The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  “This so-called spat I had with Marcello and Donatella—never happened!” Véronique declared out of the blue. “Cafards bored with truth make up lies.” She patted Maddie’s hand. “Never become that, never ever. Truth always.” She shook her finger at Maddie, who nodded with haste.

  Véronique, Maddie discovered throughout their interview, was incredibly shy. She had such a fierce approach to protecting herself, her privacy, and her family that she’d been called a recluse. It was more a social anxiety, though—disliking strangers and unfamiliar settings. And it was one of the reasons she’d been so enraged with her daughter the previous night. Natalii had blown off an event she was supposed to attend with her mother and left her alone to fend for herself in a strange city.

  “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.

  “You’re wondering how I didn’t know his true nature,” she said, tone flat. “Especially in light of these clues. I have spent the better part of two hours driving around tonight, considering my reactions and inaction to these…moments…to my intuition. And I do not like the conclusion.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Madeleine looked outraged. “All this time, and you knew. That’s—God, that’s…”

  “No!” Elena said. She grabbed her hand and squeezed it urgently, needing her to understand. The warmth of it surprised her before she realised it was more likely that her own fingers were freezing. Elena dropped her hand. “No. There is a very large difference between a feeling, a hunch that something is wrong, and knowing. And do you really think, if I truly knew, I’d have let him anywhere near vulnerable young women?”

  Her eyes bored into Madeleine’s. “It might be obvious now, but it wasn’t to me before. Because, as much as it pains me, it turns out you were right—I didn’t really want the truth. Not on this. Especially not when two people laid it out before me so I couldn’t hide from it anymore.”

  “Two people?”

  “You and Felicity. Oh Felicity is cunning. She knew exactly what she was doing, telling me Richard was always a ‘perfect gentleman’. He has become intoxicated at several events in front of us both—hardly a gentleman. She was aware I’d recognise the lie. So she was actually giving me the option to acknowledge it or not. How very…accommodating of her.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  “Well, we are all well-trained.”

  “What? What on earth does that mean?”

  “You know exactly what that means.” Madeleine shot her a fearless look. “The Elena Bartell underling rules are clear: Number one is to protect the queen. I failed and you fired me for it. So now I have to ask—why am I here?”

  “I thought that was apparent. I didn’t circle your block for this long for no reason.”

  Madeleine waited, eyebrow cocked.

  Finally, Elena forced out words that were foreign to her. “I’m here to apologise. I should never have taken out on you my anger and disgust at the shock of hearing the truth.”

  Madeleine studied her. “I think you forgot to roll your eyes, too.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Elena, you’re acting as though you’re doing me a favour. You’re not the victim in my firing. Could you at least sound sorry?”

  “I…” Elena paused and faded out. She was sorry, though. How dare Madeleine say… She stopped and shook her head. “I’m not good at this. Asking an assistant to return. It’s, well, unprecedented.”

  “Why would I want to return?” Madeleine’s tone sounded more curious than anything else. As though she didn’t seem to care either way.

  As Elena considered the implications, a coldness settled over her, along with fear. “You’ve already found a better offer?”

  Maddie shrugged. “I didn’t say that. But if you want me back, you’ll have to do better than you’re doing. Woo me properly,” she said, eyes intense. “You know, tell me what a good assistant I am. Was. Just do something. Hell, anything’s better than that half-hearted apology.”

  Elena smiled. She felt energised at having a mission she could get her head around, after a day of such overwhelming misery. “Woo you? Of all the… I had no idea you were this impertinent.”

  Madeleine laughed.

  And it was the sweetest sound Elena had heard all day. The mood lightened.

  Elena’s phone lit up with a text message, and darkness mixed with relief as she saw the stark words. Her eyes flicked back up to Madeleine’s. “He’s gone. It’s done.” She felt naked. This was just so galling.

  “I really didn’t know, Madeleine,” Elena added. “I’m appalled and ashamed for what you and the other assistants went through. I’m disgusted I somehow allowed myself to be in denial about his true nature. I’m sorry that I hurt you today. You did not deserve it. You have been an exemplary assistant.”

