The Cinderella Moment Page 10

  “Your grandmother is an amazing woman. She can seem hard at times and she’s ruthlessly principled, but she’s also incredibly generous and kind. She just doesn’t show her emotions easily.”

  A family trait, thought Angel.

  “She’s pleased you’re here, you know,” added Nick, looking at her.

  “Really?” said Angel.

  “You mustn’t expect her to be gushing. She’s from a generation that believes in restraint.” He hesitated. “She hoped you’d come. She really wanted to see you.”

  “But she hasn’t contacted Li—me for over ten years. Why now?” Angel suddenly wanted to know what had split the de Tourney family in half all those years ago.

  “I think she’s always wanted to see you, but your father wouldn’t allow it.”

  Angel stared down the table to where the Comtesse had her dinner companions’ complete attention. “I can’t imagine her taking orders from anyone.”

  “No, she’s pretty formidable,” agreed Nick. “But she’s a wonderful godmother.”

  Angel looked at him in surprise. “She’s your godmother?”

  “Yes. We lost touch with your side of the family after your dad left Paris but my parents and the Comtesse have been friends for years.”

  “So what happened between her and my dad? Did she disinherit him or something?”

  “I don’t think so. All I know is that your dad and the Comtesse had a big bust-up the summer you turned five. Philip took you to New York and has never been back. As far as I know, they don’t even speak.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  Angel tried to imagine not speaking to her mother for ten years and a wave of guilt swept over her. How long was it since she’d called Sunnydale? She’d rung from JFK, but that was hours ago. What time was it in Florida? Had she missed her scheduled call?

  She felt the panic rise as she thought of her mother, so far away. It’d been a near thing, the doctor had said, and Angel hadn’t made contact since yesterday. What if she had a relapse—or worse? The thought hammered at her brain and she barely heard Nick’s next words.

  “I sometimes wonder if that isn’t why your grandmother began the summer season. I think she always hoped that one day you’d come to Paris.”

  He stopped as Angel leapt to her feet. She had to call Sunnydale.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Angel’s sudden movement caught the Comtesse’s attention. “Are you all right, Lily?” she asked.

  “Yes—that is—I was going to call home … ” Her voice trailed away as she realized everyone was staring at her.

  “Perhaps it can wait until after dessert,” said the Comtesse quietly.

  Angel sat down.

  Dessert came in a delicate teacup and she forced herself to taste it. Nick explained it was Soufflé Pompadour—an orange soufflé baked inside a whole orange. It was delicious, but all Angel could think about was Maman and how soon she could ring her.

  Perhaps Nick sensed her anxiety because, for the remainder of the meal, he talked lightheartedly about everything but family.

  To her surprise, Angel found it easy to talk to Nick. Once she'd cleared the minefield of questions about school and New York she was able to ask him about life in England. She found out he was going to Oxford in the fall, liked most sports, and that his passion was polo.

  They chatted right through the cheese and coffee course but no amount of cheerful banter could allay Angel's anxiety and by ten-thirty she was growing increasingly restless. At last, the Comtesse rose from her chair and conversation faded into expectant silence.

  “Tonight’s dinner marks the first event of this year’s summer season,” she said. “For the next two weeks you young people will have the chance to get to know one another at dances, parties and cultural events. And we older people,” she smiled at her friends, “will have the privilege of chaperoning you.”

  A ripple of laughter went round the table.

  She continued. “As you know, most of our events are charity fundraisers providing opportunities for you to help those less fortunate. Naturally, I expect to see you all doing your best to make this our most successful season yet.”

  “Tomorrow we attend the fashion show. Afterwards the girls may select a gown for the Versailles Ball.” There was a burst of excited chatter and the Comtesse held up her hand. “You must all be there before midday, so don’t stay out too late tonight.”

  Everyone laughed and she smiled and sat down. The guests began moving about the room and the buzz of conversation grew louder. It was clear that the formal part of the evening was over; Angel decided she could slip away at last. She rose from her chair and felt Nick’s hand on her arm.

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to call home,” said Angel. “And I’m super tired.”

  “Will I see you at the fashion show tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” She met his gaze. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. “I’m not sure what I’m doing tomorrow.” And that’s the most truthful thing I’ve said all day, she thought, before asking curiously, “Are you going to the fashion parade?”

  “Absolutely! All the guys go.” He grinned. “How else would we know what to wear to the ball?”

  “So you'll be wearing a dress?” asked Angel, unable to resist the obvious comeback.

  “Definitely … not!” he quipped.

  “That's a relief,” said Angel. “I'll sleep better thinking of you in trousers.”

  Nick looked triumphant, “Sweet dreams then. It's good to know you'll be thinking of me.”

  ***

  Back in her room, Angel put down her mobile with a sigh of relief. Maman was okay. At first she’d been worried because Simone’s voice had sounded thin and weak, but the nurse had come on the phone and assured Angel it was normal.

  “She’s had a big operation, but give her a week or two and she’ll be a new woman,” she’d said briskly. “Worry-free time, that’s what she needs. No stress. If she knows you’re all right, we can do the rest.”

  So Angel had told Simone all about the fabulous time she was having at summer camp. She hated to lie, but it was worth it to hear the relief in Maman’s voice.

  Angel flopped back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. Two cherubs holding a lyre laughed down at her. “It’s okay for you,” she said. “You only have to fly round all day making music and looking cute.” She pulled her pillow over her head. “Take a stand,” I said. “‘Fight the fight.’ What was I thinking?”

  Her phone squealed and she flipped it open.

  Lily’s voice rang out. “Angel! It’s me! Are you okay? How’s Paris? Have you met my grandmother? What’s she like? Does she think you’re me? Have you been to Vidal’s yet? Is it wonderful?”

  Angel held the phone away from her ear. When Lily finally paused for breath she replied crossly, “No, it isn’t wonderful! Your grandmother is terrifying, the house is full of overdressed girls, your old playmate Nick Halliday is here and you forgot about the staff who all remember you and are so thrilled you’re back!” She sighed. “Except you’re not back. It’s just me pretending and—I can’t do this, Lily.”

  “Of course you can do it!” insisted Lily. “You are doing it. Has anyone been suspicious? Asked difficult questions?”

  “Not yet,” admitted Angel.

  “And they won’t,” declared Lily. “I vaguely remember Dad talking about the Hallidays, but Nick shouldn’t be a problem. I shouldn’t think he’d even remember me.”

  “Actually, you seem to have made quite an impression,” replied Angel, recalling the sparkle in Nick’s eyes as he’d talked about that long-ago summer.

  “So you need to avoid him, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “I don’t know, Lily. I think this is going to be harder than we thought. Our plan made sense in New York, but now I’m here I’m not so sure.”

  “I promise it’ll work! Anyway, we’re committed and nothing’s taking me away from the Acade
my!” There was a note in Lily’s voice Angel had never heard before. “Oh, Angel, it’s so brilliant here! It’s only been a day and already it’s amazing. And guess what? The production’s going to be Our Town—isn’t that incredible? I’ve auditioned for Emily. I know I won’t get it, but I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  “I’m happy for you, Lily, I am, but I can’t go through with it.”

  “And what about Clarissa?” demanded Lily. “She stole your designs, Angel! Your designs! They’re sitting at Vidal’s with her name on them. Is that what you want—for Clarissa to win the Teen Couture with your hard work?”

  “Of course not!” replied Angel hotly. “It’s just that I think we should tell the Comtesse the truth. If I explain—”

  “You’ll ruin everything!” cried Lily. “For the both of us! Think of what Clarissa’s done—and Simone—what about her? Please, Angel, don’t tell.”

  There was a knock at the door. Angel heard Lily say, “Margot will—” before she closed her phone and shoved it under her pillow.

  The Comtesse entered. “Ah, Lily, you are awake.”

