“Hello, Frank.” Gina smiled at Frank Fielding, a handsome if stolid young man she’d met while she was a reporter in D.C. and Frank was working for the State Department. “Thank you for escorting me tonight.”
She’d chosen him because he seemed safe and because he didn’t belong to their social circle. Hal was immensely popular with Gina’s friends, both male and female, and he seemed to have kept every single one of them after their breakup. Thank goodness for Claire and Margot, who were hers alone.
Frank stepped back, surprised, as Gina came down the stairs to greet him. “I would have come up to knock on your door like a gentleman. There was no need to meet me in the lobby.” He smiled indulgently, as if he were many years her senior and not her contemporary. “But I suppose it’s not every day a girl gets to attend a ball at the United States Embassy.”
Gina stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She hadn’t forestalled him due to eagerness, but rather because Margot didn’t want anyone else to know she was in the apartment. Margot was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof, so Gina had decided to save her friend the anxiety, no matter how misplaced it seemed.
She forced a smile. “Shall we?”
A car with diplomatic plates and a driver awaited them in the street outside. So Frank must rank quite highly now. Amazing how quickly mediocre men rose to the top at the State Department these days, she mused. But she should stop criticizing. He was doing her a favor. If it weren’t for Frank, she might have had to go to the ball alone.
He helped her into the car and she did her best to arrange her skirts so they wouldn’t get crushed. Luckily there was plenty of room on the wide back seat for both her gown and her escort, who slid into the other side.
“You look beautiful tonight, Gina,” said Frank.
“Thank you.”
He seemed to want to say more, then to think better of it. She was glad. Her nerves were stretched so tightly, she felt nauseated. Making small talk was the last thing she wanted to do.
They cruised through the streets of Paris, crossed the river, and headed toward the Place de la Concorde. The Chancery was a large stone edifice on the northwest corner of the square. It had been built in the 1930s to the Americans’ requirements, but its façade held a grandeur and elegance that harmonized with the neighboring Hôtel Crillon, which had been built for Louis XV centuries before.
As their driver waited in the queue of automobiles to pull up outside the embassy, Gina pinched the inside of her wrist in an effort to focus on something other than her fears, but her gloves dulled the effect. Her stomach churned. The image of Hal rose before her, his face ravaged with pain, his hand gripping her wrist. The dreadful sensation of wrenching free. The stomach-dropping feeling of stepping off a cliff, being swallowed by the darkness that was her future without him.
“Gina?” Frank was waiting to help her out of the car. It felt wrong to take his hand and step onto the red carpet. Frank placed a hand on the small of her back, as if she needed his help to get to the front entrance.
“Mind the gown, Frank,” she said, eluding his touch and whisking her skirts to the side.
“Oops. Sorry about that.”
“Perhaps if you weren’t so close,” she said, as he attempted once more to shepherd her up the steps.
“Sorry.” Letting his hand drop, he shuffled a little to the side. They joined the queue of guests that was inching toward the reception rooms.
Frank’s ineptitude somehow made everything worse. She just needed to get through the next couple of hours. Once she’d spoken with Hal and arranged a date for him and her father to meet, once she’d made it through the formal dinner, she could plead a headache and go home.
As they entered the embassy, Gina took in the opulence of the new building, with its parquetry floors and molded ceilings, its gilding and Louis XV furniture. She’d been brought up to disdain replicas, but she couldn’t deny that despite being newly built, the embassy might have graced the Place de la Concorde since before the revolution.
“Miss Winter.” Gina turned to find Tommy Ledbetter at her elbow. A contemporary of Hal’s but not a friend, he was employed by Hal’s father, Joe, as some kind of general factotum. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Frank took her coat with an air of one laying claim over private property and passed it to a waiting attendant. Gina made the introductions.
“Well, well.” Stepping back, Tommy looked her over from head to toe with an insolence that made her wish she had a drink to throw in his face. “You certainly pulled out all the stops tonight.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Dressed for revenge?”
Gina pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Had she overdone it in an effort not to appear pathetic? Looking around, she saw that the other women present were dressed as extravagantly as she was. Balmain vied with Balenciaga, Schiaparelli, and Givenchy. She recognized other models from Dior’s Automne/Hiver collection. Gina was not at all out of place in this company.
Frank cleared his throat, holding out his arm to her. To Tommy, she said, “Excuse me,” and placed her hand on Frank’s arm, preparing to enter the ball and work their way down the receiving line. Tommy didn’t take the hint, but instead took possession of her other arm and linked it with his. Her skin crawled but she didn’t want a scene. She just wanted this over with as quickly as possible.
