Leonie (64 page)

Sebastião watched her face—was she all right? She was just staring at Léonie, absorbing her. There was no mistaking their profiles: they were the same.

Léonie began to sing and Amélie leaned forward eagerly. It was a gentle song of a springtime love when she was very young and the world was all butterflies and blossom, but there was an undercurrent of sadness, a hint of loss. Amélie listened intently, wishing she were closer, wishing she could see her better. She was very tall and slender, and her hair was like hers, only it was brushed out like a golden cloud, with tiny braids meshed over the top, glinting with jeweled beads. Her dress was beautiful but very daring, she’d never seen a dress like that before—two thin gold straps held the wisp of fine silk cut low on her bosom, falling straight and simple to her sandaled feet. The sides were slit so that she might prowl the stage unhampered, like some tawny lion, enrapturing her audience.

Could this beautiful, extravagant, flamboyant woman really be her mother? She gripped Roberto’s hand tighter. Did she really look like
her?
It all seemed so remote and so unreal, and she glanced anxiously at Roberto. He caught her eye and smiled at her encouragingly.

“Roberto … I don’t feel anything for her,” she murmured sadly. “I can’t feel that she’s my mother. She’s just a beautiful stranger.”

Maroc was in his usual place at the back of the stalls and he gazed around the crowded theater with satisfaction. It was a wonderful gala farewell, everything was going splendidly, the audience loved her—for them she could do no wrong. He remembered the first concert with a smile, how scared she had been, and how nervous he had been for her. Every moment she was on stage had been an agony for him, and now look at her. It was almost a pity
that she had decided to retire, except it was time Léonie had her happiness. She had worked hard and so had he. He wouldn’t be sorry to say good-bye to this way of life—always traveling, another city, another hotel room—maybe he’d even settle down and get married now, get back into the hotel business.

The door opened behind him and he turned to look, knowing who it would be. Gilles de Courmont nodded to him as he walked past—they always acknowledged each other’s presence now, they’d long since given up pretending. The bastard was still handsome, thought Maroc, watching him, you’d never know the accident almost crippled him. There was no trace of the past in his face, none of the scheming and plotting, none of the crazy passion—none of the violence. He was unmarked by it all. He was invincible. This was his final night to see her; what would he do now? He would read the announcement in the papers and then he’d know that he had finally lost her. And then what? You never knew with Monsieur, just when you thought he’d given up he was likely to be at his most dangerous.

Look at them, thought Gilles, staring at the audience, they’re eating her up, devouring her—fools! Don’t they know that they could never know the real Léonie? Only I know the real one. He leaned against the wall, wishing his leg didn’t ache so. What would she do now that she was retiring? Was she going to hide herself at the inn, work on her beloved garden? He wished to God he’d never given her the deeds to that inn. The scent of jasmine from the spray in his buttonhole drifted in the warm air and he closed his eyes, imagining her as she used to be. He had sent her jasmine tonight, of course, he’d taken this spray from it. She always kept the jasmine in her dressing room, he knew. She never cast it away, she kept it—to remind her. Look at her, stalking the stage just the way she had stalked into Caro’s party the night he first saw her. Ah, Léonie, Léonie, if only we could turn back the clock. But I’ll never give you up, never.

It’s like a love affair, thought Léonie, between me and the audience. Whatever I do tonight, they are prepared to love me. She bowed one more time as they called for an encore; she turned to smile at Jim, waiting in the wings, and then at the conductor, waiting for her signal. She nodded to him and moved to center stage as the lights dimmed. She was alone in the small amber
circle of the spotlight, head bowed, body taut, legs slightly apart. The audience waited in a breathless hush for what was to come as the music threaded its way softly around the melody. She lifted her head slowly and stared out at them, strong, unsmiling, beautiful. Her low passionate voice caressed the opening words of the song that Jacques had written for her, the one that had made her famous, the song of how it felt to love a man, how it was when he lay next to her holding her. She was lost in it, her whole being felt it. The music died away and the spotlight faded into darkness and silence. Suddenly the audience was on its feet, applauding and cheering as the stage lights went up, bouquets lined the footlights, the crowd pleaded for more, Léonie was gone. She had sung her final song.