  Madeleine gave her a long look. “Thank you.”

  “Just so you know, four of the five names on the list are ones I do have professional power over. I used it. I blacklisted them all—the photographers, the executive… They didn’t even argue; they just wanted to know how I found out. I also dealt with…the board member. He…” She paused and her stomach twisted. Frank. Her most trusted adviser. The man who had been beside her from the first day she formed her new company. When Clarice died, he’d stepped in and become an invaluable mentor and friend. “I fired Frank. He protested his innocence and threatened to sue. I called his bluff. He backed down. He knows I don’t say things I don’t intend to do. He should; he trained me. So…I won’t be seeing him again.”

  She pressed her lips into a grim line. The things Frank had called her. He’d said some things that could never be unheard. Suggesting she was a dried-up, frigid, closet job who’d probably fucked Clarice to get ahead. Where the hell had that drivel come from? His words clawed at her. Well, not the words so much as that it was Frank who’d been trying to hurt her. He’d acted as if she’d been the one to betray him.

  “I’m glad you fired them all,” Madeleine said. “That’s…that’s good.”

  “It’s necessary. There is nothing good about the events that have transpired.”

  Madeleine gave her a thoughtful look. “So, it seems a few of your assistants would have lost their bet. I think your assistants mostly assumed that if you’d known, you’d never have punished your talented allies.”

  “And which side had you taken on this? What did you believe?”

  “I bet on your humanity. Of course.”

  “As I said once before, that’s not a safe bet—then or now, Madeleine.”

  “No. But I have seen it, no matter how hard you hide it.”

  “We’ll have to iron out your belief in my human side if you expect to come back.” Elena shot her an amused look.

  “But…”

  “Yes, yes, you must be ‘wooed properly’ first.” Elena gave her a smirk. “Fine. I suppose it’s the price I have to pay for luring back a not entirely useless assistant.” She hid her mirth by leaning forward and pushing the button to lower the glass divider. “Home, driver.”

  “Not entirely useless, huh? High praise.” Madeleine laughed.

  Elena enjoyed the sound of it. She wished the woman had laughed more since they’d left New York. She’d missed those engaging green eyes teasing h
er.

  “I would also notice your absence if you weren’t by my side tomorrow,” Elena said more seriously. “You are the least error-prone office employee I’ve ever had. And that includes Felicity. Some days, it’s like you can read my mind.”

  Madeleine beamed.

  “But don’t let it go to your head.”

  Madeleine beamed even more.

  “Oh God.” Elena paused and eyed her former assistant with a small frown. “By the way, where were you tonight? Drowning your sorrows in some seedy dive?”

  “Ha-ha. Is that how you see me? No—I was at Natalii’s hotel.”

  Elena froze, as her thoughts went to dark places—Natalii comforting Madeleine, who had clearly been upset at being fired. The irritating woman, with that seductive French accent and trashy habit of latching her lips on to Madeleine’s for the paparazzi, doing it again—possibly taking full advantage of her weakened state. Preying on her. Elena’s eyes narrowed. A blacklisting was the least of what she could do to that predatory woman. It didn’t matter who her mother was.

  “Oh, it’s not like that.”

  Elena paused in her vengeance plotting. “What is it like?”

  “I was saving her relationship with her girlfriend. Adèle also saw the paparazzi photos.”

  “And how could you do that? Save this relationship?”

  Madeleine reddened.

  Elena frowned, wondering what she wasn’t anxious to say. “I believe the bet still applies.”

  “I told her there was nothing going on between us.”

  “And she believed you? Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “My earnest face?”

  “I see. Now you evade the truth when it suits.”

  “I don’t have any romantic interest in Natalii. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Why so late home, then?”

  Madeleine’s face brightened. “Well, I got caught up in a great story. I’d tell you all about it, but I’m not sure I want to give it to you. I mean the interview took place when I was no longer a Bartell Corp employee. So, really, I could take it anywhere. Make a bundle, too. Especially with the global distribution rights.”