ONE NIGHT, OVER DINNER, André announced the party. ‘We haven’t entertained in months,’ he said. ‘I’m ready to be seen.’
He struck a pose. I turned my face away. I could barely see him these days without wanting to wind my plait round his neck. Just when it seemed he ought to recede into the distance, he was more present than ever: haunting the corridors of the house, always whistling just out of sight.
Luce said, slowly and to my surprise: ‘Yes. It’s an idea.’
André looked surprised too. ‘Saturday?’ he said.
‘Yes. Why not?’ She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. ‘One condition: no Peyssac.’
André grinned. ‘In that case: no Ex-Minister.’
‘Then none of your stupid trick-film has-beens.’
‘None of your twittering fashion-obsessed friends.’
She took a long sip from her wine glass, enjoying, I could only suppose, this idiotic game of bargaining.
I looked from one to the other, trying to see beyond their faces, and failing.
‘Fine,’ she said, smirking. ‘Then we’ll have a party.’
The following morning, seeing my expression, she said: ‘Is that why you didn’t come last night?’
She looked drawn and tired, but in her hand was a caterer’s order book.
‘It’s just a party, Adèle,’ she said.
‘I wish you wouldn’t plan things with him,’ I said. I could hear my own voice and hated it. ‘Why are you so excited about it?’
She lifted the order book, flapped it helplessly, and shrugged. ‘I’m not. These are the things we have to do.’
‘I heard you last night. You were flirting with him.’
She passed her hand across her mouth: for an awful moment I thought she was laughing, but the hand came away grim. She was too clever to say the dangerous thing that hovered between us. Her fingers tightened on the book. ‘Have you considered the fact that I am doing this for us? For appearances?’
Her colour was high; the long autumn light slanted through the window.
She sighed – a small, unhappy sound – and picked at the cover of the order book. ‘This is what people do, my love. They are seen.’
I hated this vision of myself. Didn’t I want her to have whatever she wanted? So instead, I said as bravely as I could. ‘Let’s be seen.’
Her face cleared – relief – sun moving over a landscape; her face twisted into an uncertain smile.
‘Our first argument,’ she said, and smiled until at last I smiled back. She put the book away, and did not mention the party for two days.
On the third day, the wife of the Ex-Minister visited. She didn’t send up a card and wait, she simply followed Thomas up to the salon and walked straight across to plant a firm kiss on Luce’s cheeks. She didn’t look at me.
‘It’s the talk of the town,’ she said, eyes sparkling, ‘your invitations arrived this morning. By ten o’clock I had a dozen phone calls asking me what you were going to wear.’ She sat down on a pouffe, her eyes never leaving Luce’s face. ‘So what are you going to wear?’
Luce tried to laugh this off. ‘I hadn’t thought,’ she said.
Aurélie crowed, and then turned to me: ‘I hadn’t thought! Whatever are we to do with her, Mlle Roux? My love, all the young directors are coming. Everyone who has a film in prep will be there.’
She sat back, for effect. Luce turned white, then red. ‘Really?’ she said, as though disbelieving. ‘Everyone?’
Aurélie leant forward, took her fingers in her knuckly hands. ‘Everyone. So let’s make a plan. Let’s make you seductive.’
I held my breath until I could be calm again.
Later, I sat flipping through one of the fashion magazines she’d left; Luce was reading, with every appearance of tranquillity.
Without lifting her head, she said: ‘She’s only trying to help.’
When I didn’t answer, she put her fingertips to her eyes. ‘She thinks she’s helping me, by inviting all these directors.’
‘Isn’t she?’
She lifted her head and stared at me. She had flushed bright red.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘She’s always helping you, isn’t she?’
She stared at me.
‘Adèle,’ she said, ‘she’s my friend.’
I took a deep, shivering breath in; we looked at each other.
‘It’s just a party. Let’s just get it out of the way,’ she said, ‘please.’
She kissed me there on the sofa without a thought for the servants. Then she laughed, bent me backwards and pushed up my skirts. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about,’ she said.