Page 97 of Perfect Strangers

‘How was he killed?’ she asked softly.

Josh exchanged a look with Sophie.

‘He was found dead in his hotel room on Monday morning.’

‘He hadn’t returned my calls in several days,’ said Sandrine, thinking out loud.

Sophie felt another wave of guilt, working out that he had probably been avoiding Sandrine’s calls when he had been with her.

‘It was a wound to the head,’ continued Josh. ‘He was probably hi

t by an intruder.’

‘Someone he knew?’ she asked tensely.

‘The police don’t know,’ said Sophie, feeling suddenly more courageous in the company of Sandrine.

‘Who found him?’

‘I did,’ said Sophie, feeling awkward.

Sandrine nodded.

‘I see.’

Sophie watched the Frenchwoman’s mouth sour with hurt. She hoped she was too discreet to ask any more about the circumstances in which she had discovered Nick’s body.

The woman rubbed her eyes and turned back.

‘Then we must celebrate his life, no?’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Bonne chance, mon chéri,’ she said, looking up to the blue sky.

They sat that way for a long minute, Sophie sipping her wine and wondering if Sandrine had any idea about Nick’s other women. Perhaps not; he was very good at making you feel you were the only one who mattered to him. Maybe even a sophisticated, worldly woman like Sandrine Bouvier could be taken in.

‘How did you get involved with Nick?’ she asked finally.

‘You know how easy that is,’ quipped the Frenchwoman.

It was a few moments before she spoke again.

‘My marriage is not happy,’ she said. ‘But we are Catholic. Pierre, my husband, won’t divorce me, but he is happy to have mistresses all over the world. In fact, he is in Avignon with his girlfriend right now,’ she said, curling her lip. ‘Two years ago, I took a lover – no one important, a man from the village; I just needed to feel wanted again. But Pierre found out and he beat me until I was blue.’

She looked up at them, her green eyes sparkling defiantly.

‘Oh, you say, why not leave him, yes? Of course I would have, but I had no money. Pierre controls everything, including my bank account.’

Sandrine paused, a half-smile coming on to her face.

‘I met Nick at a party thrown by the wine merchant Jean Polieux in Antibes. Nick was different, funny – exciting. And we began an affair. I was so scared that Pierre might find out, but I couldn’t help myself.’ She turned to look at Sophie. ‘I fell in love.’

‘But you never left your husband,’ said Sophie.

‘I told Nick I wanted to leave Pierre. We had a plan to make enough money so I could start a new life.’

‘The counterfeiting,’ said Josh. Sandrine looked at him sharply, but he just raised his eyebrows.

‘Nick was my friend, madame. He told me everything; that is why we are here. I knew he would want you to hear of his passing from a friend.’

‘That is kind,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘Thank you.’