The Paris Time Capsule (21 page)

Cat sighed.

“The fact that Isabelle went to the trouble of calling herself Sylvie-Marie Augustin is telling.”

“
I can’t tell you nothing else, young Catherine.”

“
Thank you.”

“
And if you do find an answer about that darned Isabelle, well. All I can say is that if I ever see my old friend Virginia when I leave this earth, I can tell you I’ll let her know the truth already.”

Cat stood up. She went over to the old lady with her large framed spectacles and her neatly curled hair and she kissed her on her tough old cheek.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet a friend of my grandmother’s.”

Lillian chuckled.
“Like I said, you’re her spitting image. It’s made my old day.”

Cat felt herself grin. She waved and went back out into the street.

It seemed sensible to stay full time at he
r apartment in Brooklyn when Christian went to Boston for work. Cat hadn’t had the heart to move everything out of her own small apartment yet, and there was the problem of what to do with all of her precious things. Brooklyn was far closer to her work, so she had taken to spending some nights there anyway.

Cat looked at the list of possibilities that she had made while having breakfast. Something tragic could have happened in the Paris apartment, something so traumatic that Isabelle had locked it up and never returned. Cat had clung to the idea of a love affair until now. But this didn’t explain why Isabelle had cut Virginia out of her life, unless Isabelle and Virginia had fought over the same man. But Virginia would surely have confided in this to Lillian.

Something else, then, something more serious: something that Isabelle couldn’t discuss even with her own daughter.

Cat stood up. She moved over to her computer and turned it on.

Monsieur Lapointe’s latest email popped up on the screen. He reminded her of the death duties. They needed to take into consideration the considerable value of the painting, value the apartment, and she then had only a few months left to pay sixty percent of the value of the inheritance to the French government, given that Sylvie had refused to accept the inheritance.

Monsieur Lapointe went on to say that it was now time to prove that the title had gone to the beneficiary of the will. Monsieur Lapointe was keen to complete his attestation immobiliere.

Cat wrote a quick reply and flipped onto the internet.

What if something serious had happened in the apartment? And if it had, what if it had been reported in the newspapers at the time?
With no other leads, it was all she could think of to try.

It was still too early to go to work. It only took five minutes of research to work out that if anything had been reported in 1940 in Paris, it would most likely have been done so in the main newspaper from the time, Paris-Soir. But the archives were not available on the net.

Cat picked up her phone.

A
nouk Tailler listened to Lillian’s information with the same calm approach that she had undoubtedly applied to her inventory in the apartment.

“
I will check the archives of Paris Soir for 1939 and 1940. I have been there before. They are all on microfiche.” There was a pause. “I don’t know that you are onto anything, but it is worth to check this out.”

“
It must have been something serious, Anouk.”

“
I will go there this afternoon. It is no problem.”

Cat hung up. She collected her coat and bag and decided to walk to work.

Anouk called a few hours later. Cat was photographing a baby,
organizing endless poses on tiny chairs and in the flowerpots that she detested, but her boss loved.

“
I’ll be thirty seconds. I’m so sorry, but I have to take this call,” Cat said. She would never normally interrupt a photo shoot. Now, the baby’s mother looked so disappointed at the idea of Cat taking a call, that she finished the shoot instead.

As soon as the client had left, Cat grabbed her phone.

Anouk had left a message.

Cat slipped into her tiny office space and closed the door.

“I have found something.” Anouk sounded urgent. “I will translate from the French. This is June 10
th
, 1940.  “The body of a young woman has been found in an alley on the Right Bank. The body has been identified as that of Camille Paget, the maid of the late Marthe de Florian, the infamous demimondaine who died late last year. The murder is under investigation.”“

“
There is nothing else. No reference to it again. I have checked every paper for the next year. After the occupation, the Nazis took control of the newspapers anyway. So.”

“
Oh, dear God,” Cat said. “Thank you Anouk.”

“
It would have been a terrible thing to happen to Isabelle. She had also lost her grandmother and, you say, her friend from America. It could explain, I suppose.”

“
Maybe.”

“
But you say that Isabelle de Florian never contacted your grandmother? And why would she not tell her daughter that her maid was murdered? Is not such a secret.”

“
My thoughts too, Anouk.” Cat shut the door of her tiny office. “The thing is, I need to let the family know what I’ve found out.”

“
Good luck.”

“
I’ll need it.”

“
Call if you need me.” Anouk hung up the phone.

Sylvie was not as efficient at picking up the phone as Anouk.

“Chérie,” she said, her voice sounding weary down the line.

When Cat had explained what she had learned, Sylvie sighed.

“Chérie, this is all so much to take in. I am wondering whether I knew my mother at all.”

“
The war,” Cat said. “I don’t know if we can ever understand.”

“
Oui, but I still maintain that my mother must have had a good reason for not changing her will.”

“
But what if she did change it, Sylvie? The attestation immobiliere is about to go through. Once I’ve paid the inheritance tax, I won’t have anything to give back to you. I’ll have to sell the apartment, but what if even at the last minute your mother changed her mind? We have to find out.”

“
I cannot see how she could have changed anything, chérie.”

There was a silence.

