A man of the law

I turn the knob and push the door made of cherry wood, hard and heavy enough to need a little more effort to open.  A kind of warning or a second chance for me to rethink my choice. However, once again, it is fate dictating the rules of the game.

First, I hear the sound of someone walking in this direction and then a familiar voice.

Amélia!

So, indecision is overcome by the need for me to go inside and hide.

I place myself listening with my ears glued to the door while my eyes peek through the lock.

“ Marie, come to the main corridor, I need a favor and I can't go to the salon2, She uses her free hand to hold her cell phone and talk, as the other tries to hold the top of her dress so that she doesn't get half naked again.

Her face is with an unfriendly expression and her pacing from side to side is commanded by her impatience and nervousness. She also lurks on all sides and uses her cell phone to call again, only this time, it would be a secret call. 

Her voice is low and I have a hard time hearing, I can't rely on sound alone, I have to read the movement of her lips to decipher what is being said.

“ Anthony, she found out about us…”, She runs her hand over her face, however, her incompetence in being a simple lover does not go away, “ I'll take a flight tomorrow morning, today is impossible. I'm working at a friend's house”

A second sound of walking is heard by both of us 

“ The maid is coming, I have to hang up” 

Marie is one of the ladies who greeted me immediately upon my arrival. Her face pales as she sees the state Amelia is in. Her heart must have stopped at the thought that the value of the dress that would provide her with a wonderful retirement is patchwork.

“ Mon Dieu, Lady Amelia…”

“No questions and it dies here.  One word, one gossip, I'll get Jean to fire you with no right to anything” 

His voice is so harsh it makes the woman cringe. 

“ As you wish, madam!”

“ Good, now help me find a decent outfit for the deceased. I have to get back to the party.”

“ Mr. Jean has stored everyone in one of the guest rooms.  It's this way, madam.” 

The maid leads the way down the next corridor and they walk together until each other's silhouettes disappear. So I'm the next to make a connection:

“ Luigi!”, I speak as soon as I hear his voice on the other end of the line, “ Our suspicions were right. So do what you have to do…”

━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━

 Jean's office is empty. There is a dim light offered by a lamp that condemns all the furniture to live among shadows. Surprisingly, the shades of decoration are darker than the rest of the house I have seen so far. Against the wall is a huge leather sofa compared to the two others positioned, one on each side. In the middle is a rectangular table made of mahogany and glass that holds a silver ashtray that holds ashes with small sparks still lit.

Someone was smoking here before I arrived and I pray that he doesn't come back, not while I am here.

The bookshelves, also in mahogany, take up the most space, with the desk in second place. The first hold books on various subjects, although most are devoted to legal matters.  They are not in alphabetical order as they would be if they were organized by the man who made Amelia's dress. 

No doubt this Jean is organized, but not even half as well as his friend.  I can see this from the paintings chosen that in no way match the drapes or the rugs under my shoes. On the other hand, the papers left on the table show only the reverse side of the sheet accompanied by exclusive pens that present him as a classic and discreet man. 

What surprises me are the trophies he has won in tennis and golf matches that contradict his armchair, with its seat worn out by continuous use. 

Spending hours locked in an office, how could he be an athlete?

Getting closer to the objects and portraits, I can dimly see a brunette woman dressed as a tennis player, thus testifying in favor of the armchair and my initial theory about Jean's habits. And as further evidence, I am joined by his image displayed by the next portrait, a tall, thin, brunette guy, hugging the same woman as in the previous photo. However, there are still two more faces: a woman and a man, separated by the main couple.

All are young, probably in their 20s, however, you can recognize the face of Amelia that has prevailed almost unchanged by time. And the man, well, I keep blinking to believe what my eyes insist on affirming: he is literally a copy of the Monsieur Arnault I saw die years ago.

He has my blue eyes, blond hair, and his father's charm and elegance. And there is no longer any doubt for me that Amelia's Affair is Adam Arnault...

