critical glance, but it seemed that my ensemble met with her approval. “Your suit is quite elegant,” she said begrudgingly.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there something in particular that you are searching for?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. “I know it is short notice, but I have an event to attend tonight, and I wondered if you might have something for me.”

  She hesitated, and I wondered if the suit had done the trick. Then she nodded slowly. “For you, Madame Ames, always. Have a seat, will you? I’ll have the models put on some of my newest creations.”

  I sat on the blue velvet chair and a salesgirl brought me a tray with rich, creamy coffee and chocolate biscuits. I nibbled contentedly while I waited.

  Madame Lorraine had excellent taste and knew what items would best suit my coloring. I was looking forward to seeing what she had in store for me. At last she came and stood beside the door to the dressing room. The show was about to begin.

  A few moments later, the first model came out. She was wearing a gown of deep red silk with sheer ruffled sleeves. It was a very pretty gown, but I was not really in the market for something red as I had purchased a red evening gown not long ago.

  There was a gown of sapphire blue, one of a deep emerald green, and another in a pale gray satin. They were all lovely, but I couldn’t help but feel that they were not precisely what I was looking for. I would know when I saw it.

  The next model came out with a very tempting option. It was a stunning black silk gown with a fitted bodice and a confection of chiffon for a skirt. I didn’t often wear black as I felt it made me look even paler than usual. My skin tone had been somewhat improved by our time in Capri, however, and there was a subdued elegance to the dark color. I was about to tell Madame Lorraine that I had decided when another model came out, and I changed my mind.

  This one was wearing a gown of pale lavender satin that gleamed almost silver in the light. The model moved and the light rippled across the fabric so that it fairly shimmered. I couldn’t help but think how well it would look with diamonds.

  “This gown is in a fabric called twilight sea,” Madame Lorraine said, apparently attuned to my interest.

  The description was accurate. It reminded me of the pale lilac-blue of dusk settling over the surface of a calm sea. It was practically mesmerizing.

  There were thin straps over the shoulders and fabric that draped down across the upper arms. The neckline formed a
V and as the model turned I could see that the back dipped quite low as well. It was a bit daring and yet not too revealing. It was perfect.

  This was the gown that I wanted to wear. I felt that it was, somehow, what I had wanted all along without knowing it.

  “This is the one,” I said.

  “Excellent choice, madame,” Madame Lorraine said. “It is a beautiful gown. One of my favorites.”

  “Do you think I might have it sent to my hotel by this afternoon?”

  “This particular model has nearly your exact measurements,” she said. “I think it should fit you perfectly. Would you like to try it on to be sure?”

  I tried on the gown and found that Madame Lorraine was right; it fit perfectly.

  “Even the length is just right,” she enthused. “It looks magnificent on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have it sent to your hotel within the hour.”

  I was about to leave when I decided to take the black as well. One could always use a black gown, after all.

  I also decided to mention the purpose of my shopping trip to Madame Lorraine. She was acquainted with a great many society women, and I wondered if she would have any insight into the Belanger family.

  “I’m attending a party at the home of Helios Belanger,” I said casually, “and I think this dress will be just the thing.”

  She raised her brows ever so slightly, but did not reply.

  “I thought it a bit soon to hold a party, considering his very recent passing,” I said, playing into what I assumed was her disapproval, “but if they mean to have it, I couldn’t refuse the invitation.”

  “I am sure the family will manage their grief,” she said tonelessly.

  “Do you know the family?” I asked, wondering what she meant.

  “No,” she said. Then hesitated a moment before adding reluctantly, “One hears things, that is all.”

  “What sort of things?”

  She shrugged. “Gossip. That perhaps the family was not completely surprised by his death, given his recent illness.”

  “His illness?” I repeated. So far as I knew, Helios Belanger had been the picture of health.

  She seemed to waver for a moment before proceeding. “This is entre nous, of course.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of sharing anything confidential.”

  “My niece works as a private nurse. She met one day another woman in the profession who was hired briefly to look after him.”

  “What sort of illness was it?” I asked, ignoring the vulgarity of the question.

  “That I do not know. His wife had tried to nurse him, but it grew severe and they brought in a professional. In a matter of a few weeks, however, the nurse was dismissed abruptly. It seems Helios Belanger was once again healthy, so perhaps it was nothing serious.”

  “Yes, perhaps not,” I said thoughtfully. I wondered.

  “What was the nurse’s name?”

  Her brow rose ever so slightly at my impertinence. “I do not know. My niece was not well acquainted with her. They spoke only in passing.”

  “I see. Well, I can’t thank you enough, Madame Lorraine, for my gowns.”

  We parted ways and I left feeling very satisfied with my purchases but curious about what I had learned. If Helios Belanger had been very ill not long ago, his sudden death might not be as surprising as Madame Nanette thought. Then again, perhaps it proved Madame Nanette right. Perhaps that illness had been the killer’s first attempt.

  * * *

  THAT ERRAND FINISHED, I decided I didn’t want to go back to the hotel just yet. I was very much looking forward to the party, but before I went, I felt that I should do some research. I wanted to better familiarize myself with Helios Belanger’s perfumes.

  And what better way to do that than to pay a visit to a perfume shop?

