Leonie (42 page)

“Whatever it was it worked,” said Paul, lifting his glass to her. “You are a success.”

She smiled and sipped the wonderful champagne, the tiredness leaving her. “Only because of you, Paul. And you.” She kissed Jacques lingeringly as Paul watched, smiling. “What would I have done without you?”

The dressing room was suddenly crowded with friends. Caro flew toward her, laughing and crying and hugging her. Alphonse held her close, patting her hair as though she were a small child to be comforted, and Maroc hugged her and hugged her, laughing with her at her triumph. Reporters tried to gain admittance to the charmed circle inside the room, but were kept firmly away by guards. Léonie slipped behind the big Coromandel screen—a present from Paul—to change.

The party was to be at Voisins, the scene of many of her triumphs and battles and a restaurant she hadn’t been to in years—when Alphonse had asked her it had seemed the only one to choose. If the show had been a disaster, Voisins would cushion her in its velvet comfort, and if it were good, nowhere else was better.

The laughter and chatter flowed with the champagne as she stared into the mirror while Julie removed the feathers from her hair. She was wearing a favorite dress, one of the few she’d kept from the old days because it happened to be at the inn. It was
amethyst silk, pleated, like her stage costume. There was a memory attached to it. Monsieur had chosen it himself that sunny morning in Cannes when the world had suddenly become wonderful again for her. It was a perverse idea to wear it now, and she hadn’t meant to—there was a special new one waiting in the closet. But she felt drawn to this one. She snapped the golden Cartier belt around her waist and began to remove her makeup, creaming away her exotic stage-being until she was herself again. She hesitated as she came to the eyes, she liked hiding behind that new person, it allowed her to be two people at once—like Sekhmet. And after all, wasn’t she like Sekhmet: protecting those she loved, terrible against her enemies? Léonie shivered remembering Monsieur, remembering why she was doing this, remembering Marie-France, and Amélie—oh, Amélie—maybe one day I’ll have you back with me, but each year that goes by puts you further away from me and closer to your own family. Soon, it’ll be too late. She gazed silently into the mirror.

Caro touched her shoulder. “You should be smiling, not sitting here looking sad.” She had caught the look in her eyes. “After all,” she said gaily, “tonight everything is all right. It’s more than that, it’s wonderful.”

Léonie laughed as Jacques came over and took her by the arm. “Come on, then. Let’s go and celebrate.”

Crowds thronged the stage door, making it almost impossible to pass, surging forward to catch another glimpse of her, trying to touch her. Léonie drew back in alarm as Jacques and Paul stood protectively in front of her until a path could be cleared. “Léonie, Léonie,” they called, and she stared back at them in amazement; what more did they want, what more could she give them?

“Smile at them,” whispered Paul in her ear, “wave, call hello—anything.… That’s all they want.”

She waved and smiled obediently, catching the eyes of a young girl—young like she had been. She understood suddenly what it was that they wanted, remembering those lonely walks around Paris on Sunday afternoons when she had been sixteen and felt that she didn’t belong, that everything was happening somewhere else, if only she could find it. These girls thought that she had found it. It’s all an illusion, she wanted to tell them, it’s not real.

The news had already penetrated Paris and Voisins was eager to welcome an old customer—and a new star. The Roederer Cristal
was waiting, and caviar and quail eggs and the grapes stuffed with cheese and salmon and asparagus—all the things she’d always liked here. It was Alphonse and Caro, of course. They had wanted it to be perfect. Exhilaration swept over her again as she began to enjoy her party, accepting the congratulations of total strangers who came to shake her hand, hovered over by waiters eager to do her bidding—and with Jacques by her side she felt wonderful.

They waited for the early editions of the newspapers, eager to see what the men of the press would have to say. Jacques read them for her, but she had already seen the smile on Paul’s face. “They say you have a triumph,” he said, watching her anxious face for a reaction.

Léonie threw back her head with a laugh. “Isn’t there an old saying, Jacques, that ‘out of adversity comes triumph’?”

She was tired but content as they left the restaurant together, eager for some fresh air. The night was changing to the dusky grayness of dawn as they strolled down the street, arms around each other, neither of them noticing the big de Courmont automobile parked across the way, its darkened windows shielding its occupant from view. As they disappeared around the corner, its engine roared into life and the big car swung around, making its solitary way back to the Ile Saint-Louis.