“Standing guard?” she murmured, for his ears alone. “You needn’t bother.”
“On the contrary,” said Tommy. “I’m here to help you.”
Shocked, Gina covered her reaction with difficulty. “Why would you do that?”
“The king is dead. Or very nearly,” Tommy replied. “Long live the king. And our soon-to-be new monarch insists on having his queen.” At her scoffing reaction, Tommy added, “Why do you think he’s in Paris? It’s not for the escargots.”
So Hal had followed her. Had he somehow orchestrated her presence at the ball tonight? Surely that had been Jay alone.
As she glided over the red carpet into the reception room between two handsome young men, Gina should have felt like a million dollars. If the admiring glances cast in her direction were any indication, she looked like a million dollars, too.
She ought to feel satisfied, exhilarated, even. Yet for perhaps a full minute, everything inside her froze: her bones, her blood, her brain.
What on earth had she been thinking, agreeing to come here tonight?
Finally Gina admitted it to herself. She was terrified. She was so afraid of meeting Hal here tonight that if she weren’t rooted to the spot, she would turn on her heel and flee. How could her father put her through this? Or had her hard-as-nails act fooled him, as it did most everyone else?
Neither gentleman seemed to notice her reluctance and swept her along between them. With the greatest exercise of will she had ever accomplished, she forced herself to hold her head up and look around her, a slight challenge in her gaze. No escape now.
They ran the gauntlet of the receiving line, which was made up of dignitaries and officials. Gina didn’t pay much attention to any of them. Every sense was on the alert for Hal.
While Frank was busy greeting some acquaintance or other, Tommy seized the opportunity to steal her away. “I want you to meet some people.”
She wanted to protest. Tommy was a snake, and he clearly had some plan in mind that involved using her. However, she’d lost sight of Frank in the crowd and did not want to be left alone in a sea of strangers.
Despite the fuss over her gown, Gina had forgotten what elaborate affairs embassy parties could be. Before the dancing, there would be a formal dinner with many toasts, and before that, a cocktail reception. She accepted white wine from a proffered tray, feeling the need of liquid courage. “A Californian chardonnay, mademoiselle,” said the waiter.
“Bold choice,” Gina said to Tommy. “Serving American wine to the French.” She sipped and the chardonnay was buttery smooth. She eyed her glass. “It’s very good.”
“Not that you’d catch any Frenchman admitting as much,” said Tommy.
He introduced her to many of the guests, always circulating, always amusing and saying exactly the right thing. He’d make an excellent campaign manager when Hal ran for office. Although her senses were on high alert for him, she still hadn’t set eyes on Hal.
Tommy introduced her to an American businessman and his wife, expatriates who had lived in Paris since the end of the war. “Came here for a vacation and never left,” said the man, chuckling.
“We simply fell in love with the place,” his wife gushed.
“Paris will do that,” said Tommy. He glanced at Gina. “Miss Winter certainly couldn’t stay away. Isn’t that right, Gina?”
She gave a start. “Yes. Oh, yes. It is the most marvelous city in the world. Have you become true Parisians, then, and secretly despise the tourists?”
The couple laughed. “Only when the tourists behave badly.” Mrs. LeBlanc had a pleasant southern drawl. “I am positively mortified on occasion, let me tell you. Why, only the other day . . .”
Gina did her best to listen as the lady recounted an example of her compatriots’ egregious behavior. She didn’t succeed. She caught sight of a tall, blond man who might have been Hal. A surge of anxiety flooded her chest, only to recede again when it turned out that it wasn’t him, after all. She felt unsettled, jittery, ready to turn and bolt from the room.
For pity’s sake, get a grip, she chided herself. She had a purpose in coming here tonight and she refused to be diverted from it. Hadn’t she always prided herself on possessing nerves of steel? She’d interviewed movie stars and senators, doorstepped fraudsters and white-collar criminals, but now her stomach felt fluttery and her lungs were tight. She was acutely aware of the silk lining of her gown, which lay cool against her skin. Despite the heat of the room, goose bumps broke out on her shoulders and arms.
“. . . and then he said, ‘But ours is bigger!’” Mrs. LeBlanc finished her story on a triumphant note, and her audience burst into laughter.
Gina joined in, though she had no idea what she was laughing about. She scanned the crowd once more. She needed to get this over with. She needed to find Hal and talk to him without his minder present.
