The Last Will And Testament Of Daphné Le Marche. Kate Forster

he would feel some sort of relief, even some satisfaction that she was gone, but there was only silence in his heart and in the house.

      He walked up the stairs slowly, stopping at each level to catch his breath, and silently cursing his addiction to cigarettes.

      Finally, he reached the top level and loosened his tie from his neck. He was once a handsome man, but a lifetime of sunbathing, smoking, drinking and eating rich food had ruined his fine features and had turned him into a doughy version of his former self.

      He crossed the room, with its heavy, ornate furniture, and opened the drawer of the Louis XV desk. He pulled out a kidskin file and opened the gold lock with a small key that hung on his key ring.

      He rifled through the papers inside and then, not seeing what he wanted, pulled them all out and spread them across the desk.

      Birth certificates, the marriage certificate, deeds to the houses and other items that Daphné had deemed important were inside. Everything except the one thing he wanted.

      He pulled out his phone, dialled a number and waited.

      ‘Edward Badger please, Robert Le Marche,’ he said, as he checked the papers again.

      ‘Edward speaking,’ came the crisp English accent.

      ‘Where is the will and the formula?’

      ‘Let me first offer my condolences on the loss of your mother,’ said Edward smoothly. ‘She was a remarkable woman.’

      Robert had never liked him. He tried too hard to be Henri’s replacement.

      ‘Remarkable is one word,’ said Robert drily. ‘I’m at rue de Grenelle, the documents aren’t here.’

      ‘The formula is in the bank vault, and the will is in the office, as per your mother’s instructions before she passed.’

      Robert felt his blood pressure rise. ‘She wrote her will three years ago,’ he said.

      ‘No, there was a codicil the night before she died,’ said Edward.

      ‘A what?’

      ‘A codicil is an amendment to a will,’ said Edward.

      Patronising prick, thought Robert.

      ‘I know what a fucking codicil is,’ he snapped, walking around the top floor, staring unseeingly at the view across Paris. ‘When can I see it?’

      ‘We have some details to attend to, and then we will read the will. Madame Le Marche expressed very firmly that it should be after her funeral.’

      Robert clutched the back of a gilt-edged chair.

      ‘I need to get things moving,’ he said, trying to control his voice.

      ‘Yes, I can understand that,’ said Edward and then he paused on the end of the phone. ‘We have to wait for Sibylla’s response,’ he said.

      ‘Sibylla? Henri’s child?’ asked Robert. He now circled the chair and sat on its overstuffed silk cushion.

      ‘Yes, she’s in the will,’ said Edward.

      ‘What did Daphné leave her?’ Robert ran through the list of chattels and houses. The château now used as a wedding venue, the house he was sitting in, the apartment in London where she died? Perhaps it was some art? Robert could accept some art going to the girl, she deserved that much, and a flush of guilt ran through his body, causing a cold sweat.

      ‘Why do we need to wait for her? If it’s an item, we can ship it over, can’t we?’ Robert’s voice betrayed him as his desperation rose.

      ‘That’s not going to work,’ said Edward. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I have more details to attend to, as I’m sure you do also, for the funeral will most likely be enormous.’

      Robert sat in the chair, staring at the wall.

      Sibylla Le Marche. He barely thought of Henri’s child nowadays. How old was she when he died? Nine or ten? He searched his memory for the girl who had played with Celeste while he and Matilde pointed blame at each other for Camille’s death.

      She was more like her mother Elisabeth, he remembered, dark haired and quiet, in contrast to Celeste’s boisterous beauty.

      Just thinking about the past gave him a headache and he decided he needed two things. A strong coffee and blowjob from one of the escorts he used for such purposes.

      He dialled a number and waited. ‘Anika, it’s Robert, can I see you?’

      ‘Darling,’ she purred in her German accent, ‘I’m in Cannes.’ She laughed and he could hear the sound of laughter in the background.

      ‘Why are you in Cannes?’

      ‘I’m with a sheik I met at the festival, who offered me an obscene amount of cash to stay for a while. We’ve been all over the Mediterranean, and we’re just coming back into Cannes now.’

      Her voice hushed to a whisper. ‘I can pay my apartment off with this trip,’ she said.

      Robert wasn’t sure if he should congratulate her or call Interpol in case she went missing.

      ‘Please be careful,’ he pleaded with Anika. She was by far his favourite of the young women he used for pleasure.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Jesus, you’re like my father.’ She was laughing as he ended the call.

      The thought of Anika’s mouth around the sheik’s cock made him shudder, but he also felt a searing jealousy, while the thought of the wealth the sheik must have made him livid.

      Yes, Robert had money, but he wasn’t obscenely liquid like the Middle Eastern sheiks or the Russian oligarchs.

      His thoughts went back to his mother’s will and he felt a small seed of doubt sprout in his mind. Maybe things weren’t going to go to the way he expected after his mother’s death, and he wondered why he thought they would since they had never gone to plan while the old bitch was alive.

      Leaving the kidskin wallet on the table, he made his way downstairs and through the garden out to the street, where he saw his Bugatti was now sporting a parking fine.

      Today was proving to be the worst, he decided, when his phone rang and he saw his daughter’s name on the screen. Now it was proving to be even more hellish.

      ‘Celeste,’ he barked. ‘I can’t talk now.’

      ‘Why not?’ He could hear the pout in her voice. ‘I just want to find out about Grand-Mère’s funeral. When is it?’

      Robert pulled the ticket off the windscreen and unlocked the car.

      ‘I don’t know, I haven’t organised it yet.’

      ‘Papa, she died two days ago, what do you mean you haven’t organised it?’

      ‘I haven’t had time, I have a company to run, not everyone lives your life,’ he said as he slid into the seat of the car, cursing his back. He needed one of those driver’s pillows he had seen in a catalogue for people with disabilities when he was last visiting his mother.

      He made a mental note to get his secretary to order one, as he started the car, the sound of the engine nearly blocking out Celeste’s question.

      ‘What did you say?’ He wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

      ‘Do you want me to organise it?’ she asked again, her voice sounding small. ‘I thought it might be nice for me to do it.’

      Robert paused, the phone still up to his ear, the engine thumping impatiently.

      ‘That would be lovely, Celeste, really, if you think you can handle such a sad affair. I need to be looking at the company and all that it entails, so your help would be so wonderful.’

      His charm soothed him, and he felt the anxious grip in his chest loosen.