Invitation to Provence(49)
“Felix killed himself. He was always a coward,” Alain said coldly.
“But it was you who killed that poor young girl.” Rafaella realized the truth all of a sudden. “I never knew for sure until now, though Jake did. Unlike me, he could always see through you. And poor Felix suffered for it. He couldn’t bear that I believed you and not him. I shall never forgive myself for that.”
“Felix left because he couldn’t stand being around Alain, not because of you, Rafaella,” Jake said. “And in the end, Alain killed him because he couldn’t stand the thought that Felix’s child would inherit everything he considered rightfully his.”
“Of course I didn’t kill Felix, or that girl,” Alain said calmly. “You know there’s not a shred of evidence. Besides, Shao Lan is my child. I challenge you to prove she’s not.”
“I already have.” Jake turned to Rafaella. “I was going to tell you tonight but I didn’t have the chance. DNA taken from Felix’s body matches with Shao Lan’s, and in his will, Felix left everything he has, which is considerable, to his daughter.”
Confused, Rafaella said, “But why didn’t he acknowledge her before? Why did he allow them to live like that?”
Jake shrugged. “I suppose Alain knows the answer to that.”
Rafaella stared at her son, lounging on the sofa, smiling as though nothing was wrong. She knew he was a man with no moral rules and boundaries, a man who lied when it suited him, a man who could kill a pregnant girl rather than face his responsibilities, a man who could kill his brother because he wanted his money and wanted to take over his life. How ever had she borne such a son?
“You can’t prove it of course,” Alain said confidently to Jake. “And besides, the authorities have closed the case.”
It was true, there was no evidence against Alain, not even any witnesses to say he’d been with Felix that night. If there were, then Jake would not legally be able to do what he was about to do, because then the police would have had to be involved. He glanced at his watch. It was three in the morning. He had to protect Rafaella. He had to get Alain out of here. He had to bluff.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I personally have evidence, but because of your mother I will not use it. That is, if you get up and leave right now. I’ll make it easy for you. My plane is at Marseille’s Marignane airport. You can drive to Marseille and be out of the country in a few hours, on your way back to Vietnam. If you don’t”—he raised his shoulder in a shrug—“then I’ll call the gendarmes right now. The choice is yours.”
Alain eyed him uneasily. He knew Jake was clever, he was good at his job, an expert they said. He’d believed he’d left no evidence but now he wondered… . Goddamn it, you never knew, and if they nailed him he was a man looking at a death sentence, or at least life in jail. Fuck Felix and f*ck his mother and f*ck Jake to hell. He didn’t dare risk calling Jake’s bluff.
He got to his feet. “So once again you are throwing me out, maman,” he said, “but let me tell you something: this time you’ll live to regret it. Both of you.”
Rafaella looked sadly at him. “My only regret was that you never told me the truth.”
Alain stepped closer, his face in hers. “But I always told you the truth. It’s just that you chose to believe the others. Now you leave me no choice.” Jake took Rafaella by the shoulder and pulled her away. Alain strode to the door, flung it open, then turned and glared contemptuously at them. “I won’t say good-bye, maman,” he said with that mocking tone again. “You never know when you might see me again.”
They heard his footsteps ringing on the parquet as he crossed the hall, the sound of the door opening, the shuddering as it slammed. A car started up. There was the spurt of tires on the gravel … and Alain was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.
Rafaella’s shoulders drooped as she turned to Jake. He took her in his arms and held her tenderly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could have been otherwise. I’m just so sorry.”
And he stroked Rafaella’s hair and held her for a long time while she cried on his shoulder for Felix and for Alain.
39
IN BED THE NEXT MORNING, Franny felt the warm pressure of a small body next to hers. She rolled over and saw Little Blue, her eyes still shut tight. She must have been afraid in the night and come into her room. She studied her innocent face as she slept, admiring her delicate prettiness, seeing the true innocence of childhood that still lurked beneath the hard veneer that poverty had given her. She felt about her the way she did about an injured animal: she just wanted to look after her, make her well again, and heal her wounds. She vowed to do exactly that. Whatever happened, she would always take care of her new little cousin.
Sliding from under the sheet, she walked to the window, pushed open the shutters, and looked out, astonished, on what she thought must be the very first morning God had ever made. Soft, cool, early-morning air stroked her cheek, bringing with it the scent of many flowers, and right outside the window a rare magnolia tree thrust a few perfect waxy cream blossoms to the sky. Below, a stone terrace led onto a parterre garden where tiny formal hedges of deep green box, no more than a foot high, enclosed miniature gardens of herbs and shrubs, their leaves still sparkling with last night’s rain. To the right, an avenue of chestnut trees towered over a grassy walkway, dotted here and there with little iron tables and chairs. Beyond that, a lake sparkled silver in the sunlight. She saw a narrow wooden bridge, red as nail polish, arched like something from Madama Butterfly. Peering through the magnolia, she could just make out that it led to a small island with a filigreed white wooden gazebo.