With a PhD in botanical sciences, Stephanie had already earned, at the tender age of 25, a reputation as one of the world’s leading experts on a handful of exotic blooms. Amongst their roster of experts, whenever botanical forensics were called for to solve difficult cases, Interpol had her on speed dial. Her intuitive nature, her passion for her chosen field, combined with undisputed academic knowledge, made her invaluable in certain circles. A number of her published papers were always cited as a reference. However, her personal ambitions had little to do with the stifling world of academia or botanical sciences for that matter. She had instead always dreamed of offering a like-minded public, very unique plants, difficult to source and even more difficult to keep. She had sought to combine her love and knowledge of rare and colourful flora with her long-term hobby of breeding exotic finches. When she had shared her vision with her older brother, he had helped her design the inherited warehouse for optimum results: always drawn to the unusual, he had believed the overall concept most revolutionary, a fitting tribute to her late godfather. Moreover he had quickly pointed out that since financial considerations would not force her to compromise, she could set the ideal stage without cost considerations whatsoever. Boyed by his unstinting support, Stephanie had dived right in.
When MAGIK finally opened, almost eighteen months later, it came to life amidst great media coverage. Plant-covered walls, the first of their kind, displayed multitudes of exotic and delicate orchids nestled amongst rare ferns. Cascades flowed out of the walls to disappear under the visitor’s feet, trapped beneath glass walkways. Especially designed Murano candelabra cast a dim light upon dozens and dozens of exquisitely crafted cages sourced the world over. The most astonishing collection of finches ever assembled in Europe tweaked and sang from every corner. It was virtually impossible not to stop at the door in bewildered wonder. The 300-square-meter gallery had been divided into 4 rooms, each with a slightly different design, focusing on a specific theme. Crossing the threshold of the enchanted space, most visitors wished for nothing else but to somehow take home some of the magic. Stephanie’s unique vision met with instant success. With the Musee des Arts Premiers for the Quai Branly in Paris in the planning stages, she had been consulting with its engineers to build another vertical garden for the outside of the building, when the phone had rang and her mother had left the fateful message that would forever change her life.
Chapter III
The Funeral
The festivities of the night before had left their imprint on the city, with empty bottles strewn on lawns and bushes and fire cracker wrappers laying everywhere in the gutters. The warm temperatures and star-studded skies had attracted thousands of Parisians and many more tourists. In the streets and the public gardens, people had danced until the wee hours of the morning with dozens of free concerts set-up and paid for by the city of Paris. Like any morning after a big night out, the streets were now eerily quiet and the few passers-by seemed bewildered to have survived the night’s follies.
Sophie was fast off the plane and through customs, yet her luggage infuriatingly lagged behind. As soon as she grabbed her bag, she was off to the exit. The customs’ officers glanced at her and she smiled back with a quick good morning. They did not give her bags a second look and she wondered once again whether people with nothing to hide projected somehow an aura of innocence or whether it was just random luck: in any case, a lack of search would speed up her arrival home. She walked almost three quarters around the outside of the building to reach the taxi stand. At least the walk bore the pretence for fresh air and allowed time for a very rewarding cigarette. The unmistakably North African driver took her bag with a surly air as she rattled off the address, knowing that unless there was an accident on the way, at this early morning hour, there would be no traffic at all. She should be at her parents’ doorstep within 40 minutes. She switched on her phone and called her father to let him know she had arrived safely and should be there shortly. Before take-off she had convinced him that picking her up at the very early hour would just be an additional burden he did not need under the circumstances and he had reluctantly agreed.
She then dialled her office to confirm her safe arrival. Adriana informed her the day had been uneventful and that she had already dispatched an e-mail recounting the minutiae of the day. Grateful, Sophie thanked her, hung up, cracked open the window and looked unseeingly at the familiar sites. Her heart was racing, the palms of her hands sticky; she wondered whether she could face her parents’ grief. She knew though that she would need to find the strength to deal with the inevitable pouring of emotions. The situation was brand new to her: up to now, death always happened to other people or to those claimed by disease or old age, when life took its normal course. She just could not imagine what it would be like to unexpectedly lose a child. She had no idea what to expect and that worried her. As the eldest child, was she expected to organise the funeral to relieve the burden placed on her parents? Would she find them despondent to the point as to be unable to make any decisions? What about her sisters? She had not had the chance to speak to them directly. What were they feeling? Were they ridden with guilt, just like she was? Should they have been by his side more often, helping him fight his demons, instead of letting him fend for himself? Admittedly she was the worst offender since she had left home so young, leaving entire continents to lie between her and those she loved. Yet the distance had been her salvation: she just had not been able to bear any longer the interminable discussions, nor deal with the palpable anxiety that always seem to hang around every door, every moment of the day. Granted, she had visited often, but Louis was rarely around at the same time, either in hiding or in purgatory, tucked away in another rehab centre. Now she felt vaguely sick, profoundly anxious and utterly devastated, not yet quite comprehending how the loss would impact her and those she loved so dearly.