Still smiling, Gina said to the group, “Will you excuse me?” In an aside to Tommy, she explained, “Powder room,” because it appeared he intended to stick to her like gum on a shoe. She headed in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room, but moved slowly, scanning the crowd for Hal.
“Gina Winter, as I live and breathe!”
She knew that voice. The remark was so loud, Gina couldn’t pretend not to hear. Bracing herself, she turned to see Laurel Chapman, a woman she’d known all her life. But Gina’s gaze rested on Laurel only briefly. Her attention was immediately captured by Hal, who stood beside her.
It wasn’t that Gina had forgotten how handsome he was, but she was startled by him, nonetheless. He had a kind of star power that more properly belonged to Hollywood heartthrobs than to politicians, and even though she’d attempted to prepare herself for this encounter, she might as well have spent her time buffing her nails. It was impossible to remain unaffected by him—at least, it was for Gina. No matter how much she might shore up her defenses in his absence, when he appeared before her, larger than life like this, her heart began hammering in her chest.
Hal’s blond, tanned perfection, the whiteness of his teeth, were a startling contrast to the black dinner suit he wore. He patronized a London tailor and she could tell at a glance that his dinner suit was of the finest quality. She preferred him in an old fisherman’s sweater and faded shorts.
On that thought, the memories flooded back, so exquisitely painful that she could scarcely catch her breath.
“Hello, Gina,” said Hal, and there was a warmth in his tone that made her insides twist. Their eyes locked for a moment, before his smile went awry and he cut his gaze away. “Drink?” He signaled a waiter and without asking her preference, took a glass of chardonnay and handed it to her.
“Champagne for me,” said Laurel. Lips compressed, Hal procured a flute of sparkling wine for her.
Murmuring her thanks, Gina sipped the wine, unable to meet his eyes.
This was excruciating. Laurel jumped into the awkward silence, relating a long story about her and Hal’s running into each other in Paris. Clearly the object of the tale was to drop all kinds of hints about the nature and closeness of their relationship. Staking her claim, was she? As if such posturing was necessary. Gina’s so-called friends had informed her months ago that Laurel made a play for Hal the second that Gina was out of the picture.
Gina remained silent, allowing Laurel to rattle on with some anecdote that was clever and amusing, no doubt. All the while, Laurel’s attention darted between Gina and her former fiancé but Hal’s gaze never wavered from Gina.
Perhaps sensing that she was only betraying insecurity by remaining by his side when he clearly didn’t want her there, Laurel said, “But you two must have a lot to catch up on. Excuse me.”
Hal didn’t answer her. Gina wished with all of her heart that she could walk away, too, but she needed to fulfill her promise to her father. She tried to gain the upper hand with her emotions. “It’s been a while,” she managed. “How are you?”
“Gina, we need to talk,” said Hal in a low voice. “But not here.” He sipped his drink, watching her over the rim of his glass. “May I see you tomorrow?”
Before she could answer, Tommy appeared at Hal’s elbow. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all over.”
Hal didn’t take his eyes from Gina’s face. “Go away, Tommy.”
There was a note of steel in his tone. Tommy backed off, palms turned outward. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to catch up.”
Gina tried to keep her expression neutral, aware that many eyes were upon them. For a second, she wished they could have met in a less public setting, but immediately thought better of it. Being alone with him would be dangerous.
“How long are you here?”
“A couple of weeks.” He gave a grim smile. “I’m expected back home to run things at the company. My father is . . . he’s dying, Gina. The doctors have given him six months. A year at the outside.”
“Oh. Oh, no.” So that’s what Tommy had meant with his talk of kings. The need to hold Hal was so strong, she had to clench her hand into a fist to fight it. “I’m sorry.” And she was sorry, even if the curmudgeonly old coot had destroyed her happiness.
“Thanks.” His mouth formed a brief grimace, as if he was suppressing strong emotion. In spite of herself, Gina felt her insides soften. She was so mad and hurt but none of it was his fault. Then he added, “I know you haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
That was an understatement. Did he know what his father had said to her? No. Of course not. Joe would have wanted to remain the benevolent patriarch in his son’s eyes. He wouldn’t have told Hal about that time he’d invited Gina to his country club and laid down the law. To be fair, it hadn’t been Joe’s fault she’d broken it off. True, he had warned her off, but in the end, she’d made up her own mind about that.
She stared at the deep golden color of her wine, half wishing she’d allowed Tommy to rescue her from this difficult conversation, half wanting to hold on to this moment in spite of all the reasons she shouldn’t.
