Chapter Thirty-two
Olivier stood at the tennis courts watching Marc and Yves in a fierce contest, and figured that the game would consume them for at least another forty-five minutes. The last of the guests would have departed by then. He wished now that he had insisted on keeping Max here, but Girard and the others had been persuasive in their argument that the arrest was practically a done deal and she wasn’t needed. He suspected Girard was nervous about her receiving public attention that belonged to him. Max had resisted leaving, but when Jacques implored her to stay with Chloé, she had acquiesced.
Girard had been shocked when Olivier had presented all the data to him about Marc that had made him the number one suspect. “He’s been so helpful,” he said. “I don’t know how I misjudged him the way I did.”
Olivier thought he understood how that had happened. Max had told him on the ride back to Paris that she had been required to take a psychology course that focused on personality disorders because the majority of the criminals she arrested had some form of psychopathy. She said she would label Marc an alienated sociopath, and more specifically, a cheated type. When Olivier had asked her to explain, she had said that because of real or perceived inadequacies, these people felt rejected by society. He had argued that Marc had not seemed to behave like one who was rejected by society, but Max had convinced him otherwise. Marc had come to believe that he had been wronged by others, and this had led him to the stance that rules didn’t apply to him. A slippery slope indeed, Olivier thought.
Max had placed a lot of blame on Genevieve because of all the verbal abuse and manipulation. In the moment he faced Léa, Max had said, Léa could easily have become his mother in his mind. The mother who had screamed at him his entire life for being inadequate. Léa may have mocked him the night he had murdered her, or been condescending, or become enraged. No one would ever know. Nor would they know unless they got Marc to confess that Léa’s murder had been premeditated. There would be no question, though, about Antoine’s murder. Olivier had been stunned by how calculating the murderer would have to be to pull it off.
Olivier entered the house and told Jacques it was time to call Girard. Jacques went to his study, and Olivier punched in Abdel’s number. Olivier knew he was just on the other side of the wall, waiting for the call. “Go directly to the tennis courts where you can keep your eye on Marc, while I wait for Girard.”
Olivier went to the terrace. In ten minutes it would all be over. Jacques came up to him, “This is a nightmare. I can’t imagine what this arrest will do to Chloé.”
“We will all care for her, Jacques. She’s strong.”
“We should have given her more freedom at a younger age. She might not have fallen so hard for this handsome stranger. She didn’t know how to judge his character.”
“Nor did we.”
Girard approached. “There aren’t any escape routes. Are we ready?”
“All set.”
The two of them, followed by two policemen, started to the tennis courts. Abdel came running up. “Monsieur, they’re gone!”
Olivier swore and ordered Girard and his men to scour the premises. He could think of only one place that the police didn’t know about. Antoine’s. “Come with me, Abdel!” Jacques followed at a lope, and when they arrived, out of breath, Jacques noticed immediately that Antoine’s pleasure boat was missing.
Olivier sent Jacques back to inform Girard about the boat, then looked at Abdel. “They could have gone to Paris, where it would be easy for Marc to get on an airplane, or…”
“To Epernay. To find his wife.”
Olivier dialed Girard’s cell phone and told him to send his men to Paris to check airports and trains. He and Abdel got into Abdel’s car. Olivier said, “There’s a lock northwest of the town. Drop me at the Marceau Company and continue on to the lock.
“Do you think Mademoiselle Marceau is waiting for him?”
“She’s deeply loyal. And naïve,” Olivier said.
“And our American detective has no idea what’s going on. Which means she’ll try to stop them.”
“Let’s hope Marc and Yves are on their way to Paris. Drive faster.”
***
Max was perched atop the six-foot high rack of champagne, thinking she would give anything for a gun. The tractor was out of sight again, and it was eerily quiet. So they botched the arrest, she thought. Marc must have known all along what Olivier was up to. She waited a few minutes and decided that he wasn’t coming back. She climbed down and started running down the corridor the tractor had taken. She had to get to Chloé.
When she rounded the corner she saw Marc and Chloé moving toward an exit sign. He was holding her hand. “Chloé!” Max called. They stopped.
“Max. I thought you had gone to the office.”
