The Cinderella Moment Page 16

  It was thrilling to watch two players charge full tilt at each other, then fight for possession of the ball. The speed, the adrenaline, the passion with which the eight riders played the game left Angel slightly breathless.

  And that was before she’d even begun to focus on Nick.

  At first she’d hardly been able to watch as he galloped around the field, swinging his mallet and turning his horse in seemingly impossible spaces. The mallet seemed a fearsome weapon to Angel, and more than once she had to stop herself from crying out when an opposition player seemed about to bring his stick down on Nick’s head or arm, but each time he emerged unscathed.

  Once he broke free of the pack and scored, and Angel had to stop herself from cheering. She felt terrible, especially when Nick looked straight at her after the goal, but she had to do it.

  Angel clapped politely, but that was all. Seeing the look of puzzled disappointment on his face, she gritted her teeth and looked away. She hated making him feel like she didn’t care, but for his own sake Angel had to keep Nick at arm’s length no matter how hard it was to see that look on his face.

  Several times during the first four chukkas Angel had to mutter Lily’s directive under her breath, “Be cool, keep him at arm’s length and don’t give in to temptation.”

  She kept watching him, though. In fact, she barely took her eyes off him.

  She watched him change horses at the end of each chukka and saw how enthusiastically he praised them. She watched him stand triumphantly in his stirrups and swing his mallet when his team scored and she saw him almost fall when his horse stumbled.

  The worst moment was after the third chukka when he cantered right past where she and Kitty were standing and touched his helmet to her. Angel smiled faintly, gave him a half-hearted wave and wished she were somewhere else.

  It was almost a relief when the whistle blew for half-time and they returned to the Comtesse’s table.

  “Five goals to four,” called Kitty as they drew near, “and the reds are in front. Did you see Nick’s goal just before the whistle went?”

  “Indeed I did,” replied the Comtesse, smiling. “A stunning hit.” She turned to Angel. “I hope you are enjoying the game, my dear.”

  “Oh yes,” replied Angel, her cool and distant demeanor momentarily forgotten. “I’d never imagined it could be so exciting.”

  The Comtesse looked amused. “Well, that is quite a compliment—especially as your father was always considered a first-rate player. Still, Philip is older now, so perhaps the games you see at home are not so fast as the one today?”

  Angel’s tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth. She’d completely forgotten that Lily always watched Philip play polo.

  “It—it does seem different,” she began.

  “That’s because Nick’s playing,” said Kitty, teasingly.

  “And very well, too,” said the Comtesse, smiling at Angel. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play so well. He seems inspired.”

  “The new horses, perhaps?” suggested Giles, oblivious to Angel’s embarrassment. “I think I have not before seen the grey or the—oof!” He broke off as Kitty dug her elbow into his ribs.

  Giles looked at her in bewilderment. “Qu’est-ce que—?”

  “Let’s go and stomp some divots, Giles,” said Kitty, jumping up. “Hey, there’s Nick.”

  Everyone turned to see Nick coming across the lawn towards them.

  Angel leapt up. “Would you like a drink, Grandmama? I’d like some ice water.”

  The Comtesse raised her brows. “No thank you, Lily. I’m sure Nicky would like something—”

  But Angel was gone.

  The drinks tent was hot and the line long, but Angel didn’t care, so long as she avoided meeting Nick. With any luck, by the time she returned, half-time would be over and he’d be back on the field.

  “You know there’s water in the fridge?” came a voice from behind her.

  Angel spun around, her heart in her mouth.

  Nick was standing there holding out a bottle of chilled water. “I think this is what you want.”

  Angel put out her hand but instead of giving it to her, Nick ran the bottle slowly over his face and torso. “That’s better,” he said, holding it out. “Here you go.”

  “No thanks,” Angel murmured, trying not to stare at the way his shirt clung to his body.

  What did he think he was doing, rolling the bottle across his torso like that? It was damp with sweat and showed off the contours of his chest perfectly. And those tight white trousers and dark leather boots that made him look so … so … Angel didn’t know what exactly, only that it was having the most peculiar effect on her insides.

