Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (18 page)

Chapter 21: Véfour

The maître d’hôtel met them in
the lobby, a sparkling room with gilded walls, découpage panels, and rock
crystal chandeliers suspended from a high ceiling. Serafina heard the ring of
crystal glasses, the muffled sounds of china on linen, the hiss of candles, and
the distant clop of horses’ hooves on the narrow Rue de Beaujolais.

They were dressed in their
finest garments. Serafina wore a gown recently reworked by Giulia to
accommodate Serafina’s shoulder. Her fingers grazed the long strand of her
mother’s pearls worn only on special occasions. Not used to such attire, she
found her movements constricted, or maybe it was that Gesuzza had pulled her
corset a little too tightly.

Madame Valois, a beautiful
woman, wore her blonde locks in an elaborate coiffure. She chose an ultramarine
gown for the occasion cut in the latest fashion with a scooped neck. When
Françoise removed her cape, Serafina could see that the dress was daringly
low-cut in the back. Like Serafina, she wore pearls, but in a
collier
.

The young people were huddled
around Carmela, who had begun a conversation with them about the buildings of
Paris and Haussmann’s renovations.

After introductions were made,
they were taken to their cabinet with a magnificent view of the
Jardin du Palais Royal
.

Serafina saw Rosa whispering to
the maître d’hôtel. The madam stopped when she saw Serafina staring at her. No
matter, her friend was up to some trick or other, probably ordering elaborate
desserts.

She was mesmerized by the style
of the restaurant and the waiters passing with high-domed dishes.

“I won’t forget this evening,”
Valois said. “It’s my first experience dining here, and I thank you for
inviting us.”

“You won’t thank us when you
hear what we have to say,” Serafina said. Led by Rosa, they laughed. She was
glad to see Valois in this setting with his wife, Françoise, and their son, shy
at first until Arcangelo and Teo asked him to sit next to them.

Clothed in a deep rose gown and
wearing matching evening shoes, Tessa pointed to the pool and gardens filled
with people strolling even at the late hour. They were theater goers enjoying
intermission or perhaps a lover’s tryst, Rosa told her.

They took their places at two
tables, both set with fine china, silver place settings, and crystal goblets.
In the center of each table was an elaborate silver epergne filled with flowers
flanked on either side by candelabra. The four younger people sat at one table,
Serafina, Rosa, Carmela, Inspector and Madame Valois at the other. After they
settled, the waiters brought out three bottles of champagne on ice, poured the
bubbling liquid into flutes and disappeared, closing the double doors to their
room. Valois stood and proposed a toast to the Palais Royal, its gardens and
fountain, the restaurant, the evening, and to their continued collaboration.

“There’s been a mistake,”
Serafina said. “We are nine and there are ten places, an empty one next to me,
unless you mean for me to eat for two people.”

“I thought you’d never ask,”
Rosa said. She got up and walked out of the room. Valois looked at his wife and
down at his plate and Arcangelo, Teo, and Charlus took the opportunity to
excuse themselves and stand at the window. They pressed their hands to the
glass and pointed out buildings and statues. Charlus’s arm shot out, gesturing
to an unseen spot beyond the formal gardens. “My school’s across the river
beyond the Invalides,” he said. “Louis Le Grand.”

“You’re lucky,” Teo said, and
Arcangelo pulled at his sleeves.

“Don’t worry,” Tessa said to
him, “you know more about donkeys and horses than anyone else.” Arcangelo’s
face flooded with color.

Rosa returned a few minutes
later, escorted by a man wearing a dinner jacket. As they approached the table,
the young men returned to their seats. When they drew closer, Serafina started
in her seat, but she bit her lip, trying to show as little emotion as possible.
Her heart flew to her throat and she felt light-headed, but she sipped mineral
water and steadied herself. Loffredo walked with Rosa to the table. Loffredo,
looking gaunt but smiling. He was free and Serafina struggled not to run to
him.

“Thanks to you, our countryman
is free,” Rosa said and clapped, inclining her head to Valois.

“An evening of surprises,”
Valois said, straightening his table napkin while Loffredo seated himself next
to Serafina and smiled at her. Underneath the table, his hand found her knee.

They drank, and Serafina,
blinking and trying to control her voice and her mind, announced their
discovery at
La
Maternité
this
afternoon.

There was silence.

Valois touched the satin lapels
of his dinner jacket, surprised at Elena’s appointment with Dr. Tarnier on the
afternoon of April 16. “Since the coroner claimed that she died almost twelve
hours earlier, either the countess has extraordinary powers of rejuvenation or
could not have been the woman in the Rue Cassette, and we have another mystery
on our hands.” He opened his notebook and wrote something.

“And a different murder,”
Serafina said. “And different suspects,” she added looking at Valois.

“Unless Dr. Tarnier’s assistant
was mixed up with the dates,” Rosa said, adding that they didn’t speak to
Tarnier directly because he was out of town, but to the
chef de la Maternité
who obtained his appointment
book.

Squeezing Loffredo’s hand,
Serafina, whose cheeks were burning, looked at Rosa who gave nothing away. But
Serafina’s ardor, like a passing breeze, quickly died when she saw Françoise
staring at them. After all, at the table sat an inspector
of La Sûreté Nationale
and his wife, the latter more
discerning when it came to matters of the heart, Serafina knew. Carmela seemed
to sense the danger, too. She frowned, her eyes darting from her mother to
Valois. Serafina took a large swallow of mineral water and pressed the linen to
her lips, her cheeks beginning to cool.

She realized the delicate
position she was in. Valois must not know of her affair with Loffredo. She
glanced at the inspector and decided there was no threat from him, but his wife
was another matter. Françoise Valois’s eyes flicked around the room, taking in
more than the décor. She seemed to inhale the relationships of people with one
another. Now her eyes moved from Loffredo to Serafina and a slight smile played
about her face.