“Where’s your group?”
“I took them to the office, and then came to meet Marc.”
Marc was smiling. “We have to get going.”
“Where to?”
“We’re going on our honeymoon,” Chloé said.
Didn’t Marc just try to kill me, she thought.
“Marc, I saw you back there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You just tried to run me down.”
She noticed that he had removed the worker’s uniform, and wondered where he had stashed it.
Chloé stepped forward, “Max, you’re being ridiculous. Why would he do that?”
“Because he knows I’m going to try to stop you.”
“Come on, Chloé,” Marc said, taking her arm. When she hesitated, he said simply, “Max.” Their eyes interlocked. “You stay here. I’m warning you.”
“Marc!” Chloé said. “What are you warning her about?”
“Come on!” He pulled her harder and she almost fell.
“I’m not going until I know what Max is upset about.”
They were almost at the workers’ elevator. “Ask her.”
“Max?” Chloé said.
Max stopped and looked at Chloé. Marc was holding a pistol over her head. He’s got me, Max thought. “I’m upset because I think you should tell your parents you’re taking off,” Max said. “They’ll be hurt.” She saw Marc’s jaw relax, and the gun was already out of sight.
“Oh, Max. I’ll call them once we’re in Paris.”
They were at the elevator. “May I come up with you?” Max asked. “I can take your car back to the house, Chloé.”
Marc acquiesced. Max figured that Yves must be waiting for him. They boarded the elevator, and it lumbered up. Max knew that by now Olivier and the police were searching for Marc. She would stay close to Chloé no matter what, and try to protect her. She exited the elevator first. They were behind the office building, and there was Yves in his car, just as she had thought. She saw a figure duck, and realized that the police were on task. A beautiful sight.
“Au revoir, Max,” Chloé said. When she leaned in to hug Max, Max put her hand on Chloé’s back, and shoved her as hard as she could. Chloé sprawled, and Max took the opportunity to seize Marc’s jacket. He jerked his arm back and hit her squarely on the cheekbone, causing her to step back because of the pain. He leaped into the front seat and Yves drove off. Max knew they wouldn’t get far.
Olivier and Abdel stepped out from behind a car. “Your face,” Olivier said to Max, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and tapping it gently on her cheekbone.
Abdel lifted Chloé up. To Max’s surprise, she looked stoic. “Are you okay?” Max asked.
Chloé nodded. “I knew from the moment Marc showed up here,” she said. “I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks.”
“You’re a great actress, then,” Max said. “I was convinced that you had planned this getaway with Marc.”
“I kn
ew to play along with him. I was terrified that he’d do something to you,” Chloé said. “And he did.”
Jacques walked out of the building and embraced his daughter. “I’ve been sick with worry,” he said. “All of you, come back to the house. The police will take care of Marc. And Marie-Christine will put something on your face,” he said to Max. “She’s in the office.”
“Abdel and I are going to the police station,” Olivier said. “Max, you can come if you want.”
“I’m staying out of the limelight,” she said. “Let Girard bask in his glory.”
The instant she turned, a photographer took her picture. She heard Olivier laugh.
***
Chloé spoke first in the car on the way back to the house. “It will take a long time for it to sink in that I married a murderer.” When she saw her parents stiffen, she said, “The only way I can heal from this…mistake…is to talk about it. Marc is quite sick, I know, but one day I will try to figure out why I needed him in my life.” Her mother turned around and took her hand and squeezed it. It made Max miss her own mother. She would call Hank to let him know the way the story had unfolded before she went to bed.
Once they were back at chez Marceau, she ran upstairs to shower, all the while assuring herself that she didn’t need Olivier. She was leaving in a few days anyway, she thought. She repeated Chloé’s words, applying them to herself, “I need to ask why I feel I need him in my life.”
This is the major question for my future therapist, she thought.
She contemplated the question for a while as the warm water flowed over her, and heard herself say out loud, “I want him in my life because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” She emerged from the shower with new resolve. She would let Olivier know how she felt.
She picked up the bottle of Casta Diva perfume her mother had probably saved for months to buy her. Juliette had explained that perfume used to have an essential mystique that had gotten lost in the mainstream perfumes. “Casta Diva” was the name of an aria from Bellini’s opera, Norma.