  “So, what do you think of the game so far?”

  “Okay, I guess,” replied Angel, managing to sound bored.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “It’s a bit dull.”

  “Dull!” Nick looked at her incredulously. “But didn’t you see that first goal? And the ponies and when the other team hit the—”

  “What time do you think it’ll finish?” Angel interrupted, eyeing her watch so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “Not soon enough, I guess.” The hurt in his voice made her wince.

  A bell clanged and she looked up to find him staring down at her.

  “Will you watch the second half?” he asked. There was something in his face that made Angel want to reach out and touch him, to explain she hadn’t meant it, that it was all a mistake, that she loved the polo and the horses and everything.

  Instead, she said indifferently, “Oh, sure, why not?”

  “In that case, let me see if I can make it less dull for you!” Nick turned on his heel and strode away.

  The second half began and almost at once Angel knew she’d made a terrible mistake.

  Nick was playing like a man possessed. He was everywhere: galloping about the field, attacking, defending, hooking, hitting, bumping and never once letting up. He changed horses more frequently and his mallet was never still. Once his horse turned too sharply and overbalanced, throwing Nick to the ground, but he was back in the saddle before Angel had time to draw breath.

  Towards the end of the seventh chukka the Comtesse joined her on the sidelines in time to see Nick gallop past in pursuit of the ball and they could see the determination on his face.

  Seconds later he scored, but this time he didn’t even look in Angel’s direction.

  “Is Nicky all right, Lily?” asked the Comtesse, as the bell rang for the end of the period and the teams prepared for the last chukka.

  “I … I guess.”

  “I thought perhaps you’d had an argument?”

  “Not exactly an argument,” said Angel guiltily, “more a difference of opinion.”

  “I see. I wondered why Nicky was playing in such a reckless fashion.”

  Angel gulped. “You don’t think he’s in danger, do you?”

  “No, child, I do not. I think he is an impulsive young man who has not found it as easy as he expected to get what he wants.”

  “Oh.”

  The Comtesse patted Angel’s hand. “Whatever was said between you, it is his choice to play this way.”

  “I know, but I’ll be glad when the match is over.”

  “As will I.”

  They watched Nick swerve abruptly between two opposition riders and gather the ball onto his stick. Angel’s heart thudded as he narrowly avoided a swinging mallet, turned his horse abruptly and raced for the goal.

  The Comtesse squeezed her hand. “I think Nicky may be about to score again.”

  Nick swung his mallet as a yellow-shirted player galloped furiously towards him. Afterwards, Angel couldn’t say exactly what had happened, only that one moment Nick was racing towards the goal and the next his horse’s forelegs disappeared beneath its body and Nick was catapulted from the saddle.

  He hit the goalpost head-first. His body appeared to hover in mid-air for an instant,
before he fell to the ground and lay still.

  It was only the Comtesse’s grip that kept Angel from running onto the field.

  “You will wait here, Lily,” said the Comtesse firmly. “In his parents’ absence, Nicky is my responsibility.” Her eyes held Angel’s frightened gaze and she added sternly, “Do you understand, Lily? You will stay here with Kitty.”

  Angel nodded dumbly. She felt too sick to speak. What if Nick were seriously injured? Or worse—what if he were dead? It would be all her fault.

  She watched as the Comtesse made her way to where an ambulance had pulled up beside Nick’s motionless body. A medic knelt beside him and his colleague brought a stretcher. Angel’s nails dug into her skin as she gripped her hands together and prayed.

  The seconds ticked away, each one seeming like an eternity as she stood there watching, never once taking her eyes off Nick’s still form.

  Seeing him lying there brought back that horrific moment when Angel had seen her mother so pale and lifeless at the foot of the stairs and then she thought of Papa, paralyzed for ten years and slowly fading away. She felt nauseous and wondered if she might throw up.