“You’re looking . . .” Hal tilted his head as if to take all of her in. “That dress, Gina. It sure is a knockout.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about it.
“I’ll be sure to tell Monsieur Dior you said so.” Then, regretting her dry response, she added, “How do you like Paris, Hal? Is it all that you thought it would be?”
His blue eyes burned into hers, then he lowered his gaze to his drink. “I guess you know the answer to that.”
She had told him often of her magical interlude in Paris in her late teens and early twenties, and how she longed to share the delights of the city with him. They were supposed to have explored Paris together on their honeymoon, married at last and free to enjoy each other in every way. Was he doing all of that with Laurel now? The idea hurt so much, Gina thought for one searing moment that she might never feel whole again.
But no one died of a broken heart, or of humiliation, she’d discovered. Life went on, and the brokenhearted either wallowed and declined or picked herself up and got on with her life.
Finally he said, “You were always a straight talker, but you were never cruel, Gina.” His jaw set hard—more Marlon Brando than Troy Donahue now. “Money isn’t everything, you know. I hope you won’t let what happened to your father sour your outlook on life. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than that.”
She was so flabbergasted, she could only stare at him in utter shock, but he was already walking away.
She wanted to stomp after him and sock him in the jaw. She was the one who cared too much about money? How dare he, of all people, lecture her about that? The sheer audacity of it took her breath away. Why was he acting like the injured party in all this? When she’d done something utterly selfless for the first time in her life?
But wasn’t that Hal all over? The golden boy, still believing he could have it all.
Suddenly she remembered her original purpose in attending the ball. She was supposed to ask Hal to consider investing in her father’s new venture, arrange a meeting between them. If she’d ever been going to do so, she couldn’t possibly broach the subject now. Not after what Hal had just said.
She shouldn’t stare after him like a lovelorn fool, but she couldn’t help following his retreat as he weaved through the crowd to rejoin Laurel. With a supreme effort, Gina wrenched her gaze away, again conscious of the other guests’ attention. Gossip would be rife tomorrow, no doubt.
It had been cruel to send her here, just as she’d been finding her feet again in Paris after the rug had been pulled out from under her. Then she thought about Joe and his illness. Had her father known Hal was taking over? Was that why he’d grabbed the opportunity to secure Hal’s help? Her stomach turned at the thought.
“You two sure can put on a show.” As if he’d witnessed the scene and come to her rescue, Tommy took her empty glass and nodded to a passing waiter. “More wine?”
“Thank you. Or no. Maybe something stronger.”
“Hold that thought.” When he returned with a glass of cognac, she accepted with thanks. “Why are you doing this? Being so good to me?”
He cocked his head. “Can’t you guess?” He gestured toward where Hal stood, unsmiling, in a group of laughing young people. “He means to have you, come hell or high water. And Hal always gets what he wants.”
Her heart was breaking all over again. The cognac went down painfully past the lump in her throat. Hoarsely, she said, “Well, he won’t. Not this time.”
“You know, you’re really something,” said Tommy. “If I hadn’t just seen the two of you together, looking like you’d rip each other’s clothes off the second you were alone, I’d believe you. But there’s something you need to remember about Hal Sanders. He might come across as an Ivy League poster boy, but there’s more of old Joe in him than you’d think.”
She stared at him. Was Tommy trying to explain Hal to her? A man she knew inside and out? “I’ll keep that in mind,” was all she said.
Gina became aware that the guests were moving through to the dining room, and quickly drank the rest of her brandy.
“Where’s your escort?” said Tommy, taking her glass from her.
“Over there. Studying the seating chart.”
She turned to go, but Tommy said suddenly, “The two of you can still work it out. Let me help.”
There was only one way she would agree to marry Hal, and that was if her father won his way back to affluence and into the good graces of his peers. That wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t even work up the courage to ask Hal to meet with him. Without answering, she left Tommy to find Frank.
Dinner seemed interminable, with speech after dreary speech, but the evening picked up again when the dancing commenced.
The ambassador had called in a favor and brought in the great Duke Ellington and his band to entertain them, and soon Gina’s foot was tapping. She couldn’t resist Frank’s invitation to take the floor. Ellington kept the party in full swing, and Gina waltzed and rumba’ed and fox-trotted with so many different partners, she couldn’t remember them all.
Gina had just sat down and kicked off her shoes under cover of her gown to release her aching toes from their merciless pinch, when someone touched her shoulder.
“Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?”
That voice. She felt it like a kiss on her bare nape, sending shivers down her spine. Turning her head, she looked up at Hal and instantly regretted it. When he smiled at her like that . . . She couldn’t be this close to him and not burn to throw herself into his arms.
