‘Why would we? The less we say about the whole affair, the better,’ Roger decided. ‘Imagine if one of us slipped and it came out in public.’
Grace turned back to him. ‘But you don’t even know anything about her.’
‘That’s not the point. You have a family, a very important family, Grace. That’s all that matters. Anything else just complicates things.’
‘But my family,’ she stopped, searching for the right words, ‘that’s not real. That’s a not the whole story.’
‘Look,’ he sighed, ‘the truth only matters if it’s useful.’
‘But don’t you even want to know about who she was?’
‘If you want to tell me, then I’ll listen. But these stories, well,’ he sighed, ‘they tend to be a bit pathetic.’ Suddenly, his face changed. ‘She didn’t have any other family, did she? Any who could contest the will?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No.’
He relaxed. ‘What a stroke of luck! Honestly, darling, I don’t think this could’ve worked out better. She lives in another country, has no family; no one in England will have ever heard of her. You know, considering what you’ve just told me, I have to say, I’m impressed with the way this woman’s handled the whole thing.’
‘Eva,’ she interjected.
‘What?’
‘Her name is Eva.’
‘Yes, well, Eva. She’s been extremely generous and also incredibly discreet. She obviously understood what was best.’
Grace slid her hands into her pockets, began to fidget with her father’s old lighter. ‘I suppose.’
‘We can say you received the money from an old friend of your father’s.’
‘You think we should lie? I mean, not just omit the details, but actually lie?’
‘I’m only suggest we get our story straight unless someone asks. Listen, who gains by us broadcasting her existence? No one. Imagine trying to explain it to our friends.’
‘Do you really believe that it would matter that much?’
‘Grace,’ he looked at her indulgently, ‘as much as I adore you, I can’t believe you’re even asking that.’
Roger began counting out paces in the bedroom.
Grace walked over to the window again.
‘You haven’t got a light by any chance, have you?’ she called.
‘Not on me.’
‘I’m going downstairs. Monseur Tissot will have one I’m sure.’
As Grace crossed the darkening courtyard, Edouard straightened, instead of leaning on the car. She stopped in front of him and he gave a little nod. ‘Madame Munroe.’
‘Hello. I . . . I’ve been wanting to speak you.’ She paused unsure of how to begin.
He waited.
‘Eva d’Orsey was my mother,’ she said. ‘Did you know that?’
His expression changed to one of concern. ‘No, I didn’t. How did you find out?’
‘Madame Zed told me. Showed me a photograph. . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘It must be a little disorientating.’
‘I feel very bizarre. Like I don’t know myself any more.’
They stood a while. She had wanted so badly to see him again, to speak to him. Now she didn’t know what to say. The wind had picked up, cold gusts pushing up from the river. Grace turned the lighter round and round in her pocket.
‘My husband is measuring the floor plan,’ she said stupidly.
He nodded again. ‘How very thorough your husband is.’
‘I behaved very badly the other night,’ she blundered.
‘Really? Well,’ he frowned, looking down at the pavement, ‘I suppose everyone does things they regret.’
Her heart tightened. ‘Do you regret it?’
He looked up at her, his face suddenly stony. ‘What would you have me say?’
‘You’re angry at me.’
‘Yes. No.’ He sighed. ‘I’m angry with myself.’ He shifted, took a deep breath. ‘In any case, this is probably the last time that we will see each other. Your husband prefers to have this matter handled by an English firm.’
She shook her head. ‘This isn’t what I want.’
‘What do you want, Grace?’
Roger came out of the building, paused on the steps, still jotting notes in his notebook.
Grace glanced over her shoulder then turned back to Edouard. ‘I want to go to a café and sit with you. I want you to order something I’ve never eaten before and then tease me about it. And I want to walk, anywhere, nowhere in particular, and for us to disagree.’
His eyes softened. ‘Are you sure? What if the food has too much flavour?’