“Have you always been interested in the perfume industry, Monsieur Belanger?”
He looked as though he didn’t want to answer the question, but he did. “I have not my father’s flair for it, perhaps, but I do enjoy the idea of it, the way something lasting may be made from something fleeting.” This bit of insight surprised me. It was a good reminder that outward indifference did not always indicate lack of feeling.
“That’s very true,” I said. “When it’s cold and gray one may long for roses, and with perfume you have them at your fingertips.”
He offered me a small smile, the first I had seen on his lips that evening, and I could not help but feel that I was making progress.
“It is exactly that,” he said. “I like the essence of the thing. That is why I have always enjoyed the soliflores, the purity of a single scent. My father, Cecile, they reveled in making combinations, but for me the true nature of the thing is always preferable. Of course, one must give the people what they want. My father was renowned for the clever combinations of scents that he created. Parfumes Belanger will strive to live up to that reputation, even now that he is gone.”
“Your sister seems to have your father’s knack for perfumery,” I said. I wondered if this might be the wrong way to go about earning his friendship, but I was also curious what his reaction would be. To my surprise, he did not seem much annoyed by my statement. Instead, he nodded.
“Cecile has always been much like our father in many ways. Sometimes I think too much like him.”
“Oh?” I asked, very curious as to what this might mean.
“Certain traits are not attractive, in men or in women.” To my disappointment, he did not elaborate. Instead he went back to the subject of perfume. “I have long been considering launching a new line of soliflores, made of rare and expensive ingredients. For discerning clients, such as yourself.”
“That sounds like it has the makings of a successful venture,” I said encouragingly, hoping he would continue.
“My father did not think so,” he said flatly. “However, it may be something that I will still consider pursing. Of course, we will continue on in my father’s legacy. We mustn’t disappoint the masses.”
There was the faintest tinge of disdain in his manner, and I was surprised. Anton was, of all the Belangers, the one who I would have least expected to look down upon the customers who had made Parfumes Belanger a household name.
“I don’t mind giving them what they want, of course,” he said, “but it has always seemed to me that they are terribly easy to influence. Once a name has been established, they will accept almost anything.” His eyes met mine, curiously intent. “Don’t you find this to be true?”
I wondered if this little speech had anything to do with the missing formula. Was he trying to convince himself that he could fool consumers with an imitation perfume should he be unable to produce L’Ange de Mémoire?
“Well, I don’t know,” I answered slowly. I was not certain I agreed with him on this score. There were many scents I was sure I would not enjoy, just as some of the more outlandish modern fashions would never be my taste. “I suppose it is a matter of individual preference.”
“As you say.” He shrugged. “‘To each his own,’ as the saying goes.”
“What of your brother?” I asked. “Do you suppose he may ever be interested in the perfume business?”
His gaze moved to Michel, but he lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink before he answered. “I don’t suppose my brother will ever be interested in anything really worthwhile.”
“Oh, one never can tell about people,” I said.
He looked back at me. “No,” he said. “Perhaps not.”
It had been meant to be an encouraging thought, but I found it rather disheartening at the moment. It seemed that the better I got to know the suspects, the more difficult it was to determine which of them might be guilty.
When dinner was over, I would have to set my plan into motion.
20
THE REST OF dinner was rather uneventful. After my conversation with Anton, Cecile had once again engaged me in conversation about perfume and it had lasted for the remainder of the meal. I found myself swept away by her enthusiasm and her vast knowledge of the subject.
Afterward, we had returned to the drawing room for coffee. I was seated near the fire with Cecile, plotting a way to get into Monsieur Belanger’s study, when Michel came up.
“Cecile, do let me steal her away for a few moments,” he said. “You’ve monopolized her all evening.”
“You will behave yourself, Michel.”
“Of course.”
Cecile rose, turning to me. “If he makes a nuisance of himself, you’ve only to shoo him away.”
I smiled. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Cecile went away to talk to Milo and Beryl, and Michel took a seat on the divan next to me. “I’m sorry if I have been too intrusive, Madame Ames. It is only that I thought perhaps you needed rescuing from Cecile’s lectures. She has a head for perfume and little else, my sister,” Michel said with a smile.
“Are you at all interested in perfumes, Monsieur Belanger?” I asked.
He smiled. “Only in the way they smell on a woman’s skin.” I wondered if he ever allowed himself to drop the guise of seducer. Surely there was more to him than that.
“Then you don’t have much interest in Parfumes Belanger and the development of its perfumes?” While I didn’t think he would let anything slip if he was responsible for stealing the perfume formula, I hoped I might be able to detect some hint of guilt in him.
“I’ll admit that it has never much been my forte,” he said. “I am not what you might call scientifically minded.”
Somehow this didn’t surprise me.
“Oh, it isn’t that I didn’t attempt it. I knew from a young age that his perfumes meant more to my father than anything else. Cecile knew it, too. Even from the time she was a child, she did nothing but follow my father about. He shared all his secrets with her. It made me envious, so I tried to follow her lead.”
