Vallotton slipped his hands in his pockets. “My aunt feels responsible. She thinks she should have recognized him.”
“She almost did. I think it was on her mind, which is why she mentioned seeing Estanguet the first night I was there. We spoke about children and changes that happen over time, and loss. I think that too many thoughts were in her head, and she didn’t pinpoint that it was literally seeing Estanguet that triggered her memories. He was a mere child when she knew him. She had no reason to recognize him. I associated her thoughts with Felicity Cowell’s other name and her parents learning what had happened.”
“I think he was often on her mind, perhaps subconsciously, but there. When Mimi’s parents died she encouraged my father to adopt her. We didn’t question her reasons, but I understand better now. She had always wondered what happened to the two boys who were with her during the war. After what happened with Estanguet she told me that she had been assured that both boys were well settled; now she realizes that for at least one of them that was not true.”
“No one but Frédéric Faivre-Estanguet is responsible, not you, not the marquise. Not me, even though if I’d arrived minutes earlier Arsov would have lived.”
“He’d nearly died the day before.”
“That’s my point. We did the best we could.” She thought about George. Could she have saved him if she’d understood his struggles, or would any acknowledgment of what had already transpired have moved him toward the same end for a different reason? “Estanguet took that knife from its case at Arsov’s when he toured during the Fête Nationale. I suspect he hoped to kill Arsov that day but for whatever reason was unable to. He decided to wait. Plan. Perhaps if he had confronted him that first day Estanguet would have gotten the truth he needed.”
“Mère, have you seen—” A small blond boy stopped a few feet inside the living room, surprised by the sight of a stranger.
Julien Vallotton stepped forward to introduce himself and motioned toward the window. Daniel saw them and tapped the horn. “You like it?”
“Like it? A 1907 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost? It has a seven-liter engine that’s naturally aspirated, a side valve, and a four-speed manual gearbox.”
“You know your cars,” Julien said.
“Is it yours? Wow!”
“This is Peter, my youngest,” Agnes said, smiling.
“I thought you and your brothers might want to go for a ride. When your mom is completely healed we can bring her out in it.”
Peter’s eyes widened and he nodded.
“Go get your brothers,” Agnes said. “Nice of you,” she said to Vallotton after her son ran into the kitchen, hollering for his siblings.
“A ploy to get on their good side after we nearly killed their mother.”
Agnes noticed the package leaning against the door frame. It was the size and shape of a small painting.
“The auction is going ahead? I’m sure you’ll have a great deal of interest after all…” She wasn’t sure how to characterize what had happened.
“The notoriety?” Vallotton laughed. “I’m sending one painting to London by courier and they have promised to bury it in the back of a sale catalogue. My duty will be done for the attorneys. I’ll send a large check to charity to satisfy everyone else, and we will hope that the outside world forgets us again. This one is for you. Something to say thank you … A little better than a ride in a car.”
Over his shoulder Agnes caught sight of the woods that stretched down the hill and eventually over the small mountain and toward Chateau Vallotton and Lac Léman. She squinted into the cold sun. In her mind’s eye she could picture a small girl running across the lawn, shrieking with delight as Winston chased her. The lawn would still be dotted with great piles of branches gathered from damaged trees. It would be some time before the landscape recovered and she wondered if humans should model their recovery on Mother Nature; she knew it took years.
“How is Mimi?” she asked.
“She talks about those days often, but the doctors say that’s good. Now she’s staying with us as our guest.”
“Guest? Where else would she go?”
He half laughed. “Technically she now lives next door. Arsov made the request and we’ve honored it. We’ve deeded the villa to her for her lifetime. Right now, while she is so young, she stays as our guest at the chateau.” He smiled at Agnes. “She likes that word—guest—and has tried to use it against Madame Puguet and Nanny with only some effect. Something along the lines that guests don’t have to do homework, or eat their dinner. I think it will take some time to resolve.”
“Likely until she is eighteen.”
“Twenty-one.”
“I didn’t have a chance to thank you that day,” Agnes said.