Falling for Mr. December (17 page)

‘And you claim that André Laurent is your father?'

The disparaging snap of his voice brought her drifting gaze sharply back to his eyes.

‘He is.'

‘And you have proof of this?'

‘Yes.'

‘Show me.'

Alice slipped the straps of her backpack from her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the uncomfortable chair to make it easier to open the side pocket and remove an envelope. From that, she extracted a photograph. It was faded now but the colour was still good enough to remind her of the bright flame shade of Jeannette McMillan's hair and that smile that could light up a room. A wave of grief threatened to bring tears and she blinked hard, focusing instead on the man in the picture. She raised her gaze to stare at the oversized portrait again.

With a nod, she handed the photograph to Julien.

‘My mother,' she said quietly. ‘I wouldn't have known who she was with except that she kept these magazine clippings about him.' She glanced down at the folded glossy pages still in the envelope. ‘Well hidden. I only found them recently after she...she died.'

If she was expecting any sympathy for her loss it was not forthcoming. Julien merely handed the photograph back.

‘This proves nothing other than that your mother was one of André's groupies. It's ancient history.'

‘I'm twenty-eight,' Alice snapped. ‘Hardly ancient, thanks. And my mother was not a “groupie”. I imagine she was completely in love...'

‘Pfff...' The sound was dismissive. And then Julien shook his head. ‘Why now?' he demanded. ‘Why
today
?'

‘I... I don't understand.'

‘Where have you been for the last week?'

‘Ah... I went home to my village for a few days. And then I've been travelling.'

‘You don't watch television? Or read newspapers?' He raised his hands in a sweeping gesture that her grandmother would have labelled foreign and therefore ridiculously dramatic. ‘How could you not
know
?'

‘Know what?'

‘That André Laurent crashed his car three days ago and killed himself. That his funeral was
today
.'

‘Oh, my God...' Alice's head jerked as her gaze involuntarily flicked back to the huge portrait. ‘Oh...
no
...'

From the corner of her eye, she could see that Julien was following her gaze. For a long second he joined her in staring at the image of a man that was so filled with life it seemed impossible to believe that he was gone.

But then, with the speed of a big cat launching itself at its prey, Julien snatched up the paperweight from the desk and hurled it towards the portrait, creating an explosion of shattering glass, leaving behind a horrified silence that only served to magnify his chilling words.

‘I wish he'd done it years ago... If he had, my sister wouldn't have married him. She would still be
alive
...'

Copyright © 2015 by Alison Roberts