L'Oreal French heiress Liliane Bettencourt's financial advisor Patrice de Maistre at the Bordeaux courthouse. (Photo: Agence France-Presse)
For five weeks, a French version of "Downton Abbey" has been unfolding in a courtroom here, providing a rare glimpse into the discreet lives of the ultrarich.
The real-life drama, set in an Art Moderne mansion in Neuilly-sur-Seine, an exclusive town west of Paris, features a cast that includes long-serving chambermaids, cooks and butlers who tended to one of the world's richest women, whom they call "Madame." There are also high-powered lawyers, advisers and confidants accused of exploiting her fading mental state to plunder cash, artworks, life insurance and a private Seychelles island.
The woman, Liliane Bettencourt, the 92-year-old heir to the L'Oreal cosmetics fortune, lives in the secluded mansion in the shadows of memory - too frail and deaf to attend the trial.
But she has been very much front and center in the courtroom here in southwestern France, where both her lifestyle and her state of mind have been at the heart of the trial, as prosecutors and defense lawyers paint vastly different portraits of Madame.
Was she an ailing widow exploited by sweet-talking predators and, as the prosecutor contends, manipulated "like a marionette"? Or was she a self-confident woman who did what she wanted in the spirit of a well-worn L'Oreal slogan: "Because I'm worth it"?
The trial ended Wednesday, and a panel of judges said it would announce its verdict on May 28.
In many ways, the case, known to the French as the Bettencourt affair, is the universal story of any wealthy family with an elderly relative who vacillates between independence and vulnerability. But Forbes estimated Bettencourt's fortune at more than $40 billion, making her the second-wealthiest woman in the world.
The prosecutors said her advanced age, the beginnings of dementia and a daily medical regimen of 56 pills, including antidepressants, also invited exploitation. And investigators contend that the schemes were so widespread that they included a political scandal involving a former finance minister seeking cash for the 2007 presidential campaign of Nicolas Sarkozy.
Some of the house staff members risked their jobs to challenge her advisers and confidants, particularly a French society photographer who gained the largest share of her fortune. At one point, investigators estimated that share to be about a billion euros ($1.13 billion) in gifts during 20 years of friendship ending in 2010.
"Liliane wanted to do things for me, to ease my life," testified the photographer, Francois-Marie Banier, 67, who is facing the highest penalty of the defendants, three years in prison. "I refused things like a mansion. But she took it so poorly. It's really hard to cross that extraordinary woman."
On Wednesday, Banier's lawyers mounted his final defense, arguing that Bettencourt had made calculated choices and challenging the evaluation that she had been showing early signs of dementia when she lavished gifts.
One lawyer, Pierre Cornut-Gentille, conceded that his client had an unusual personality, saying he was "a crazy dog who doesn't know how to stop, an immature child, but he is not a manipulator."
Also on trial are Banier's longtime companion, Martin d'Orgeval, 41; Bettencourt's former wealth manager, Patrice de Maistre; and an 81-year-old notary, Jean-Michel Normand, who certified, with misgivings, Bettencourt's decision to make Banier her sole heir - cutting out her only child, Francoise Bettencourt-Meyers, before the document was revoked.
The list also includes a lawyer, a businessman, the former manager of Bettencourt's private island and her onetime nurse, Alain Thurin. Thurin attempted suicide on the eve of the trial and is in a coma.
The case has had so many twists that newspapers and radio stations have created short videos explaining the "Bettencourt affair for dummies."
Investigators say they believe the amount of money taken from Bettencourt totals more than 1 billion euros from a variety of schemes. A lawyer and a businessman are accused of preying on her for a 143 million euro investment in an online game, Everest Poker. Her wealth manager is trying to fend off charges that he persuaded her to give him 12 million euros, plus campaign cash for politicians.
The affair dates back to 2007, when Bettencourt-Meyers sued Banier, accusing him of exploiting her mother's diminished mental health to lay claim to her money. Bettencourt-Meyers, 61, has a front-row seat in the courtroom for a case that her lawyer described as "family combat to reclaim a mother and grandmother."
Bettencourt-Meyers testified that Banier drove a wedge between her and her mother, who lives a short walk away from her in Neuilly-sur-Seine and has been monitored since 2011 by a guardian appointed after a court concluded that she had dementia and "moderately severe Alzheimer's."
"The strategy of Mr. Banier was not just to divide and conquer," Bettencourt-Meyers said in somber tones.
"It was to break and conquer. To break our family. It was programmed destruction."
Much of the testimony explored a period after 2007 in which Bettencourt's husband, Andre; Bettencourt, died and Banier deepened his influence, eventually exchanging more than 2,000 faxed messages with her. His lawyers argue that her notes in response demonstrate her lucidity.
Employees first noticed her changing demeanor after she fell in 2006 while on Majorca. Five court-appointed experts later concluded that she may have been overmedicated because she was taking drugs prescribed by more than 15 doctors. After a surprise visit to the Bettencourt mansion in 2011, they described a disoriented woman who did not know her own age.
Bettencourt's grandson Jean-Victor Meyers testified about visiting her in 2008, as the tension between mother and daughter about Banier intensified. "Your mother is attacking me because I gave a million to Francois-Marie," he recalled Bettencourt saying. Told it was actually 1 billion euros, she replied, "Are you sure?"
A chamber maid, Dominique Gaspard, testified about Banier's increasing control, saying he would choose Bettencourt's lipstick and clothing and monitor her appointments. Listening from a bathroom, the maid said, she overheard Banier suggest that Bettencourt adopt him, a claim he has vehemently denied.
The maid, an employee of 18 years, was fired after she raised alarms.
When one of the judges questioned Banier about a 262 million euro life insurance policy signed over to him in a shaky signature with one "t" missing from Bettencourt's name, he said she had been in a terrible mood and had wanted to do it quickly.
"Who is the victim of the other?" he asked. "Before this affair, I lived well with my three apartments and a house in the country."
When questioned about former employees who described him as a dominating manipulator, Banier brushed off the criticism with literary references to Moliere and a 1947 play by Jean Genet about maids plotting against their rich employer. "These are people who take revenge for a life they don't have," he said.
The judicial tribunal also listened to secret recordings made by a butler who distrusted Bettencourt's entourage.
The final recording played in the courtroom offered cringe-inducing details of a discussion between Banier and Bettencourt's wealth adviser about the finances for a private island in the Seychelles that she had ceded to a shell foundation benefiting Banier. Though Bettencourt was present during the conversation, she said virtually nothing.
Last week, the prosecutor recommended that charges be dropped against five of the 10 defendants, including the former finance minister, Eric Woerth, because of insufficient evidence. But he demanded the maximum sentence for Banier, including the prison term, a 375,000 euro fine (about $425,000) and the potential seizure of some of his properties in Paris and Morocco.
In the waning days of the trial, Arnaud Dupin, Bettencourt's lawyer, expressed gratitude to the mansion employees. He slowly read aloud the names of those fired when Banier was still a confidant.
"For Mr. Banier, they were the petit personnel," Dupin said. But for the sake of Bettencourt, he said, they showed courage and were "the principal adversaries who could no longer tolerate abuse."
© 2015, The New York Times News Service