The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (50 page)

“Marcel!” he practically shouted. “Marcel Grobz, like me.”

Mother and child were taken upstairs to the luxury recovery suite that Marcel had booked. Now he didn’t want to leave.

“You’re sure they’re not going to switch him on us?”

“Of course not!” said Josiane. “He’s wearing his bracelet. Besides, he’s the spitting image of you.”

Marcel strutted proudly back over to the little bassinette.

“You have to go register him at city hall, and I need to rest,” she said. “I’m a bit tired.”

“Oh, so sorry, honeybunch. It’s just hard for me to leave. I’m scared I’ll never see him again.”

Marcel took some pictures of his handsome new son, now bathed and clean, sleeping in a white onesie. Then he left, bumping into the door on the way out.

Josiane started to sob with happiness. She cried for a long time. Then she got up, took baby Marcel in her arms, and fell asleep with him snuggled against her.

Ginette organized a party for Marcel at Casamia, and the staff gathered for a buffet under the wisteria vines, which she’d decorated with little blue bows.

As the proud papa stood drinking champagne, his cell phone rang.

“Sweetie-pie?” he cried.

But it wasn’t sweetie-pie, it was Henriette. She was at the bank, checking her accounts and being updated by her financial adviser, Madame Lelong.

“There’s something I don’t understand, Marcel. We seem to have two separate accounts. There must be a mistake!”

“No, dear, there’s no mistake. We have separate accounts now, and separate lives too. My son was born last night. His name’s Marcel. Eight and a half pounds, twenty-one and a half inches—a giant!”

There was a long silence. In the same curt tone, Henriette finally said that she would call him back. She couldn’t talk in front of Madame Lelong.

Marcel rubbed his hands in delight.

“Call back anytime, dear Henriette, and I’ll give you the surprise I have in store for you!”

René and Ginette looked at him with relief. At long last, Marcel was deposing the tyrant.

Like all small-minded and malicious people, Henriette was constitutionally unable to abandon her preconceived ideas, or to hold herself responsible for her own unhappiness. She preferred to blame other people.

That day was no exception. She quickly wrapped up matters with Madame Lelong and left the bank. Gilles was waiting with the sedan’s door open, but she dismissed him, telling him to wait. She had an errand to run that didn’t require the car.

Henriette started walking around the block to clear her mind. She had to think, to regroup. She was so used to having Marcel under her thumb that she had signed papers during the Zang Brothers acquisition without really paying attention.
That was a
big mistake
, she thought as she strode along, her knees clicking like knitting needles.
I have to change my tactics.

But a little farther along she stopped, struck by a horrifying thought: she was now dependent on Marcel! She would have to swallow her pride and keep thoughts of revenge in check. Separate accounts . . . Her savings gone . . . What would be left for her?

She stumbled into a portico and dialed his number.

“Is it Natasha? Did that slut bear you a child?”

“Wrong again!” chortled Marcel. “It’s Josiane Lambert, the mother of my child—and my future wife.”

“You’re sixty-six years old. You’re being a damned fool!”

“Nothing’s foolish when you’re in love, dear.”

“Love! The woman’s just after your money and you call it love.”

“Ah, now you’re being vulgar, Henriette! But you don’t have to worry about money. I won’t leave you naked on the street to fend for yourself. You can have our apartment, and I’ll send you a stipend every month, enough to live comfortably for the rest of your days.”

“A stipend! You know where you can stuff your stipend! I have a right to half your assets, Marcel!”

“Correction: you
had
the right. But not anymore. Remember all those papers you signed? If you’d bothered reading them, you would have realized you were formally stepping down as CEO and ceding me your stock in the company. You’re out of my life, Henriette. Your signature is worth zilch now. You can go sign rolls of toilet paper, for all I care.”

“You have no right to speak to me this way!”

“Why not? You spoke to me this way for years. Today, my dear, I’m the bluebird of happiness. You should take advantage of it, because tomorrow I may turn vicious.”

Then, like all small-minded and malicious people, Henriette had a last small-minded and malicious thought.

