“I’m not sure,” Bennie had to admit. He could see doubt on her anyway.
“I don’t think you do!” Georges managed a smile, though his eyes shone with new wetness. “I tell my wife, I do not believe this is the reason, this hatred, but she says, no. It is because he is French. Silly! So I do not understand these stupid theories,” Georges said, partly to himself now, rubbing his forehead, and it was all Bennie could do not to tell him everything.
“Let’s see what the police come up with,” Bennie said noncommittally, and Georges looked up, his forehead reddened under his silvery hair.
“I hear nothing more from them today. The whole day goes by. Nothing.”
“They’ll call if they have something to tell you. I know they’re investigating and I think they’re doing a good, thorough job.” Bennie wasn’t lying. Needleman was doing everything she’d want him to do, including checking the maitre d’ at the Palm. She didn’t blame him for not being a naturally suspicious lawyer.
Georges gave a resigned sigh. “The coroner, from the morgue, he says we can take Robert home perhaps on Monday. Then they will be finished.” His upper lip curled with such distaste it showed even under his beard. “Micheline, she has made all the arrangements, for burial at home. She was very fond of Robert.”
“I see,” Bennie said, but she didn’t. The woman hadn’t shed a tear to mess up her mascara. It was enough to make Nancy Drew suspicious again, and it was always fun to speculate without any factual basis. In fact, it was downright American.
“So we will be burying Robert in our family plot. But this is too soon, too soon for Robert. He is my little brother, younger than I.” Georges paused, collecting himself. “Robert was good at the business, though. Quite good.”
“He sure was.” Bennie considered taking the opening. She felt so uncomfortable about it, but she had no other way to find out about the succession plans. She had never met a single other person from St. Amien amp; Fils. “Georges, do you know much about the business?”
“Just a little, what Robert mentioned.” Georges waved his hand dismissively. “But this is not my concern. Robert has his business, I have mine. We decide this, Robert and I, a long time ago, that Robert will work in the family business. I choose not. I go to the university for medicine.” Georges gestured at the books lining the room. “I enjoy a study of living beings, not a study of medical lenses, for God’s sake!”
“So you don’t work in the business at all?”
“Not at all.” Georges shook his head. “I am now on staff at only the one hospital. The insurance is so high, I go in only one day a week. I do not live to work, like Robert. He buys out my interest in the lens business, so long ago, and I don’t know what he does with it. We both agree to do this.”
“But you must know who his vice president is, or his successor. I have to find out if that person wants me to continue the company’s claim against the trade association, or if I should just withdraw the complaint.”
“Oh, you mean, who will take charge of the business, now that Robert is… gone?” Georges straightened in his wheelchair, hoisting himself up by both hands. “Of course I know that. Julien, of course.”
Bennie perked up. An answer, and an easy one! “The one from Harvard Law. The one you asked me to meet today?”
“Yes. He is Robert’s only son, and heir. Robert wants him to run the business, that’s why he sends him to Harvard. Julien makes his graduation this summer, in only one month. But Robert will not-” Georges’s throat caught with the thought that Bennie could have finished for him.
“Robert will be watching, I’m sure,” Bennie said with conviction. She knew her mother was watching her, right now, and she’d only gone to Penn. “I’m sure Robert was proud of him. Harvard is one of the best law schools in the country.”
“Robert is, was, so very proud of Julien. Julien graduates with degrees from the law school and the business school. He is admitted in some sort of special program, very difficult to get into, and his grades are quite good.”
“Is he here yet? I know you wanted me to meet him, and now I think I should.”
“Yes, he’s here. He arrives not long ago, his flight from Boston was delayed. He was very upset, as you can imagine. He and Robert were very close, especially since his mother’s death.” Georges wheeled around to the desk behind him and reached for the telephone. “Julien goes to get a shower, then to lie down. He’s in the guest room. I buzz him.”
“Wait,” Bennie said, having second thoughts. “Maybe we should let him rest. I can come back another time. It’s so soon-”
“No, he is wanting to meet you. He is a great fan of yours. He says we are to wake him when you arrive. He’s waiting for you.”
“All right, if you think so.” So Bennie prepared herself mentally to meet a young man who had just lost a father he loved. Oddly enough, she sort of had an inkling of what that must be like.
But that might have been the denial part.
27
F rench heartthrob came instantly to Bennie’s mind when they were joined in Georges’s smoky study by the young Julien St. Amien. As if his name weren’t sexy enough, Julien was tall, blade-thin, and handsome, with a dark, glossy pile of thick, wavy hair. Surprisingly, he didn’t look at all like Robert, with his wide, full lips and blue eyes so light she’d seen them only on Siberian huskies. Bennie reminded herself not to mention the Siberian husky part when she described Julien to the associates.
“It’s so cool to meet you, Bennie!” Julien said, pumping her hand with some enthusiasm. His grin was broad, his manner excited-he had evidently forgotten his sadness at the very thrill of meeting her. He finally released her hand. “I’ll never forget when you judged us at our moot-court competition.”
“Really. Thank you so much.” This kid is getting better looking by the minute. Bennie considered fixing him up with one of the associates. Men this young never appealed to her. She was a woman, not a girl. She wanted a man, not a boy. Even one with such superb judgment.
“You asked so many questions, and they were all exactly on point,” Julien continued, his accent mercifully American. “It was an honor to have you judge us, and I admire your work so much, particularly in the area of police brutality and individual liberties.”
“Well, thank you.” Bennie flushed at the flattery, but she was surprised. She remembered the argument only vaguely; the students had simulated an appellate argument over some ridiculously obscure issue of criminal law, which was typical of most moot courts she had judged. She wasn’t even the marquee name of that panel; the real draws were the chief judge of the D.C. Circuit and the CEO of a Fortune 100 conglomerate. Bennie had been making her token cameo as the Diva of Public Interest Law, which was undoubtedly part of the reason she’d been going broke.
“I’ve read everything you’ve written on the subject of civil liberties in the law reviews. I even ordered the reprints of your articles on the recent developments in excessive-force law, and the political implications. I wonder if you would take a minute to autograph them for me. They’re at school, but I’ll send them to your office.”
“I’d be happy to,” Bennie answered, amazed. She hadn’t been asked to sign her reprints since the Clinton administration, and she suspected that Republicans used them for coasters. She couldn’t believe that anybody who liked her stuff was about to become a corporate CEO himself. Maybe the world was changing?
“Thank you so much! You know, you were in the forefront of much of the excessive-force law. Did you see that the Third Circuit is following your analysis to the letter, in the case of-”