‘Oh for goodness’ sake, not this again.’ He held out a towel. ‘That’s like saying you wouldn’t have a child with me in case I pass on my gay gene.’ Veronique didn’t respond. ‘Wait, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, no, of course not; I love you dearly but you and I both know that you’re not exactly crying out to be a father.’ Wrapping the towel around her she wrung water from her hair. ‘Besides, do I really need to explain to you the genetic implications when you don’t know your family history?’
‘You’re not a sociopath.’
‘You don’t know that. I must have inherited something from her. How else would you explain what I did?’
‘I know that you are harder on yourself than you need to be and there’s no harm in finding out your options.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ She patted her skin dry, starting with her face and moving down her body in the reverse order to which she had cleansed herself. ‘What if it’s not possible or I’ve left it too late?’
‘You won’t know if you don’t go.’ Christophe’s phone beeped and he slid his thumb over the screen, frowning as he read the message.
Christophe’s eyes flicked up to meet Veronique’s. ‘They’ve found a necklace.’
‘Mathilde’s necklace?’
‘You know I can’t tell you.’
‘Where?’
Christophe paused before turning the screen towards her. ‘This didn’t come from me, okay? I’m still in trouble with Guillaume over last time.’
***
Veronique waited for a taxi to pass before crossing the street, snippets of conversation filtering through the air as she walked towards Café Charbon. The tables on the pavement outside were busy with people, several couples huddling over tables, their hands curled around wine glasses and feet entwined.
She planted a kiss on the bouncer’s cheek, slipping a €20 note into his hand and stepping inside the bar. It was stickier inside than out, despite the air-conditioning unit working at full capacity. Her eyes worked the room as she weaved through the crowd, oblivious to the lingering gazes as she passed.
She made her way further into the café, past groups squashed into worn banquettes and others bumping into each other as they danced around the tables. At the very back of the room was a pool table. A girl leaned against the wall, skirt hitched high and chest thrust forward as fingers twirled around a lock of golden hair. A man stood at one end of the table, swigging his beer directly from the bottle as he stared at the girl. But her courting display was not aimed at him.
Even without the photograph found on Mathilde’s Facebook page, Veronique would have recognised Frederic. Dark hair falling over deep-set eyes, two-day-old stubble framing a square jaw. With a cigarette hanging from his lips he leant over the table, gripping the cue with thick, tanned fingers. Striking the cue ball he watched as it clipped the edge of the number 8, sending it into the corner pocket. He grinned as he stood, pointing the cue at his friend.
‘Et encore une fois?’ he asked, drawing on his cigarette.
‘Do you play women?’
Frederic turned, eyes caressing her from head to toe. His mouth pulled up at one corner as he blew smoke towards the ceiling.
‘I thought he was lying.’ He perched on the table, resting the cue between his legs. ‘My flatmate told me a beautiful Phantom had come looking for me this morning, but I did not believe it to be true.’
‘As you can see, I do not wear a mask.’ Veronique plucked the cigarette from his lips and dropped it on the floor next to the toe of her leopard-skin ankle boots.
‘What is it that you want?’ he asked, grinding out the cigarette butt.
Veronique leaned closer, resting her hand on his knee. ‘What is it that you sell?’
Frederic cupped her face with his hand, turning it one way then the next. ‘How did you find me?’
Veronique batted his hand away and inserted a coin in the side of the table. She pushed against the mechanism, releasing the balls into the den. Taking two in each hand she positioned them within the plastic triangle on the green felt of the table and walked over to the wall to retrieve a cue from the rack. Frederic watched as she rubbed at its tip with blue chalk.
‘If you stop asking questions then perhaps we can play.’ She gestured for him to take first shot.
‘Please, ladies first,’ he replied, taking a sip of beer.
‘Frederic?’ The blonde sidled over, rubbing up against him like a cat. ‘You promised that would be the last game. Let’s go back to my place.’
Frederic stood up, shrugging her away. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said, handing her his empty bottle. The girl stood for a moment, the half-light in the bar doing little to disguise the blush spreading across her face. She followed his eyes to Veronique, saw the clench of his jaw as she bent forward, exposing her décolletage. The girl slammed the bottle down onto the table, cursing at him as she left.
‘I don’t think your girlfriend is best pleased with me.’ Veronique slid the cue through the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, sending the balls scattering across the table.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Frederic said, walking round behind Veronique, brushing against her bare shoulder. He looked over at his friend, who shook his head and made his way back towards the bar.
‘But Mathilde was.’ She felt the pause of his hand before he moved it away. She turned to face him, finding mistrust in his eyes as he took another cigarette from its packet and looked around in search of a lighter. ‘Here,’ she said, easing her hand into his front pocket and retrieving a Zippo. She opened it with a flick of her wrist, running her thumb against the metal wheel to release a spark.
Frederic bent his head to the flame, sucking poison into his lungs before snatching the lighter back.
‘So you’re police?’
‘Non.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘To find Mathilde. I understand the two of you were close.’
Frederic sneered. ‘She was never my girlfriend. It only happened the once and I told her it was a mistake, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Followed me everywhere, turning up at my apartment, saying we were meant to be together and all kinds of shit.’
Veronique leant on the table. ‘Then what gave her the impression you two were together?’
‘I don’t know; it was a mistake.’
‘Yes, you said that already. Was Agnes a mistake as well?’
‘What’s she got to do with this?’
Veronique sighed. ‘Her best friend. Surely even you appreciated
