Leonie (8 page)

“Léonie,” cried Caro, stunned by the girl’s appearance—the
hair, the shiny dress, the legs, the boots. But the odd thing was that once you got over the shock, Léonie looked wonderful, a shiny golden being from some other world. She kissed her warmly and introduced her to Alphonse. “You look marvelous. Everyone,” she said to the guests watching in fascinated silence, “this is Léonie.”

The instant focus of their silent attention, Léonie dropped her gaze nervously, then, remembering Loulou’s admonition, she lifted her chin and stared back, challengingly.

“Of course, I remember you,” said Alphonse. “Yours is not a face anyone forgets easily.”

Léonie hoped it was a compliment. She was still unsure about her dress—none of the other women’s dresses were as short, or as shiny.

“May I get you some champagne, Léonie?” a dark young man asked eagerly.

She sighed with relief and began to relax a little, maybe she might even enjoy the party after all. Glancing around, she again caught the eye of the man by the window and hurriedly turned away, peeking at him from under her lashes a moment later. He came closer and stood by the table drinking a glass of champagne. No one else spoke to him. He was as alone as she. But he looked sinister, surrounded by his pool of silence, and she turned hurriedly to the buzz of conversation and laughter that flowed around her. He was oddly attractive, she thought, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach.

“Léonie,” said Caro, “I’d like you to meet Rupert von Hollensmark. We’re lucky to have him here, he just got back from Munich this evening.”

Léonie gazed upward into the deep blueness of his eyes and it was as though the stars had fallen from the heavens. She felt the pressure of his touch, the harsh texture of his fingers, the warmth of his breath as he bowed over her hand. Surely he could feel her shaking, it was a tremor—a volcano—Vesuvius. She was erupting with new emotions. Rupert was smiling at her. “I saw you before,” he said. “We arrived at the same moment. I wanted to speak to you then but at parties like this it’s difficult to get through the crowds.”

She wanted him to continue speaking so she could just listen. His voice was deep with the faintest of accents. His thick blond hair fell over his eyes so beautifully that she wanted to touch it.
Léonie realized suddenly that he was waiting for her to say something, but she couldn’t speak and she gazed at him, her eyes wide with panic. Oh, God, she thought, here is the man of my dreams and I don’t know what to say to him.

Rupert made it easy for her. “Supper is being served in the next room,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away. “You must be hungry by now—I know I am.”

They were the most romantic words Léonie had ever heard.

“Oh, Alphonse,” said Caro, watching them go. “What have I done now?”

The buffet table brimmed with extravagances. A cornucopia carved from ice spilled green and purple sugar-glazed grapes onto an enormous silver platter piled high with long-stemmed strawberries and scattered with fresh roses so their scents mingled tantalizingly. Silver bowls held figs and peaches fresh from Alphonse’s wonderful hothouses in the country. There were tiny quails stuffed with truffles perched on circles of basil-scented toast, and crystal glasses filled with mellow Clos Lafite, poured by a white-gloved butler. There were elaborate confections in pastry, creamy things, perfumed things, tiny exquisite chocolatey things—it was a buffet designed to titillate the senses, and Caro’s guests crowded around, ready to sample it all.

Léonie couldn’t eat. Rupert tried to tempt her with the truffles. “What am I going to do with you?” he cried in despair. “You don’t talk to me, you don’t eat … are you a goddess not to need food and conversation?”

“The truth is,” she whispered, “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Of this,” she waved her arm at the crowded room. “They all know each other, they all belong.”

“You belong”—Rupert took her hand possessively—“and you’re with me.” He picked up the fork and offered her a morsel. “And now you must eat; I’m afraid you’ll disappear unless I know you’re mortal like the rest of us.”

She was lovely, so innocent, he thought. She was like a young animal; no matter what she did, how she moved, she had her own charming grace. How had he lived before he met her? He was absorbed in her eyes, the pinkness of her mouth as she opened it to receive the strawberry he offered. His hand trembled and he longed to touch her. Could he be in love with a girl who barely
spoke to him, whom he’d known for only a few moments? Oh, yes. Oh, yes, he could.

