“I have heard that you make custom scents on occasion,” I said, embellishing what I had been told about her own unique perfume. The fragrance had drifted up to meet me as I stood beside her. It was a warm and spicy scent, almost hypnotic in its richness. The combined notes of balsam, vetiver, and a trace of some other exotic element I could not quite name reminded me of a delicate incense. It was less feminine than I had expected, yet alluring and mysterious. I could understand now why the perfume salesgirl had spoken of it so reverently.
It seemed to me that impatience flickered across Cecile’s features, though she tried quickly to hide it. She was, at heart, a businesswoman, and it must have occurred to her that it was just possible we might be valuable customers.
“I wear a custom scent,” she said. “That may be what you have heard. We have not made them for customers. The expenses are prohibitive.”
Milo smiled. “Not prohibitive to everyone, I’m sure.”
She hesitated.
“We came to you because your family’s name is at the top of the industry. No price is too high to make my lovely wife happy.”
I wondered if he was laying it on a bit thick, but the words seemed to have had their effect. Some of the brusqueness left her tone.
“It is possible, I suppose,” she said slowly.
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” I enthused. “I’m so interested in the process. Would it be possible for me to be involved?”
Again, the hesitation. She didn’t particularly want to work with me, but Milo had made it clear that he was willing to pay whatever she asked.
“Let me consider how the matter may best be handled,” she said. “Perhaps if you will come to tea the day after tomorrow and we can discuss the details?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Another guest moved forward to speak to Cecile then, and we moved away, back into the crowd.
“Well, darling, I think we’ve got our foot in the door,” Milo said in a low voice.
“I wish you had consulted me before you just went ahead with it like that,” I said crossly. “It was my plan, after all.”
“And a very good plan it was. I saw no reason not to put it into operation as soon as possible. No reason to tiptoe around things. None of them are weeping over the deceased, after all.”
“I thought the same thing. It is strange, isn’t it?” I said. “It seems as though at least one of them would have mourned him.”
Milo shrugged. “Not everyone is worthy of being mourned.”
“That’s very cynical,” I said.
“But true, nonetheless.”
“What do you think Cecile Belanger made of our request?”
“We annoyed her, but she no doubt considers us eccentric Londoners with too much time and money on our hands. It ought to work.”
“I feel as though this may have been an expensive way to go about it,” I said.
Milo shrugged. “What good is money if you don’t use it? As I see it, it’s a worthwhile investment. Madame Nanette’s suspicions will be either confirmed or put to rest, and you’ll get a custom scent.”
There was a sudden stirring in the crowd just then, and I realized that Anton Belanger was about to speak. It seemed that it was time for the show.
Anton Belanger made his way up four or five steps of the marble staircase, turning to face the room, and the crowd hushed. His dark eyes moved over the guests for a moment before he began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are so pleased that you could join us tonight. While it is a night of sadness, it is also a night of joy. We mourn our father’s passing, but we are pleased that his legacy lives on.” His grave, handsome face and the low, somber tone of his voice gave an oddly pleasing gravity to the situation, allowing us all to feel that this was a memorial for Helios Belanger rather than a blatantly commercial venture on the day after his funeral.
“My father had a dream, a dream that I shared, for a perfume that would reach new heights, for a scent that would be more than just another in a long line of fragrances, one that would have a life of its own.” It was a pretty speech, even prettier in French than it might have been in English, and I could tell that the crowd was fully behind him. I had to admit that I was rather impressed with his sentiments.
“We have guarded the secret of this scent and we can promise that it will be unlike anything you have ever smelled before. Soon the perfume will be available to all, but tonight we will present to you the bottle which was specially designed by the illustrious Jens Muller.”
He gestured to a man who stood at the corner of the room. He was the sort of man one might not have noticed in a crowd: of average height, fair, thin. The expression on his face was one of supreme indifference. There was a ripple of applause in the crowd at the mention of his name, but the man did not acknowledge it. Instead, he lifted his glass to his lips.
Anton turned again toward the veiled sculpture. “My father may not be here in body, but I feel that he is here with us in spirit. And so, for my father, I give you L’Ange de Mémoire.”
He nodded at the man standing beside the draped object in the curve of the stairs.
He pulled the satin cloth and it slid to the floor in a white puddle. A murmur went up from the crowd. Beneath it was a marble sculpture, as tall as Cecile Belanger, that represented the bottle in which L’Ange de Mémoire would come.
It appeared to be the figure of a woman, but as I looked closer I realized that it was an angel, her wings wrapped around her body, creating the effect of a draped, flowing gown. It was her face that was most arresting—a soft, peaceful smile playing on her lips. The Angel of Memory, she was called, and her faraway expression indeed recalled a moment of pleasant reminiscence. It really was an impressive piece of workmanship. It almost looked as though it would have been better suited to a cathedral than a perfume shop.
The hush that had fallen over the crowd faded as applause broke out. It appeared that L’Ange de Mémoire was a success and we had not even smelled it yet. I tried to imagine what sort of scent might be suited to so ethereal a vessel.
