into a suit made entirely of laces had utterly dismayed Lou, who hadn’t anticipated having to go up against a woman twenty years older than she was. Not the conversation, which, hampered at first by the silent presence of the singer, grew more fluid once Charles rejoined us. He was so cheery and naturally at ease that he immediately enlivened the atmosphere by talking about London, where he lived, as did Cheryla, Béno, and Georgina.
While I pretended to take part in the conversation, I was looking at the sea, hypnotized by the mosaic of its shifting shapes and nuances. I felt down at heart. With good reason: watching Béno coddle Cheryla instead of my sister wasn’t going to buck up my morale. Especially since I had only to look away from that distressing spectacle for my mother to emerge from the dark corner of my thoughts, where she’d been biding her time, and reclaim the spotlight in wrenching scenes of her wandering the house like a soul in torment.
It was Lou who dispelled my morose mood. Passably entertaining when she was trying to vamp Frédéric and perhaps further her career, or when she tried to attract Cheryla’s attention by joining Mathias in a show of indifference, or when she boldly moved in to pepper the singer with questions, she now grabbed my attention for real when she kicked up a serious fuss by claiming to have lost a golden comb from her hair. She managed to mobilize the guests—one after another and including Cheryla—to help her search for it over by the diving board, where she’d supposedly lost it.
That’s when I spoke up, somewhat bemused. “Really, I know Lou is upset, but no matter how valuable this comb is, perhaps we needn’t all be busily …”
It was too late, as I soon saw. Because Cheryla was standing right next to Lou at the foot of the diving board when a yellow boat hiding behind some rocks on the Saudi property next door suddenly shot out to the bottom of our ladder. It was loaded with apparently well-informed paparazzi, who snapped a barrage of photos from all angles, shouting “Cheryla, how ’bout a little smile!” and “Lou, get closer to Cheryla!”
The attack—because that’s what it was—came so abruptly that I needed a moment to gather my wits, and even then, I really understood what had happened only when the boat scooted off toward the Russians’ place, which it skirted respectfully. Béno was the only one with the presence of mind to shield Cheryla from the photo lenses still keeping up a steady fire, and he was the first as well to suspect Lou of having set up this ambush. The rest of us, inexperienced in the pitfalls of celebrity, began to catch on only when we noticed how furiously he glared at Lou while apologizing awkwardly to Cheryla, to whom he’d promised privacy in a house well known for its discretion.
That’s when I remembered the errand Lou and Mathias had run earlier that morning in Juan-les-Pins, and their embarrassment about it. Silly me, I’d wondered if they were trying to score some drugs, but although I was bold enough to imagine that, I was too naïve to believe it, and finally concluded that having arrived empty-handed, like so many guests before them, they were now trying to find a nice little inexpensive gift for my mother, who clearly didn’t want anything. I would never have imagined, however, that our two guests might be negotiating a deal with paparazzi to sell stolen faked pictures for cold cash—and the promise that Lou would be photographed next to the star, to give a boost to her sagging career.
Horribly embarrassed, Marie and I apologized as well to Cheryla, who was obviously used to this kind of misadventure and who could not have been more courteous as she kindly assured us that she knew we’d had nothing to do with the affair. Turning my back on the other guests gathered, still a little stunned, around the singer, I spoke to Lou and Mathias.
“I’m going back up to the house. Are you coming with me?”
Was it something in my voice, or their certainty that they would have to pay the price of their treachery? They followed me in silence to the top of the lawn and said not a word in protest when I ordered them to pack their bags and leave the premises before lunchtime.
I was proud of my reaction. Because in kicking out those two