The Cinderella Moment (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Angel stared at Nick. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he in the Bahamas with what’s-her-name?

Apparently not.

“Take Nicky’s arm, Lily. He won’t bite,” said the Comtesse. “Everyone is waiting to follow you into dinner.”

Angel looked around to see Elena de Tourney’s guests standing in pairs, the girls’ hands resting lightly on the boys’ arms. She blushed—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go—how could she go into dinner when she hadn’t told the Comtesse the truth?

But, short of blurting out her true identity to a room full of strangers, it seemed she had no choice. Angel sighed and put her hand on Nick Halliday’s arm.

As they entered the dining room, its splendor made Angel want to turn and run. But before she could move, the guests were dispersing around the table and Nick was pulling out a chair for her.

She sank onto the velvet seat and tried to take in the paintings, the mirrors and the chandeliers. There were works of art everywhere, but it was the table that took her breath away.

It was mahogany and the largest she’d ever seen, with twenty gilt-edged chairs down each side and an imposing carver chair at each end. Each place was set with four cut-crystal wine glasses, gleaming silverware and a fine bone-china dinner plate with royal-blue edging and a gold crest on the rim. At Angel’s elbow lay a white damask napkin in a silver ring. Peeping from the napkin’s folds was a crimson rosebud. Down the table tall, white candles flickered from a dozen silver candelabra and between them stood porcelain bowls filled with violets, freesias and old-fashioned roses. Angel breathed in their heady scent and tried to stay calm.

Just then someone nudged her. Looking round, she discovered Nick still standing by her chair.
What now?
she thought. Why was he still standing there gawking at her?

It took her a moment to realize that Nick wasn’t the only one standing, and another moment to realize she was the only person seated; around the table the guests stood waiting by their chairs.

Angel’s cheeks grew hot. They were waiting for their hostess to sit. She scrambled to her feet, silently cursing herself for forgetting something she’d been taught from childhood.

“
Bienvenue
—welcome everyone.” The Comtesse’s voice rang down the table. “Welcome to the first dinner of the summer season.” There was a smattering of applause. “This year’s season is particularly special because my granddaughter has come to Paris for it.” She raised her glass to Angel. “Welcome home, Lily.”

Around the table forty voices echoed hers as Angel’s cheeks burned.

“And now, let us eat.” The Comtesse sat down.

A babble of talk broke out as everyone was seated. Nick took his place beside Angel. She almost groaned aloud. It was bad enough being introduced to everyone as Lily de Tourney, but spending the evening chatting with Lily’s old playmate only made it worse. She wished she’d told the Comtesse the truth before they sat down, because there was no way she was confessing in the middle of the dinner party—she’d have to wait till later.

A waiter placed an elegant fluted bowl in front of her. Angel stared down at delicate lobster flesh nestled atop a bed of steaming yellow rice. A tantalizing smell invaded her nostrils.

The food looked divine. Angel was pretty sure she wouldn’t be eating lobster risotto once she’d confessed, so she might as well enjoy it. She put a forkful into her mouth and her tastebuds practically squealed with delight.

“It’s wonderful.”

“Always,” said Nick. “The Comtesse’s dinner parties are legendary.”

Despite herself, Angel was interested. “Have you been to many?”

“A few. This is my third summer season and there’s always a dinner here.”

“The summer season,” repeated Angel. “What is it, exactly?”

He looked at her in surprise. “You don’t know about the summer season? But isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, you’ll love the summer season,” grinned Nick, “because we all know how to party and we’ve got two whole weeks hanging out together.”

Angel stared at him. “That’s it? That’s all this is? Rich kids partying together?”

“Not ex—” Nick began, but she cut him off.

“So the summer season’s just some fancy-schmantzy get-together for rich kids so they can, what?” She thought of Margot and her lip curled. “Meet the right people, attend the right parties and get together with other rich kids?”

There was a pause.

Nick let out a breath. “Whew! I gather you don’t like rich people very much. Would that include you and your dad, by any chance? Or are you just too good and pure to ever have anything to do with something as dirty and unpleasant as money?”

Angel blinked. Was she crazy? What was she doing going off at him like that? She didn’t even know where that rant had come from.

Worse, she’d forgotten to be Lily. She couldn’t imagine what he thought of Lily de Tourney venting about
rich
people. He must think she was weird.

A waiter discreetly removed their plates. When he’d gone, Angel looked at Nick. “Jet lag! I’m sorry, it’s jet lag. I haven’t slept for eighteen hours—it must’ve affected my brain.”

“That’s a relief,” replied Nick. “For a minute I was worried you’d taken a vow of poverty and were set on becoming a nun or something.”

“Oh no,” she retorted. “I could never be a nun: those habits they wear are so last century.”

He laughed and Angel’s hostility faded.

He might be rich and interested in nothing but pleasure, but at least Nick Halliday had a sense of humor. She kind of liked the way he’d dealt with her outburst. He hadn’t been angry or unpleasant—just honest.

The waiter put the next course in front of them.

“Oh, wow,” said Nick enthusiastically.

“What is it?” asked Angel, staring at her plate. As a waitress she’d seen lots of gourmet food, but she’d never seen this dish.

