“Désolée,” Natalii said, her tone filled with regret, apparently not realising the extent of her mother’s fears. They shared a hug so awkward that it looked as if it had been years since the two had touched.

Maddie was wiping her own eyes by the time they were nattering away in French, soothing old hurts and misconceptions, which occasionally involved an explosive burst of words or a tearful regret.

“And I do like Adèle!” Véronique turned to Maddie. She huffed. “Do not let this one tell you otherwise,” she added, pointing to her daughter. Her gaze shifted back to Natalii. “She has the passion of her punker music—which is an ear-exploding wail, it is true—but she is individual in a world of drab. People like your Adèle must be encouraged. I do not know why you ever thought I did not like her. Is it because she is a woman? Natalii Sabine Duchamp, tsk! I do not care about this! How could you ever think I would be so insubstantial?” She glared at her daughter, who rolled her eyes but looked pleased.

Maddie grinned. What a pair. She glanced at the clock and realised it was almost one.

Véronique caught the movement and gasped. “Oh! You have made us talk forever.”

“Sorry,” Maddie said. “I should go. I’ve kept you long enough.”

“Non! We are not done yet. Lunch! And we haven’t even talked about fashion.”

Maddie blinked.

“Now then, cafard,” Véronique said, and this time there was affection in the nickname, “what shall we order? Do you like the caviar? Too bad if you do not, for we are having caviar!” She disappeared to the next room, presumably to order room service.

Natalii, alone with Maddie at last, pointed an accusing finger at her. “You!” She shook her head. “Merci. I had no idea about so much of Maman’s life. I thought, when I was young, she had punished me by taking us to that merde farm. I didn’t know she was escaping a bad lover. Or that she was that afraid of strangers. I will never leave her alone at events again. Oh! And she likes Adèle! Oui!” Her face lit up. “You are most incredible.” She nudged Maddie with her elbow. “To think, an hour ago I was planning on murdering you!”

“Your maman is right,” Maddie said in a dry voice, as she turned off her recording app. “You really are very violent.”

Natalii burst into laughter. “As you will be when you see what Maman orders us for lunch. Her tastes of food—fou. Mad! She will have caviar and truffles and fries. Just wait and see.”

Maddie laughed and waved her smartphone. “Then I think a photo or two will be in order. My fou lunch with the Duchamps!”

* * *

The three women shared more and more, as lunch turned into afternoon tea and then into dinner. It was like opening a faucet for Véronique.

The designer brought out some of the collection she was showcasing at Australian Fashion Week and asked Maddie to take photos of her testing the stunning gowns on her daughter. Natalii played an impromptu model, still wearing her motorcycle boots underneath.

The eye-catching photos were nothing the world had ever seen before. They were professional, yet intimate, and contained a sneak peek of new couture. Véronique had outdone herself with this season’s line, and Maddie told her so. She knew just enough about fashion to know this would be an iconic collection.

The designer beamed with pride.

“My daughter has très bon taste in friends. You, chérie, are no cafard.”

* * *

It was well past ten by the time Maddie got home—dropped off by Véronique’s driver at the designer’s insistence. Maddie climbed out of the limousine, filled with elation over an incredible interview and just an all-round amazing day with two people she’d grown fond of in such a short time. She turned to go inside her apartment, just as a luxury silver car pulled up.

“Finally,” came a drawled voice, as the tinted window rolled smoothly down. “I was starting to think you’d moved out. My driver was getting tired of circling the block.”

“Elena?” Maddie stared at her, unable to believe her boss had somehow decided to sully herself by being seen in Maddie’s neighbourhood. Actually, again, since she’d done this in New York, too. Was this a thing she did often? Car-stalk ex-employees?

“Get in.” Elena’s tone was a command that left little room for argument. “We need to talk.”

Anger flared. She didn’t work for the tiger shark anymore. Maddie tried to figure out which of fifty different ways to tell her where to insert her imperious demands. She was tossing up between a few tasty new French words she’d learned, too, when Elena said two things Maddie had never heard her utter before.

“Look, I was wrong, Madeleine. Now, get in. Please?”

CHAPTER 18

Driving

Elena studied her former assistant for a moment. She appeared irritated. Possibly angry. Well, that wasn’t altogether unexpected. “Drive,” she told the man in the front seat, not taking her eyes off Madeleine.

“Where are we going?” Madeleine asked. “Is this a kidnapping?”

Wasn’t that a good question? “Nowhere. And don’t be so dramatic.”

Madeleine’s gaze took in the folders and documents at Elena’s side, scores of yellow Post-it notes sticking out of the pages. “What’s going on? And before you answer, we’re still under the rules of our bet.”

“What is going on,” Elena replied, “is that my soon-to-be ex-husband is packing as we speak. I had no desire to witness the ugly exit. He’ll text me when he’s gone. And I didn’t want to be around people during this…transition period, but I needed to get work done, so…” She waved at the pile of work. “Here we are.”

Madeleine’s eyes widened. “Wait, you believe me now? Since when?”

Elena desperately wished to lie, but it was important not to in light of her recent poor behaviour. She sighed. “From the moment the words were out of your mouth. A part of me knew instantly.”

“So, why fire me?”

Elena studied the street lights whirring by. They were almost pretty at this speed. “It was just one among many mistakes I’ve made in this sordid affair.”

“What do you mean?”

Elena pressed the button raising the glass divider between her and the driver.

“Before I answer that, tell me one thing—did Richard ever…?” She hissed in a breath, as she met Madeleine’s eyes. “With you?”

It had occurred to Elena after Madeleine left that she’d never said whether she knew about her husband’s behaviour due to the list or whether her experience was first hand. The mere thought filled her with dread and white-hot anger.

“He tried once at a gala.” Madeleine’s jaw tightened. “He might be big, but I’m faster. So no.”

The answer was a relief but still turned her stomach. She looked back out the window, unwilling for Madeleine to see her reaction. “No? Good,” she said, grinding out the word.

If he’d laid a finger on Madeleine, she’d have wrung the bastard’s neck. How dare he even try? Her breath fogged the window. A reminder of her mistakes in all this filled her head. She remembered one of the reasons she’d come here. Madeleine should know who she was.

“Three years ago, I fired a particularly insolent assistant,” Elena said. “On her way out the door, she turned and screeched that I was ‘as sick as him’. That I’d ‘married my perfect match’. I was too stunned to ask what she meant. I just dismissed it as bitter ranting.”

“That wouldn’t have tipped you off,” Madeleine said, apparently guessing where this was going. “You aren’t a mind reader.”

“No.” Her fingers twisted, as she thought about how damning the rest was. “About a year ago, there was another one. A timid little mouse—quiet and efficient. One day, at home, I walked downstairs just as she was dropping off some paperwork. I heard my husband’s footsteps retreating into the next room. The look on her face when she turned and I saw her eyes…” Elena slid her gaze back to Madeleine. “Fear. And do you know what I said? What I did next?”

Madeleine shook her head.

“Absolutely nothing.” Her nostrils flared in disgust at herself. “She quit the next day. No explanation—and I didn’t ask for one. I gave her a reference, something I almost never do. Yet I never stopped long enough to analyse why. There have been other moments—odd times when I have found Richard standing too close to a hotel maid or a waitress and stepping back quickly. I just dismissed these as my overactive imagination. Because I was…so taken with him.” She sneered.

Elena would not say she loved him. It was hard to know what she felt anymore. All she knew for a fact, now, was that Richard Barclay had betrayed her, played her for a fool, and hurt countless women. She glanced over and caught Madeleine’s expression. Distaste. Oh. It was to be expected, she supposed. She was confessing her sins after all. Still, the look stung.