part0031

“The royals in France were exasperatingly scandalous,” Havilah said, relating a story to Lucian. The tragedy behind the Vaux-le-Vicomte had always intrigued her. Less visited than Versailles, Vaux-le-Vicomte sat thirty-four miles from Paris and an hour south of the better-known chateau. It was where the evening’s event was taking place. Built before Louis XIV’s Versailles by his finance minister Nicolas Fouquet, the estate was at the time vast, with ornate gardens designed by Le Notre, and possessed a sumptuous interior.

In his attempts to please the Sun King, Fouquet offered to give Louis a tour of the grand chateau. Instead of securing the King’s favor and admiration, he incurred his jealousy and wrath. Fouquet was immediately accused of fraud and theft at the King’s expense and tossed into prison, where he remained until his death. Louis then had Versailles, which had been a little hunting lodge, built— and on a much grander scale with the same Le Notre gardens. The pièce de résistance was having the interior furnishings removed from Vaux-le-Vicomte to Versailles.

“Talk about court intrigue,” Lucian chucked, as he held her good hand to help her maneuver out of the chauffeured car without making a spectacle of herself with the thigh-high slit of the unforgivingly tight-fitting dress.

“But it is incredible. It’s no wonder the Sun King was piqued with jealousy.” Lucian looked from the grounds to the chateau.

Havilah glanced around the candlelit gardens and large reflecting pools directly into the three opened doors, where the candlelight reception was being held. She could see servers milling about in the distance, and hear the tinkling of glasses against the backdrop of soft music floating out of the doors. Though it was generally unfashionable to arrive à l’heure , this was an event of mostly academics, who were sufficiently démodé . So, the grand hall was suitably filled with guests from around the globe, wanting to socialize with old academic friends.

It would have felt almost fairytale-like were it not for the inconvenient truths about the murders and her neck still on the line. Lucian was handsomely suited up in a slim-fitting dark suit; and she in a red dress— not of flounces and tulle— but one that was certainly stylish and tasteful and matched her red lipstick. Her hair was upswept with just a few playful curls framing her face. She looked up towards a sky that still had hints of sun and blue.

As soon as they entered the middle of the three doors, the magic turned to drama, as a tall woman swathed in blue marched towards them across the room. Havilah grimaced when to her left in the corner she noticed Gaston Carpentier nodding in her direction, clearly about to cut short his socializing to accost her.

“Hello Lucian,” the woman in blue smiled.

“Misty, I didn’t know you’d be here.” Lucian hugged her affectionately.

“That’s because we haven’t spoken in three months.”

Misty threw him a pained look. The look softened and her eyes glistened when he smiled at her.

Misty is sprung , Havilah thought.

“Misty Gilligan, this is Havilah Gaie.” Lucian appeared to ignore the dig and continued on with his introductions.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Havilah. You’re a hard act to follow.” Misty smiled genuinely as she extended her hand.

“I seriously doubt that.” Havilah gave her her left hand, which oddly made her handshake feel less formal. “You strike me as pretty formidable yourself.”

That compliment made Misty blush. She held onto Havilah’s hand for just a second longer. Havilah felt at that moment that the two of them, who could have been rivals, could actually be friends. It was clear that Misty still had it hard for Lucian and that he was indifferent only because of Havilah.

When Lucian had left a message on her voicemail— since she wouldn’t answer his calls— to inform her about Misty, Havilah had begun researching Professor Misty Gilligan. It was all fairly easy because of her webpage bio at the University of Michigan Law School as well as her numerous speaking engagements on law and development. One always had to deep-research the competition. A native of Virginia, Misty’s mother was African-American and her father was Irish. She was closer to 45 than 40, had no children, and had never been married. She received her JD from Harvard and a BA in economics from Stanford. She was as tall and lean as Havilah. She wore her hair in a pixie cut of natural dark curls with gold tips. Lucian liked smart, well-put together, attractive women. Misty Gilligan fit the bill to a tee.

“It’s been three months since you two have spoken? You must have a lot to catch up on. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Lucian frowned. But Havilah wasn’t having any of it. She had decided that Lucian at least owed Misty a bit of conversation after three months of no contact. She felt bad about how she had ghosted him nine months earlier. He hadn’t done that to Misty, though— at least that’s what he told Havilah this afternoon when she pointedly questioned him on the matter. According to him, they had had “the talk.” He had informed her that he wanted to reconcile with Havilah and he couldn’t do that in earnest if they continued to communicate. Ever the honorable Lucian , Havilah thought— except when it had come to family matters . No matter how honorable he had been in informing her of his plans of reconciliation, she could see Misty was still smarting.

Misty had stumbled into a man’s loneliness. She hadn’t deserved to be discarded after he had picked himself up and dusted off with renewed purpose and determination. She understood then that she was deliberately pushing Lucian towards Misty, just as she had decided that she would leave Thierry to Claire as a way of protecting herself. She never wanted to hurt like she had after Lucian had blindsided her. It didn’t matter what he said now. Those agonizing two years she had stayed, trying to convince him otherwise about having a family, couldn’t be taken back. Forgiven, but never to be forgotten. She moved towards the doors, leaving the two of them in the middle of the room to trade niceties.

You certainly hadn’t counted on it. Havilah stiffened when she heard Gaston Carpentier’s voice. Not only had he insisted on calling her by that belittling nickname in public but she was certain that he had tried to have her kidnapped by fake cops just hours ago and goodness knows what he had planned after that. She just couldn’t prove it. Yet! It took all of her self-restraint not to slap him silly with her clutch.

Havilah had noticed Carpentier’s name on the program just this morning after Étienne Belami’s visit. She looked around for the agent in black; Belami, who’d visited Thierry’s apartment earlier this morning and informed her he’d be here this evening as well, was not within eye’s view. Just as quickly as Carpentier had swooped in for a hello, he scurried off to another group. Though he had a PhD in economics and had produced a number of scholarly papers that focused on global security, he was first and foremost a politician seeking the highest elected office in France. He gave Havilah the requisite greeting and sprinted off to his next quarry.