The Cinderella Moment Page 23

  “I am so sorry,” whispered Angel.

  Suddenly, she could bear it no longer. “I’m sorry!” she cried. And before anyone could stop her, Angel picked up her skirts and ran.

  She ran straight through the hotel to the Crillon’s great revolving door. Blinded by tears, Angel pushed her way into it just as a figure clad in jeans and a T-shirt and carrying a duffel bag entered from the street.

  Trapped on the other side of the slowly revolving door, Lily banged urgently on the glass. “Angel! Wait, please, Angel!”

  But Angel didn’t hear her as she ran out into the street. All she could focus on was a way to somehow escape from pain and confusion and unhappiness.

  The rain had stopped and a cool breeze had blown away the clouds. A waning moon was rising but Angel saw only the open space of the Place de la Concorde and beyond it the bridge over the Seine.

  Pulling off her high-heeled shoes and clasping them firmly in one hand, she lifted the beautiful amethyst dress with the other and, with tears streaming down her cheeks, fled across the cobblestones towards the river.

  By the time Nick burst through the door, she was out of sight, her running form obscured by the obelisk in the middle of the square.

  “Angel!” he called. “Angel!”

  But there was no answer.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Angel ran blindly, with just one thought in her head: to get away. Away from the hurt and humiliation she’d wreaked on the Comtesse and Nick and everyone she’d come to care about.

  She plunged into Paris’s back streets, caring nothing for the hard pavement under her feet. So long as she didn’t have to think about those last terrible moments, she didn’t mind what physical pain she suffered.

  But the images of them kept pressing on her mind: Nick with such hurt in his eyes and the Comtesse’s face lined with pain.

  If only she’d told them the truth, if only. Angel slowed to a walk and for the umpteenth time pushed the images away and tried to think of what to do.

  She should have stayed and insisted the Comtesse hear the truth. Elena de Tourney mightn’t have liked it and she probably wouldn’t have forgiven her, but at least Angel would have exposed Clarissa and Margot for the frauds they were.

  Why had she let them get away with such a cruel deception? Angel wondered. Why hadn’t she stood firm and answered their accusations with allegations of her own, instead of letting them convince everyone she was the thief?

  “Because right now I’m no better than them,” whispered Angel. “Clarissa’s a liar and a thief, but I’m a liar and a fraud.”

  It didn’t matter that she’d agreed to the masquerade because Clarissa had stolen her designs and Margot had practically taken Simone hostage, because Angel could’ve waited until Maman was well and then told the truth.

  It would have meant forgoing her entry into the Teen Couture, but at least she wouldn’t have lost everything that mattered.

  Even worse was that she’d repaid the Comtesse’s kindness with deceit. For the past two weeks she’d let Elena de Tourney think she was her granddaughter and, although she might convince her she wasn’t a thief, there was nothing she could say that would make her any less a liar.

  Angel angrily dashed away a tear. How could she have been so stupid and selfish, not to have properly considered the consequences of her outrageous masquerade?

  She’d wanted to stop Clarissa from cheating so much that she’d let herself believe Lily’s blithe assurances that it would all work out. Sure, she’d never meant to hurt anyone, but she’d done it nonetheless.

  If only Lily had been willing to put off the London Academy—she could have come to Paris and told everyone about Clarissa—but her acting was everything to her and Angel knew she’d stay in London until she’d fulfilled her dream.

  And I totally get that, thought Angel, because fashion design means everything to me.

  At least it used to.

  Only a week ago she’d thought that seeing a haute couture fashion show and wearing a Vidal dress was the ultimate and that coming to Paris to stop Clarissa from cheating was vital.

  “I was so wrong,” whispered Angel, staring up at the stars. “Lily and I were both wrong.” She knew that now. Because for the first time in her life she understood what it was to lose someone’s love.

  And in losing it she’d discovered its worth.

  The price of betrayal had been too high and her deception had hurt too many people to ever make it worthwhile.

  Angel turned a corner and the dome of Les Invalides loomed up before her. Beyond it she could see the Eiffel Tower lit up against the night sky. She wondered what Nick was doing and hoped his birthday party had continued after her dramatic departure.

  She turned away. Right now, she didn’t want to see anything that reminded her of him.

  She passed the Rodin Museum and veered down a side street. Angel had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do. If only she had her phone she’d ring her mother and tell her everything. Simone would be furious, but Angel didn’t care. Right now she’d give anything just to hear her voice.

  But she couldn’t ring her mother—she couldn’t ring anyone! An icy invisible hand clutched Angel’s heart as the reality of her situation burst upon her.

  She was alone in the back streets of Paris, barefoot in an evening dress. She’d left her evening bag behind at the Crillon, which meant she had no money, no phone and no way of getting home. Her airline ticket and passport—even her designs—were all at the Comtesse’s; the last person on earth who’d ever want to see her.

  Angel stopped dead in the middle of the darkened street. In her headlong flight she hadn’t for one moment considered what would happen to her once she was no longer Lily de Tourney.