“It’s guinea fowl. Don’t look so scared. You’ll like it, everyone does.”

“I’m not scared,” she shot back. “I’m dying to eat it. I’ve barely eaten a thing today.”

“You did have some pâté,” Nick reminded her.

“Actually, I think you got most of that,” she replied, looking at the dark stain on his lapel. “I should pay for the dry cleaning.”

He shook his head and began eating.

Angel followed suit. Nick was right: the food was unlike anything she’d eaten before.

“What do you mean you haven’t eaten all day?” asked Nick suddenly. “Didn’t they feed you on the plane?”

“They tried, but I was too nervous to eat.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“Oh, you know,” said Angel, trying to speak lightly, “coming back to Paris after so long.” It wasn’t a total lie—they’d flown from Paris when they’d taken Papa to New York.

“Are you glad to be back?” asked Nick.

“I guess. I don’t remember much.”

“You
were
only five.”

He means Lily, she realized and she didn’t want to talk about Lily—better to get Nick talking about himself. She said brightly, “And you were
…?”

“Eight. And thinking I was so grown-up.” He shook his head ruefully. “You still ran rings around me, though.”

“I did?”

“Sure did. I remember that summer vividly and I remember
you
as a bewitching little girl—full of fun and very feisty.” He touched her hand. “Nothing’s changed.”

Angel blushed. What did he think he was doing? Was he actually thinking he could charm her with anecdotes of some ancient childhood friendship? And what about Yvette? Had he already forgotten his gorgeous girlfriend? That was the trouble with rich guys; they were used to having it all. Angel pulled her hand away and cradled her glass.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said stiffly.

“No?”

“No. I’m someone
quite
different.”

“Not so different that you can’t enjoy being back in Paris, I hope,” smiled Nick.

“That depends
… ”

“On?”

“Lots of things,” replied Angel. Keeping Nick at a distance for one; it’d only complicate an already complicated situation if he decided he wanted to reignite his friendship with the girl he thought was Lily.

Angel swallowed the last morsel of food and stared down at her empty plate. She suppressed a sigh. She’d never imagined deception could be this exhausting.

“
Fortuna favet fortibus
,” said Nick.

She looked up. “Pardon me?”

He tapped the crest on the rim of her plate and Angel noticed three tiny gold words beneath it.

“
Fortuna favet fortibus
,” he repeated. “It’s Latin for ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ It’s the de Tourney family motto.”

It was news to Angel, but when she thought of Lily it seemed the perfect slogan.

“It’s one of the things the Comtesse tries to instill in us during the summer season.” He ran his forefinger over the crest. “Not only that, but other things as well.” He frowned. “What I said before—I wasn’t serious—the summer season isn’t all parties—not in the way you think.” Angel followed Nick’s gaze down the table to where the Comtesse was listening attentively to her neighbor.

“Your grandmother is an amazing woman. She can seem hard at times and she’s ruthlessly principled, but she’s also incredibly generous and kind. She just doesn’t show her emotions easily.”

A family trait, thought Angel.

“She’s pleased you’re here, you know,” added Nick, looking at her.

“Really?” said Angel.

“You mustn’t expect her to be gushing. She’s from a generation that believes in restraint.” He hesitated. “She hoped you’d come. She really wanted to see you.”

“But she hasn’t contacted Li—
me
for over ten years. Why now?” Angel suddenly wanted to know what had split the de Tourney family in half all those years ago.

“I think she’s always wanted to see you, but your father wouldn’t allow it.”

Angel stared down the table to where the Comtesse had her dinner companions’ complete attention. “I can’t imagine
her
taking orders from anyone.”

“No, she’s pretty formidable,” agreed Nick. “But she’s a wonderful godmother.”

Angel looked at him in surprise. “She’s your godmother?”

“Yes. We lost touch with your side of the family after your dad left Paris but my parents and the Comtesse have been friends for years.”

“So what happened between her and my dad? Did she disinherit him or something?”

“I don’t think so. All I know is that your dad and the Comtesse had a big bust-up the summer you turned five. Philip took you to New York and has never been back. As far as I know, they don’t even speak.”

“That’s so sad.”

Angel tried to imagine not speaking to her mother for ten years and a wave of guilt swept over her. How long was it since she’d called Sunnydale? She’d rung from JFK, but that was hours ago. What time was it in Florida? Had she missed her scheduled call?

She felt the panic rise as she thought of her mother,  so far away. It’d been a near thing, the doctor had said, and Angel hadn’t made contact since yesterday. What if she had a relapse—or worse? The thought hammered at her brain and she barely heard Nick’s next words.

“I sometimes wonder if that isn’t why your grandmother began the summer season. I think she always hoped that one day you’d come to Paris.”

He stopped as Angel leapt to her feet. She had to call Sunnydale.
 

Chapter Fifteen

Angel’s sudden movement caught the Comtesse’s attention. “Are you all right, Lily?” she asked.

“Yes—that is—I was going to call home
… ”
Her voice trailed away as she realized everyone was staring at her.

“Perhaps it can wait until after dessert,” said the Comtesse quietly.

Angel sat down.