or whoever else is in the family?’
‘Celeste is the other inheritor,’ said Edward, starting to enjoy himself. He had hoped to do this in his office, so he could see the horror on Robert’s face when he realised he had lost his bet, but this was almost as good.
‘And there is an uncle, Robert Le Marche,’ he said, trying not to colour his voice with distaste.
‘Oh my God, an uncle? Dad’s brother, yes, Mum said he’s a prick,’ Billie said.
Edward didn’t argue with the truth, so he left her statement as it was.
‘So you will come?’ he asked.
‘No. I don’t want it, sell it to Celeste or something. She can have the lot.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Sibylla,’ he said.
‘Billie, please, Billie.’
‘OK, Billie,’ he said, pronouncing her name slowly. ‘You will have to come over here and sort out the details, as there are caveats on the will and clauses about selling and so on. I think it’s something you will need to discuss with Celeste.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ll think about it,’ snapped Billie, then there was a pause before she spoke again. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t swear, it’s just that sometimes I can’t seem to find a more appropriate word.’
Edward thought he hadn’t been this entertained at work in a long time, and he hoped Billie Le Marche would come to London, just for a while, to shake up Celeste and Robert. With her foul mouth and candour, she was exactly what Le Marche was lacking now Daphné was gone.
Edward’s role as the most trusted advisor to Daphné had been accidental, or was it? he wondered now.
He had seen the lack of insight from her lawyers in the London office that represented her. Le Marche might not be their biggest client, but it was certainly their most loyal, and since they were moving their head office to London, Edward saw an opportunity for the firm to step up and create more value for the company.
Except none of the other partners cared to hear his opinion.
‘It’s an ailing cosmetics brand, run by a French Miss Haversham, what do we care? As soon as she dies, she will leave it to the son, who will sell it off. It’s not worth the time. God knows why she’s moving the company to London either. I’m sure no one supports that inside the business.’
But Edward could see her reasoning for the move. Closer to the rest of the English-speaking world, and part of the London beauty legend, Le Marche was popular in France, but it was relatively unknown to the rest of the world.
And then he took the biggest risk of his twenty-five years. He flew to Paris on his own ticket and told Daphné that she needed to change legal firms, and explained why. He then said he would be leaving also and he wished her the best. He had always liked the sharp old woman, who spoke to him as though he was more than a junior.
‘I don’t need a legal firm in London any more,’ she said imperiously
‘Oh you will, I’m sure, just maybe one that’s more respectful of what you have achieved and what your international goals are for Le Marche,’ he explained.
She shook her grey curls, perfectly set in a chic bob.
‘No, I have you, you can be my legal firm, you can come and work for me, and you get some lawyers you like to help you and we can do it together,’ she had said with a wave of her crêpe paper-like hand, a huge aquamarine surrounded by diamonds catching the light on her ring finger.
She’s mad, he thought, as he pasted a smile onto his face.
‘I’m not sure that would work,’ he said slowly, trying to make her understand.
‘It will work,’ she said with a roll of her eyes. ‘I know you can do it. I trust you, you just have to trust yourself.’
And so Edward Badger went to work for Daphné Le Marche.
Edward sat in the back of the taxi he had hailed as the driver asked him where he wanted to go.
Edward had two choices, the silence of his riverside apartment, or a ton of work at the office?
No one would begrudge him if he took the afternoon off when the boss had died, would they? Edward thought about his sterile apartment, with its iconic view of the Thames, and made the right decision for him—he went right back to the office. After all, what was waiting for him at home?
The problem with working for Daphné Le Marche was that you didn’t get a social life. The woman was working on her deathbed, for God’s sake, he thought, as he paid the cabbie and went into the Grosvenor Street address.
Orange roses filled vases in the hallway, and a plethora of flowers with cards attached lined reception.
‘Mr Badger, where shall we send these?’ asked a pretty receptionist whose name he forgot.
He glanced at the flowers and shrugged. ‘Send them to nursing homes in the Greater London area. Someone should enjoy them,’ he suggested.
The girl nodded and smiled. ‘Good idea, Madame Le Marche would like that.’
Edward thought that Madame Le Marche probably wouldn’t care what happened to them, since they were all white. Lilies, chrysanthemums, roses and delphiniums spilled over the desks and he found the smell sickening.
‘Take something for yourself,’ he offered generously.
The girl blushed. ‘Thank you, Mr Badger,’ she gushed.
He nearly asked her to call him Edward but then refrained. The last thing he wanted was an office dalliance. The last time that happened, she left him with a set of spreadsheets of their finances and moved to a rival company. He had nearly lost his job, and Daphné had reminded him, no, he thought again, warned him to never mix business with pleasure again, unless it was family.
He strode up the hallway and nodded at those who passed him by, and finally found the silent security of his office.
His capable secretary, Rebecca, barrelled in with her six-month pregnant stomach and barked messages at him, and he listened while watching her bump in its tight jersey top.
‘Is that thing moving?’ he asked, peering at her.
Rebecca stared down at the bump. ‘Yes, they’re busy today. It’s because I had laksa for lunch and now they’re all high on chilli and lemongrass,’ she laughed, cupping the twins in their safe house.
Edward laughed but wished for a moment she wasn’t going to leave next month to have the babies. How on earth would he replace such a wonderful assistant?
Rebecca was still speaking. ‘And Sibylla Le Marche called for you,’ she said.
Edward looked up. ‘She called here? To the office?’ he asked.
‘Yes, she said she had trouble getting through to you on the mobile,’ said Rebecca, glancing down at the notepad she was holding. ‘She said, thanks but no thanks.’ Rebecca
