“Do you know my son well?”
A trick question.
Based on what I had just discovered, it was hard to say how well I knew him. But he had revealed something important: that he didn’t have a close relationship with his family. I deduced two things. First, I didn’t know Laurent Dubois Jr. at all, but neither did Laurent Dubois Senior. Second, I was the only person in the room who knew Enzo Woods. A little or a lot, I knew him. More than his own father could say.
I smiled. “As well as one can, I suppose.”
“Then,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees in a familiar gesture, “I’ll tell you, but on one condition. I need you to do me a favour, Vera, my dear.”
I mimicked the gesture, unable to contain my curiosity.
“Come to brunch with us tomorrow. Be our guest.”
It wasn’t what I expected to hear, not by a long shot.
“Excuse me?”
Laurent Dubois relaxed his expression, sipping the champagne slowly.
“I don’t remember the last time my son brought someone home, a friend, or anything… similar. Maybe when he was a kid… The details don’t matter. The thing is, I’m not quite sure how to deal with him now that he’s back. I still struggle to understand the reason for his visit.”
I knew. Because the reason was me. Enzo had returned to his family to gather information for me. And now, if my instincts were right, his father was asking me to gather information about Enzo for him.
“Would Enzo like me to come?” I asked.
Mr. Dubois let the silence hang between us before answering.
“I think so.”
I wasn’t so sure. But since I had travelled to Bordeaux, I might as well take the opportunity.
“I would love to have brunch with you, then,” I said, with a smile that could pass for sincere.
“Marvellous! Which hotel are you staying at? I’ll send a car to pick you up around ten.”
Good question. I still didn’t have a place to spend the night.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr Dubois. I just need to know the time and place.”
He widened his smile. “What a shame. I would have sent Norman to pick you up. He’s the family chauffeur, my best friend.”
The name sounded familiar.
Norman.
Norman Plaskitt.
Another name on the list.
“Is he here tonight?”
Laurent Dubois nodded his head in affirmation.
“He brought my daughter here,” he said, reluctant to continue the conversation. “If you’ll excuse me… I must go find my wife.”
Laurent Dubois shrugged.
“Of course,” I murmured. He placed a hand on my waist, guiding me to the exit. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