  Maybe it was her fault that Simone and Nick had been struck down? She knew that was stupid—that Maman’s illness and Nick falling off his horse weren’t even related, but it didn’t help.

  Angel closed her eyes.

  A moment later, Kitty cried out, “Did he move? I saw him move. Look!”

  Angel opened her eyes. She saw the medic beside him and then Nick slowly raised his hand.

  Angel put her hand to her chest and tried to gulp some air.

  “Hey, are you okay?” asked Kitty.

  “Don’t know,” gasped Angel.

  “You’d better sit down.” She and Giles helped Angel to a chair.

  “I’m sure Nick’ll be fine, Lily,” said Kitty. She pushed a glass of champagne into Angel’s hand. “Drink this—for the shock.”

  “Yes,” said Giles, as Angel drank. “Do not worry—they will bring him to the hospital for checking.”

  “Check-up,” agreed Kitty, nodding. “And the Comtesse will make sure—” Kitty paused, “Oh!”

  Angel followed Kitty’s pointing finger and almost sobbed with relief. Nick was sitting up.

  Eventually the Comtesse returned. “He is all right,” she said. “Bruised and shaken and rather chastened, but no worse than that. There is a small risk of concussion so they will keep him in the hospital overnight just to be sure.”

  She saw Angel’s face and said briskly, “There is no need to look like that, Lily. Nicky did not want to go and if you had heard him arguing with me, you would be as sure as I am that there is nothing to worry about.” She smiled faintly. “In fact, he insisted that I give you a message from him.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “He wanted to know if it was still dull?”

  Angel flushed to the roots of her hair. The awful things she’d said to him in the drinks tent had made him go out and play like a maniac—and he wanted to know if she’d enjoyed watching him nearly get killed!

  She felt a sudden surge of anger. How could he make jokes about it? Nick couldn’t know that seeing him lying unconscious on the grass had brought back memories of Papa and that terrible moment a week ago when she’d thought her mother was dead. But it didn’t stop her feeling furious at him.

  That was the trouble with loving someone; there was always the chance of losing them—like she’d lost Papa and almost lost Maman. Papa’s death had brought a deep sadness, but she’d known for a long time it was coming, whereas Maman’s sudden collapse had filled her with terror.

  Angel wasn’t sure she could bear that kind of pain again.

  So what was she doing falling for a guy who’d risk his life to prove a point?

  Angel’s hands balled into fists. Lily was right, she had to forget Nick and focus on the Teen Couture. Nothing. Else. Mattered.

  Suddenly Angel wished it were Friday already. Because on Friday she was going back to Vidal’s and this time she’d make sure she got into the locked room and swapped the designs.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thankfully Friday came around all too soon.

  Angel’s first thought when she woke that morning was of her mother, her second was of the door leading to the Teen Couture room, and her third was of Nick.

  Angel had rung Maman three times since the polo match. It had actually been a relief to be interrogated about summer camp because it was wonderful to hear her mother sounding so much better.

  Her thoughts of Nick were not so easily resolved.

  Yesterday, the summer season group had visited a homeless shelter and it was there that she’d overheard the redhead say that he was still in the hospital. It’d been a shock because only that morning the Comtesse had told her Nick had gone home.

  Ignoring the redhead’s blatant hostility, Angel had plucked up her courage and asked, “Is Nick in the hospital? I thought he’d gone home. Do you know how he is?”

  But before the redhead could answer, her wide-eyed brunette friend had said haughtily, “Of course Marianne knows—she knows all about Nick. She visited him this morning.”

  “Thank you, Esmé, I can speak for myself.” Marianne regarded Angel with cool disdain. “What are you trying to say?”

  Ignoring an uncharitable urge to sock Marianne on the nose, Angel said, “The Comtesse told me he’d left the hospital, but you said he’s still there.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” demanded Marianne.

  “No,” retorted Angel. “I simply want to know if he’s okay. Surely that’s not too much to ask?”