“What about Gilles and the car?” she barked. “Can I keep them?”

“I’m afraid not. First, because Gilles can’t stand you, and second, because I will need him to drive my queen and my little prince around. I have a son, Henriette! A son, and a woman who loves me. I’ve started my life over. It took me a long time to shake off your yoke, but I’ve done it. I hear from Gilles that you’ve been walking around the block, spinning like a top. So keep walking. When you’re exhausted and you’ve emptied your sack of venom, you can go home and contemplate your fate.”

“You’re drunk, Marcel! You’ve been drinking!”

“Yes, I have. I’ve been celebrating ever since my son was born this morning. But my head is clear. You can hire all the lawyers in the world, and you’ll still be fucked!”

Henriette hung up in outrage, only to see Gilles drive off around the corner, abandoning her to her new solitude.

“What are you thinking about, Jo?”

“That I’ve been with you every afternoon for almost six months.”

“Does that seem like a long time?”

“Like the blink of an eye.”

She moved closer to Luca, who was propped up on one elbow and was running a finger over her naked shoulder. She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and kissed him.

“I’m going to have to go,” she said with a sigh. “I wish I could stay forever.”

Everything happens so quickly
, she thought while she was driving home. The kids were back from Mustique, brown as berries. And Gary had been right: nobody talked about the tabloid article. Life goes on.

A few weeks later, Joséphine went to have lunch with Iris. Philippe and Alexandre were in London, where they went more and more often. Was Philippe thinking of moving there? Jo had no idea. They didn’t speak much anymore, didn’t see each other.
That’s just as well
, she told herself each time she found herself thinking about him.

Carmen served the sisters lunch in Iris’s study.

“Why did you do it, Iris? What was the point?”

“It was just for fun. I wanted people to be talking about me again. And instead, I blew it! Philippe is avoiding me, and I had to tell Alexandre that it was just a stupid joke. He was so disgusted, I couldn’t look him in the eye.”

“You’re the one who sent the photos, right?”

“Yes.”

What’s the use of talking about all this?
Iris thought wearily.
Why go over it again? I messed up, and I got caught. Life was easy, and I shouldn’t have tried for more. I would roll the dice, and the dice were always hot. Then they suddenly went cold.

Iris shivered and sank deeper into her big sofa.

She looked over at Joséphine, at her serious expression.
She’s figured it out. I don’t know how she does it. My little sister is all grown up.

“Didn’t it occur to you that it would hurt the people around you?”

God, that sounds nasty
, thought Iris.
Why use such dreadful words? Wasn’t boredom enough of an excuse?
She looked at her sister again.
Jo was born with so much less than me, and yet she seems to be getting on just fine.

“Even Hortense has stopped coming over,” said Iris. “And we used to get along so well. She must be sick of me, too.”

“She’s studying for her
bac
, Iris. She’s working like a dog, trying for honors. There’s a design school in London she wants to go to next year.”

“So she really does want to work? I thought she was saying that for show.”

“Hortense has changed a lot, you know. She doesn’t blow me off like she used to. She’s gotten softer.”

“How about you, Joséphine? How are you doing? I don’t see much of you anymore, either.”

“I’m working. We’re all working. The atmosphere is very studious at my house.”

Joséphine giggled mischievously, and her smile widened into a grin. She radiated the ease of a cheerful, contented woman, and Iris would have given anything to be in her sister’s shoes.

For a moment she almost asked, “How do you do it, Jo?” but she held her tongue. She didn’t want to know.

J
oséphine parked in front of her building and unloaded the groceries she’d picked up before going to Luca’s. There was plenty of time to get dinner ready. Gary, Hortense, and Zoé wouldn’t be home for at least an hour. She took the elevator up. On the landing she found the hall light and turned it on.

A familiar-looking woman was waiting for her. As Jo struggled to remember who she was, the red triangle suddenly came to her. It was Mylène! The manicurist from the salon, the woman who had run off with her husband. To Jo, it felt as if a century had passed since then.