  As she stood there, staring at the stars above the Paris skyline, Angel Moncoeur shivered with cold and fright.

  ***

  An hour later Angel dropped onto the seat beside the great glass pyramid in front of the Louvre. Her feet were throbbing and she was so tired she could hardly think straight.

  She’d never felt so alone and so utterly wretched.

  At least it isn’t raining, she thought, looking up at the clouds scudding across the sky. She wondered what time it was. She suspected it was nearly two, because she must have walked around for a couple of hours before coming here.

  Her brain seemed to have moved beyond thinking about what had happened at the Crillon. She almost wished a policeman would come by and arrest her—at least the police station would be warm.

  Angel had considered turning herself in, only she didn’t relish the idea of spending the night in a cell. She’d go to the police station as soon as it got light. “Maybe they’ll take me to the American embassy,” she mused aloud, tucking her feet beneath her and lying down on the stone bench next to the Pyramid. She gazed up at the glass panes: hundreds of them reflecting the moon and the stars and the water in the fountain, and—

  Angel yawned, and sat up. She mustn’t go to sleep. Not here.

  She’d think about what she was going to tell the embassy staff. That should keep her awake because the thought of telling anyone about the past two weeks was gut-wrenching. She decided she probably wouldn’t mention Lily or swapping their passports or the Comtesse or the Teen Couture. Telling the embassy people the true story might see her committed or imprisoned rather than put on a plane and sent home.

  Angel lay down again. She’d have to make up some story.

  Great. More lies.

  “Not that it matters,” she told the sky. “After so many, what difference can a few more lies make?” She lay down again and stared at the Louvre.

  Was it only yesterday that she’d been in there with Nick? It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d told her she looked like an angel and kissed her for the first time …

  A tear trickled down Angel’s nose.

  As the first drops of rain began to fall, Angel concluded that there was no point delaying the in
evitable. She might as well be warm in a police station than soaking wet outside the Louvre with nothing to think about but Nick, the Comtesse and the mess she’d made of everything.

  She slid her feet into her shoes and was doing up the buckles when she heard the sound of running footsteps and a voice calling, “Angel! Angel!”

  Angel spun round to see Lily running towards her. A moment later she was being fiercely hugged.

  “You’re in London,” said Angel, trying to breathe.

  Lily laughed through her tears. “No, I’m here, just like I promised.”

  “But what about your play? Tonight’s the dress rehearsal.”

  “Uh-huh and tomorrow’s the play,” said Lily, “but I won’t be there.”

  “You have to be there!” cried Angel.

  “No, I have to be here,” replied Lily. “Here in Paris helping my best friend out of the rotten mess I got her into.”

  “Oh, Lily,” said Angel, tears springing to her eyes.

  Lily held out her pinky finger. “Friends?” she asked in a wobbly voice.

  Angel linked her finger with Lily’s. “Forever,” she said firmly.

  Lily hugged her again. “You didn’t think I’d desert you, did you, Angel?”

  “No, but—” Angel pulled free and looked Lily squarely in the face. “Things are really bad, Lily. I don’t think anyone can fix them.”

  “It’ll be okay, Angel, I promise.” Lily took her hand. “Come on.”

  “How did you find me?” asked Angel, as they crossed the courtyard.

  “I asked Nick.”

  “Nick?” Angel looked at her in astonishment. “But how? Where?”

  “At the Crillon just after you left. I saw you in the revolving door, but you ran off before I could stop you.” Lily grimaced. “I got there too late.”

  “But Nick can’t have known where I’d be—I walked around for ages before I came here.”

  “Yes, but when I asked him if you’d been anywhere special together, he told me about l'Orangerie and the Ritz and the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. So I just went to all of them in turn—I figured you'd go somewhere comforting.”

  “I’m glad you know me so well,” said Angel stiffly. “And that Nick … Nick was kind enough to help you.”

  “Now don’t go all uptight on me because you think it’s over between you and Nick,” said Lily. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” demanded Angel. “Of course, it’s over. He couldn’t possibly like me now. Not when he knows—when they all know—I’m an imposter.”

  “I don’t know about that, given that he almost knocked me over running after you.”

  Angel turned pink. “He came after me?”

  “Sure did. He’s nice, Angel, and much better looking than I remember. And when he couldn’t catch you, he came back to the party and tried to smooth things over with Grandmama.”

  For a moment hope flared in Angel’s breast, before she saw the look on Lily’s face.

  “I’m guessing that didn’t go so well?”

  “You’d be right, though at least she didn’t tear strips off Nick.”

  Angel looked at her friend in concern. “Was it bad?”

  “Pretty bad. Nothing like I’d planned.” Lily laughed bitterly. “I knew there was no point chasing after you until I knew what had happened so I just marched right up to her table and said, ‘Hello, Grandmama, it’s me, Lily.’ I had this awesome speech all memorized, but I hadn’t banked on Margot. I knew she’d flown to Paris, but I hadn’t expected her to be sitting right there next to Grandmama oozing charm.”