Caro watched them anxiously from across the room. She was aware of Rupert’s family commitments, and like a fool she’d introduced him to Léonie. Looking at them now, their blond heads together, sitting so close at that tiny table that their legs touched—even from this distance, she could feel the vibrations. Léonie was too vulnerable and Rupert was no good for her; she had to do something about it.

“Rupert,” said Alphonse, “I believe Caro has someone she’d like you to meet.” Rupert was irritated by the interruption, but too polite to snub his hostess. “Of course.” He looked into Léonie’s eyes. “Will I see you later?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Please.”

Alphonse took her arm. “Let me introduce you to some people, Léonie.” He smiled. “Rupert has been monopolizing you.”

Gilles de Courmont kissed Caro’s hand. “I haven’t enjoyed a party so much for years,” he told her as he said good-bye. He made his way toward Alphonse, and Caro stared after him in surprise. He certainly hadn’t looked as though he was enjoying himself.

He moved toward his prey. “Gilles.” Alphonse was surprised; de Courmont usually didn’t make a point of asking to be introduced. “This is Mademoiselle Léonie Bahri.”

She
was
beautiful, perfect. Léonie blushed under his intense gaze; tension crackled between them as he gripped her hand. It was strangely exciting, and it left her feeling breathless, shaky.

“I came to thank you for your hospitality,” he said to Alphonse, “but I’m afraid I must leave. I’m
off
to London first thing in the morning.” He bowed to Léonie. “I’m happy to have met you, Mademoiselle Léonie.” Their eyes met again, briefly. She licked her lips nervously.

“Does he ever smile?” she whispered to Alphonse as de Courmont walked away.

“Yes,” Alphonse replied, “when he’s winning.”

Rupert fretted impatiently next to the girl in the blue dress. Caro had asked him specifically to look after her and he had no choice but to do so. They were surrounded now by a crowd of young people, but it was late, and the party was beginning to thin
out. Where was Léonie? He couldn’t see her anywhere. Damn it, how could Caro do this to him!

De Courmont signaled to Verronet, his personal assistant, who was waiting by the door.

“Find out
who
she is,” murmured de Courmont to Verronet. “I need to know where she comes from, where she lives, what she does … what she needs.…”

Verronet knew what he meant. He’d done it all before. It wasn’t the Duc de Courmont’s way to compete openly with other men, either in business or in his private affairs. His was a more devious, more subtly binding approach. He would find out what a person needed—money, fame, sexual perversions—and then he would use the knowledge to undermine his adversaries, to put them in a more vulnerable position, ready for him to make his move. His adversaries didn’t stand a chance—and he always treated women as adversaries. It was never a matter of love with de Courmont. He knew everyone had a price. And he loved the challenge best of all.

Léonie accepted her old brown wool coat from the butler and walked slowly down the marble stairs into the freezing night. She didn’t feel the cold, she didn’t feel anything. All the elation had left her. Rupert had deserted her for the girl in blue—all he had said, all she had felt had meant nothing. Had he just been flirting with her? Was that what flirting was? She had lingered for half an hour alone in the cloakroom telling herself that if he didn’t talk to her this time when she walked past, she would leave. He hadn’t even noticed her.
No one
had noticed her as she left. She’d looked around for the tall man with the piercing gaze, but then she remembered he had left earlier. Perhaps he’d been meeting some exciting and beautiful woman, taking her to supper and then back to his apartment—and his bed. She shivered. He looked that sort of man, older, experienced—a little frightening. The sound of music and laughter drifted into the night. It was a long way home through the frozen streets.

“Léonie!” She swung around, her face lighting up with a ray of hope. “Léonie, it’s me, Maroc.” He stood on the sidewalk holding open the door of a cab. “I thought you might not have enough money to get home, so I got Lanson to come here and wait with me.… It’s all right,” he added. “He’s a friend of mine. I often
take his cab from Serrat when I have to deliver things, I sometimes do him a favor and he helps me.”

“Oh, Maroc.” She was torn between being glad to see him and wishing he had been Rupert. “How kind you are. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Maroc had been worried about her all evening, and looking at her now he knew he had had good reason. She didn’t look like a girl who’d been to a wonderful party; in fact, he thought she might cry. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, Maroc, I’m all right, I’m just tired, that’s all.” Léonie leaned back against the cushions as the carriage clopped its way home from her first party in Paris, holding hands with Maroc.