–
• 39 •

Isabelle walked through the gardens to her restaurant, the Pavillon d’Aureville, built on a plot of land adjacent to her villa so that it faced the sea. Amélie skipped along in front of her, sniffing the ocean breeze enthusiastically, her two cats, Fido and Minou, trotting behind like a pair of faithful hounds. Bustling into the kitchens ahead of her grandmother, Amélie cast a quick glance around to see what goodies were to be had, snatching up a tiny fruit tart with a giggle as she caught the indulgent scowl of Celestine. Amélie could do no wrong in Celestine’s eyes, there was always a spare pastry for her and for Roberto. It was Diego she didn’t like: he was an unpleasant boy, always smiling to your face and smirking behind your back.

Amélie enjoyed being in the restaurant. It looked like a pretty octagonal summerhouse, with a roof that came to a point in the middle and french windows leading onto blue-awninged terraces, for alfresco lunches or candlelit dinners on still summer nights. The tablecloths were a pretty aquamarine overlaid with a second cloth in crisp white, and the silver, bought from Cristofle in France, was heavy and simple. It was a very satisfying room, Amélie thought, straightening a knife as she passed, running a finger over the immense displays of fruits, and breathing in the scent from the enormous baskets of fresh flowers; no wonder people enjoyed coming here.

Though her cats were banned from the restaurant, they were welcomed in the kitchen, where there were always scraps, and she rushed back to collect them. Roberto would be home soon. His new house was next to theirs—just along the sandy Avenida Atlantica.

Sebastião saw her coming, hair flying in all directions, jumping
every fourth step, her long thin legs covering the ground rapidly. “Amélie.” He waved. “How about a swim?”

“Not now,” she called, shading her eyes against the sun, “I’ve got to find Roberto.”

Didn’t she always? he thought, making his way across the garden to the beach. He was going to miss her when he left for France, he couldn’t imagine life without Amélie. He really loved her, but France held the promise of a new life for him with access to the best teachers in his chosen field of architecture. Where better to study than in Europe? He would see at last those wonderful Renaissance palaces in Italy, the castles and churches of England, and the great cathedrals of France. And, of course, Paris!

Diego Benavente pretended not to listen as Roberto conferred with Amélie in a corner—she had said she had a secret to tell him. Diego’s lip curled as he watched her, didn’t she know yet she couldn’t win? Roberto was
his
friend, his
special
friend; they were inseparable at school—and at home. It was only when
she
was around that there was any trouble—when they were alone Roberto was different, more easygoing, always willing to go along with what he suggested. Well, today he had a surprise for little Amélie. He sauntered away casually, a dark-haired attractive boy of thirteen, with a stocky muscular body and intense greenish eyes under heavy black brows.

Amélie watched him out of the corner of her eye. What was he up to? He didn’t usually leave her alone with Roberto. “Here,” she said, taking the squashed pastry from the pocket of her shorts, “I saved this for you—it’s one of Celestine’s, the sort you like.”

Roberto wiped off the sand and fluff and offered her a bite. “No thanks,” she said, skipping away. “It’s all for you.” She peered around the fountain, dunking her head quickly into its splurging arc of cool water, shaking the drops from her hair like a puppy. “Roberto?”

“Mmm?” He finished the pastry quickly.

“Roberto, where do you suppose Diego has gone?”

“I don’t know; he was here a minute ago.”

Amélie was uneasy. Diego was up to something, she sensed it.

Glancing about to make sure no one was around, Diego took out the little sack he’d hidden behind the stable door. Its top was fastened tightly with a string and he held it away from his body carefully. Fido and Minou lazed by the stable wall enjoying the
sun, watching him with sleepy eyes. “Here Fido,” he called, tapping the ground with a stick. “Here girl … come and see what I’ve got.” It was typical of Amélie, he thought contemptuously, to call the cat by a dog’s name and a masculine one at that. “Here girl,” he coaxed.

