The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,72

on the floor, in front of the bed, and stared at the desk, eyebrows furrowed. After a while she sighed and turned the lock with a twist of her wrist, using her talent, not even bothering to search for the key. The drawer slid open and she reached inside.

Nina opened the box that had arrived that day and gazed at the beetle inside. It was beautiful.

Had he recalled what she’d told him once, that she’d rather have beetles than a new necklace? Why should it matter? Each box came only with the damnable card and nothing else. It was like trying to read auguries in the dregs of coffee.

She had meant what she’d told Luc, that she could not afford to see things that were not there anymore. And here, with Hector, there lay nothing.

Nina watched the light fall upon the beetle; its blue body was iridescent, changing color depending on the angle.

CHAPTER 4

Valérie Beaulieu’s roses were blooming well that year and she spent hours sitting behind glass walls, in the company of her flowers. Once in a while, however, the memory of Hector would suddenly come back to her. She would recall how he had stood in the library and how dark his eyes had looked when he leaned down to kiss her. It was as if a fraction of him had followed her and lingered in this space, haunting her when he had the opportunity.

On the days when this occurred, Valérie would bark orders to the servants, demanding that all the linens be washed and pressed, the silver polished, every corner of the house dusted as if she could exorcise him with these gestures.

Then she returned to her daily calls, her walks in the park, the management of the house, and the tending of the flowers.

The afternoon Luc Lémy stopped by was one of those calm days after the storm. The young man had not sent word that he wanted to be received, but Valérie allowed him to meet with her, feeling magnanimous.

They sat in the drawing room, Valérie in a mauve silk reception gown with golden buttons running up the front, ribbon edges at the neckline, and ivory lace bordering her wrists.

“You are radiant as always, Mrs. Beaulieu,” Luc Lémy said, bowing low, pearl gray gloves in hand.

“How kind of you to say so. Please sit,” she said.

He did and smiled at her. “I hope you’ll forgive me for dropping in unexpectedly,” but his tone indicated he was not sorry at all, the young man was self-centered, spoiled. “However, I believe you will find the visit pleasant. I’ve come to talk business with you, and I’m sure you’ll be interested in my words.”

“Then you must be mistaken and want to speak with my husband.”

“No. Not today, at least. The business concerns an estate of yours.” Luc Lémy took out a silver cigarette case and lit a tiny cigarette. He held it between his fingers but did not smoke it, as if he were merely toying with it.

“I have no estates.”

“Avelo Keep in Treviste. From what I understand, the king granted it to the Véries five hundred years ago.”

“Six hundred,” Valérie said, correcting him. “Not that I can imagine why it would interest you.”

Avelo had once been an important fortification, defending the Northeast from incursions, but that was centuries before. The Unification Act had brought a peace that did not necessitate Avelo. The lands there were infertile, yielding no prizes. This, coupled with the slow descent of the Véries, had left the place a ruin that they did not maintain and seldom remembered.

“I realize it is not much to look at. But it does have a wonderful view of the sea. If I remember correctly, when the king granted your family that keep and surrounding lands, he specified it could never be sold.”

Had they been able to sell it, they would have, instead of having to dispose of crockery and silks. Luc Lémy must know that and also the extent of the financial limitations of the Véries. Valérie’s marriage to Gaétan had saved the family from absolute ruin but had not restored it to its former glory, and their coffers were woefully low.

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Lémy? Best be quick about it since I do not have all day,” she said, her generosity rapidly dissipating.

He had the smug smile of a boy who has performed a naughty prank. “Forgive me, Mrs. Beaulieu, I do not mean to steal all the minutes in the hour from