Lily and Stephanie were both already home when she arrived. Their father, unable to face his wife’s grief stricken face, had gone to the airport the night before to pick up Lily, but the traffic had been such a nightmare with half the streets closed to host the Bastille Day celebrations that he had not offered to do it again. As soon as they noticed Sophie coming up the alley, the two sisters ran to her, opening their arms wide in welcome; the tears, which had dried up one hour before, flowed freely once again. They embraced each other tightly. Words were just superfluous.
“How is Maman?” asked Sophie in a voice choked with emotion.
“Busy,” replied Stephanie, smiling through her tears.
“What do you mean busy?”
“Well, she is handling most of the condolences calls from everyone and then she is organising the funeral directors, booking the church and the wake. And everything else in between.”
“What about Papa; how is he?”
“He is composing the deceased notice for the papers. He doesn’t seem to have made a lot of progress since last night. I don’t think he slept very much,” replied Lily. “You’ll find him in the study; he has been asking after you every five minutes or so,” she added, “Go say hi; I’ll take your bag up to your room in the meantime.”
Sophie sighed heavily and walked in cautiously. Her mother was wearing out the carpet in the living room, pacing back and forth, the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder. As soon as she saw her eldest daughter, her eyes lit up and she interrupted her conversation.
“Sophie just arrived. I’ve got to go. We’re home. Come whenever you wish.”
She looked at her daughter and their eyes locked. Sophie rushed over.
“Maman, I’m so, so sorry. What can I do? I’m glad I’m here with you. I just can’t believe it. I love you so much, Maman.”
Her mother held her tight and kissed her cheeks but when the phone rang again, she was off.
“Sophie, is that you?”
Her father’s voice came from behind her. Pierre’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin belied his pain and lack of sleep. He imprisoned his daughter i
n a silent bear hug, unwilling to let her go. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him cry but the tears rolling down his cheeks wet her face. Her father’s overwhelming emotion broke her heart. At a loss for words, her head began to spin, jetlag hitting her like a ton of bricks.
“Papa, I’m so sorry, I can’t even tell you,” she managed, hugging him back with great tenderness. “Let me go and take a shower though. It has been a long trip. I promise I’ll come right back down and join you in the study and then you can tell me everything you know. I feel hot and sticky and I need to cool down for a minute.”
Reluctantly, her father let her go.
“All right; don’t be too long though.”
He attempted to smile but soon gave up and she felt his gaze follow her up the stairs.
When Sophie came back down, less than twenty minutes later, dressed in a long black fitted linen skirt with a matching three-quarter length linen jacket, which she wore with a simple T-shirt underneath, the whole family was sitting down on the veranda sipping coffee, sharing buttery croissants and large peaches whose smell was making her mouth water.
“You look nice,” stated her mother, lifting her head and appraising her, “but I’m afraid you’ll be too warm. The weather channel predicts 34 degrees for today with maybe a thunderstorm in the early evening and we have lots to do. Maybe your outfit will be better suited for the funeral proper.”
Used to her mother’s disapproval of almost anything she did, Sophie replied gently, “Don’t worry, Maman, I only packed black clothes. Different versions. Different thickness. Different looks. I’ll be fine. I can always change later if I get too warm. Remember I came from winter and I’ve to get used to this heat.”
Her mother grumbled something about the maid not needing any additional work ironing and washing at a time like this, and Lily rolled her eyes and Stephanie shrugged her shoulders. Lily was dressed in black linen pants and a black T-shirt and so was Stephanie, but in a more fashionable cut and lighter material. As coffee was passed around, Sophie noticed a thick manila envelope on a corner of the table which everyone seemed to studiously ignore.
“What is that?” she asked between two sips of the scalding beverage.
“That’s the coroner’s report which was faxed to us last night by the embassy,” replied her father matter-of-factly.
“May I look at it?” queried Sophie, reaching for it.
“It’s not necessary,” interjected her mother, her voice a touch strident, slapping her hand away. “We know it’s him. We’ve matched the dental records and in the photos, the scars and the tattoo are quite recognisable. He died of asphyxia. Due to a snakebite. It was almost instantaneous. He didn’t suffer. The report said he was on location, somewhere right outside of Bangkok. You don’t need to see it.”
Sophie bit her tongue, too wounded by her mother’s tone to ask how dental records could have been compared so quickly at this hour of the morning, considering that yesterday had been a national holiday and surely even her parents had not found a dentist willing to interrupt his holidays to sift through records. She looked interrogatingly at her father, who looked away in a gesture that clearly said ‘let it go, we will talk about it later’.
Breakfast continued in silence, when the phone rang again and her mother rose to take the call. Everyone could hear her give directions to the house in a voice which painfully articulated each syllable.
“Who was that?” asked Sophie.
“Our brother’s fiancée,” replied Stephanie laconically.
“Louis had a fiancée? When did that happen? Is she coming here? What do you mean?” asked Sophie baffled and feeling clearly left out.
