a bit melodramatic.’
‘Can you give me an example?’
‘Mathilde is a rather difficult girl, always has been,’ she began, descending onto a wing-backed chair and crossing her legs. ‘Even as a baby she was always the one demanding attention. If only she could have been more like…’
‘Like?’
‘Oh, you know.’ A wave of her manicured hand. ‘I suppose I had an idea of what motherhood was going to be like, but then these things rarely live up to your expectations, do they?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Madame. I don’t have any children.’
‘You know,’ she said, rising from her chair and going over to the sideboard from which she retrieved a decanter and two tumblers, ‘you’re not at all what I was expecting.’ She poured two generous measures and handed one to Veronique.
‘What were you expecting?’ Veronique swirled the dark liquid around the glass before taking a large sip.
‘You’re really rather beautiful.’
‘Is that a problem?’ Veronique knocked back the remaining Cognac and rolled the glass in her palms.
‘Goodness no.’ A shrill laugh followed by a pursing of lips. ‘Just surprising is all. Francoise mentioned your scar.’
‘People usually do.’
‘I only mean that… Oh never mind. I guess I was nervous about this whole thing. Hiring a stranger to come into your home, opening yourself up to scrutiny once more. But Francoise couldn’t recommend you highly enough and what’s important is finding Mathilde, to find out what happened to her.’ She looked directly at Veronique. ‘You do believe me when I say she hasn’t simply run away?’
‘Why would I not believe you, Madame?’
‘Please, call me Christelle. Madame makes me sound so old.’
Walking over to the grand piano at the far corner of the room she picked up one of the framed photographs that lay atop it.
‘You may have noticed that there are no recent photographs of Mathilde in the apartment.’
‘It did strike me as a little peculiar, I must admit.’
‘She made me put them all away.’ Taking a long sip of her own drink Madame Benazet placed the photograph back on the piano and turned to Veronique. ‘Mathilde seems to think all the world is against her. That it’s harder for her than anyone else, but I’ve told her you don’t get something for nothing in this life; you have to work at it. I mean, she takes everything so personally. It’s not as if he was even a serious boyfriend.’
‘Boyfriend?’ Veronique mentally flicked through her notes. There had been no mention of a boyfriend.
‘Ever so handsome, but had that look about him, you know? Bit of a bad boy is Frederic.’
‘And how long were they seeing each other?’
‘Not long, but they had known each other since school. Then he ran off with one of her friends and she fell apart. Can’t say I’m all that surprised. Agnes is one of those creatures who was first in the queue when God was dishing out beauty. Hardly a shock that Frederic’s head was turned.’
‘When was this exactly?’
‘When was what?’
‘The break-up.’
‘Oh months ago. She’s been moping around the apartment ever since. I told her to snap out of it but she did nothing apart from sit in her room, composing depressing songs about how heartbroken she was.’
‘Mathilde writes music? I thought she was studying economics?’
‘She has some crazy idea that she can be a singer, but unfortunately she’s far better at playing than anything else. We had high hopes for her at one stage; her teacher even thought she was good enough to get a scholarship to the Academy, but she lost interest, literally overnight. I tried to change her mind but she wouldn’t listen to me. All that talent,’ Madame sighed. ‘Such a waste. Anyway…’ she smoothed a stray hair from her face ‘…I told her to use the private education we’d paid for and study something with a future instead of walking around with her head in the clouds.’
‘Do you play, Madame?’ Veronique nodded towards the piano.
‘Me? No. Not really my thing. My husband left it behind.’
‘And where is Monsieur now?’
‘At his apartment, I should imagine.’ Madame Benazet finished her drink before pouring herself another measure. She raised the decanter to Veronique who shook her head in refusal. ‘We didn’t keep tabs on one another even before we separated. Why on earth would I want to know who he’s screwing now?’
‘And how did Mathilde feel about her father leaving?’
‘Her father?’
‘Monsieur Benazet.’
‘He’s not her father. Goodness, no.’ Madame Benazet sank back into her seat. ‘Her father and I went our separate ways a long time ago.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘I’m not sure what this has to do with Mathilde.’
‘I’m simply wondering whether she may have tried to contact her father.’
‘What on earth for? He left us when Mathilde was a baby. Simply upped and left, abandoned us you could say.’
‘So Mathilde has had feelings of abandonment for some time?’
Madame Benazet’s eyes narrowed as she looked across at Veronique. ‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m simply trying to understand Mathilde in order to help me with my investigation.’ Veronique glanced around the room, at the precise positioning of everything in it. No trace of a family, no telltale signs that the apartment was anything more than a show home. ‘Anything from her past could provide a clue as to her whereabouts.’
‘I see. Well. She asked about her father when she was younger, but I told her the truth. He doesn’t want anything to do with us and we’re better off without him.’
‘Has she been involved with anyone else besides Frederic?’
‘Not really. Although she did mention her boss a few times, claimed he said that she had potential as a singer. I told her he must have been after something more than songs. She’s far too quick to trust, that girl.’
‘You don’t happen to recall his name?’
‘Valentine Dubois.’
Veronique nodded to herself. The eyewitness just so happened to be called Valentine and Jardins des Tuileries was a long way from the bar he owned in Montmartre. ‘Can you tell me about the necklace Mathilde was wearing the day she disappeared.’
‘What about it?’
‘How do you know she was wearing it? In your statement to the police you said Mathilde left early that morning, before you awoke.’
‘It was missing from my jewellery box.’
‘So you never saw her wearing it?’
‘No, I just assumed…’
‘So it’s possible that you have simply mislaid it?’
Madame Benazet shifted in her seat. ‘I trust that you can be discreet, that whatever I tell you stays between us. Client confidentiality and all that?’
‘What else has she taken?’
A wry smile. ‘Nothing important. Some money here, a trinket or two there. She thinks I didn’t notice.’
‘Why didn’t you mention