painted that she was unable to see past the layers of Botox and mascara. Was she really unaware of her daughter’s habitual drug use, or was this conveniently ignored? Veronique understood the pull drugs could have, how easy it was to slip inside their darkness. Was this what had happened to Mathilde?
A light came on in the corridor outside and she turned to see Christophe pushing the glass door ajar, dressed head to toe in skin-tight Lycra.
‘You want some company?’ he asked, easing off biker boots and woolly socks to reveal bright pink toenails.
Veronique nodded towards his feet.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘It’s the only make-up I can get away with in the lab.’
She smiled, wiping the back of her arm across her forehead as Christophe scooped up two pads and slipped them over his wrists.
‘Not too hard, remember.’ His eyes found the mirror on the wall behind as he adjusted his bleached-blonde quiff. ‘And stay clear of my face. I’ve got a date tonight.’
‘Who’s the poor soul this time?’
‘I take offence.’ Christophe’s hands flew upward as Veronique struck out with a right hook. ‘I am nothing but chivalrous to all of my dates.’
‘That’s my point.’ Veronique landed a one-two, gloves returning to position as she hopped backward. ‘There’s so many it’s a wonder you can ever tell the difference.’
‘This one’s a lawyer on secondment from Italy for six months. He’s got cheekbones to die for.’
‘I thought you had a pact to steer clear of lawyers? Something about it being against your moral code? Legs.’ She indicated for him to lower the pads before bringing her right knee up and then spinning full circle to strike out with her foot.
‘Sometimes it’s necessary to make exceptions. Stretch your boundaries, explore other territories.’
‘Meaning you want to see inside his pants.’
He raised his hands as Veronique came towards him. ‘That too. But there’s no reason we can’t enjoy a nice dinner first, especially if he’s paying. So did you take the case?’
‘I did.’ Two jabs, followed by an uppercut.
‘But?’
Veronique dropped her arms. ‘I don’t know. The mother isn’t what I expected.’
‘What were you expecting?’
Veronique shrugged. ‘Something more?’
‘Everyone has secrets; just because you don’t trust anyone that’s not to say she’s hiding something from you. Again?’
‘No, I’m done.’ Pulling at one glove’s Velcro wristband with her teeth she allowed Christophe to pull one hand free, then the next. The straps binding her fingers were wet, drops of sweat collecting at her feet as she unwound them. ‘But that’s just it, she has been hiding something, something significant. First of all there was a boyfriend.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mathilde recently had a nasty break-up. Secondly, she’s been stealing from her mother. Possibly to help fund a casual drug habit.’
‘I thought you said the mother was rich.’
‘She is.’ Veronique placed her legs in a V and dropped her head to the floor, stretching out her hamstrings. ‘Or at least her surroundings would suggest that she is.’
Christophe sat down cross-legged in front of her. ‘So why would Mathilde need to steal from her mother? Surely she had some kind of allowance?’
Veronique lifted her head to look at him, then bent over again. ‘Fair point, but in my experience rich kids are very good at hiding the true cost of their lifestyle from their parents. Besides, how do we know the mother gave her an allowance? Maybe it’s the husband’s money.’
‘Mathilde’s father?’
‘Non.’ She stood, balancing on one foot as she took hold of her ankle. ‘This is soon to be ex-husband number two.’
‘What happened to husband number one?’ Christophe watched as Veronique pulled backward on her leg, straightening it out behind her and hinging forward so that her body formed a perfect T.
‘No idea, but they split when Mathilde was just a baby and apparently have had no contact ever since, so I can’t imagine she’s run off to Daddy, but we can’t rule it out.’ She came back to standing. ‘For now I want to concentrate on the drugs. Just weed, as far as I can tell, but that’s not to say she hasn’t experimented further.’
‘I can ask at the clinic whether anyone recognises Mathilde’s photograph, see if they know who might have been supplying her?’
‘It’s worth a shot, but first I want to rule out everyone in her immediate social circle.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘It’s a possibility. Either that or someone from the bar where she worked. I’m heading to the ex’s apartment after I’ve finished here.’
‘I thought you had an appointment this morning?’
Veronique turned away from Christophe. ‘I haven’t decided if that’s the right way to go.’
‘What’s to decide? It’s just a preliminary meeting.’
‘I don’t like people asking questions about my past.’ She picked up her bag and walked towards the door.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Christophe said as he followed her into the changing rooms.
‘You can’t say that.’ Veronique rolled her leggings over her thighs and peeled off her sports bra. ‘You weren’t there.’ Her scar stretched all the way from cheek to thigh, a frosty glow against flushed skin. She stepped past Christophe into the shower, closing her eyes as hot droplets covered her body.
‘At some point you have to let it go.’
‘I can’t.’ She picked up a loofah and began to massage her body in slow, repetitive circles, beginning at her ankles then up over the taut muscles on her abdomen, the soft peaks of her breasts and around to the back of her neck.
‘It was twenty years ago. It has no reflection on who you are now.’
‘It has everything to do with who I am now.’ She scrubbed at the backs of her hands and the webs of her fingers, like a surgeon preparing to enter the operating theatre, paying particular attention to the space under her nails.
‘You can’t keep punishing yourself every time you look in the mirror. I only wish you could see what I see.’
Veronique began to rub shampoo into her scalp, the air filling with the scent of lavender.
‘You’re sweet, but unfortunately first impressions count.’ She tilted her head back, a long trail of soap snaking down