“And did you learn your father’s secrets?” I asked with a smile.
“Some of them,” he said. “But the love of perfume was not something that I inherited. I much prefer the love of women.”
So we were back to that again. I might as well use the subject to my advantage.
“I have heard a good many things about Angelique,” I said. “I believe she was a special friend of yours?”
I had meant to throw him off guard, but I did not succeed. Instead, his smile widened. “There are a great many things to tell about her,” he said. “She is a fascinating woman.”
“But not fascinating enough to hold your interest?” I asked, brows raised. I wanted to know what it was that had really driven them apart. Somehow I didn’t think that Helios Belanger’s disapproval would have bothered Michel.
“We, both of us, found that our attention wandered.”
“I wondered if perhaps she had taken a fancy to Jens Muller,” I said.
Michel threw his head back and laughed boisterously. “That sculptor? No, no. Angelique cared nothing for him. He was obsessed with her, but he would not have been the first man to feel that way.”
“Yourself included.”
He shrugged, his eyes alight with amusement, and his hand moved to my knee. “I find that I fall in love quite easily.”
I picked it up and set it aside, smiling coolly. “And you fall out of it just as easily, I imagine.”
Michel laughed. “I like you very much, Madame Ames. May I call you Amory? It is a lovely name, very like our word for ‘love,’ is it not?”
“Michel.” It was Anton. He had come up and was frowning down at Michel. It seemed that he disapproved of his brother’s frivolity.
“Yes, Anton?” he replied.
When Michel looked at his brother, his smile remained intact, but there was a difference in his eyes that might not have bee
n noticeable if one wasn’t paying attention. Suddenly I understood something. There was a deceptive carelessness about him. No matter what he was feeling, he would always appear perfectly at ease and unmoved by emotion. It was a quality I recognized, for Milo was the same way.
I thought of the rumors I had heard of his violent temper, a trait that had not seemed to fit with his carefree personality. Now I wondered if I had underestimated him. I suspected there was much more to Michel Belanger than met the eye.
“I need to speak to you a moment.” Anton turned to me. “You will excuse us, Madame Ames?”
“Of course. In fact, I think I shall just go powder my nose.”
If I was going to try to get into Anton’s office, now would be the ideal time. I was very much hoping that he didn’t keep it locked.
I turned back to see if anyone would notice I had slipped away. Milo was still engaged in conversation with Beryl Belanger and Cecile. Anton was speaking earnestly about something to Michel, who only seemed to be half listening. Michel had that same vague expression on his face, but his gaze was watchful. He was paying close attention to everyone who was in the room. It was almost as though he, too, was waiting for the chance to escape.
I left before his eyes came back to mine.
I was alone in the hallway and walked quickly toward the door that I knew led to Anton’s office. I tried it and, as I had feared, it was locked. That meant that I would need to try the door that led out onto the garden, the one where Anton and Cecile had spoken on the night of the party.
I tried the next door down the corridor and found it unlocked. I stepped into the room, hoping it would have a door to the courtyard. There were heavy curtains drawn across the windows and the room was dark. I moved through it, feeling for furniture and hoping that I wouldn’t knock anything over.
It was imperative that I hurry before I was missed.
I reached the curtains and pulled them aside, relieved to find that these, too, were doors leading out into the courtyard. I opened them and slipped out into the cool, fragrant night air.
The door to Anton Belanger’s office was the next one over, and I tried it. I half expected it to be locked and was relieved to find that it was open.
With a furtive glance over my shoulder, as though some unseen presence might be lurking in the courtyard, I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.
The curtains were drawn here, too, and I didn’t know how I was going to be able to find anything in the dark. Nevertheless, I thought it probably too risky to turn on the lamp. The light might shine beneath the door and into the hallway, calling attention to what I was doing.
I pulled back one of the drapes slightly to let in the moonlight. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough for me to see what I was looking for.
There was a vast desk of dark wood not far from the window, and I moved to it. I tried the first drawer and found it unlocked. I pulled it open and discovered that it held a leather case full of paper. I opened it, squinting, and found that it was a thick stack of legal documents. It was rather difficult to tell, but I didn’t think it was anything of importance.
It was then I realized what a daunting task this was. The desk might be full of papers, and my time was very limited.
I opened another drawer and found it full of empty perfume bottles of different designs. Prototypes, perhaps. They rattled slightly as I pulled the drawer open, and I held my breath, the sound terribly loud in this quiet room.
The next drawer contained only a piece of paper folded in half. I opened it and saw it had been written by hand, not a typewriter. I read the first line, which translated from French to something very like the opening lines of an English will. “I, Helios Belanger, being of sound mind, declare this to be my last will and testament.”
Against all odds, I had found it. I was just about to read further, when I heard the unmistakable sound of the door knob turning. My heart froze in my chest, and then I realized that I had to move quickly. I closed the drawers as quietly as possible and turned back toward the window.