  “Yes.” Angel sat up. “I’m glad you came, I need to tell—”

  She stopped as the Comtesse flung open the armoire doors and examined the clothes inside.

  “Just as I thought. Marie!”

  The maid entered the room. “Oui, Madame?”

  “Everything.”

  “Oui, Madame.” Marie gathered an armful of clothes and carried them away. Angel heard a murmur of voices in the hall before Marie returned for more.

  “My clothes, Madame, you can’t—”

  “You may have them back when you return to America.”

  America. Angel took a breath. This was it, now or never. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “My dear, don’t let’s talk about your leaving when you’ve only just arrived.” The Comtesse smiled. “You are in Paris for the summer season. You are home again.” She held out her hands. “And I am delighted to have you, but,” she gestured to the closet, “you cannot wear those clothes. Tomorrow we will start afresh: a whole new wardrobe.”

  Angel stared.

  “Did you think I would let my granddaughter wear anything but the best?” asked the Comtesse. “Tomorrow morning we go to Vidal’s.”

  “Antoine Vidal’s?” gasped Angel.

  “Certainly. We will soon see if he can make anything of you.”

  Once again the Comtesse seemed unsure of her words. “It is many years since we last met but I wish … Now you are here I hope we may make up for lost time.” She touched Angel’s cheek. “You are my only grandchild and I should like to—”

  Angel’s phone shrilled from under her pillow. She grabbed it, fumbling for the off button, but the moment was gone.

  “I expect it is someone from home.” Lily’s grandmother looked suddenly constrained. “Call them back and then I suggest you go to sleep. It has been a long day for you. We can talk tomorrow.” She touched Angel’s cheek again. “We will leave for Vidal’s at eleven.”

  As the door closed, Angel grabbed her phone and punched Lily’s number. She picked up instantly.

  “You can stop stressing,” said Angel. “She’s taking me to Vidal’s in the morning.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Angel woke before ten and was amazed to find she’d slept soundly.

  Maybe it was because after talking to Lily she’d decided to stop worrying and just get on with their plan. She was here now and there was no taking that back. It definitely helped that the first step towards swapping her designs had been made so easy. Angel could hardly believe that in a couple of hours she’d actually be inside the House of Vidal.

  She jumped out of bed, opened the closet and gazed at the empty space where Lily’s clothes had been. She was about to put on yesterday’s outfit when there was a knock at the door and Marie came in, carrying a jade linen dress.

  “Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle Lily, but Madame thought you might like to wear this to Monsieur Vidal’s salon.”

  “Thank you, the Comtesse is very kind.”

  “She also asks that you meet her downstairs at eleven.”

  “Okay.”

  “And when you are ready, le petit déjeuner—the breakfast—is downstairs.”

  “Is the Comtesse waiting for me?”

  “Oh no, Mademoiselle Lily. Madame always takes her breakfast in bed.”

  ***

  Breakfast was delicious with fresh strawberries, crisp golden croissants and thick, creamy chocolat. The food was freshly prepared and Angel ate slowly, savoring each mouthful.

  The breakfast room lay beyond the drawing room and had the same tall French windows opening onto the terrace. Outside Angel could see formal garden beds laid amongst the trees and a gardener trimming a topiary hedge. Neat gravel paths met at a circular fountain in the middle of the lawn and an ornate iron arch curved over the stone steps leading down from the terrace to the garden. Purple wisteria and crimson roses clambered over the arch together, their scent wafting across the breakfast table.

  Angel gazed out at the blue sky and sunshine and found it hard to feel anything but hopeful.

  The linen dress felt fresh and cool and she remembered what the Comtesse had said about a whole new wardrobe. It was an alluring concept. She glanced at her watch and her pulse quickened.

  She was going to Vidal’s.

  ***

  The Bentley stopped outside a stately cream-colored building on the Avenue Montaigne. Henri opened the car door and the Comtesse gracefully stepped out. Angel stared at the awning above the windows. Across it, in flowing gold script, were the words: Antoine Vidal Couturier.

  “Come along, Lily,” said the Comtesse briskly. “Let us not keep everyone waiting.”