Dressed in fresh clothes, Max opened the door and heard Ted’s voice wafting up from the entrance hall. She passed the upstairs billiard room and skipped down the stairs on the other side of the house where Olivier stood talking with Ted.
Both men paused. “My god, what is that fragrance?” Ted asked.
Max smiled. She was about to tell him when Olivier said, “Let me guess. Come closer.” He inhaled and closed his eyes. “I know it. Casta Diva. Frangipani, white musk, and perhaps jasmine, though I’m not sure which kind.”
Ted stepped back in mock amazement. “How the hell did you know that?” Then, to Max, “I smell your mother in all this.” He turned to Olivier before Max could stop him and said, “You know, her mother is from the old French aristocracy. She was a de Laval. I idolize that woman.”
“I second that, ” Chloé said.
Max turned to follow them, but Olivier took her arm. “A de Laval?”
“They disowned my mother, so she’s a Maguire.”
“She is French, Max. And so are you. Or at least half of you is.”
“I’m ready now to own that.”
He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “You said that maybe things might be different between us after this case was solved. And I said they will be. And they are. I’d like to prepare dinner for you tonight after our little celebration here. I promise, there will be no interruptions!”
“Sure!” She said it with the same certainty that she had pretended to feel when she first went home with him. Only this time she meant it.
A sound made them turn. Mimi was smiling broadly. “Me no speak English,” Mimi said, putting her hands up in he air. They laughed and went back to join the family.
Girard was at the door. “I can’t stay. I have an interview in an hour,” he said. “We were swarmed by the police and photographers. Strangely, Marc doesn’t seem upset by the attention.”
“Part of the personality disorder,” Max said. “These people are sensation-seeking. He’ll think he’s being admired, or feared.”
Girard said, “Madame Durand is under house arrest in Paris. My men went to the cemetery and the bag was there. The shoes that match the footprints, the wedding jacket with blood on it. The works. Also a small leather bag belonging to Monsieur Keller, who is leaving now for Germany.”
Max looked over at Olivier, and his eyes relayed the message that he’d tell her everything when they were alone.
“And Yves Brun?”Olivier asked Girard.
“He said Marc was going to blackmail him if he didn’t help him escape. I think it’s about drugs. We have plenty of time to find out. ”
They entered the salon where Chloé sat on a divan, her head on her mother’s shoulder. Ted was at the table with Jacques. He said, “I’ve been offered a contract to write a book about wine tasting. Someone read my blog and liked it. But I want all of you to know that I intend to pay back to Léa’s estate every penny I borrowed from her.”
Jacques said quietly, “I would have expected you to say that. Now it’s time to bid farewell to Léa and Antoine.” He waited for them to pick up their glasses. “Adieu.”
“Adieu,” they all said in unison, as though the word was a benediction.
Max noted that the bubbles in her glass were miniscule, the color a deep gold. Jacques made a toast to the investigative team, and to Max, “Who,” he said, “is like another daughter to us.”
Jazz was playing in the background and Jacques turned it up when Etta James came on singing, “I Just Want to Make Love to You.” Olivier put down his glass, then took Max’s and placed it beside his on the table. “Let’s dance,” he said.
All eyes were on them. Max couldn’t believe how self-conscious she felt.
“Olivier.”
He led her onto the terrace and slid his arm around her waist. The sun would be setting in an hour and she could already visualize the riotous colors that would fill the sky, matching the vivid colors in Marie-Christine’s garden. Deep pinks and violets, with enough blue mixed in for effect.
“Music transcends everything dark, Max. You should never have given up dancing.”
Olivier swung her around, and she saw Jacques leading Marie-Christine out to the terrace to join them. Ted followed with Chloé. Girard stood sipping his champagne, with Abdel beside him, grinning.
“As much as this has been one of the worst two weeks of my life, I don’t want to leave,” Max said to Olivier.
“You’ll be back. This region is like a magnet.”
You’re the magnet, Olivier Chaumont, Max thought, but that’s a discussion for another time.
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Champagne: The Farewell Page 29