Leonie (70 page)

Sebastião nodded, satisfied. “Very well then,” he said, helping Roberto to his feet, “let’s get you to bed and Agostinha will brew you one of her potions to make you sleep. We’ll start afresh tomorrow.”

–
• 62 •

The wedding in the magnificent old church of Nossa Senhora do Gloria was a joyous affair and none of the splendid gold and silver altarpieces gleamed more radiantly than Amélie’s face as she pledged her love to Roberto. Vibrations of confident happiness surrounded her like an aura as she walked with her hand on his arm back down the flower-laden aisle to the accompaniment of soaring organ music and the smiling faces of five hundred relatives and friends.

Bells rang out their happiness as the perfect bride and groom, young and strong, blond and beautiful, emerged into the sunlight of a glorious blue day.

Isabelle, on Francisco Castelo do Santos’s arm, followed the retinue of six small bridesmaids, all do Santos cousins, down the aisle, smiling her pleasure at the scene. “Nothing,” she murmured to Francisco, “could have made me happier than to see these two married. It seems only right that they should—they’ve always been together.”

Francisco looked proudly at his son. “I’m glad he kept Amélie in the family for us, I would have hated to lose her! Now we can share our grandchildren, Isabelle.”

They laughed together at the idea of plotting their grandchildren before they’d even left the church, but she knew what he meant. The do Santos and the d’Aureville families would be joined in more than distant kinship now that Amélie had married Roberto.

A vast marquee extended from the terrace of the Pavillon d’Aureville joining the gardens to the restaurant, and guests ringed the wooden floor that covered the lawns, enjoying the best the Pavillon could provide for a wedding feast. Roberto had gone to great pains to find exactly the right musicians to play for them
and the strains of happy sambas and carnival songs blended now and then into the waltzes and romantic tunes of Europe and America.

Edouard watched his little girl: a lovely bride, serenely elegant in her rustling dress, greeting her guests, laughing with Roberto at their own private jokes, cutting the cake and responding to toasts and compliments with an easy unaffected charm, and he hoped she might always be as happy as she was that day.

“Will you dance with your old father?” he asked wistfully.

He wrapped his arm around her, smiling into her lovely eyes. “I know it sounds like a cliché,” he said, “and I’m probably only behaving like any other father at his daughter’s wedding, but it seems like only yesterday I was carrying you on my shoulders and the greatest event of the week was when a new tooth appeared, or we had to patch up another scrape on your knee.”

Amélie rested her face against his chest, feeling the crispness of his starched white shirt beneath her warm cheek. “You’re the best father any girl could have. Whatever would I have done without you? Remember how jealous I was on your wedding day? How could I have known that you and Xara must have felt just like this?”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” whispered Edouard. “If it were anyone other than Roberto, I’d be a very jealous man.”

Amélie laughed delightedly. “Good, now I don’t feel so guilty about you and Xara.” A shadow crossed her face. “But I do feel guilty about Léonie.”

“Don’t,” said Edouard quietly. “She could have come, Amélie, but she felt it was better—safer—not to.” He thought again of Léonie’s letter to him. She would never get over her fear of Monsieur, even though the man was now virtually a cripple and a recluse. He still dominated her life.

“One day we shall go to see her again,” said Amélie determinedly. “At least she knows about Roberto, she knows whom I’m marrying. Whom I
married.
” She corrected herself with a laugh. “Edouard, I wish I could love her—I mean, I’m so glad that I met her, it helped me so much. In fact, finally knowing Léonie made me grow up I think. Once she was no longer a mystery, I felt secure. I love you and Grandmère, but I can’t say that I love my real mother. Is that terrible of me?”

“Not terrible—understandable.” Edouard smiled at her encouragingly. “And who knows, maybe one day you’ll know each other
better. Meanwhile, this is your wedding day, Amélie do Santos, you shouldn’t be thinking of anything but your own happiness.”

Poor Léonie, he thought, whirling Amélie around so that her long silk skirts flowed and she leaned back against his arm, laughing. Poor Léonie, how she would have loved to be here. She is always the one whose happiness is sacrificed.

Roberto came to claim his bride. “It’s time to change, Amélie, we must be leaving soon.”

She slid from Edouard’s arms. “I’ll find Xara to help,” she said, turning back to smile at him. And then she was gone.

Edouard drank his champagne staring gloomily out of the flowery tent to the ocean. Emerald waves curved elegantly, flaunting their white crests before they slid in slow smooth motion to the white beach.

“Don’t worry.” It was Sebastião’s voice behind him. “I’m sure all fathers of the bride feel as you do.”

Edouard turned with a rueful grin. “Does it show?”

“Written all over you.” Sebastião handed him a fresh glass. “Here, let’s drown our sorrows in champagne.”

“You, too?” Edouard’s glance was curious.

“Me, too.” Sebastião leaned his elbows on the parapet of the terrace. “It wasn’t to be; in fact, I never stood a chance. She’s always loved Roberto. I’m the ‘good friend,’ ” he said, draining his glass. “And that’s what I intend to remain.”

“Sebastião, I hadn’t realized.…”

Edouard’s voice was kind, and Sebastião held up his hand in protest. “The best man won,” he said lightly. “Come on, Edouard, I think it’s time to throw the rice and rose petals.”

“Amélie,” Xara said hesitantly, as she buttoned the pretty blue linen dress and handed Amélie the matching pale blue shoes. “Will you be all right? Tonight, I mean.”

Amélie swung round, wide-eyed. “You mean sex?” she asked with a grin. Xara blushed. “Of course I’ll be all right, Xara; in fact, I can’t wait! Is that a very naughty statement for a brand-new bride to make? I’ve wanted Roberto to make love to me for months but he insisted that we must wait until we were married.” She took Xara’s hand impulsively. “Is it wonderful, Xara?” she breathed. “Is it the most marvelous thing that can ever happen to you?”

“When you love someone the way you love Roberto,” she replied gently, “then it is.”

Amélie suddenly saw Edouard in a new light, as a very attractive man that a lovely woman like Xara was very much in love with. She smiled at Xara with a new complicity as she slipped her feet into the blue shoes. “There, I’m ready.” She kissed Xara suddenly. “Thank you—for everything. I’m so very glad that you married Edouard.”

“So am I,” said Xara with a laugh, “and I’d better collect my babies before they cause too much trouble down there.” The twins, Vicente and Jean-Paul, were two years old and the delight of her life.

Roberto was waiting for Amélie at the bottom of the stairs of the Villa d’Aureville and together they walked back through the fragrant gardens to the marquee and their waiting families. Hand in hand, with Amélie still clutching her bouquet of tiny white roses, they distributed last-minute kisses and then they were off. Amélie turned as she climbed into the beribboned carriage with its perfect pair of white horses, their tails and manes sporting ribbons to match. She tossed her bouquet lightly toward the guests, joining in the laughter as it landed neatly in Sebastião’s arms. He passed it on to a tiny bridesmaid. “Here little one,” he said, “treasure that. It means you’ll be a happy bride one day.”

“Good-bye, good-bye.” The happy cries lingered in the air as the carriage drove onto the avenue and bowled along beside the ocean, making for the pier and the boat that would take them to New York, from where they would wander down through Florida to Key West and the Villa Encantada.

“Well, Senhora Castelo do Santos?”

“Well, Senhor Castelo do Santos?”

Their smiles linked them to their future. She was his bride and Roberto was her husband. And he would never let her down.

Amélie hesitated. Should she wear the pale green satin nightie with the thin straps and the ecru lace, or the white cotton, that fell in fine pleats from a low square yoke embroidered with tiny flowers? Suddenly nervous of the sensuous satin, she pulled the white cotton over her head and peeked in the mirror to see how she looked. Yes, that was all right, she supposed. Everything was covered anyway. She pulled up her skirts to take off her panties and stopped, her hands on the waistband. She stared at herself in the
mirror. Were new brides supposed to leave their panties on? What to do? Oh, Xara, she thought, if only you were here now, these are the questions I should have asked you. She dropped her skirt, deciding to leave them on. Her hair crackled with electricity as she brushed it and she smoothed it down impatiently. Why tonight of all nights did it choose to misbehave like this, it must be the sea air! Well, that was it. There was no other reason to delay and Roberto was waiting in the next room. Still she hesitated. This is ridiculous, she told herself firmly. It’s not a stranger out there, it’s Roberto. And isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for, longing for? It was just that now that it was here it all seemed different.