  Inside, the decor was all ivory and gold. Great vases of pink-and-white lilies stood on columns along one wall and an elegant marble-topped table served as a desk for a smartly dressed receptionist.

  The only sign of the couturier’s art was a magnificent black silk evening gown in a glass case. Angel stared in awe; wasn’t that the dress Vidal had designed for Princess Diana? The dress that had catapulted him into superstardom.

  She moved closer. She’d only ever seen pictures of it and now here she was in front of one of his greatest creations.

  The receptionist rose. “Bienvenue Madame de Tourney, welcome, Mademoiselle. Monsieur Vidal is expecting you.”

  She led them through a door, down a hallway and into a large studio. Angel caught her breath. In the middle of the room, surrounded by models in various stages of undress, was Antoine Vidal.

  Beside him several assistants stood ready to take his instructions. Angel saw him beckon to a sultry-looking model in a fitted dress of mauve chiffon and silk. Vidal examined the bodice, the fabric and the zip, then spoke to one of his assistants who instantly whipped out a tape measure and ran it over the dress.

  When Vidal saw the Comtesse, his face lit up. “Elena.”

  Angel’s heart thumped as he came towards them. He greeted the Comtesse and turned to her. “So this is your American granddaughter.” He took her hand, and frowned. “But surely we have met before?”

  Angel’s heart skipped a beat. She saw herself lying amongst the broken crockery in the Waldorf Ballroom with Vidal looking down at her. She held her breath. Would he recognize her?

  He gazed at her. “Perhaps you have been to one of my shows?”

  “I—I’m afraid not, Monsieur.”

  Suddenly Vidal smiled and clapped his hands. “Ah!” he cried. “It is undoubtedly the resemblance to your très belle grandmère that I am seeing. That will be it! Welcome to Vidal’s, Mademoiselle Lily.”

  The Comtesse coughed delicately. “As you see, Antoine, my granddaughter is in need of something to wear.”

  “Ah.” Vidal eyed Angel appraisingly, walked slowly around her, then stepped back and put his hand on his chin.

  Angel resisted the urge to pinch herself. Was she dreaming or w
as Antoine Vidal actually thinking about clothes for her? Suddenly, Angel didn’t care that she was an imposter. Antoine Vidal was thinking about her! Antoine Vidal! Her hero, her inspiration, her idol! She wanted to scream with excitement. Instead, she bit her lip and waited.

  Vidal looked at the Comtesse, “You are here for the showing, n’est-ce pas?”

  She nodded.

  “Then we shall see what Mademoiselle Lily likes from the collection before we decide.”

  The Comtesse looked at him doubtfully and Angel felt sure she was about to explain the imprudence of allowing someone who had worn last night’s dress to choose her own wardrobe. But all she said was, “As you wish, Antoine.”

  They followed Vidal into a large showroom with a catwalk down the center. Around it, rows of chairs were rapidly filling with guests. Among the crowd Angel saw the boys and girls from last night’s dinner. They sat in groups, laughing, talking and so at ease that Angel felt a pang of envy. She was wondering where to sit when the Comtesse touched her arm.

  “You will like to sit with the other young people.” She regarded Angel thoughtfully. “Afterwards we will see if your apparent resemblance to me extends to your taste in clothes.” She took Vidal’s arm and moved towards a front-row seat.

  Angel dreaded the thought of having to approach the girls from last night’s dinner. What if they were all like the spiteful redhead? She could see her in the middle of a group—gorgeously attired in a vivid cherry-red jacket and trousers that Angel instantly recognized as Atelier Versace.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nick wave and indicate the empty chair beside him.

  Sitting next to Nick was not a good idea. He thought she was Lily, the Comtesse’s granddaughter, his childhood friend—someone rich and well-connected—consequently Nick was the person most likely to ask difficult questions or trip her up in the lie. Angel pretended not to see. Lily was right—she needed to avoid him. She walked quickly towards the empty chairs in the back row and sat down.