Claire leaned over my shoulder. “Mom?”
I couldn’t speak. The document was dated three months before I returned permanently to the United States. Beneath Richard’s signature were the words: CONFIDENTIAL MATERIALS RECEIVED IN FULL.
Philippe smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had seen from him all evening. “Your husband,” he said, “was more practical than you.”
“No.” My voice sounded far away. “He wasn’t my husband yet.”
“No,” Philippe agreed. “But he wanted to be.”
The room tilted. I remembered Richard visiting Lyon near the end of my final year there. He had been charming then. Funny. Interested in my work. He asked questions. So many questions. What cases was I researching? Did firms really keep duplicate files? Could records disappear?
I had thought he admired me.
For the first time in decades, I remembered how intensely interested Richard had been in the Marchand file.
Claire touched my arm. “Mom, sit down.”
I hadn’t realized I was standing.