I glanced at Jens Muller to see his reaction to the crowd’s approval. The bland expression remained on his features, but I thought there was a hint of something less restrained in his gaze as he watched the spectacle at the staircase. I could have been wrong, but it almost looked to me like anger. I wondered at whom it was directed.
I looked back at Anton Belanger, who still stood on the steps above the room. Despite his subdued expression, there was a look of triumph in his dark eyes.
He started to step down, but hesitated. “I would like to say one more thing,” he said as the applause died away. “My father made a name for himself, building an empire from nothing. There have been questions regarding the direction in which his company will go now that he is dead.”
I glanced at the other members of the Belanger family as he spoke. It was Cecile’s face that made it clear to me that this part of his speech had not been planned. A barely concealed expression of surprise had crossed her features and then had hardened into a mask of something very much like contempt.
“I want you all to know that Parfumes Belanger will continue to grow and thrive,” he went on. It seemed to me that his eyes flickered to his sister as he spoke. “I hope there will no longer be any questions about the future of Parfumes Belanger or in whose hands that future rests.”
It seemed that the crowd was slightly confused by this impromptu addendum to his speech, but I recognized it for what it was. Anton Belanger had made a very public proclamation of power. Whatever her role at their father’s side had been, it was clear that Anton did not intend to share his newfound control with his sister.
Helios Belanger had been rumored to cut his enemies down before they could form their defenses. If this was true, this move by Anton Belanger would have done his father proud.
Milo, it seemed, had the same thought, for he turned his head to murmur in my ear, his tone sardonic. �
��The king is dead. Long live the king.”
9
THE NIGHT WORE on, and I found that, while I was enjoying the party, I was not learning as much as I had hoped. In fact, I had begun to wonder about the feasibility of our entire plan. I was doubtful there would be anything else to be learned tonight. The Belangers had been surrounded for most of the evening, and I did not foresee the opportunity to speak with them again.
I was ready to go back to the hotel, but Milo had again disappeared into the crowd. So long as I was able to find and extract him by the evening’s end, it would be all right. In the meantime, I needed a bit of air. It seemed to me that every woman there had decided to pay tribute to the late Helios Belanger by drenching themselves in his perfumes. I had made my own contribution by wearing the Bouquet de Belanger that I had recently purchased. As lovely as the scents smelled individually, the conglomeration was a bit overwhelming. I was beginning to get a headache.
I wandered into one of the less crowded rooms and found the doors leading out onto the courtyard. I stepped out and found myself alone. I would have expected that more people would have wanted fresh air, but perhaps the party was too enthralling to tear themselves away from. The air was filled with music and laughter and I had noticed that the liquor had begun to flow rather freely.
There was no light in the courtyard, save for that of the moon, and I took a deep breath of the cool night air, enjoying the solitude. The scent of flowers I had smelled on arrival was thicker here, and I suspected that the courtyard garden was in full bloom.
I was about to venture farther into the courtyard when a light was suddenly switched on in one of the rooms along this side of the house, casting rectangles of light out into the darkness through the panes of the French doors.
Out of curiosity, I moved in that direction. I had not yet reached the source of light, however, when I heard voices. It seemed the doors were slightly ajar.
“What is so urgent that we must leave our guests, Anton?” The voice belonged to Cecile, and, despite her measured tone, I could tell she was displeased.
“Where is the key to the safe?”
“What do you mean?” she said impatiently.
“He always kept the key with him, but I have not seen it since his death.”
“Perhaps it is in his room,” she said. “He had taken to hiding it. It must be somewhere among his things. If we cannot locate it, Monsieur Dofour has a key. What is this about?”
“I wanted to look at the formula.”
“Now?” she demanded.
“I want to be sure it is there. You saw the enthusiasm of the crowd, Cecile. We must make sure that we deliver that perfume.”
“The formula is in the safe. Where else would it be?”
“Are you sure you do not have the key?” he asked, the accusation plain in his voice.
“I am quite sure,” she replied coolly.
“I hope you are not attempting things behind my back, Cecile.”
There was a moment of silence and when she spoke, her voice fairly crackled with suppressed anger. “Whatever you may think, you do not rule me, Anton,” she said. “No matter what speeches you have made, the will has yet to be read. And you may believe that if I do anything, it will not be behind your back but to your face.”
There was nothing else after that, and I assumed she had left the room. I moved away as quietly as possible, considering what I had heard. It seemed Cecile had reason to believe that Anton might not inherit Parfumes Belanger, after all.
Not wanting to risk being seen, I followed a little path through the foliage that eventually led back around to where I had started. I stopped for a moment to admire the aroma floating up from the rosebushes.
The voice spoke in my ear suddenly from behind, startling me. “There you are, my darling.” The words might have been Milo’s, but they were spoken in French in a voice I didn’t recognize.