“Have you lost something, mademoiselle”  

The voice is cutting and I mentally scold myself for being so distracted. 

“ I asked you a question!” 

I turn to face the owner of the voice and it is exactly who I wished I would never meet: Jean, only now a little older than in the photo.

“ I don't think the excuse that I got lost trying to find the bathroom is worth it…”, I confess the truth, because it always impresses the so-called correct people.

“ I thank you for not making fun of my intelligence, even though you did of my notice I left on the door.”

“ Pardon, Monsieur! I…”, I pause to bring my hands together in front of my body, assuming a false posture of surrender and respect, while my eyes stare at the bookshelves, as if I were looking at a mirage, “I have always been interested in law, and when I heard that I was coming to work here, in the residence of one of the biggest lawyers in Paris, my heart wanted to jump out of my mouth just imagining that I would have a chance, no matter how small, to see what my life would have been like, my work, if I had a chance. But I know it was wrong, and I make it a point to ask for my resignation. I know how much Mistress Amelia does not tolerate faults from her employees. Bonne nuit, Monsieur.”

 I am ready to leave and get rid of his presence when he signals for me to stop.

“ Calm down! Among all of them, I am the least extreme, with a few exceptions.” 

He is not an idiot, he knows that I have been looking at the photographs. 

“ What would they be”,  I show interest. 

People tend to dive headfirst when talking about what they like, and in effect forget everything around them, including the other party. Not that I am afraid that my face will be a clear memory in their minds. Because, fortunately, the dark predominates between our bodies because of the half light.

“ I don't like lies, uncertainties, unresolved situations…”

“ And you're still a lawyer?”

He laughed.

“ I try to do my best in the name of justice. I never take cases that are not for me to defend victims.”

“ And what guarantees you that a person is a victim, Monsieur”, I would say it is somewhat subjective, like seeing the number nine from opposite angles.

“ That's interesting to think about. Could you elaborate on his point of view?, He challenges me, typical of men who think they are invincible in an argument. - Pardon, I didn't even ask, do you want me to increase the light?

“ No, leave it like this! A touch of mystery to our conversation about the two uncertain sides of the same coin…”, I look at the books again, further fueling my lie.

“ You are good with words.”, He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. - And you're not a lawyer?

It's my turn to laugh and meet his eyes again with mine, which if they could speak, would say: I'm a killer, isn't that even better? 

But instead, I reply:

“ I'm just warming up! Do you think I would have a future?”

“ Without convincing myself that during all these years of my career, I may be being unfair, I cannot give an opinion, mademoiselle.” 

“ I thought it would be more difficult to beat a renowned lawyer…”, My smile is teasing. 

“ We may be just getting started…”, He retorts, aware that he is using my tactic against me.

“ The answer is simple, Monsieur. Always the one who tells the story, forgets the reasons why he got into trouble that until then was the right way to go. But just because he becomes the losing side, he feels offended and needs justice just like a tantrum child from a mother to defend himself when he could have used his reason to avoid the predictable. If you purposely ignore the signs in the name of his will, how can I declare you a victim? “, I shrug, making it clear that this is not a negotiable point of view.

“ Are you sure you don't deal with criminal cases?

“ Only with the fork and knife in the kitchen fighting over which one is the main one. 

We both laugh.

“ So I won't be prosecuted for trespassing?”

“ Non, you passed the test.”

“ What a relief! “, I bring my hand to my chest in a dramatic gesture. " Now, I must go, Monsieur. It was a pleasure!

“ It was a pleasure...your name is?”

“ Suzy!”

“ Mademoiselle Suzy, don't worry, I won't comment anything to Amelia about our informal conversation.”

“ I thank you, Monsieur, see you one day…”

I go to the door and give the last nod before closing it. 

Until never again, I hope. Otherwise, Jean Laurent, you will be a stone in my shoe that I will have to get rid of....