The crowd of stagehands applauded her as she walked with Jim, arms around each other, down the bleak backstage corridor. They stopped at the door of her dressing room and she turned to look back. “That’s it, darling,” she said with a happy sigh. “I left Léonie there on that stage. Now it’s just you and me.”

He kissed her gently. “And that’s just the way it should be, Mrs. Jamieson,” he said opening the door.

Chocolat yawned and stretched under the lights on the dressing table and they laughed as they watched her. “You’re a theater cat no longer, Choc,” called Léonie triumphantly. “We’re free!”

Jim took the bottle of champagne from the cooler and opened it with a flourish as Maroc came through the door, followed by Caro and Alphonse.

“Just in time,” he called, pouring. “We’re just about to drink to freedom.”

Léonie flung her arms around Maroc. “Are you sad, Maroc?” she asked.

“No, I’m not sad, it was a fantastic farewell. They always say it’s better to quit while you’re on top—and you would never be able to top tonight’s concert.”

“That’s true, Léonie,” said Caro, settling herself on the sofa with a rustle of sapphire silk. “I almost cried, and I’m quite sure Alphonse did … he had to wipe his glasses, anyway.”

“You know I’m sentimental about Léonie,” said Alphonse. “Here’s to the two of you … and to true love.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Jim smiled. “And to the future.”

“Excuse me, madame,” the concierge poked his head around
the door, “but there are these young people who insist on seeing you.”

“There are probably hordes of people who’d like to see you tonight,” Caro said, laughing.

“Really, I can’t see anyone just now,” said Léonie. “Tell them I’m sorry, will you, but I’m too tired.”

“They said you knew them, they sent you a note, madame, they told me you should read it right away, it’s important.”

Maroc took the note and handed it to her. It was just a scrap of paper torn from a notebook; the handwriting was unfamiliar, round and girlish. She glanced at the signature at the bottom. “Amélie.” Amélie? She read it slowly. “I hope you won’t be too shocked,” it said, “that I am here, but I only recently found out that I am your daughter. Edouard and Grandmère said that it was all right for me to come to you. Would you please see me, just for a few minutes?”

The numbness of total shock left the smile still on her face. She stared at the words, reading them again; Amélie was here.

“What is it, Léonie, what’s the matter?” Caro’s voice seemed to come from so far away, she forced her eyes from the note.

“It’s Amélie,” she said, her voice sounding small and controlled, “it’s my daughter. She’s here.”

Caro took the note from Léonie’s nerveless hand, reading it quickly. “My God,” she cried, “it
is
Amélie. Jim, what shall we do?”

Léonie was sitting pale and frozen at her dressing table. “Of course I’ll see her,” she said. She was trembling and Jim took her arm, steadying her.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly. “It could wait, you know, until you’re over the shock. You could see her later. I’ll tell her to come around to the hotel.”

“Oh, but I want her … I must see her now, right away. I’ve waited so long and now she comes to me from nowhere … just suddenly appears.”

Maroc looked worriedly at Alphonse. The same thought was in both their minds. The circumstances they had all struggled so hard all these years to avoid had finally come about. Léonie and Monsieur and Amélie were all here, under the same roof.

“I’ll go get her.” Jim strode to the door and Léonie sank back onto her chair, watching him. Chocolat crept from the dressing table and curled up on her knee, purring, and she rested her cold
hand against the soft fur. There was silence in the room, the others looked at each other apprehensively.

“Shall we leave you alone, Léonie?” asked Caro gently.

“No. No, don’t go. You were all involved from the beginning … you’re like her family. Please stay with me.”

Amélie waited with Sebastião and Roberto outside the stage door. “What if she won’t see me?” she whispered nervously. She could hear the tremor of panic in her own voice and struggled to control it.

“She will,” replied Roberto confidently, “but I expect she’ll be a bit shocked at first. Amélie, do you think you’d better see her alone? I mean, we have to think of her, too. She might not like a couple of strangers being there at a time like this.”

Sebastião agreed. “We could wait for you outside … it’s a very private moment and we don’t even know her.”

Amélie took a deep breath as a man appeared in the corridor, walking toward them quickly. “All right,” she said, “I’ll go in alone.”