The door to the office opened just as I slid behind the curtain, and there was not time for me to go back out into the courtyard without being heard. I would have to wait it out. It was only then I realized that I still had the will in my hand.
I waited for a lamp to be lit, but there was only the scrape of a match. A pale orange light shone in the room, and I hazarded a glance around the edge of the curtain. I was surprised to see Michel Belanger.
He was standing before a painting on the wall. In the dim light cast by the match, I saw that it was a portrait of a woman. There was something a bit familiar about the shape of her face, and I realized that she resembled all of the Belanger siblings. No doubt it was their mother.
Surely, however, he had not snuck into this room to gaze at the portrait of his dead mother. What was he doing here? How had he entered the room when the door was locked? He must have a key. I wondered if Anton knew his brother had access to this room. What was more, I wondered if Helios Belanger had known. Of course, with the door to the courtyard left unlocked, anyone might enter this room. I had proven that. Perhaps nothing of importance was left out in the open.
The match burned down and he shook it out. A moment later, I heard the scrape of a second one being lit, and I peeked around the curtain again. He was reaching up to touch the portrait. I thought for a moment that he might be reaching up to caress the image of his mother’s face, and I felt embarrassed that I was witnessing such an intimate moment of sentimentality.
Then I heard the faintest click as his fingers pressed a place on the frame and the portrait moved on hinges away from the wall. He was looking for the safe.
The second match died away, and he lit a third. He moved faster now, with more purpose. Holding the flame high, he reached into his pocket and removed a second key. I heard the safe’s lock release and then he stepped behind the barrier made by the painting, and I could no longer see what he was doing.
How was it that he had a key to the safe? Madame Nanette had mentioned that only the solicitor and Monsieur Belanger had had keys. If that was the case, it seemed that Michel must be in possession of his father’s missing key. That meant he might have taken the copy of the perfume formula from the safe before the solicitor arrived.
His mother seemed to look disapprovingly at me from her portrait, but I ignored her. I wanted to see what he was doing in the safe.
A moment later, he slipped something into his pocket. It wasn’t a piece of paper, and so far as I knew, there had been only one other item of importance in the safe: the mysterious key that had been present when the solicitor had come to read the will.
He closed the safe and I moved back behind the curtain. I heard the click of the portrait as it swung back into place.
The room went dark again as his match went out, and I heard him move to the door, open it, and a moment later slip out into the hallway.
I stood in the quiet darkness for a moment to be sure he wouldn’t come back, my mind racing. The evidence was piling up against Michel. After all, if he alone had access to the safe, it seemed certain that he had stolen the formula. But why steal the formula from the safe only to come back later to take the key? It didn’t make sense. I had been confident that once we discovered who had access to the safe we would have our killer. Now I was less convinced. There was something else going on here, and I needed to discover what it was.
I moved quickly out the doors back into the courtyard. Only then did I remember I still held the will in my hand. I considered replacing it in the drawer, but I needed a better look at it. So I folded it into a small square and slipped it into my décolletage. I started toward the door from which I had entered the courtyard, greatly relieved that I had not been caught. Or so I thought.
I rounded a bush and walked directly into a dark figure.
I only barely kept from exclaiming aloud. “Oh, excuse me,” I began. “I…”
“What are you doing?” Milo a
sked in a low voice.
I was both relieved and somewhat irritated to realize it was he. It seemed he was always popping up when I had been doing something I oughtn’t. “I … I just needed some air.”
“Liar,” he said. “You’ve been up to something.”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” I said, starting to move past him. “We’d better get back inside.”
He reached out an arm to stop me, pulling me against him. “I think we have a moment to spare.”
I thought he might intend to press me further on what I had been doing, but it seemed that was not what was on his mind. “I’ve been wanting to be alone with you all evening,” he said. “I am very much looking forward to getting you back to the hotel.”
“Milo…”
“Someone’s coming,” he said in a low voice. He lowered his head and kissed me then, and, despite being attuned for approaching footsteps, I allowed myself to be caught up in his embrace.
At last I pulled away, breathless. “We’ve got to go back in,” I said. “They’ll wonder where we’ve gone.”
“I would not wonder,” Michel Belanger said, stepping around the path, a cigarette in his hand. “Were I your husband, I should make use of every opportunity to be alone with you. Forgive my intrusion, but Cecile sent me out to see what had become of you.”
Milo smiled, his arms still around me. “My wife wanted a bit of air.”
“And you wanted a bit of her. Perfectly understandable.”
I stepped back out of Milo’s embrace. “It was very ill-mannered of us. Let’s go back at once.”
Before either of the gentlemen could say another word, I turned and hurried back to the doors leading to the drawing room. Under other circumstances, I might have been incredibly embarrassed to have been caught kissing my husband at a social engagement. As it was, I felt relieved that Michel Belanger had not caught me in a much more compromising position: behind the curtains in his father’s office.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, as I entered the drawing room. “I went to powder my nose and then I suddenly felt very warm and wandered out into the courtyard for some air. Please forgive my rudeness.”
The Essence of Malice Page 19
