It was almost a relief to sit here listening to this story. There was nothing the girl could say that would shock him. Not now. Look how nervous she was. Frightened of how he might react, but pressing ahead with her story regardless. Was it her sense of honor and justice that had driven her to follow him here and pour out her story? Or hatred of his wife? Or what?

“…She tried to buy my silence. First she gave me a pair of shoes. Then it was money slipped under my door. She was so brazen! ‘I’m off for a shoe-fitting, Céline.’ Well, nobody spends that long at the shoemaker, sir! Not for a fitting, at any rate. Not even her.”

Robert looked levelly at her. There was something familiar in the words she’d just spoken…

“I stayed as long as I could, sir. For your sake. I…You’re such a nice man, sir. I can see this is a shock and everything, but—well, you can’t let her destroy you. We’re not all false like her, sir. Not all of us.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, her face transformed. More confident and feminine. Coquettish. Was she taking her cues from him? Had his own expression changed?

“I know, Céline.” He poured out more bourbon. Pouring until the glasses were half full, and murmuring, “You’re a good girl. That’s why you wrote me those letters, isn’t it? On that pretty lilac paper. Out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Oh, sir.” She looked so relieved. So delighted. “I knew you’d believe me.”

“Of course.” He pulled his chair a little closer to hers. How old was she? Sixteen? Seventeen? “My marriage is over, honey. It’s been over for a long time, but I’ve only just realized it.” Unbidden, Marie-Claire came back into his head. Marie-Claire in her kitchen, making coffee. Turning to tell her little boy where to find his schoolbag. “You see, I’ve met someone else.”

“Someone…else?” Her eyes shone wetly. Her expression revealing everything he needed to know.

“Yes. Now drink up. There’s more in the bottle.” And he reached out and patted her knee, letting his hand remain there—on her knee—just long enough to be certain she wouldn’t push him away.

( forty-seven )

SITTING BACK IN HER taxi, Genevieve reread the paltry note, ripped it into tiny pieces and scattered it along the street like confetti.

Zachari’s shop was shuttered. She knocked for a while and called out his name. Then she kicked the door. Once, twice, three times. Having vented some of her anger, she stopped and tried to think.

He did love her. She knew he did. So why would he treat her this way? Not even coming to the station himself, but sending some boy with a stupid note?

She needed answers.