Frenchie’s death united the club of his admirers in an outpouring of widows’ mourning, but they were robbed of the comfort of planning a memorial service, because his family members opted for a quick cremation. He would have soon been forgotten, even by his admirers, had his family not raised a storm. Shortly after his ashes were scattered without any great show of emotion, the would-be heirs learned that all the old man’s possessions had been bequeathed to a certain Irina Bazili. According to the brief codicil attached to the will, Irina had brought tenderness to the final days of his long life, and therefore deserved the inheritance. Jacques’s lawyer explained that his client had dictated the changes by telephone, and then had come to his office on two occasions, the first to check the documents, the second to sign them and have them notarized. He had seemed quite clear about what he was doing. His descendants accused the Lark House administration of negligence regarding the old man’s state of mind, and Irina Bazili, whoever she was, of willfully stealing from him. They announced their intention to contest the will, to sue the lawyer for incompetence and Lark House for damages and compensation. Hans Voigt received the horde of frustrated relatives with the outward calm and courtesy he had acquired over many years of being in charge of the institution, yet inside he was fuming. He had not expected such treachery from Irina Bazili, whom he had thought incapable of hurting a fly, but you never learn, you can never trust anyone. He took the lawyer aside and asked how much money was involved: it turned out to be a few parcels of desert in New Mexico, as well as some stocks and shares whose value had yet to be assessed. The amount of available cash was insignificant.
The director asked for twenty-four hours to find a less costly solution than going to court and summoned Irina to his office at once. He had intended to treat the matter with kid gloves, as there was no point making an enemy of this vixen, but as soon as she came in, he lost control.
“I want to know how on earth you managed to bamboozle the old man like that,” he accused her.
“Who do you mean, Mr. Voigt?”
“Who do I mean? Frenchie, of course. How could this have happened right under my nose?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mention it because I thought the problem would sort itself out.”
“Oh boy, it did sort itself out, didn’t it? How am I going to explain it to his family?”
“They don’t need to know, Mr. Voigt. You know very well that old people fall in love, even if it shocks people outside.”
“Did you sleep with Devine?”
“No! How could you suggest that!”
“Then I don’t understand. Why did he name you as his sole heir?”
“What?”