  The perfume shop I chose was not familiar to me, but there was no doubt the perfumes of Helios Belanger would be a part of their inventory. I went inside and was immersed in a cloud of scent. It was pleasant, if a bit overwhelming.

  “May I help you, madame?” asked a pretty blond salesgirl.

  “I’m looking for Belanger scents,” I told her.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “They have been very popular since the death of Monsieur Belanger.”

  She led me to a display on the counter and picked up a glass bottle. “This is Séduire Rouge, one of the most popular.” She squeezed the pump, releasing the scent into the air. It was a dense fragrance, better suited for winter than spring, I thought. Still, one whiff and I was half tempted to buy it. It was exotic and alluring.

  The salesgirl showed me a few more fragrances and as I breathed in the heady array of scents, one after the other, I thought again what a master of his art Helios Belanger had been. Each perfume was a new experience, carefully crafted layers of scent, subtly combined and slowly revealed as they warmed on the skin, like a flower opening its petals. It was as though each of them told a story.

  If it was true that Cecile Belanger shared her father’s zeal, I hoped that she would continue to play a role in the company. It was obvious that more than dry scientific process had gone into the creation of these perfumes. If Helios Belanger’s passion died with him, I was very much afraid that the company would cease to be what he had made it.

  I looked at the array of bottles on the counter before me. “Which scent does Cecile Belanger wear, do you think?” I asked, hoping to perhaps glean a bit more information about the mysterious family.

  “Oh, no, madame,” she said, shaking her head. “Cecile Belanger does not wear any of these scents.”

  “No?” I was surprised.

  “No. She has a custom scent that she created herself. It is said to be very exotic. I have heard she smells as though the answers to all the mysteries of the East are flowing through her veins.”

  I was unsure how exactly one might smell if this was the case, but the fact that she wore a perfume that no one else possessed was intriguing and might, in fact, prove useful.

  After an extended period of experimenting with different fragrances against my skin, I settled on a bottle of their most recent perfume, Bouquet de Belanger, one I did not yet own. While I usually wore a gardenia scent, this one smelled of roses and lilac, and I felt as though it was the perfect fragrance for spring.

  The salesgirl, Marie, wrapped the bottle up for me. “Will there be anything else, madame?”

  By this point we had developed quite a chatty little camaraderie, and I didn’t think she would mind a few questions. “I hear there is to be a new scent,” I said. “Do you know anything about it?”

  She nodded eagerly. “There is much talk about it, their most unique scent as of yet, so they say. The ingredients are said to be very rare.”

  “Oh? What are they?”

  “That’s just it,” she said, leaning forward in her enthusiasm. “No one knows. It has all been very mysterious.”

  “I look forward to experiencing it,” I said, then added casually, “It was very sad, what happened to Monsieur Belanger.”

  “Yes, madame,” she said. “The world of perfume will not be the same without him.”

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Oh, no. But I am sure he will be missed.” She said this in a way that led me to believe there was a deeper meaning to the words.

  “Oh?” I asked encouragingly.

  She leaned forward, her elbows on the glass counter. “I heard that Monsieur Belanger has been seen with a young woman,” she told me conspiratorially.

  “His wife, perhaps?” I suggested. “They say she is much younger than he.”

  She laughed, apparently delighted with my naiveté. “No, no, madame. Madame Belanger is not the woman I mean.”

  “Indeed?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He was seen with another woman. She was very mysterious, dressed all in black and wearing a veil across her face.”

  I wondered who exactly it was that had been giving informa
tion to this young woman. It sounded like they had paid one too many visits to the cinema.

  “That’s very interesting,” I said.

  She must have sensed my skepticism, for she added, “It was my friend Lucille who saw them, coming out of a flat across from the café where she works. It is on the rue de Tolbiac.”

  I tucked this bit of information away for future use.

  “Lucille was quite sure it was he, and he was leaving quite early in the morning, too early for a social call. I suppose it must have been his mistress.”

  She studied me to see if I was scandalized and, as I was not sure what kind of reaction she was hoping for, I responded vaguely. “Indeed.”

  She nodded. “Rich men often have mistresses,” she said with authority. “Though it isn’t as though his wife is ugly. She is very pretty, in fact. I saw her once, getting into a car on the rue de Rivoli,” she volunteered.

  “I have heard that she is a lovely woman,” I said. “And I am sure she must be very sad that her husband has passed.”

  “I’m sure his mistress is also distressed,” she added.

  “Yes,” I replied thoughtfully. “I’m sure she is.”

  The store manager passed just then, and Marie quickly straightened.

  “Would you like this delivered, madame?” she asked, and I realized that our friendly chat had come to an end.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll take it with me. Thank you.”

  I left the shop in a cloud of perfume, ideas whirling in my head.

  * * *

  MILO WAS NOT at the hotel when I returned, but my gown had arrived. After I had bathed away the somewhat overpowering mélange of scents from my skin, I removed it from the box, and Winnelda was suitably impressed when I put it on.

  “It’s so beautiful. You look ever so glamorous, madam,” she enthused.

  “Thank you, Winnelda.”

  “That color is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in a gown before.”

  “It is an unusual shade, isn’t it?”

  “I’d even take you for a French lady,” she added significantly.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said.

  “Will you need help with preparations tonight?” she asked.