“What?”
“Love.”
He thought of Valérie, her face like a poem, lifting her hands, laughing, the sun catching in her tresses. The arc of her arm in that instant, when she ran her fingers through her locks, then extended her hand to touch his cheek. “I love you,” she had said. “I’ll wait.”
“Love is not a concern anymore,” Hector said, his voice hoarse.
The waiter returned, placing a bottle and two glasses on the table. Hector drank deeply, feeling as though he’d swallowed a fish bone andit had lodged in his throat. But it was only phantom pain. A pain he knew well, which he’d nursed for a decade.
Étienne let out a sigh and raised his glass. “To you, my friend,” he said.
Chapter 8
IT WAS A DAY FORsocial calls, and Valérie had ordered Nina to don a suitable dress that she might drag her through the city, a process made most unpalatable due to the constricting, uncomfortable shoes the girl was required to wear. Valérie was particular about everything, from the buttons on Nina’s gloves to the size of the heel she should sport, and poor Nina, accustomed to boots that would serve her well on her entomological expeditions in the countryside, tripped more than once as they moved down the boulevard.
“You must be the slowest girl in all of Loisail,” Valérie scolded her. “We’ll be late.”
“It’s not yet three o’clock,” Nina said.
“Keep up,” Valérie replied with a huff.
They reached a narrow, mustard-colored three-story building tucked away on a side street, a relic of primordial Loisail since it was made of wood instead of sturdy stone and time had warped the structure, making it lean to the left.
This was the domain of Mrs. Dompierre. Nina smiled and sat in a corner of the sitting room, which was too warm. The windows were always closed despite the stifling heat, and half a dozen women gatheredthere, sipping their chocolate—Mrs. Dompierre did not believe in modern teas or the occasional glass of wine.
Nina did not understand why she was summoned to these soirées. Valérie never let her speak. Young girls, she said, had best keep their lips closed and let the elders do the talking.
“And I’m given to understand you went to see a performance by that fellow, Hector Auvray?” Mrs. Dompierre asked.
“It was good,” Nina piped up, but then Valérie stared at her with eyes as sharp as glass and Nina looked down.
“Yes, these days everyone is going to the Royal,” Valérie said dismissively.
“Everyone thinks he’s sensational, it’s that aura of the foreigner he has about him. But I must say, my dear, I prefer the lure of the piano over these new sort of performances.”
Nina sighed; she glanced at the chocolate pot sitting on a silver tray in the middle of a low table. Idly she made it slide slightly to the left with her mind, growing restless. By the window she could hear pigeons cooing and wished nothing more than to crack the shutters open, the chance to feel the breeze.
“I think he seemed somewhat distinguished in the posters we saw around town,” declared Cecilia Gugeno. “Not exactly the rough man you might expect, although in person, who knows. Perhaps he has one of those dreadful provincial accents or the manners of a peasant, they tell me—”
“He is a perfect gentleman and very nice,” Nina said angrily. “And he sounds as eloquent as anyone in this room.”
Nobody interrupted Cecilia Gugeno, and as soon as Nina had spoken, she realized her grievous mistake. Not only did Valérie stare at her, but all the other women turned their heads in Nina’s direction and pursed their lips besides. Nina twitched her fingers and without meaning it, she made the window pop open with a loud bang, the shutter clacking against the wall. At the same time, the chocolate pot and the silver tray slid across the table. Mrs. Dompierre let out a squeak and Cecilia jumped in her seat and a woman spilled her chocolate.
You’d think Nina had shot one of the attendants. The window was closed, the pot returned to its place, the spilled chocolate cleaned up by a solicitous servant; all these actions were conducted in a long, painfulsilence. Then followed a stilted conversation until Valérie said they must be on their way.
Once they were outside, the woman gripped Nina’s arm. “Are you a complete dolt?”
“Valérie, I didn’t mean—”
“What an embarrassment!”
“Valérie—”
“No!” Valérie said, moving in front of Nina and raising her index finger in the air, as if she could jab the clouds. “You will not come up with another one of your excuses. Every time I take you out, you do a thing like this.”
“That is not true.”
“Not another word.”
