“We’re sorry, Mrs. Britwistle,” Bastian said, trying to sound earnest. “We had to make a stop on the way.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she replied. “I was about to have my meal. Do you mind? I don’t want to eat too late. Upsets my stomach.”
She left the room. I looked back at Bastian. His smile had shifted to a slight purse of his lips. When Ivet returned, she carried a tray with a bowl overflowing with soup and a silver spoon. She placed it in front of herself on a low dining table and took the bowl onto her lap.
“I’d offer you some, but I didn’t make enough for the three of us,” she said with a giggle.
Oh, come on. I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t come here to eat,” I said, pulling out my phone. I hit the record button and set the phone on the table next to the empty tray. “I hope you don’t mind us recording. It’s more efficient than taking notes, and we want to make sure we don’t waste any more of your time.”
Bastian cleared his throat before speaking.
“Mrs. Britwistle…”
“Call me Ivet.”
“Alright, Ivet. Our boss came to speak with you a fewmonths ago.”
“I remember. A very kind man.” She sipped the soup directly from the bowl and smiled. “You remind me of him, boy. You have the same face shape.”
“Do you remember what you talked about?” I interrupted.
“Yes, as if it were just yesterday.”
“Then you’ll know why we’re here,” Bastian lifted a brow.
Ivet slurped from her bowl until it was finished. She placed it empty on the tray and crossed her legs.
“I can imagine the why, yes. You want to know what I told the police.”
“More or less,” Bastian smiled with his teeth. “We understand that Mr. Larousse and Mrs. Hawtrey-Moore had discussed a divorce.”
Her posture changed at the mention of that word. She straightened in her chair, suddenly aware that we were lawyers and that there was a recorder in front of her, documenting everything.
“It may be that they considered it at some point. As far as I know, they hadn’t made it official yet.”
I leaned in, adjusting my posture to match hers. I’d read somewhere that mirroring someone’s body language can make them more receptive; I thought it might be useful for a date night or something. But honestly, it all seemed pointless when I saw her eyes locked on Bastian, almost like I wasn’t even there.
“According to what Mr. Larousse told us,” I said, trying to push those thoughts out of my mind, “it would be made official after his daughter’s birthday.”
That seemed to surprise her. Her eyes turned to me, her thin, soup-wet lips tightening.
“He told you that? Then I suppose it must be true. I wasn’t aware.”
Liar. I almost screamed it in her face. Blatant lie! Beside me, Bastian tensed.
“Ivet, all we want is to make sure no one else knows they were going to separate, other than us,” he said, looking at the woman as if she were his accomplice. “No one who isn’t worth our trust, I mean.”
Fucking Bastian. How was he so charming in these situations? His calm demeanour and easy smile were magnetic, drawing out every little detail. I could see the way Ivet’s gaze softened when she looked at him, a flicker of something almost tender in her eyes.
“I understand. Tell me, is Tim okay?” A fine wrinkle appeared on her forehead. “I’m worried about how they might be treating him in prison.”
“Haven’t you visited him?” I asked.
Bastian jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow. I shot him a sidelong glance, wondering if I’d just stepped into a minefield. Was Ivet not permitted to see Mr. Larousse?
I had to admit it, emotional intelligence wasn’t my forte.
