The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,11
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.
“Beetles. And a few butterflies. You can’t possibly consider a butterfly a pest,” Nina protested.
“Now is not the time to discuss that. Would you fancy a drink, Mr. Auvray?” Valérie asked, her voice a knife that cut off the girl.
“You need not bother with me,” Hector replied. He looked at Nina instead of Valérie.
Valérie, a marble column, spoke again. “I shan’t have you telling my husband that I am a poor hostess, Mr. Auvray.”
“I wouldn’t dream of speaking such a thing to Mr. Beaulieu. Perhaps a glass of water,” he said.
A servant brought the water and he sat back, admiring Valérie while Nina spoke. He asked her questions he had memorized, questions that would seem both banal and polite: Would she be attending the races next month? Would she have her portrait painted by Herus—the painter of choice for all young ladies? They spent half an hour this way, Nina speaking, Valérie silent, Hector nodding. Finally he thought it enough, smiled, and bade the ladies good-bye.