building in front of her. She smoothed her hair from her face – thinking perhaps she should have at least brushed it after her gym session that morning – before ringing the bell above the sign for Apartment 3.
‘Oui?’ came the response over the intercom.
‘Madame Benazet?’ Veronique replied. ‘My name is Veronique Cotillard. We spoke on the phone?’
‘Ah yes, of course. Won’t you come up?’
Veronique pushed against the wrought-iron gate, walking through into a private courtyard. In the centre stood an ornate fountain, the delicate sound of water accompanied by the faint notes of Mozart coming from an open window above her head. A doorway to her right was framed by trailing jasmine, its scent settling on her clothes as she passed through into a lobby with marbled floor and a crystal chandelier hanging from the double-height ceiling.
After walking past the lift Veronique ascended the stairs to the second floor, her footfalls muffled by the striped runner. Pausing outside Apartment 3 she angled her face away from the door before lifting the brass knocker and allowing it to fall against the gleaming mahogany.
‘Madame Benazet.’ Fixing a smile on her face she extended her hand in greeting.
The smile that was returned didn’t quite meet eyes that flickered from one side of Veronique’s face to the other. If Madame Benazet was surprised by the woman standing in her doorway she gave no indication of it.
‘Please,’ she said, gesturing for Veronique to enter, ‘do come in. I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad. It can be rather busy at this time of day.’
‘I walked,’ Veronique replied as the door was shut behind her.
‘I see. Please would you remove your shoes and follow me.’
Veronique did as she was asked, following Madame Benazet along a carpeted hallway with photographs lining the walls and into a room screaming for attention. An oversized mirror, deep velvet curtains framing dual-aspect windows and lilies adorning every conceivable surface.
‘Can you tell me a little about Mathilde?’ she asked, sitting on a nearby sofa and sinking into the cushions.
‘What would you like to know?’ Madame Benazet stood by the mirror, repositioning one of the flower arrangements.
‘Something about her character, her favourite food, anything. It doesn’t matter whether or not you think it’s relevant.’
‘What can I tell you about Mathilde?’ A sigh, a stroke of hair, fingertips lingering on a drop diamond earring. ‘She’s a bit of an attention-seeker, a bit melodramatic.’
‘Can you give me an example?’
‘Mathilde is a rather difficult girl, always has been,’ she began, descending onto a wing-backed chair and crossing her legs. ‘Even as a baby she was always the one demanding attention. If only she could have been more like…’
‘Like?’
‘Oh, you know.’ A wave of her manicured hand. ‘I suppose I had an idea of what motherhood was going to be like, but then these things rarely live up to your expectations, do they?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Madame. I don’t have any children.’
‘You know,’ she said, rising from her chair and going over to the sideboard from which she retrieved a decanter and two tumblers, ‘you’re not at all what I was expecting.’ She poured two generous measures and handed one to Veronique.
‘What were you expecting?’ Veronique swirled the dark liquid around the glass before taking a large sip.
‘You’re really rather beautiful.’
‘Is that a problem?’ Veronique knocked back the remaining Cognac and rolled the glass in her palms.
‘Goodness no.’ A shrill laugh followed by a pursing of lips. ‘Just surprising is all. Francoise mentioned your scar.’
‘People usually do.’
‘I only mean that… Oh never mind. I guess I was nervous about this whole thing. Hiring a stranger to come into your home, opening yourself up to scrutiny once more. But Francoise couldn’t recommend you highly enough and what’s important is finding Mathilde, to find out what happened to her.’ She looked directly at Veronique. ‘You do believe me when I say she hasn’t simply run away?’
‘Why would I not believe you, Madame?’
‘Please, call me Christelle. Madame makes me sound so old.’
Walking over to the grand piano at the far corner of the room she picked up one of the framed photographs that lay atop it.
‘You may have noticed that there are no recent photographs of Mathilde in the apartment.’
‘It did strike me as a little peculiar, I must admit.’
‘She made me put them all away.’ Taking a long sip of her own drink Madame Benazet placed the photograph back on the piano and turned to Veronique. ‘Mathilde seems to think all the world is against her. That it’s harder for her than anyone else, but I’ve told her you don’t get something for nothing in this life; you have to work at it. I mean, she takes everything so personally. It’s not as if he was even a serious boyfriend.’
‘Boyfriend?’ Veronique mentally flicked through her notes. There had been no mention of a boyfriend.
‘Ever so handsome, but had that look about him, you know? Bit of a bad boy is Frederic.’
‘And how long were they seeing each other?’
‘Not long, but they had known each other since school. Then he ran off with one of her friends and she fell apart. Can’t say I’m all that surprised. Agnes is one of those creatures who was first in the queue when God was dishing out beauty. Hardly a shock that Frederic’s head was turned.’
‘When was this exactly?’
‘When was what?’
‘The break-up.’
‘Oh months ago. She’s been moping around the apartment ever since. I told her to snap out of it but she did nothing apart from sit in her room, composing depressing songs about how heartbroken she was.’
‘Mathilde writes music? I thought she was studying economics?’
‘She has some crazy idea that she can be a singer, but unfortunately she’s far better at playing than anything else. We had high hopes for her at one stage; her teacher even thought she was good enough to get a scholarship to the Academy, but she lost interest, literally overnight. I tried to change her mind but she wouldn’t listen to me. All that talent,’ Madame sighed. ‘Such a waste. Anyway…’ she smoothed a stray hair from her face ‘…I told her to use the private education we’d paid for and study something with a future instead of walking around with her head in the clouds.’
‘Do you play, Madame?’ Veronique nodded towards the piano.
‘Me? No. Not really
