Page 73 of Our Strange Duet

I knew I wasn’t persuading her to Meg’s side, but at least they’d stopped bickering.

“See? It’s fine. It’s just like performing at the Populaire,” Meg said, starting everything up again.

“It is nothing like that!” Madame Giry exploded from the chair, striking its armrest. “There is no art there. No love. They do it only for the money, only for the—”

“I need the money!” Meg cried. “We need the money. We need the money, and I need—”

Madame Giry stormed out of the room, cursing beneath her breath. She stomped up the narrow staircase to the second-floor bedrooms and slammed one of the doors shut.

Meg glared at the ceiling above us, where her mother’s footsteps could be heard, pacing back and forth. “I’m so sorry,” she finally said.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I…I wish I could have convinced her.”

She sighed. “There’s no convincing her of anything. You know that. Once her mind is made up…” Another sigh.

“You’re really going to become a revue girl?”

“For a while.” Meg raised her chin with pride. “The pay is good, and—” She flinched as the sound of shattering glass filled the air. “And the dancing is fun. It’s not like ballet, with all its stodgy rules and the endless repetition. There’s life to it. And gorgeous costumes, and…and…and the patrons,” she went on, drawing out the word with relish. “You saw the type of men who go to the shows. They’re respectable and charming. Perhaps I’ll even meet my own Raoul.”

“Perhaps,” I echoed.

“You could join me!” she exclaimed. “I’m sure Charles and Joseph would bring you on in a heartbeat. You could sing too! It wouldn’t be all chahut and showing off your ankles.”

She looked so pleased with her idea I wasn’t sure how to tell her I didn’t need the job.

Meg guessed anyway, reading my expression like a book. “But…Raoul,” she guessed.

I could only nod.

After a moment, she covered my hands with her own. “I’m happy for you. Truly,” she added. “Will you be moving into his town house?”

“We’re going on a bit of a holiday. To Deauville.” My words were steeped in guilt.

“You’ll make sure to send me postcards?” Her lips rose in a smile, though her eyes remained flat. “I’ve never been to the beach before.”

“Come with us,” I said, the decision made in a heated rush. “I’m sure whatever house Raoul has rented will have more than enough rooms. Or you and I can share mine, just like we used to. Oh, Meg, it will be the grandest adventure! I’ll show you the boardwalk and the café where Father used to play. We can dip our toes in the sea, and Raoul will take us to the horse races. There are arcades and a pantomime and—”

“It sounds magical,” she said sadly. Now, not even her smile remained. “But you know it would never work.”

“It could! I’m certain Raoul wouldn’t mind.”

She scoffed good-naturedly. “He’s not going to want to share you for the whole summer. You know he won’t.”

“Then a week or two, at least. Surely you could come and stay with us for—”

“Maybe.” She sounded unconvinced. “I’ll have to see what the schedule will be like. I expect they’ll keep us very busy.”

I nodded, full of understanding yet still disappointed.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, once the doctor declares me safe to travel.”

Meg reached out and touched my temple, where I’d done a poor job of masking the lingering bruise. “That night was so frightening. I was in the wings when I saw the chandelier begin to fall, and when you hit your head…I was so scared I’d somehow lost you.”

I threw my arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Never,” I promised, then paused, thinking through her story. “Meg…when you were in the wings…did you see anything else?”

Meg tilted her head, seeking clarification.