  “It’s lucky for you one of us speaks French and English fluently,” said Marianne. “Nick’s fine.”

  “So why is he still in the hospital?”

  “Because his parents want him to stay there until they arrive from Dubai.”

  “His parents?” Angel hadn’t thought of Nick’s parents. Not since he’d told her how they’d announced their divorce and dumped him in boarding school when he was eight.

  “Did you think he had none?” scoffed Marianne. “Lord and Lady Langham flew in this afternoon.”

  “They did?” Angel tried to digest it all. What did Marianne mean, Lord and Lady Langham? Were Nick’s parents part of the British aristocracy? Angel supposed it made sense. After all, Lily’s grandmother was a Comtesse, so she probably knew loads of people with titles and families stretching back generations.

  But when Angel thought of Nick—of his curly dark hair and the way his eyes sparkled when he teased her and how his mouth looked when he smiled—he didn’t look like royalty, he looked like a boy who’d wanted to kiss her.

  “Nick wouldn’t discuss his family with you,” said Marianne loftily.

  “He told me his parents were divorced.”

  “But he didn’t tell you they’d remarried.”

  Angel was silent.

  “Not as close to Nick as you’d thought, otherwise he’d have told you about Charles and Georgiana,” sneered Marianne. “They’re his parents, in case you were wondering.”

  ***

  It was after breakfast on Friday that the Comtesse also mentioned them. “I have invited Nick’s parents to the ballet tonight. It’s La Bayadère, one of Georgiana’s favorites.”

  “Great,” said Angel, trying to sound sincere.

  “Do you know La Bayadère, Lily?”

  “No.”

  “You are in for a treat then.” The Comtesse sighed. “My dear friend Rudolf Nureyev’s last production, you know. He died not long after its Paris premiere—such a beautiful ballet.”

  “It sounds amazing.”

  “You have a busy day today, Lily, but I think you will not be too tired for the ballet.”

  “Sure.”

  “After your fitting, we have the charity lunch at Les Invalides.” The Comtesse glanced at Angel’s new sea-green dress and said, “From there we go straight to St. Thérèse’s so you will nee
d to bring a change of clothes; jeans and a T-shirt will be best.”

  “I thought St. Thérèse’s was a church?” said Angel, surprised.

  “St. Thérèse’s is a women's refuge and today is our monthly working bee. I doubt you will wish to wear Vivienne Westwood while weeding the garden or repainting the dining room.”

  “True.”

  “When you have finished at St. Thérèse’s, Henri will bring you home. I have a board meeting but I will be back in time for the ballet,” the Comtesse said. “It is a gala evening, so you must wear something special: the rose-pink Dior dress will be perfect and I have just the necklace to go with it.” She smiled at Angel. “Come to my room after dinner and I will give it to you.”

  Her words brought a lump to Angel's throat and on an impulse, she threw her arms around the Comtesse and hugged her. “You are so kind to me,” she whispered.

  “Nonsense, child,” replied the Comtesse briskly, but Angel felt herself being hugged back before she let go.

  There was something about the Comtesse’s embrace that filled Angel with an unfamiliar emotion. A longing for something out of reach …

  She found herself wishing that it was she and not Lily who was the granddaughter of this kind, generous, clever woman whose passions matched Angel’s own.

  “And now that Nicky is well—”

  Angel came back to the present. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Now that Nicky is recovered, he will also be at the ballet tonight. Georgiana rang to say how much she and Charles are looking forward to meeting you again—they have not seen you since you were a little girl.”

  “Can’t wait.” Angel forced a smile.

  The Comtesse nodded. “I knew you would be pleased. We will meet them at the theatre. I have reserved a box.”

  “Wow,” said Angel, struggling to sound enthusiastic. The thought of spending the evening with Nick sent her heart into overdrive. But even worse was the thought of meeting his parents. They were probably thrilled that Nick was interested in Lily, the daughter of their old friend Philip de Tourney and the Comtesse’s granddaughter.

  Angel almost groaned aloud.