‘Thank you,’ Agathe replied gravely. ‘Please can you tell me what happened to her? Was she ill? I haven’t seen her for some time and though we’ve had occasional contact by letter she never mentioned that she was ill, and I’ve no idea how she died.’

‘She was indeed ill,’ replied Monsieur Colet, ‘but I don’t think even she knew quite how bad she was. She must have had some idea, as she came to me so recently to remake her will.’ He looked enquiringly at Agathe. ‘Were you aware that she had done so?’

Agathe shook her head. ‘No,’ she answered, ‘as I said we’d had little contact since I took up a position outside Paris.’

‘Well, in her new will she left everything she had to you. That is, her apartment…’

‘Her apartment?’ echoed Agathe faintly.

‘Certainly,’ replied Monsieur Colet. ‘And also the money she had in her bank account.’

‘Bank account?’ murmured Agathe. ‘But she didn’t hold with banks.’

‘That may have been her stance, but she certainly had one with a reasonable balance.’ He tilted his head a little as he went on, ‘I believe her late husband was a man of some substance?’

‘He was a butcher with his own business,’ Agathe agreed, ‘but…’

‘There you are, then. She had money and as far as I can see she used it shrewdly. She owned the other two apartments in the building, which she rented out, and the butcher’s shop on the ground floor.’

‘She owned all that?’ Agathe stared at him, stupefied.

‘Her husband acquired those some years before he died. When he was killed in a road accident, he died intestate and everything automatically came to your sister.’ Monsieur Colet paused for a moment and then added, ‘And now it all comes to you.’

Agathe was silenced by this explanation. She’d not even known for sure that Fleur actually owned the apartment in which she had lived, let alone any others.

‘She never told me any of this,’ she said at last. ‘When Yves was killed I thought she was left with very little.’

‘Apparently not,’ said the lawyer with a smile. ‘So, I must congratulate you, madame, you are now a woman of some substance. You will have no need to work, and could, if you wished, employ a servant of your own.’

The silence that followed these remarks lengthened until Monsieur Colet broke it by saying, ‘The first thing that must be considered is the funeral. Afraid that we might not be able to contact you in time, I, as Madame Bastien’s executor, have made arrangements for her funeral, which will take place tomorrow at the Church of the Holy Virgin in the Rue du Boiselles. As you will understand, such things cannot be delayed.’

‘I see,’ murmured Agathe.

She did understand that the funeral must take place sooner rather than later, but everything else? How on earth was she going to cope with everything else? She had no head for business, as Fleur had apparently had. How was she going to manage? She had no wish to come back to live in Paris, she was entirely settled where she was. Her confusion showed in her expression and Monsieur Colet saw it.