“No,” I tell Antoine, now. “I’m not going to give you any more.”
“Excuse me?” He cups a hand behind his ear. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“No, you’re not getting your money. I’m not going to give it to you.”
He frowns. “But I’ll tell my father. I’ll tell him the other thing.”
“Oh no, you won’t.” I know that I am in dangerous territory. But I can’t resist saying it. Calling his bluff.
He nods at me, slowly, like I’m too stupid to understand him. “I assure you, I absolutely will.”
“Fine. Message him now.”
I see a spasm of confusion cross his face. “You stupid bitch,” he spits. “What’s wrong with you?” But suddenly he seems uncertain. Even afraid.
I told Benjamin Daniels about Sofiya Volkova. That was my most reckless act. More than anything else I did with him. We had showered together that afternoon. He had washed my hair for me. Perhaps it was this simple act—far more intimate than the sex, in its way—that released something in me. That encouraged me to tell him about the woman I thought I had left behind in a locked room beneath one of the city’s better-heeled streets. In doing so I felt suddenly as though I was the one in control. Whoever my blackmailer was, they would no longer hold all of the cards. I would be the one telling the story.
“Jacques chose me,” I said. “He could have had his pick of the girls, but he chose me.”
“But of course he chose you,” Ben said, as he traced a pattern on my naked shoulder.
He was flattering me, perhaps. But over the years I had also come to see what the attraction must have been for my husband. Far better to have a second wife who could never make him feel inferior, who came from somewhere so far beneath him that she would always be grateful. Someone he could mold as he chose. And I was so happy to be molded. To become Madame Sophie Meunier with her silk scarves and diamond earrings. I could leave that place far behind. I wouldn’t end up like some of the others. Like the poor wretch who had given birth to my daughter.
Or so I thought. Until that first note showed me that my past hung over my life like a blade, ready at any moment to pierce the illusion I had created.
“And tell me about Mimi,” Ben murmured, into the nape of my neck. “She’s not yours . . . is she? How does she fit into all this?”
I went very still. This was his big mistake. The thing that finally shocked me out of my trance. Now I knew I wasn’t the only one he was speaking to. Now I realized how stupid I had been. Stupid and lonely and weak. I had revealed myself to this man, this stranger—someone I still didn’t really know, in spite of all our snatched time together. In hindsight, perhaps even as he had told me about his childhood he had been selecting, editing—part of him slipping away from me, ever unknowable. Giving me choice morsels, just enough that I would unburden myself to him in return. He was a journalist, for God’s sake. How could I have been so foolish? In talking I had handed him the power. I hadn’t just risked everything I had built for myself, my own way of life. I had risked everything I wanted for my daughter, too.
I knew what I had to do.
Just as I know what I have to do now. I steel myself, give Antoine my most withering stare. He may be taller than me but I feel him cringing beneath it. I think he has just understood that I am beyond bullying.
“Message your father or not,” I say. “I don’t care. But either way, you aren’t getting another euro from me. And at this moment I think we all have more important matters to focus on. Don’t you? You know Jacques’ position on this. The family comes first.”
Jess
I’m back here. Back in this quiet street with its beautiful buildings. That familiar feeling settles over me: the rest of the city, the world, seems so far away.
I think of Theo’s words: “You strike me as the kind of person who could be a little . . . reckless.” It made me angry, when he said it, but he was right. I know there is a part of me that is drawn to danger, even seeks it out.
Maybe it’s madness. Maybe if Theo hadn’t just been arrested, I’d have gone back to his place like he said I should. Crashed on his sofa. Maybe not. But as it stands I don’t have anywhere else to go. I know I can’t go to the police. I also know that if I want to find out what happened to Ben, this place is the only option. The building holds the key, I’m sure of it. I won’t find any answers running away.