“Why?” Nina whispered. “Valérie, I took the trouble of doing my hair and wearing this dress and—”
“I am fearing you will spill champagne all over your pretty dress.”
Nina thought her cousin sounded amused, even happy. Was Valérie mocking her?
“But we’ve hardly had a chance to talk,” Nina complained.
“Here now, give me that,” Valérie said, smiling again as she pried Nina’s champagne flute from her fingers. “It’s enough, dear girl.”
Nina wanted to yell at Valérie and demand that she stop treating her like a child, especially when Hector was sitting right across from them, but she knew that if she did, Valérie would tell Gaétan that she had behaved poorly.
“You must forgive me, Mr. Auvray. I am rather tired,” Nina said with downcast eyes.
“No need to apologize. It’s understandable. I myself should head home. I have an early morning tomorrow. Mrs. Beaulieu, I hope this is not the last time we meet. Miss Beaulieu, it was a pleasure seeing you,” he declared, kissing their hands.
The evening was truncated, but at least Nina drew comfort from these words. A pleasure seeing her. This signaled more than polite chatter; she was sure of it.
“Valérie, we should invite him to dinner,” she said once they sat in the carriage, her lids heavy. “Gaétan said we could if you thought it appropriate.”
“I know.”
“He is nice, isn’t he? He was attentive.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t like him?” Nina asked, turning to look at Valérie.
Valérie’s face was, as usual, cool and composed. She held her peacock fan between her beautiful hands, a finger brushing upon a feather. “I did not say that.”
“What is wrong, then?”
Nina was not good with boys. She knew this. She would have thought Valérie might be pleased to see her talking with a man without tripping over her words.
Valérie let out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing is wrong,” she declared. “He may sup with us next week.”
Nina was so delighted, she gave Valérie a hug, remembering too late that the woman was not fond of any physical demonstrations of affection. Nina was used to hugging Mama and Madelena, used to their laughter.
“Nina, please,” Valérie said.
Nina quickly moved away. Valérie idly raised her fan and continued to run a finger along a feather, her attention now devoted to this object. Nina had ceased to exist for her. It did not matter. Because she had agreed. She had agreed and Nina could see Hector again.
CHAPTER 7
The Crimson Fox was Étienne’s type of café. Well located, small, and with an eclectic clientele, actors mixing with painters, mixing with newly rich impresarios. It was the kind of place where a man might bump into women like Nathalie de Peurli, the most famous artist’s model in all the city, be robbed blind by ruffians, or share a cigarette with a duelist before he slipped out to meet his nemesis.
The café honored its namesake with the hue of its walls, painted a bright crimson, and the colored glass windows, which featured two pairs of foxes.
At six o’clock, the café was bursting at the seams, and Hector had a hard time finding Étienne among all the patrons. Finally he saw his friend, sipping his coffee and disinterestedly leafing through a newspaper, sitting at the back of the establishment. Hector had to elbow his way toward Étienne’s table. There was no possible way to delicately move through the café; the tables and chairs were so close together, there was scarcely any space for the waiters to walk around.
“My apologies,” Hector said. “Business bled into the evening.”
“Do not worry,” Étienne replied, folding the newspaper and putting it aside. “It’s fine. What shall we be having? I have not ordered any food.”
Hector sat down and took off his jacket. It was hot inside and the ambience was casual enough that one might get away with such a thing, whereas merely considering the act at other venues would have been a terrible faux pas. He was very conscious of all rules and regulations. Born outside wealth, he’d had to manufacture himself and did not want to appear conspicuous.
“Shouldn’t we wait for your brother?”
“Luc’s abandoned us. He’s off chasing a skirt. The traitor.”
“Then he takes after you.”
“My days of women and wine are over, my friend. My fiancée, the dearly beloved Celeste Faré, would not abide it. I am a model of faithful domesticity.”
“I still think it’s a minor miracle you were able to find yourself a bride.”
“I’m not that horrid. Until recently I was one of the most eligible bachelors in town,” he said, smiling his genial smile.
“If you say so,” Hector said.
“But speaking of women and miracles,” Étienne said, taking out his cigarette case and plucking a cigarette. “I heard you had dinner with Valérie Beaulieu.”
The name robbed Hector of any mirth, his face growing serious in an instant. “Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter. She is one of the most well known women in the city. Every movement she makes is spoken about.” Étienne lit his cigarette, giving Hector a measured look.
“She chaperoned her cousin, Antonina.”
“Hector, you do not mean to tell me—”
“I intend to court Antonina Beaulieu,” Hector replied brusquely, as if he meant to shock his friend.
Neither man said a thing. The laughter of the women at a nearby table rolled toward them, sounding almost like mockery.
Étienne shook his head. “Do you think that is a good idea? You and Valérie—”
“That was a long time ago. A single summer.”
Étienne seemed hardly convinced. Not that Hector expected he would be. In fact, he had hoped they would not have this conversation. Étienne was one of the few persons who knew about his relationship with Valérie, and the kind of hold she’d had on him. Because it had not been a single summer. Valérie had shattered him. The intensity of emotion he felt in those days had vanished, and in its place there lodged a tepid, distant approach to everyone.
“You were mad about the woman. You risked everything for her.”
“Indeed. It didn’t get me far. Perhaps I’ll have better luck this time.”
With Valérie or with Nina? He did not specify and he realized the same question must have occurred to his friend because Étienne looked uncomfortable.
“I know you, Hector. And I know about Miss Beaulieu. You seem hardly well matched. She is neither sophisticated nor accomplished. I think she is a talent, too.”
“And? Have you forgotten what I do for a living?” Hector asked, raising an eyebrow at Étienne.
Étienne turned his head, blowing a puff of smoke. “No. But a lady should not attempt it, you realize as much. The Beaulieus have money but everyone knows they have not been able to buy Antonina common sense or proper manners. They’re practically New People, though Gaétan’s marriage has polished them a little. Not that it has helped Antonina much. She’s a little chatterbox, they say, and so odd. She toyed with a teacup at a reunion at Defornier’s house, making it float around, and smashed it against the floor. It was an accident, a tic, who knows, but in the end an embarrassing episode.”