“How … is Loic?”

“
Well, if you want the truth, he is not fine.”

“
I’m sorry -”

“
He knows his own mind, chérie.”

Cat chewed on her lip.

“Anyway. I should not have said that. How is your … engagement going?” Sylvie coughed.

“
Great!”

The older woman was quiet for a moment.
“I will let you go.”

“
Goodbye, Sylvie.”

Sylvie was gone with the click of a button.

Cat
had everything to do with Rue Blanche spread out on her kitchen table. She was expecting a call from Christian any minute to say that he was back in New York.

For the five-thousandth time, Cat went over all the evidence in her head. Rolled it around until she came back to the beginning, which was that she didn’t know much.

But when she read Isabelle’s letter once again, something struck her.

Of course.

How slow she was.

Isabelle had wanted Cat to talk to Madame Delfont about the past but Madame was apparently around the same age as Isabelle.
Isabelle had covered her tracks like a professional, so how was she planning on covering the possibility that Madame Delfont could also be dead?

The phone rang.

“Honey!”

Cat checked her watch. Of course.
“Welcome home, Christian! How did it go?”

“
Rather well, actually. Better than I thought. Sorted everything out for the bank and I want to celebrate. I’m in a cab. Dinner, honey? Meet you in ten minutes at The Lemon Tree?”

“
I’m … well. I’m at home.”

“
Fine.”

Cat shook her head.
“I mean I’m in Brooklyn. At my home.”

“
I’m sad to hear you call it that, honey.”

Cat took a turn around the room.
“I’m right in the middle of something. I need to sort it out. Sorry.”

“
I’m sad to hear that too.”

“
I’m sorry to make you sad.”

“
That’s good to hear,” he laughed.

“
But I have to do this.”

“
Cat, it’s that damned French thing again. Why can’t you just sell the apartment, pay the death duties and leave it at that? If the de Florian woman doesn’t want the inheritance, I don’t see what the problem is. You’re making things too complicated Cat. Keep it simple.”

“
I was meant to talk to Madame Delfont and she’s dead.”

“
And I say that would have been nothing. Maybe she’s got some old necklace for you. Let me buy you one instead.”

“
I’m going to call Paris now.”

“
Paris? It’s midnight there.”

“
I’ve thought it through.”

Christian hung up.

Cat dialed Monsieur Lapointe’s mobile. Maybe she was insane, dialing a Frenchman at midnight, but Monsieur Lapointe would not answer his phone if it did not suit him to do so. He would also turn it off if he were asleep. The man was meticulous.

“
Madame Jordan?” He sounded wide-awake.

“
I’m so sorry to call you so late.”

“
I have been at the theatre. It is no problem.”

“
You are very kind, Monsieur Lapointe. I have an idea. A big one, maybe.”

There was the sound of a click. A door closing perhaps? Cat imagined Monsieur Lapointe in a wood
paneled study deep in his Parisian house. He would have changed from his theatre outfit to a pair of striped pajamas, navy velvet slippers, a paisley smoking jacket, pure silk of course.

“
Monsieur,” she said, shaking the picture from her mind. “It has struck me that Isabelle de Florian would not have instructed only Madame Delfont to tell me the entire story. What if something had happened to Madame Delfont …, which it has? Isabelle would have made sure there was another source of information for me or … for my mother.”

“
Oui … peut etre.” Perhaps. Monsieur Lapointe did not sound convinced.

Cat took a breath.
“Don’t you think that Isabelle would have left more information somewhere? After all, this is a woman who disappeared for seventy years. She never contacted her best friend in America. And yet, Isabelle tells me that Madame Delfont will help me, not that she will tell me everything.”

“
Oui…”

“
She says she can’t go through it all again, that it wouldn’t be a good idea. Don’t you see? Where else would she have left information but at her lawyer’s office? Monsieur, could you possibly look for a file under the name of Virginia Brooke or Bonnie Jordan?”

“
I would have to go into the archives to do that.”

Cat closed her eyes.
“Monsieur Lapointe, where are the archives?

Something changed in Monsieur’s voice.
“Madame Jordan, most of my work is very dull. You will understand therefore that with this, I will make an exception. I will go to my office this minute. Our archives are stored in a special room out the back of the building. They are in perfect order. I will do a search.”

“
You’re not in your pajamas?” Cat would have hugged him if he were in the room.

“
Of course I am not in my … pajamas, Madame! I will call you either way.”

Cat slumped back on her red sofa. She wrapped herself up in her peacock scarf, and she settled down to wait.

Christian called again.

“
I was hoping to see you. I’m sorry I was frustrated.”

“
I’m sorry too. I had a lead. I wanted to follow it up.”

“
I’m here now, at that Italian place we went to last week, honey. Morgan and Michael are here too. You’re sure you won’t join us?”

“
I’d be no company for you.”

She would make herself some toast.

Half an hour later her phone rang. “Monsieur Lapointe?” Cat grabbed at it.

Someone was at the door.
“Oh, excusez-moi.” Cat dragged herself to answer it.

“
Sweetie!” Elise stood with a clutch of take-away boxes. “Christian told me you weren’t going out for dinner with them, so I thought …”