Before I could turn, his arms slid around my waist and I was pulled against him. “I have been waiting for you a very long time. It was agony.” Then warm lips pressed against my neck, and I realized that I had better make his mistake known to him before things progressed any further.
I removed the hands from my waist and turned to face my amorous companion. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” I said in English.
Somehow I was not surprised to see that it was Michel Belanger who crept up behind me in the dark.
He did not look in the least embarrassed by his mistake. “A thousand pardons, Mademoiselle…?”
“Madame,” I corrected, not giving him my name.
The fact that I was married did not faze him any more than kissing a stranger’s neck had done.
“I was to meet a lady here, a lady in a silver dress. From the back, you…”—he shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—“resemble.”
“Women look very much the same in the dark, I suppose,” I said, not quite managing to suppress my sarcasm.
His smiled broadened. “This is true, perhaps, but they feel different. Another moment, and I would have realized.”
“Well, I shall leave you before your friend comes and finds that you have been feeling me by mistake.”
“Madame, wait…”
But I had already slipped past him and back into the house. I did not intend to stay alone with Michel Belanger any longer than necessary.
The crowd inside seemed to have grown thicker since I had stepped outside, and I had a difficult time making my way through the throng of people. I was just passing a group of three women who stood close together drinking champagne and conversing in French, when something one of them said caught my attention.
“Michel looks remarkably calm tonight, all things considered,” she said. She might have been referring to his father’s death, but her tone was sarcastic not sympathetic.
I stopped, trying not to be too conspicuous as I listened.
“Do you really think his father went through with it?” asked a second woman in a bright red dress. She took a deep draw on a cigarette in a long black holder. “Monsieur Belanger was forever threatening him, but I think Michel never really believed him.”
“My father told me Monsieur Belanger had arranged to meet with Monsieur Dofour, his solicitor, shortly before his death,” said a third woman in a gown of gold satin. “Whether or not it happened, I don’t know, but I would, perhaps, be a bit nervous if I were he.”
“His latest affair might have pushed the old man too far,” said the first woman. “Perhaps Monsieur Belanger should have thought twice about insisting that Michel end things with Angelique. She was notorious, perhaps, but at least not married to a government official.”
“Notorious is too kind,” said the woman in gold. “Angelique is a dangerous woman. I’m surprised Michel survived her. I would have thought he would be the one to end up dead when he broke it off, not his father.”
They tittered a bit at this, but I suddenly wondered who exactly this Angelique was and if it was possible she harbored a grudge against Monsieur Belanger for having forced his son to break off their romance.
“Anton looks well,” said the woman in gold. “In fact, I have never seen him look better.”
The woman in the red dress blew out a slow stream of smoke. “So Anton inherits Parfumes Belanger and poor Michel will end up with nothing except his amusing personality.”
“Yes, and if he was disinherited, he will perhaps not be quite so amusing,” said the first.
They laughed and began to talk about something else, and I moved away.
So Helios Belanger had threatened to disinherit Michel. He would not be the first serious-minded father to grow tired of his son’s bad behavior and threaten such a thing. However, not all such fathers ended up dead under suspicious circumstances. I wondered if Helios Belanger had ever kept that appointment with his solicitor. It was certainly something to keep in mind.
I made my way farther into the room and suddenly spotted Herr Muller, the sculptor,
standing at the corner. His arms were behind his back, and he was observing the crowd with a contemptuous expression. I supposed that he was not the sort of man who enjoyed parties. Perhaps he would rather be in his studio working than standing in formal clothes among a room full of people who had very little understanding of his art.
I thought of going over to congratulate him on the piece. It really was impressive. I made my way through the crowd and had almost reached him when I saw Anton Belanger step toward him. I moved closer, hoping I would be able to hear what they were saying.
“You needn’t have come tonight, if the party is so repellent to you,” Anton was saying. I was a bit surprised by his words. Though it was apparent that Herr Muller was not enjoying the evening, this was not the sort of remark I would have expected from Anton Belanger. Then again, it seemed he was making a habit of antagonizing people this evening.
“It is the way these people stand in awe of your father’s name that repels me,” Herr Muller replied. Strong words indeed.
Anton did not appear as surprised as I to hear such words. “It was a business transaction,” he replied tonelessly. “You were not required to approve of my father.”
Herr Muller lowered his voice, but I could still make out the words. “Never before have I met such opposition when sculpting a piece. Never before have I taken such insult. ‘You are in league with my enemies,’ he told me! Imagine it!”
“My father was a passionate man,” Anton said calmly. “He did not always mean what he said. As his friend, you should have known that.”
“We were friends once, but that is long past. I would not have finished the sculpture after his behavior, had I been left a choice.”
“It is an excellent sculpture,” Anton said. “Your reputation is secure.”
I glanced at the sculpture. The face of the woman stood tall above the crowd, her serene composure immune to the revelry around her. I had to agree with Anton Belanger. There was nothing in it that might prove damaging to Herr Muller’s reputation as a sculptor. If anything, I would have thought it rather a triumph.
The Essence of Malice Page 8
