He was now practically at her doorstep.
And Valérie had invited him in.
CHAPTER 4
After his casual meeting with Nina in the park—which was not the least bit casual, he had been going there every morning after being told she could regularly be found in the area—and securing an invitation to the Beaulieu household, Hector found himself suddenly doubting his resolve. Long ago, he had established that his return to Loisail would entail an inevitable return to Valérie, which was perhaps why, paradoxically, he had stayed away for such a long time. He desired both to see her and to thwart their reunion.
Hector looked across the street, at the Beaulieu house. Two stories high, its tall bay windows with their white shutters contrasted with the blue of the façade. It was an elegant, formal home, the initial B carved above the front door. There was also a side entrance emblazoned with a smaller B. He imagined this led to the carriage court. The structure proclaimed the wealth of its inhabitants.
He crossed the street and knocked. When a servant opened the door, Hector handed him his card. “Miss Nina Beaulieu is expecting me,” he said.
The servant nodded, instructing Hector to wait in the foyer. Hector took off his hat, clutching it between his hands before finally daring to set it on the bench designed for visitors to deposit their coats and hats. There was another B emblazoned on this piece of furniture. Very modern, the bench, boldly avoiding the old hat rack or the hall table.
For several panicked minutes, Hector thought he might not be allowed in. He was counting on Nina’s eagerness to meet with him to pave the way for a visit, but there was always a risk that he might be turned away.
It was not the case. The servant returned and told him Miss Beaulieu would see him in the drawing room. This was a massive room of paneled walls painted with a multitude of lively birds of all sizes, but white birds only: swans mostly, along with doves and egrets. The décor was also white. White sofas, a white table against a window, white curtains. Accents of color were allowed here and there, for example, the vase of rich blues and yellows sitting in a corner, or the gilt furniture.
It was as he’d pictured it, this room, this house. Valérie’s touch was evident all around him, almost heady, every artifact and decorative item proclaiming its provenance. There came the rustle of a skirt. He turned his head, too quickly, too eager to see her.
It was not Valérie. Nina stood at the door. Her black hair was pulled back, but a few tendrils hung loose, framing her face. The style did not especially become her, nor did the peach-colored dress.
“Hector!” she said, walking in with a big smile on her face.
“Miss Beaulieu,” he said, giving the girl a slight bow of the head and kissing the back of her hand. “It’s nice of you to receive me.”
“I’m glad you came. It’s nearly three o’clock. I thought you might have had other calls to make.”
“There was other business I had to handle.”
In reality he had spent half an hour circling the area in his carriage, doubting himself.
“What kind of business?”
“Antonina, you forget your manners,” Valérie said as she walked in. “It’s not polite to ask those questions.”
She wore a cream-colored dress with a blue sash at the waist, her hair in a loose chignon, a string of pearls dangling from her neck. He was transported ten years back, to their first meeting, like opening a worn, beloved book you’ve memorized.
She had not changed. He knew she would not, she’d remain suspended in amber, for him and him alone.
Hector’s youth had been a struggle. The grime of the fairs and a belly that was never full marked his first years. When his parents passed away, he’d endured, like a stubborn weed, growing tall and reed-thin. At fourteen he’d learned to escape most scuffles, or use his talent to protect himself, but he still ended up losing a tooth when three men pinned him down and beat him for his money. And then she’d come into his life like an angel from the heavens, and he constructed a completely different life for himself in his imagination. He’d always known he’d escape the narrow cots and stinking guesthouses where he lodged, and she was proof of this, a sign.
How he’d hated the world. Sometimes, when he glanced at men who slaked their thirst and appetites with impunity, he thought of throttling them. He had nothing. Then he had her, and the future was full of possibilities.
Just as quickly she was gone.
He looked at Valérie, stared at her, unable to bow or speak a greeting.
“Mr. Auvray,” she said, extending her hand, her voice cool and composed while Hector felt himself quiver inside.
“Mrs. Beaulieu,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips, but not kissing it, his breath upon her knuckles for a second before he released her. “Always a pleasure to see you.”
Now that he looked more carefully, he realized she was not exactly the girl he’d known. Her face was thinner and had a firmness that had not been there. But she was as graceful as she’d ever been and had grown more exquisite, a feat he had not thought possible. It did not matter, whatever vague changes had taken hold of her physiognomy.
“You’ve met, then?” Nina asked, her voice unwanted, interrupting his reverie.
“I’m not entirely sure. Have we?” Valérie asked.
There was the hint of a dare when Valérie glanced at him. He took it.
“Ten years ago. You were in Frotnac at the time,” he replied. “It was before your marriage.”
Valérie frowned, a fleeting motion of her head. “I do remember you. You performed a trick or another.”
“That was me.”
“That is unfair, Valérie. You never told me you knew Hector! And after I’ve told you of my interest in psychokinetics,” Nina said. She sounded like a doleful child who had been denied sweets.
Valérie’s face was carved marble when she looked at the girl. “An unbecoming interest,” she said.
“Hector, you must tell my cousin that psychokinetic feats are not a horrid crime,” Nina said, playfully tugging at his hand. The gesture might befit a coquette, but he doubted she knew what she was doing.
“Does Mrs. Beaulieu truly think that?” he asked.
“Antonina has it in her head that it is fine for a young woman of her caliber to go around attempting to levitate decks of cards and shuffle them in the air as though she were a common street performer,” Valérie said. “I strongly disagree.”
“You disagree about everything,” Nina replied, sitting on one of the sofas.
Hector smirked, amused by the tart answer, and sat across from her. “I didn’t realize you had the ability, Miss Beaulieu.”
“A little, perhaps. When I was five years old, my mother said I made it rain stones upon our house.”
“Which is precisely why it’s a poor idea to fixate upon such an activity,” Valérie said.
“I don’t intend to rain stones on your house, Cousin. Besides, what else am I supposed to do when you won’t let me collect specimens while I’m here?”
“Specimens, Miss Beaulieu?”
“Pests,” Valérie replied. She remained standing, her eyes fixing on a distant point instead of looking at either one of them.