Intrigued by the tapping stick the cat moved cautiously toward him. Diego grabbed her quickly by the scruff of her neck, sliding a piece of string through her collar to hold her. Then he gingerly unfastened the sack and threw it to the floor. A thin black snake slithered from the opening, tongue flickering, head moving balefully, seeking its captor. Diego threw the struggling cat down in front of the snake and backed away quickly as the snake lunged forward. Fido leaped backward and the snake spat its venom into the air. Crouching low, Fido stared fixedly as the reptile, tail lashing slowly from side to side. “Go on,” murmured Diego, prodding her with his stick. The cat backed away again. Diego thrust his long stick toward the snake, goading it exasperatedly toward the cat, just as Amélie and Roberto rounded the corner. As Amélie screamed the snake reared once more, striking at the cat, who leapt high, biting it sharply in the back of its neck, almost severing its head. Sitting back on her haunches, Fido watched bemusedly as the snake writhed on the ground.

Sebastião tore around the corner, frightened by Amélie’s terrified screams. Taking in the scene at a glance, he grabbed Diego by the arm, twisting it up behind him.

“Tell me right now, what’s going on,” Sebastião said menacingly. “The
truth
Diego!”

“I saw the snake,” yelled Diego, as Sebastião inched his arm higher. “I tried to get it away from the cat, I could see it was going after her.”

“And where did the snake come from, Diego?”

“
I
don’t know!”

“Not from this sack then?”

“I don’t know!”

Sebastião gave his arm a final twist. “That’ll teach you to try to kill Amélie’s cat,” he said. “It’s time you had a little of your own medicine. You’re a bully and a coward, Diego Benavente. If Amélie were a boy you wouldn’t dare do the things you do to her—I saw you whipping her pony the other day. If there’s any more trouble from you, I shall tell your father—he’ll probably make
you go back to the
fazenda.
” Diego was a true city boy and the threat of banishment to the
fazenda
was a terrible one.

“You’ll apologize to Amélie,” commanded Sebastião, his gaze contemptuous, “and tell her that you’ll never try to harm her cats again.”

“But I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Sebastião.” Roberto rushed to the defense of his friend. “It’s just as he said—the snake was there and he was trying to save Fido.”

Amélie sat hunched on the steps, clutching Fido protectively as Diego approached. “I’m sorry, Amélie,” he said, staring down at his feet. “I’ll never try to harm your cats, I promise.”

Amélie made no reply, watching warily as he walked away from them, a lonely figure heading toward the long empty stretch of beach. Roberto stared after him, agonized. He turned back to Amélie. “I’m sure he really didn’t mean to harm Fido, Amélie … and, anyway, now he’s apologized.” He looked anxiously across the yard as Diego disappeared around the corner, he could bear it no longer. “I’m going after him,” he said, breaking into a run.

Amélie stared down at the ground, fighting back the tears. Sebastião glanced at her worriedly. This episode was more than meanness. Diego was getting vicious, there was no knowing what he might try next, and whatever it was it would be directed at Amélie. “Look,” he said, sitting next to her and taking her small rough hand in his, “you’ll have to watch out for Diego when I’m not here. You can’t trust him.”

“I know,” she whispered, hugging Fido close to her face, so that he wouldn’t see her tears. “Oh, Sebastião, I do wish you weren’t going away. Paris is so far. Will you write to me?”

“I’ll write every week,” he said. “I promise.”

“And I’ll write every day,” she vowed. “I’ll tell you everything. Oh, I do love you, Sebastião!”

Edouard d’Aureville was adrift in the middle of the blackest of seas. He watched the lights of the ferry disappear across the Gulf of Mexico with a feeling of panic, wondering how he had managed to get himself in this position. They had omitted to mention, when he took the ferry from Tampa, Florida, that St. Petersburg was only a hamlet and had no pier. They had simply put him over the side in this rotten little boat and pointed to an invisible shore.

“It’s a ten-minute row,” the captain had said. “Don’t worry
about the boat, the next passenger from St. Petersburg will bring it back.”

This is ridiculous, he thought, hefting the oars. If I survived in the Amazon, I’m damned if I’m going to die here!

He pulled in his oars and listened. He must have been rowing for at least twenty minutes and the captain had said ten. But then he was a Mexican. A few minutes either way would still be accurate.

The tide seemed to be changing, he could feel its surge and an increased pull and then, at last, the sound of waves breaking on the shore. Almost at the same time he saw the lights, twinkling and bobbing across the waves, and he headed toward them helped by the incoming tide, wiping the sweat of relief, and fear, from his brow as he tied up at the little wooden jetty and his trembling legs found dry land again.