Jim looked at the three blond young faces turned toward him expectantly, two young men—bronzed, good-looking—and a girl. He drew in his breath sharply, she might have been Léonie. Just that she was so young. But there was no mistaking her. The concierge was peering at her curiously from behind his spectacles—he hadn’t missed the resemblance even with his poor eyesight.

“Hello.” Jim held out his hand to her. “Of course, you’re Amélie—I would have recognized you anywhere. I’m Jim Jamieson. Léonie asked me to bring you to her dressing room.”

“How do you do?” said Amélie politely. “These are my cousins, Roberto and Sebastião do Santos.”

“We’ll wait outside now, Amélie,” said Sebastião, backing toward the door. “Remember we’re right here.”

“Don’t be afraid,” whispered Roberto, turning away reluctantly as she walked with Jim down the long green-painted corridor.

Jim looked at her walking silently beside him, her shoulders squared, chin up, ready to confront any adversity. Oh, she was Léonie’s daughter, all right. “Your mother is a bit shocked,” he said as they came to the door, “but that’s understandable, isn’t it? After all, she had no warning, but she wants to see you very much.”

Amélie looked at him with Léonie’s amber eyes. “Does she really?” her voice was small, uncertain.

He put his arm around her slender shoulders. “There hasn’t been a day when she hasn’t thought of you,” he told her quietly. “You are the most important person in her life.”

He opened the door and stood back to let her go through. Four pairs of eyes stared at her and she hung back nervously.

A little brown cat ran toward her, rubbing itself against her legs, purring. Amélie looked at the golden woman sitting on the stool by the dressing table. Even with the makeup and the wild hair she looked like her. If she had had any doubt, now she knew for sure: this was her mother.

Léonie walked toward Amélie, taking her hands. “Amélie,” she said softly, smiling into the face that was so nearly her own. “I’ve wondered so often what I would say if ever I saw you again, and now I can’t think of the words … except to say that you’ve made me very happy. I always thought that it would be I who would have to find you, but now you’ve found me.” She kissed her on the cheek.

Amélie blinked back her tears. “I’m happy to be here, madame,” she said shyly. Then she added impetuously, “Oh, you see, madame, when I found out about you, I
had
to see you … I had to know you, and then …”

“Yes?” prompted Léonie gently, still holding her hands.

“And then I would know who I am.”

“Well.… and now you know. What do you think?”

“I think you’re very beautiful,” replied Amélie cautiously.

Léonie gestured to the people standing watching them. “These friends all knew you when you were a baby,” she said gently, “they held you in their arms, they protected you, they loved you. They are part of your life, too.”

Caro let out her breath with a sigh. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it, or that her hands were shaking. She must do something to break the tension. She put down the glass of champagne she’d been clutching and went to Amélie. “I’m Caro Montalva.” She smiled. “And your mother is right. I held you when you were a baby and even then you were lovely. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you now.” She put her arms around Amélie and hugged her. “Jim, how about some champagne for everyone … surely this is a celebration?”

Maroc kept an eye on Léonie. She was nervous, unsure of what
to do. Obviously she was afraid of frightening the girl by showing too much emotion. He smiled as Amélie shook his hand politely, remembering how he’d taken her on the long journey from Menton to Tours.

“And this is Alphonse,” said Caro. Alphonse took her hand and kissed it. “I’m happy to meet you again, Amélie. I can see your grandmother has taken good care of you for us.”

“Do you know Grandmère then?” Amélie was surprised, but everything was surprising tonight.

“Indeed I do, please give her my regards.”

“But she’s here with me. At the hotel I mean, madame.…” Léonie flinched at the word, but what had she expected? That Amélie would call her Mother? How could she, they were strangers. She wanted to enfold Amélie in her arms, hug her tightly, cover her sweet young face with kisses, brush her hair, chat with her about clothes and boyfriends. Oh, God, I want to be her mother.

“Madame … I’m sure Grandmère would like to see you all.”

“Of course.” Léonie smiled. “We must see her. And Edouard? Is he with you?”

“Edouard wanted very much to be here, but he had to go to Florida. He asked me particularly to send you his love. It was Edouard who told me all about you.” She sat down beside Léonie on the stool. “He told me how wonderful you were, and how beautiful … and that you hadn’t wanted to leave me.”