A Hundred Suns A Novel - Karin Tanabe Page 0,26

was happy to see a familiar face,” I managed to say, my own face frozen in a put-on smile.

“It’s a small world, our community in Indochine,” Marcelle jumped in, clearly trying to shift the conversation.

“Isn’t it, though,” Caroline replied. Something about her tone made it clear that it wasn’t my community yet. “But to be quite honest, I never thought a real Michelin would ever make it over here. They don’t seem too concerned about the press they’ve received since that incident in December. I suppose why would you if the money is still good.”

“They do care, quite a bit. That is why—” I started, but Caroline spoke right over me.

“What surprised me even more than his swimming over to the colony was to hear that he’d been married off. I never would have expected Victor Lesage to be married, and with a child already. I heard he was such a womanizer in Paris. That no girl stayed on his arm for more than a week. I thought he’d be a bachelor until fifty, at least.” Leaning in and lowering her voice, she whispered, “Tell me, dear, how did you tame him? You must be exquisite where it counts. Is that something they teach you in America? The sexual arts?”

“Caroline!” Marcelle exclaimed, pushing in front of me. “How many of these purple cocktails have you had? Have you gone mad? You don’t even know this poor woman.”

“It’s just talk, Marcelle,” said Caroline, laughing and taking a step back. “No reason to run to her rescue. She’s a Lesage, isn’t she? I’m sure she can handle herself perfectly well.”

Marcelle took me by the arm and turned to pull me away, but I stayed where I was, staring at Caroline.

“People change,” I said flatly, thankful for Marcelle but not willing to let this horrible woman’s first impression of me be that of some meek wife.

“Not the people I know,” Caroline countered. “Not his set.”

“Enough, chérie. You’re boring me,” Marcelle said to Caroline. “You’re going to make Jessie think that all the French women in Indochine are beasts like you. Scurry on, please, so I can introduce her to someone less intoxicated.”

“I’m not intox—” Caroline fought back, but Marcelle had already pushed past her.

“What a way to begin your time here! I’m terribly sorry about that,” she exclaimed once we were on the other side of the room. “I’m pretty sure she’s on a boat back to France in three months, so don’t even worry about her. She just thinks she’s the prettiest French woman in Hanoi, and she clearly doesn’t want any competition as she finishes out her spell here.”

“I’m quite sure you’re the prettiest woman in Hanoi,” I said, reaching for a much-needed drink. “And thank you for coming to my rescue. Frankly, I’m in shock. Why would Victor forget to tell me that he knew a woman like her?”

“I’m sure he was in no hurry to bring that up,” said Marcelle, grinning. She pushed the thin straps of her dress higher onto her shoulders and stood a little straighter. “And thank you for the compliment. I’m attractive in a way that looks nice in pictures, magazines. I was modeling a bit for Lanvin and Patou when I met Arnaud. Striking in front of a camera, but perhaps a bit too thin in real life. Caroline and you, you are beautiful in real life.”

“I’m not sure that Indochine is real life,” I said, looking around us.

“You’re right about that,” she said, opening her cigarette case again. She saw that it was empty, snapped the case shut, and grabbed my arm. “Listen, were you serious about what you said at dinner? That you wanted to see the real Indochine?”

“Yes, I was,” I said, starting to smile again. “I didn’t come here to pretend I was still in France.”

“Come, then,” she said excitedly. She glanced at the people around us and then leaned in close to me. “Do you want to see the men’s wing? There’s a service hallway we can sneak through. You have to peek at least once.” She dropped her voice even lower. “Why not now?”

“But won’t we get in terrible trouble if they catch us?” I whispered back, looking around instinctively. “Embarrass our husbands?”

“Yes. If we got caught. Which we won’t. Or most likely won’t. Come! The risk is half the fun.”

Before I could answer, she pulled me out of the cocktail room and down the hallway. Something told me not to let go.

“This is it, here,” she said

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