Beyond Serafina’s present
situation was another problem. What was she feeling? It wasn’t passion for the
man seated next to her—well, not an overwhelming force, at any rate. She
stole another look at him. He was grayer, more chiseled, but impeccably attired
and groomed. His recent suffering was apparent and fired her compassion. She
knew he was incapable of murder, had been wrongly accused because of the
mistakes and deception of others. She felt sorry for the man who had lost all
claims to inheriting his wife’s fortune. Had their affair run its course, or
had the fear of discovery dampened her ardor for the moment? If her eyes swam,
so did her soul. Best to stuff her confusion for the evening. Now it was time
for her to solve the mysterious disappearance of Elena.

She had other questions. If they
found Elena alive and well, would Loffredo still be implicated in a murder? She
was unsure and must ask Valois, but she didn’t see how. After all, where was
his motive?

Françoise Valois put down her
glass. “Dr. Tarnier would not allow a discrepancy in his appointment book. It
is unthinkable. I know the man and the hospital. He is an esteemed and exacting
physician, a very popular chief of surgery at
La Maternité
.”

“Nonetheless, we must check the
dates with him when he returns to his office next week,” Valois said. His voice
was stony.

“His assistant returns Monday,”
Serafina said.

Valois shrugged. “Of course
we’ll speak to him, but before we approach Madame de Masson, I think we must
hear it from Tarnier’s lips.”

Valois turned to Loffredo.
“You’ve told us that you and your wife were estranged, that you had little
contact with each other except as her escort to certain functions whenever she
requested your presence. She’d write to you and you’d travel to Paris to be at
her side, not staying with her, but were a frequent guest at a small hotel on
the Rue Jacob.”

Loffredo nodded.

“Do you know anything about her
condition or her physicians? The other men in her life? Her current suitor? To
your knowledge, was she with child?”

Loffredo removed his hand from
Serafina’s and stole a glance at her before replying. “When I arrived in Paris,
Elena told me that she was with child. I was surprised. She didn’t tell me who
the father was or who her physician was. And I’m afraid I didn’t ask.”

“Why would she choose the chief
of surgery at
La Maternité
to be her physician?” Rosa asked.
“And why would she choose a physician at all? Wouldn’t she want a midwife?”

Rosa had a point.

“Unless she felt there might be
complications. She is a primigravida with close to forty years,” Françoise
said.

“And there could indeed be other
complications,” Serafina said, “considering Elena’s nature. She’s had many
lovers.” Rosa looked at Serafina. They’d known each other for so long, and
Serafina was sure Rosa was thinking the same thing, the possibility of disease.
They were Italian and the Valois were French. What would they think of people
who spoke so unreservedly about their own? Worse, Serafina hinted at a subject
best left untouched in polite society under any circumstances, but decidedly
not mentioned at table. And yet she knew that this was a murder investigation
and they were pressed for time. Secrets and innuendoes only hindered progress.

During the rest of the
conversation concerning Elena’s condition, Loffredo kept his eyes fixed on the
menu.

Madame Valois, who seemed
well-versed in the particulars of
La
Maternité
,
asked if Elena was a wealthy woman, able to make a large bequest.

Serafina felt Rosa straighten in
her chair.

Carmela spoke for the first
time. “Yes, and she is the type of woman who prefers the company of men, so
it’s not surprising she sought out a physician instead of hiring a midwife.”

They stopped talking when a
waiter came into the room and refilled their champagne flutes. Another arrived
and passed out menus while the sommelier gave the list of wines to Rosa who
handed it to Valois and said, “I thought we’d be all night ordering, so the
restaurant has prepared a special menu for us.”

The first course included
escargots in a light sauce, a goose foie gras, and an asparagus in a light
vinaigrette. For the main course they had a choice of several varieties of
duck, a shoulder of lamb, or a fish fillet, either cod or sole, and an
assortment of potatoes and legumes. The wine list included a Margaux, a Medoc,
a Bordeaux and several different Sauternes and liqueurs for the desserts.

Loffredo looked at his menu and
smiled. “Different from what I ate last night.” He ordered the escargots to
start with and the house specialty for his entrée, a stuffed duckling with
potatoes.

“When you saw your wife, did she
seem different?” Valois asked.

He shook his head. “She was ...
her usual self, slightly denigrating, a breezy woman, full of energy and
well-dressed. She talked of the upcoming exhibit on the Boulevard des
Capucines. Now that I’m able to go, I’d like to see it.”

“When was the last time you saw
her?” Carmela asked, slicing a piece of her lamb and spearing a sampling of
creamy potatoes with her fork.

Loffredo smiled, breathing the
steam from his plate. He cut into the crispy skin of his stuffed duckling
before replying. “I believe it was April 9. She told me she had just had her
suspicions confirmed. She was with child.” He took a swallow of his Margaux.

According to Tarnier’s records,
that was the date of Elena’s first appointment with him, Rosa pointed out.

“We’ll check with his assistant
Monday,” Valois said, “to confirm these dates. Depending on the strength of his
reply, we’ll either wait for Tarnier’s return to ask him directly, or talk to
Madame de Masson and prepare her for the possibility of exhumation.”

“And then what?” Rosa asked.

Valois stared at his half-eaten
meal. No wonder the man was so thin. “I’m not good at speculation. Let’s take
one step at a time.” He looked to his wife whose eyes were a sharp blue, even
in candlelight.

“Anything yet from the men
captured today?”

“We are not finished questioning
them, but they insist that their task is protection of Madame Florio and the
members of her group, nothing more. So far, they haven’t revealed the name of
their employer, but say it is someone interested in maintaining the welfare of
all Sicilians in Paris.”