The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,6

daintily even, but in Nina’s case it was a series of angry crimson blotches.

“Do not be mortified, Miss Beaulieu, I meant nothing by it. Yes, I left early. I am a newcomer to the city and knew few people there. It was, to be honest, not most enjoyable.”

“I understand. I didn’t know the people there either and when I’m introduced to someone, I invariably say something dreadful. I wasn’t dreadful to you, was I?” she asked.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he pointed out.

“I did tell you my name. Antonina, Nina,” she protested.

“Not your family name. I had to ask others who you were.”

Rather than blushing this time, she found herself smiling because he had asked about her. It felt like an important detail. They walked in silence around the lake and she looked at him discreetly—or as discreetly as she could manage.

His hair was longer than was fashionable, brown and with a slight curl. He was also swarthier than what was deemed as refined. She did not mind, for she was no wan waif herself. Valérie protected her milky-white face—which the Beautiful Ones prized—with hats and veils, shuddering at the thought of compromising her pale complexion and urged Nina to do the same. Sun-kissed were Nina’s cheeks, and no bonnet could change that. Hector eschewed the mustache that was obligatory for all men, thus branding himself as utterly foreign, though she rather liked that he did not know or did not care about the trends the others followed. She thought him noble looking, even if he also struck her as overly serious; a man who was not used to mirth, his handsomeness marred by a vague whiff of melancholia.

“Your friend lives nearby?” she asked.

“Étienne’s house is on Jusserand Avenue. Étienne Lémy. I don’t know if that means anything to you.”

“Lémy? My cousin might know him. And Valérie, his wife, knows everyone. Maybe you’ve met. He is Gaétan Beaulieu.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“He’s well esteemed here,” Nina said, unable to feign modesty. She was proud of Gaétan. He was not only the head of the family, but she thought him a wonderful man besides.

“You sound fond of him,” Hector said.

Nina nodded. “We practically grew up together. He used to come to visit us every other summer when I was little. He was like an elder brother to us, though to be fair, his playmate was my sister, Madelena. He is her elder by only a year and I was a small girl. Do you have any siblings?”

“None.”

“That seems odd. I have so many cousins, you’d need twice the fingers on your hands to count them all,” she said, and raised her hands as if counting them. “Most of us summered together and thus I had an unending pool of brothers and sisters. It is a rather noisy household. I suppose that’s what bothers me most about Gaétan’s home: It’s awfully quiet. You could hear a pin fall in the hallway.”

“A museum of a house.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, delighted with the comparison. It did seem like a museum.

“It sounds like you miss your home,” he replied.

“I do. But my mother says the city will do me good. I cannot believe you hadn’t lived in Loisail before. How is that possible?”

“Must everyone live in Loisail?” he asked, and his voice was tinged with this delightful sarcasm she found refreshing.

The crushing blackness of his suit gave him a tragic air, and all put together she was impressed by the flesh-and-blood version of this man whom she had spied in posters throughout the city, spending an inordinate amount of time staring at his face on one occasion.

She decided then and there that she liked him.

“They tell me anyone who is anyone should,” she said.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been much of anyone.”

“You jest! Why, you have no equal except maybe for Abel Rezo. Levitation of a horse? I’d like Reisz or Pressner to attempt that.”

Hector frowned. “And you gleaned all this from The Gazette for Physical Research?”

“Not entirely. As I said, I’m interested in psychokinetics. Your name tends to pop up in that field. I’ve read a bit about you. More than a bit, perhaps,” she said, and wished she’d brought a parasol. It would have given her something to hold on to. She feared any second now she was going to send pebbles splashing into the water with the sweep of her eyes.

Hector gave her a half smirk and took out his pocket watch, sliding the lid open. “Psychokinetics. You’ll have to explain your interest