The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,34

He rose early, shaved, and dressed in a dove-gray double-breasted waistcoat that was molded to his lean frame. He went to the market, fetching bread, cheese, and wine. He’d already bought a picnic basket the previous day. He stopped by the florist for a bouquet of pink roses rather than the white lilies he bought for Nina.

He planned for everything except the rain, which fell, sudden and aggressive, as soon as he stepped into the carriage. No spring shower, a full-blown downpour. By the time he reached the Beaulieu household, it was obvious there could be no picnic. He walked into the drawing room and set the picnic basket down on a table, along with the flowers. A few droplets of water had caught on the shoulders and sleeves of his coat.

Nina and Valérie were sitting in the drawing room. The younger woman had a book in her hands, while Valérie lay on a divan, a hand resting on the back of it, the other upon her knee, submerged in deep thought. Valérie did not notice his entrance. Nina rose at once, as she tended to do. She either forgot or did not care that a gentleman was to approach her where she sat and then, after he kissed her hand, she might stand up.

“Mr. Auvray,” she said with a chuckle. “Can you believe the rain? I think a thousand toadstools will sprout tomorrow morning.”

“It is a bit of a deluge,” Hector replied.

“I imagined you’d send word you were not coming,” Valérie said casually, sitting sleek and still.

“My word is like iron. I keep my promises,” he told her.

There was no secret meaning in the comment; the thought merely sprang to his head. But Valérie must have interpreted this as a veiled barb at her faithlessness because her face blanched and grew hard.

“You needn’t have bothered. Clearly, we are not going anywhere,” Valérie said.

“The theater is dry. We can sup at a restaurant instead,” he replied, attempting to pacify her.

“The intention was to have a picnic, I thought. Not a restaurant.”

“We could have a picnic inside,” Nina suggested. “We did that when we were children back home. Lay down a blanket and eat here. We can make a game of it.”

“I am not a child who plays games, unlike others,” Valérie said, snappish. “If you will forgive me, I have more important things to do than to pretend I’m making mud pies.”

Valérie made a motion to rise, to leave the room, and Hector, monumentally furious—at her dismissiveness, at himself for having spent the morning in a state of idiotic merriment at the thought of this outing, at the stupid rain—could not allow her to leave first. She always abandoned him, and now he meant to make his exit before she could.

“Good-bye,” he said, and rudely stepped out without bothering to give her a second more of his time. He heard Nina gasp and hurried out of the house without a look over his shoulder, back to his apartment, where upon walking in, he threw all the windows open at the same time with a snap of his fingers, shutters banging in unison. He was boiling and he was lonely and outside it rained.

He let the water drip inside, form puddles by the windows.

During the night, he considered his idiocy, the way he milled around the Beaulieu household, searching for the crumbs of Valérie’s affection. She must have a good laugh at him.

He should stop visiting. It had been a blasted idea since the beginning. There was nothing saying he had to go back, no need to knock on that door again. He thought Nina might find his disappearance confounding, but what of it? Yet he resolved to apologize to her for his uncouth getaway and to inform her, politely, that he might be scarce from now on.

Therefore, the next day he returned to the Beaulieu house, meaning to make a short trip of it. The maid told him Valérie was out and Nina was napping, but she’d go fetch the girl if it was important. Hector said it was, and he was pressed for time. The maid frowned, but went off to find her.

He waited by the foot of the stairs. Nina came down, not in an afternoon dress, but instead wearing a green lounging robe, her black hair falling freely to her shoulders. Worn slippers peeped beneath the robe, painting a bafflingly intimate picture. She noticed how he stared at her, and stared back at him in turn, standing