Chapter 4: The Closet

Margaux came out of the bathroom with her face dry and her voice level.

"They're at the resale shop," she said. "I'm clearing out last season to make room for new things."

Thibault's shoulders came down.

"You frightened me. I thought you were leaving."

"Where would I go?"

He laughed, relieved, and took out his black card.

"Buy whatever you want. Buy the whole shop."

Margaux took the card and put it on the dresser.

That night he lay beside her and slid an arm around her waist.

She lifted his hand off and put it back on his own side of the bed.

"Migraine," she said.

He kissed her hair and was asleep in minutes.

She lay awake with her palm on her stomach and listened to the villa breathing.

In the morning a car stopped outside, and the front door opened without a bell.

Hortense Marceau walked in and handed her coat to nobody in particular.

She was fifty-eight, with a silver bob and pearls, and she carried a white box tied with ribbon.

She did not look at Margaux.

"Manon, darling, I brought the little blanket I mentioned. How is my grandson this morning?"

Manon ran down the stairs in her nightdress and kissed her cheek.

Around her neck hung a sapphire pendant on a thin chain.

Margaux knew it.

Thibault had designed it himself for her birthday, three years ago, and she had worn it every day since.

It had been missing from her jewellery box since yesterday.

"Hungry, Madame," Manon said. "He's kicking already."

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