The French Girl(92)
The Haft & Weil contract hasn’t been revoked, to my surprise. Paul picked it up in my absence, liaising with someone other than Caro due to the need for her to focus on the partnership selection process (official line only, I hope); I have made no move to regain control of it. Therefore it’s a complete surprise to find Gordon Farrow waiting by my office front door when I step outside one lunchtime to get a sandwich; I grind to a halt halfway down the steps.
“Hello,” he says diffidently when I make no sound. “I don’t suppose you expected to see me.”
“No,” I reply warily. “I didn’t.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” It’s very much a question; he shows no expectation of a positive response. Perhaps that’s why I nod.
“There’s a café this way where we can get a sandwich, too, if you haven’t eaten.”
I glance at him as we walk along. He looks like he always does, a nondescript man in all respects. He must be appraising me, too, as he says, “I’m glad to see you looking so well. How do you feel?”
“Tired,” I say, yawning messily on cue. “Head injuries can do that, apparently.”
We find a table in the café and settle down, each of us hiding behind the menu. It’s not the same café as the one where Lara and I experienced the bird incident, but I still find myself glancing at the window and almost exclaim aloud when I see Severine sauntering by in her black shift dress. She turns her head and eyes me coolly, then continues down the pavement outside, away from the café. What does it mean, that she is back? Is she staying, or is this her version of good-bye? “I’m so pleased you agreed to meet with me,” Gordon says abruptly, putting down the menu. I drag my attention back to him, resisting the urge to crane my neck to see if she has really gone. “I wasn’t sure you would. I should have known you wouldn’t blame me for any . . . difficulties . . . between you and Caro—”
“Difficulties.” I put down my own menu. “Difficulties, Gordon? Is that the right word? She tried to kill me. She put so much Rohypnol in my drink that she damn near succeeded. So forgive me if I find the word difficulties a little too weak.”
“There is no evidence of that—” He tries to hold my gaze, but even his legendary steel is wavering.
“So I’m told. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. If you’d heard the tape—”
“I heard it.” He looks away.
“Who—” I start, but the waitress comes to take our order; she is a plump brunette continually smiling even as she speaks. I can’t imagine why she’s quite this happy at work. It’s jarring.
When she leaves I find Gordon appraising me again. “You’re angry with me,” he says mildly.
“Yes.”
“Because I stand by her? She’s my daughter; failing evidence to the contrary I have to believe her.” He explains this like it’s an intellectual discussion on the finer points of a legal draft.
“Do you have to?” I consider that. “Perhaps. I don’t know. What would you do if there was evidence but she claimed it was all fabricated?”
He shrugs, with a slight smile I don’t entirely understand.
“Anyway, that’s not why I’m angry with you.”
His control is superb. “Why, then?”
“Because I do blame you, for her behavior: you and your wife. You are partly responsible. How did she come to believe this kind of behavior is allowed? Where were the boundaries when she was growing up? You got divorced and then you felt guilty and you let her get away with murder and then, well, then getting away with murder wasn’t a metaphor anymore.” I stop and pick up my water glass, feeling oddly shaky after my savage words. I had no idea that was going to come out of my mouth. Is that how I really feel about it? Do I really blame him?
He looks at me sadly, saying nothing until the silence stretches out. I find myself holding my breath for a response. I shouldn’t care at all what Gordon thinks of me, but it’s clear I do. Finally he sighs. “I’m not sure I entirely agree with your position, but I do fully respect your right to say it. In truth there is very little you could say to make me feel any more wretched than I already do.” In that moment I can see through to the anguish in his eyes.
“Well,” I say, after a moment, “I’m sure it’s not as simple as all that.” He inclines his head, acknowledging my softening. The waitress has returned with our drinks, her smile in no way dimmed. Surely her cheeks must hurt?
“There is one thing I wanted to tell you before it becomes common knowledge,” Gordon says as he stirs milk into his coffee.
“Yes?”
“Caro has been suspended from Haft & Weil.”
My eyes fly to his face. He smiles a little ruefully at my shock. “Why?” I ask warily when he doesn’t add anything further.
He sips his coffee. “As I already mentioned, the police played me the tape. A French detective, it was; very bright chap, I thought.” I mentally cheer Modan as he shrugs. “Our firm can’t afford to ignore allegations of impropriety around the partnership process. I would have done the same with any employee, and Caro cannot be treated any differently.”
“You took it to the operating committee?” I must be round-eyed in shock.