“But you
must
remember,” cried Bella. It was three o’clock in the morning and they had rushed home, longing to hear about the party, whom Léonie had met, what had happened, and now she didn’t remember!

“What did you eat?” asked Jolie practically. “Let’s begin with that.”

“Truffles,” she said, “and strawberries, I think.”

“Truffles,”
groaned Loulou, rolling on the bed in mock agony, “I’d
never
forget a truffle! And strawberries when there’s snow on the ground—you
must
remember.”

Léonie sat up in bed, looking pale and tired. She’d forgotten to wash the rouge from her cheeks and it looked blotchy and unreal against her skin, and the golden eyeshadow had smudged.

“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” said Bella intuitively, “and I suspect it’s a man.”

“A man!” They looked at her expectantly, waiting. “Come on now, Léonie, no secrets.” Loulou laughed.

“Oh,” wailed Léonie tearfully. “Oh, Loulou. His name’s Rupert and I’m in love with him.”

They stared at one another in astonishment and then back at Léonie, the tears streaming down her face. “Oh, my God,” said Loulou slowly.

The sky was blue and innocent of snow, pretending to be summer as Léonie raced through the streets toward Serrat. She skidded round the corner of the alley and arrived gasping at the back entrance, leaping up the steps two at a time and throwing off her
coat as she raced down the passage to the salon. Marianne was waiting for her.

“It’s half past nine, Léonie. We thought you weren’t coming.” Her voice was silky.

“I apologize for being late, Marianne.” Léonie was penitent, head bowed, eyes downcast.

“And why are you late?”

“I don’t know, Marianne.”

“You don’t know why you’re late?”

“It’s just that I slept late. I … I didn’t feel very well last night.”

Marianne pounced triumphantly. “That’s not what I heard,” she said. “I heard you were at a party.”

How could she know? Léonie glanced at Maroc questioningly and he shrugged. “It was after the party,” she said, “that I didn’t feel well.”

“It’s just not good enough, Léonie.” Marianne walked toward her cubicle. “You’d better come with me, and close the door behind you.” The salesgirls watched them apprehensively. “As well as being late,” said Marianne, “there’s the other matter.”

“What other matter?”

“The red silk stockings.”

Léonie stared at her. What did she mean? “I understand that you took some red silk stockings yesterday”—Marianne’s eyes bored into her—“without paying for them.”

“But of course I paid for them! It was all the money I had.”

“Then you’ll have a receipt?”

A receipt? She had no receipt, why would she write out a receipt for herself? Too late, she realized what Marianne was getting at. “I must ask you for the money, Léonie—now!”

“But I told you I paid for them yesterday. I didn’t bother with a receipt, I didn’t think it would be necessary, but I put the money in the till, I swear to you.”

“I have no record of any such money and the till balanced with the number and price of items sold yesterday.” Marianne sat back in her chair, waiting. “I’m afraid that I must ask you to leave, Léonie. Right away. I shall not do anything about the stockings—you’re a young girl and I would not like to prosecute you for theft, but I can’t tolerate it in this establishment. You may get your coat and go.”

Léonie stared at her in desperation. “I’ll pay,” she promised. “I’ll pay again.”

“With what?” asked Marianne, holding open the door. “I want you out at once, and please don’t come back here again.”

Too stunned even for tears, Léonie put on her coat and walked out into the alley. Maroc was waiting on the steps; he could see from her face that something was terribly wrong. “Léonie, what happened?”

“She said I stole the stockings, Maroc,” said Léonie wearily. “I thought she was going to lecture me for being late, but then she said I had taken them and not paid.”

“What?” He was used to Marianne’s petty attitude and her constant picking on the girls, but this was something new. Why had she done this to Léonie? It was more than simple jealousy. He had a sudden thought. He’d been at the shop early that morning, hoping Léonie might come in early and that he could speak to her before opening time, but only Marianne was there. She had been deep in conversation with a youngish man who looked vaguely familiar. He hadn’t been able to place him at the time, but now seeing Léonie had triggered his memory. He’d seen the man standing near Léonie in the courtyard last night. He had been at the party! Maroc remembered more: money had changed hands that morning. He had seen Marianne putting it into her pocket and he had thought it was just an early customer, ordering some present for his lover of the previous night, but now he wondered.