Again her mother answered.
“Well, yesterday when I spoke to the Ambassador’s aide, he told me that the coffin, which arrived last night, during the night, would be accompanied by a young woman, a friend of your brother. Her name is Jade. I can’t recall the last name; it sounded something like pathetic…I requested she call us as soon as she was settled in, no matter what the time. I spoke to her briefly last night. She sounded charming and her English is quite good; I don’t know about her French; it didn’t occur to me to ask. We booked a hotel for her near the airport. I couldn’t face it yesterday. Now she is coming over. Together we’ll go to the funeral home around noon, when the coffin is finally displayed in one of the private rooms. To tell you the truth, I’ve no idea why she’s here or who she is, but at least Louis didn’t travel alone.” Her voice cracked. “I suppose she must have really loved him to come all this way and meet his family… under the circumstances.”
The phone rang again and everyone took it as a clue to leave the table. Sophie quietly followed her father into the study. Warily, he had grabbed the autopsy report on his way out.
“Darling, you don’t want to see it, trust me,” he said shutting the door behind them.
“It’s way too painful. Just remember him as he was. The photos are quite graphic; there is no point really.”
“Did my sisters see them?” insisted Sophie, feeling somewhat jealous and excluded.
“No, they didn’t. Neither did I. George, our family lawyer, confirmed everything was in order and there was no possible doubt as to his identity. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. Your mother did though. She wanted to be sure and that haunted look has not left her since. What was he doing being bitten by a snake? The scouting was finished. His friend Jacques has been home for the past three months already. I just don’t get it. I still don’t know why he did not come home then. Maybe this girl is responsible for his prolonged stay. Life is so unpredictable,” he added, his face a mask. For a minute he dropped his head into his hands, trying to compose himself. He then looked at her.
“I’m glad you came home right away. I’m glad to see you. Going to the funeral home is going to be hell. The entire family will be here at 4:00 pm. I’ll have to write the eulogy. Your mother is meeting with the priest at 6:00 pm this evening. I believe Lily is going with her. The funeral is scheduled for Saturday morning at 10:00 am.” Pierre sighed heavily.
As he finished, his older brother, Mathieu, after knocking lightly at the door, walked straight in. Awkwardly, almost shyly, he embraced her father and whispered his condolences: the tenderness of this emotional scene almost broke Sophie, who took the opportunity to disappear and leave the two brothers alone. She stepped out onto the terrace and lit a cigarette. The hallway grandfather clock had just struck eleven but she felt as if she had been already home for hours. The day was heating up gradually and the minutes ticked by as if through molasses.
The front door bell careened. Theodora, their former nanny, whom they had called Theo ever since childhood, since her name was far too complicated to pronounce for young children, opened the door. She had come to the house as soon as Stephanie had called her the day before, barely able to speak. On the front steps stood a beautiful young woman, smartly dressed, her hair worn in a ponytail, wearing little make-up to highlight her mocha skin and carrying under her arm what appeared to be a large album.
“I’m sorry,” she said rapidly in English. “I rang the front door on the street, but someone just came out and let me in and didn’t ask me who I was here to see.”
Theo shook her head uncomprehendingly, but guessing as to the apparition’s identity, motioned for the young woman to come in and stay where she was. Stephanie had appeared in the hallway and looked on inquisitively. It took a minute before it dawned on her as to who she might be. She came up to her and extended her hand.
“Hi, I’m Stephanie, Louis’s youngest sister, and you must be Jade. Please come in. We were expecting you. I’m sorry, Theo doesn’t speak English.”
Jade looked at her. She was exactly as Louis had described her, more beautiful in person perhaps and certainly more engaging than she had imagined.
“Please accept my condolences. I’m so sorry for your loss. I was with him when…”
Stephanie interrupted her brusquely but her eyes were kin
d.
“Don’t tell me. Otherwise, you’ll be bound to repeat yourself several times. Thank you so much for coming. Come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone. We’re all under a bit of shock so I’m sure we aren’t at our best. It certainly isn’t how any of us imagined that we would meet Louis’s fiancée,” she added, insisting on the last word as if she did not quite believe the claim.
Jade though did not seem to notice, following her into the living room, looking around as she did so. Her mother was sitting, Lily at her side, dozens of sheets of paper littering the coffee table. They had a deadline to meet in order for the funeral ad to go to press for the evening papers. At the sound of the opening door, the two women lifted their heads simultaneously and stared. Jade was physically so different from anyone Louis had ever brought home in the past, that, in their surprise, they stood up abruptly, almost bumping into the table at their feet. The young Eurasian woman bowed her head into a deep wei, saluting the two women now standing awkwardly in front of her. To everyone’s surprise, Florence – how their mother hated that name which she found so conventional and old-fashioned – quickly closed the gap that separated her from the young woman and took her in a quick sharp embrace, which somehow still managed to be void of warmth.
The Samui Conspiracy Page 5