She wanted to get up and walk away, but barefoot as she was, she couldn’t immediately escape. She felt around with her right foot and wedged her toes into her shoe. Wrong one. She slid it off and put her left foot into it, felt the sting where her heel had rubbed raw. Then she felt about with her right foot again, but the right shoe continued to elude her.
“Come, Gina. Please. Dance with me.” Hal held out his hand to her as if in command, but his expression was entreating. The anger she’d seen there earlier seemed to have melted away. He’d had a shade more to drink than was wise, she realized. She hoped he wouldn’t make a scene.
“No, Hal. I’m not going to dance with you.”
“Then can we just talk? May I?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out the empty chair next to hers and sat down.
A little breathless, she replied, “All right.” Wasn’t this what she’d come to the ball for in the first place?
With one fingertip, he traced the silvery pattern on the damask tablecloth. “How’s the novel coming along?”
She was surprised he asked. “For once, it’s going quite well, thank you.”
“Good, good. What’s it about?” he asked, then gave a wry smile and held up his hand. “I know, I know. You refuse to talk about it until it’s finished. I always loved your writing. I miss talking about books with you. I just . . .”
This was excruciating. If Jay had wanted to torture her, he couldn’t have devised a better method. “My father wants to meet with you,” she blurted out. “On business.” There. That ought to kill the mood. She’d do her best to persuade Hal to meet Jay. Then she could get out of here and never set eyes on Hal Sanders again.
She’d expected reluctance, but Hal didn’t skip a beat. “Sure. Is Jay in Paris, too?”
She nodded. “At the Hotel Meurice.”
“Then I’ll give him a call.”
Gina hesitated. It might be disloyal of her, but she didn’t place any confidence in Jay’s new scheme. The way her father made money involved complex financial arrangements, and it all seemed like smoke and mirrors to her. “Don’t let him talk you into anything just because . . . you know.”
“I won’t.” Hal might appear easygoing but Tommy was right. He’d learned business from his father, and he was no pushover. He added, “I think everyone deserves a second chance. If it wasn’t for . . .” He ran a hand through his hair and narrowed his eyes as if at a painful memory. “Well, I should have got in touch with your father sooner.” He drew a deep breath and took her hand in his. “I’ve missed you, Gigi. I’ve missed you so much. Won’t you please come and dance with me?”
Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell how much she ached to walk into the warmth of his arms, feel his strength surrounding her, experience the certainty and security she’d felt whenever she was with him? But that wistful longing only made it more imperative to refuse.
“Bad idea.” Gently she drew her hand away. All the while, she’d been searching beneath her skirts for her right shoe, but in vain. She wanted desperately to get up and leave if he wouldn’t go away, but she couldn’t. Not missing one shoe like some pathetic, modern-day Cinderella.
She felt around the carpet in a wider arc, accidentally kicking her shoe beyond the shelter of her skirts. It landed between Hal’s feet.
Surprised, he looked down. With a grin, he bent to pick it up.
He ought to have had the decency to discreetly shove it back under all those layers of silk and tulle, or at the very least, hold it out like a prince in a fairy tale so she could slip it on.
Instead, he held on to the shoe as if taking it prisoner, blue eyes alight.
Tightly, she said, “Don’t be an ass, Hal. Give me the shoe.”
“Not unless you promise me a dance.”
“Ugh! You are such a little boy sometimes.” She made a grab for the shoe but he whisked it out of her reach. “Just give me the—”
“Everything okay here?”
Gina looked up to see Laurel Chapman. Her lips were smiling but her eyes were firing bullets.
Hal’s gaze was fixed on Gina, and he took a beat before he turned his head to acknowledge Laurel’s presence. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’m holding Gina’s shoe hostage, that’s all. She’s refusing to dance with me.”
“That’s not very gentlemanly of you, Hal. You ought to be more generous. Or do I mean charitable?” With a drag on her cigarette and a pitying smile, Laurel sauntered away.
Furious at the implication dripping like poisoned honey from those words, Gina reached out and snatched her shoe from Hal’s grip. “Leave me alone, will you?”
Without bothering to be subtle about it, she stuck her shoe back onto her foot, got up, and stalked away to find Frank and ask if he was ready to escort her home. She had never been so glad to leave a party in her life.
Hal wouldn’t be in Paris too much longer, she consoled herself. She only needed to get through a couple of weeks and then he’d be gone. Out of her life forever.