Mayhem in Margaux Read Free Page A

this point, it doesn’t look likely.”
    Benjamin didn’t bother to add that even though Elisabeth and Margaux would be at Cap Ferret, he wouldn’t be spending the usual amount of time with them. There was just too much work to do.
    Instead of returning to his office, Benjamin left for Grangebelle after finishing his lemonade, paying his bill, and dropping off Virgile at his apartment. As soon as Benjamin drove past the stone pillars and turned onto the driveway lined with Japanese cherry trees, Bacchus got up from the grass to welcome him. But it wasn’t his usual energetic greeting. The setter’s Irish origins were not an advantage in this infernal heat. The dog’s tongue was hanging out, and his gait was sluggish. Even his bark was feeble. Distracted by the dog’s lethargy, Benjamin almost slammed into a red Porsche 911 turbo parked in the courtyard.
    Margaux was on the doorstep, hugging her mother good-bye. Antoine Rinetti was watching. He was wearing a sporty getup and a whimsical tie that he had probably purchased in some luxury boutique on the Côte d’Azur.
    “Don’t stay out too late, dear,” Elisabeth said. “Remember, we’re leaving for Cap Ferret in the early afternoon, and I’m counting on you to help me finish packing.”
    “Let me sleep at least until ten, Maman.”
    Benjamin ran a hand over his face and suppressed a grimace. He got out of his Mercedes convertible. Its antique chrome and burr elm dashboard seemed like relics, compared with Rinetti’s flashy sports car. The young Gayraud-Valrose manager greeted him with the obsequious confidence of a brat with a string of diplomas and opinions. Margaux ran to meet her father and kissed him on the cheek.
    “Antoine asked me out to dinner, so you two lovebirds will have the house all to yourselves tonight,” she said with her characteristic warmth, which he had never been able to resist.
    “Well, have a nice evening, sweetheart,” Benjamin found himself replying. He deliberately avoided eye contact with the young man from Nice.
    His daughter and her date got in the Porsche. It took off, sending a volley of gravel toward the Anduze vases lining the house and outbuildings. Feeling dejected, Benjamin turned to his wife.
    “What could Margaux possibly see in a man who drives a car that ostentatious?”
    “It’s not very understated, I’ll admit.”
    “I just hope his driving is better than his taste in cars and ties.”
    “Let’s hope that heaven hears your prayers.”
    “I’ve always thought that expression was a bit silly,” Benjamin grumbled. “I’d rather have heaven listen to me.”
    The evening was gloomy and tense. For dinner, they just nibbled cheese and tomatoes drizzled with olive oil. Elisabeth tried her best to get a conversation going, but Benjamin was in a foul mood. Exhausted from the day’s work but too wound up to relax, he soon disappeared into his office to arrange his files. He worked methodically, completely absorbed in a task that he could complete without actually thinking.
    He slipped into the bed at midnight, gave his sleeping wife a cursory peck on the neck, and brooded until he fell asleep. Three hours later, the telephone jerked both Elisabeth and him awake. And in a voice that unbelievably had a hint of cheerfulness, the police officer told them that Antoine Rinetti’s Porsche had been found on fire not far from the Quai de Paludate.

3
    There was something depressing about the harsh light. It was barely seven in the morning, and the city was getting ready to face another day under the oppressive sun. Elisabeth and Benjamin looked out the expansive window, covered with fingerprints that attested to the nervous waiting of families that had been here before them. A nurse had come to tell them that the operation was almost over. The doctor would be out soon to give them the results.
    They held hands. Benjamin turned his gaze from the sky just above the rooftops to his wife. She was pale and shaking. Elisabeth