“What are your names?” asked the second man.
My teenage companion answered with his mouth full, dragging out the gggg.
“I’m Vera. With an r, not a g.”
“Verra. Where are you from, dear?”
“Spain. But I live in London. I go to Cutnam Law.”
The man looked at me with interest.
“And how come you came all the way here for a game? A fan of our Belleviste or supporter of the family?”
“Let’s just say…” I replied, drowning out Alex’s sorbet, “I’m an acquaintance of Eloïse Hawtrey-Moore.”
The fish was awful, and talking to those men made me feel like I was stuck at a wedding. Waiters buzzed around, swapping out plates of unfamiliar dishes with sorbet between courses. The only thing people actually finished was their drinks.
The first man looked at me with more interest.
“Oh, really? I don’t remember you. But I haven’t seen her friends in years. The only memory I have is of Eloïse sending a group of little girls from one side of her father’s house to the other.”
His words made me remember something Larousse had said when I visited him with my boss.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are you Antoine Benit? Friend of Mr Larousse?”
“The same!” he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “Do we know each other?”
“Do you know him?” Alex asked with his mouth open.
“Not really. I’ve heard of you.”
The man laughed, giving his friend an elbow.
“Did you hear that, Joseph? I’m famous.”
The other man looked at me with a furrowed brow. The woman was still focused on her dessert, a ball of ice cream in a terrifying green colour. I had no idea who she was. But…
“And you are Joseph Badou,” I stated, addressing the thinner man.
“Tell us, did Larousse tell endless school tales to bore anyone who would listen, eh?”
He probably did. If these two men were friends of Timotheo Larousse, the same ones who had witnessed the argument between Antonia Hawtrey-Moore and Ivet…
“Eloïse didn’t mention that her father’s friends would be coming. How come you’re here?”
Joseph answered.
“Between us, it would be a bit rude not to come to a Dubois charity event, wouldn’t it? Though it’s not like we were particularly excited, given the situation…”
“We don’t want our actions to negatively affect Tim in any way.”
Got it. The importance of good press! If Timotheo Larousse’s friends showed a good relationship with the Dubois family… or, on the contrary, if the Dubois continued to accept those closest to Larousse among their own…
The public opinion would be more inclined to doubt Larousse’s involvement in Antonia’s murder.
“Yes,” I conceded. “Our support is important; Eloïse deserves to see familiar faces among all these people.”
Though I was sure she would have preferred not to see my face ever again.
