The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,20

of the port, how it looked in the afternoon sun.

Valérie looked irritated. She hardly drank a sip and her eyes were hard. Nina guessed she wished to go home, but Nina would not move an inch. Hector spoke about Port Anselm, and Nina asked him many questions. How long had he been there? How had he arrived, by boat or train? She might have spoken to him all night long. But she was not a drinker—the champagne and strawberries had gone to her head—and despite her best efforts, she found herself yawning. This was her undoing.

Valérie uncoiled a smile. “Poor Antonina, we must get you to bed,” Valérie said a little too loudly.

“Why?” Nina whispered. “Valérie, I took the trouble of doing my hair and wearing this dress and—”

“I am fearing you will spill champagne all over your pretty dress.”

Nina thought her cousin sounded amused, even happy. Was Valérie mocking her?

“But we’ve hardly had a chance to talk,” Nina complained.

“Here now, give me that,” Valérie said, smiling again as she pried Nina’s champagne flute from her fingers. “It’s enough, dear girl.”

Nina wanted to yell at Valérie and demand that she stop treating her like a child, especially when Hector was sitting right across from them, but she knew that if she did, Valérie would tell Gaétan that she had behaved poorly.

“You must forgive me, Mr. Auvray. I am rather tired,” Nina said with downcast eyes.

“No need to apologize. It’s understandable. I myself should head home. I have an early morning tomorrow. Mrs. Beaulieu, I hope this is not the last time we meet. Miss Beaulieu, it was a pleasure seeing you,” he declared, kissing their hands.

The evening was truncated, but at least Nina drew comfort from these words. A pleasure seeing her. This signaled more than polite chatter; she was sure of it.

“Valérie, we should invite him to dinner,” she said once they sat in the carriage, her lids heavy. “Gaétan said we could if you thought it appropriate.”

“I know.”

“He is nice, isn’t he? He was attentive.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t like him?” Nina asked, turning to look at Valérie.

Valérie’s face was, as usual, cool and composed. She held her peacock fan between her beautiful hands, a finger brushing upon a feather. “I did not say that.”

“What is wrong, then?”

Nina was not good with boys. She knew this. She would have thought Valérie might be pleased to see her talking with a man without tripping over her words.

Valérie let out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing is wrong,” she declared. “He may sup with us next week.”

Nina was so delighted, she gave Valérie a hug, remembering too late that the woman was not fond of any physical demonstrations of affection. Nina was used to hugging Mama and Madelena, used to their laughter.

“Nina, please,” Valérie said.

Nina quickly moved away. Valérie idly raised her fan and continued to run a finger along a feather, her attention now devoted to this object. Nina had ceased to exist for her. It did not matter. Because she had agreed. She had agreed and Nina could see Hector again.

CHAPTER 7

The Crimson Fox was Étienne’s type of café. Well located, small, and with an eclectic clientele, actors mixing with painters, mixing with newly rich impresarios. It was the kind of place where a man might bump into women like Nathalie de Peurli, the most famous artist’s model in all the city, be robbed blind by ruffians, or share a cigarette with a duelist before he slipped out to meet his nemesis.

The café honored its namesake with the hue of its walls, painted a bright crimson, and the colored glass windows, which featured two pairs of foxes.

At six o’clock, the café was bursting at the seams, and Hector had a hard time finding Étienne among all the patrons. Finally he saw his friend, sipping his coffee and disinterestedly leafing through a newspaper, sitting at the back of the establishment. Hector had to elbow his way toward Étienne’s table. There was no possible way to delicately move through the café; the tables and chairs were so close together, there was scarcely any space for the waiters to walk around.

“My apologies,” Hector said. “Business bled into the evening.”

“Do not worry,” Étienne replied, folding the newspaper and putting it aside. “It’s fine. What shall we be having? I have not ordered any food.”

Hector sat down and took off his jacket. It was hot inside and the ambience was casual enough that one might get away with such a thing, whereas merely considering the act at other