“Amélie? Are you all right?”

Roberto’s voice floated to her distantly. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Here I am,” she announced, walking barefoot across the bedroom. Roberto was wearing blue pajamas and his hair was neatly brushed. He smelled faintly of some citrusy cologne.

“You look very pretty,” he said.

“So do you.” Her voice was small.

“And scared.”

Amélie glanced at him guiltily.

“It’s all right,” said Roberto gently, “you’re just tired and we’ve both had a little too much champagne. Why don’t you just sit here by me—just the way we used to when we were kids, remember? You used to whisper all your secrets to me in bed?”

They lay on the bed together, his arm protectively around her shoulders, staring up at the ceiling. The big ship moved gently beneath them and Amélie felt her tense muscles relax. “Did you enjoy your wedding day, Senhora do Santos?”

“I loved it,” she murmured. “I loved the church with all those wonderful white flowers, and the bridesmaids, so sweet in their pink frilly dresses and satin slippers with the ribbons slipping down their fat little legs, and Grandmère was so very elegant in lilac and that wonderful big hat and Luiza and Francisco and Xara—only Xara would wear scarlet to a wedding, she looked like a Goya painting. And Edouard. You know, I felt so sorry for him, Roberto, he looked so sad, as though he was losing me forever. I told him he wasn’t. You know he is the
best
father any girl could ever have.”

“What else did you love?” asked Roberto, stroking her soft hair.

“What else? Oh, I can’t remember … just … everything.”

“How about me?”

Amélie turned in the circle of his arm and kissed him lightly. “You know I love you.”

Roberto wrapped his arms about her. “Tell me again,” he murmured, kissing her eyelids.

“I love you,” Amélie whispered. His skin smelled so good. His tongue brushed across her eyelashes and she lifted her face for his kiss, feeling the delicious awakening response as his mouth closed on hers. This must be what heaven is like, she thought, as his hand caressed her neck. He lifted her heavy hair and buried his face in the warmth of her soft nape, kissing it with exquisite tenderness, holding her next to him. Amélie was almost breathless with anticipation. She loved him so much that the touch of his hand on her breast was the most natural feeling on earth, it was the way God had meant love to be. Nothing mattered anymore, her inhibitions fled and her body responded to his as she wrapped herself closer to him. All the worry about her nightdress and panties might never have existed, she scarcely even noticed their removal and when they were naked, her trembling curious hands sought him instinctively.

It was a first time for Roberto, too, the first time that sex was combined with love. He thrust aside the dark memories of a more brutal passion, and the tenderness and respect he felt for Amélie made him the gentlest and most understanding of lovers. Amélie lay beneath him hardly realizing that she was smiling as she held him close, so close now. It was wonderful, she had always known it would be. She didn’t know if she felt what he did at that final moment when she opened her eyes and saw his face contorted with passion, but it was beautiful.

–
• 63 •

The Nile was still the main highway of Egypt, its traffic of graceful lateen-rigged feluccas looking exactly as they had through centuries and dynasties. Léonie had been up since dawn, sitting on the deck of the pretty houseboat at Luxor, watching as the first rays of the morning sun gilded the massive cliffs of Deir al-Bahri and the Valley of the Kings on the west bank of the river. The fact that the name of the valley was also her name was one of the reasons she was here—that and Sekhmet.

“Bahri,” she’d said to Jim, as they had pored over the map he had discovered in the English bookshop in Nice just one month ago. “Could that be where my father came from? Surely it’s too unusual for it to be a coincidence? I may have relatives there … maybe my father even went back there to live?”

“You realize it’s unlikely.” Jim had been practical as ever.

“Yes, but still …”

Léonie’s eyes had shone with such hope that he couldn’t disappoint her. She’d been through enough lately. Only he knew how much it had hurt her to refuse to attend Amélie’s wedding, though, of course, even apart from the danger she still insisted was real, they had both realized that it was an impossible situation. Léonie had recognized the d’Aurevilles’ good intentions in inviting her, but had had the tact and strength to choose to remain in the background. It had hurt her, there was no doubt about that. Jim had been thankful that her interest had been diverted from brooding on her daughter to a desire to seek out her own past. And, of course, to see Sekhmet.