  “What happened?”

  “She played the loving mother card like you wouldn’t believe.” Lily mimicked Margot’s voice perfectly, “Oh, don’t be too hard on Lily, Elena, she just needs a little motherly guidance. It isn’t her fault that she was taken in by the cook’s daughter.” Lily scowled. “She called you a liar and a thief and that’s when I lost it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I yelled at her. I told her she was the liar and Clarissa was the thief. I said that you were the truest, bestest friend ever, but … ” Lily’s voice trailed away.

  “But no one listened, did they?”

  Lily shook her head. “It wasn’t that. It was worse. Grandmama suddenly went ballistic—sort of icy-scary ballistic, like lava under a glacier. I was in the middle of saying for the millionth time that you weren’t a thief when she cut me off mid-sentence and demanded to know if your mother’s name was Simone.”

  “But how did she know?” Angel blanched. “What did you say about me exactly?”

  “I don’t know, something like, ‘Angel Moncoeur is not a thief.’ Why?”

  “I’ll tell you later. What happened next?”

  “I said, yes, your mother was Simone and that she’d practically raised me. After that, Grandmama turned into this raging mega-empress and wouldn’t let me get another word in.” Lily frowned. “I tried to explain, Angel, I really did, but she wouldn’t listen. She said … ”

  “Said what?” demanded Angel. “Tell me, Lily, it can’t get much worse.”

  Lily sighed and then said heavily, “She said she never wanted to hear your name again.”

  They walked in silence for a minute before Angel spoke. “I think I’d better call Maman. Lend me your phone?”

  “We’re not calling Simone—not till we’ve fixed things.”

  “Well, I can’t fix anything in this dress,” declared Angel. “And I can’t go back to the Comtesse’s. I’ve got no passport, no money and no phone, so I need to call—”

  “We don’t need money,” said Lily abruptly, digging in her duffel bag. “Not when we’ve got this.” She held out her hand.

  “But that’s your platinum Visa! Emergency use only.”

  “What’s this if it’s not an emergency?” demanded Lily. “Anyway, I think we should try ringing Dad before we ring Simone.”

  “I guess,” said Angel slowly. “But if Philip doesn’t pick up, I’m ringing Maman.”

  “Okay.”

  They reached the Rue de Rivoli.

  “Can you charge a cab fare and a hotel room to that thing?” asked Angel, nodding at the card.

  “Definitely. We can even order room service,” said Lily, smiling.

  Angel looked about for a cab. “Let’s wait over there,” she suggested, pointing across the road at the brightly lit shop windows. “One’s bound to come along soon.”

  As they crossed the road, Angel said suddenly, “How did you know Margot and Clarissa were in Paris?”

  “Elizabeth Montague rang me.”

  “But how did she know?”

  “A journalist from The Times came to my rehearsal. He was writing an article about Americans in London.” Lily bit her lip. “I was so rapt that he’d mentioned me and my performance it never occurred to me that anyone back home would see it. But Elizabeth saw it online and called Clarissa.”

  “But Elizabeth hates Clarissa.” Angel looked confused.

  “Which is why she wanted to make sure Clarissa knew about my success. She had no idea I was meant to be in Paris. So when Jacqueline told her that Margot and Clarissa were a no-show at the Country Club dance because they’d flown to France, Elizabeth got worried and rang me.”

  “If I’d only known they were coming … ” began Angel.

  “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer, and that’s when I knew I had to get to Paris.”

  “But when did Elizabeth call you?”

  “About five minutes before I was due to go on stage,” said Lily. “I left for the airport straight away.”

  “But what did you tell the Academy?”

  For one awful moment Angel thought Lily was going to cry and then she said firmly, “Nothing. There wasn’t time. I barely had time to tell the understudy.” She lifted her chin. “I told Brett though.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He was furious. He told me not to go.”r />
  “But you came anyway,” said Angel.

  Lily’s eyes met hers. “I nearly didn’t, Angel. Brett told me that if I walked out, the Academy wouldn’t have me back.”

  Angel paled. “I never meant for you to do that,” she whispered.

  “You’d have done it for me, Angel.”

  Angel nodded. She stared down the street, trying not to think of what they’d both lost: the London Academy, the Teen Couture, Lily’s friendship with Brett, and Nick.

  She looked up. “After Nick told you about the Louvre, did he say anything else?”

  “After he’d finished yelling at me, you mean?”

  “Nick yelled at you?”

  “Yeah, a bit, at first, but only because he was worried about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. He’d have been out looking for you except his parents told him he couldn’t desert his guests and it was better to leave it to the police.”

  “The police!” Angel was aghast.

  “Yeah, but it’s okay, because I called them as soon as I saw you. By now, everyone will know you’re safe—including Nick.” Lily took her hand. “Don’t look so miserable. If you want to know my opinion, I’m pretty sure it’s not over between you two.”

  Angel stared at her, torn between hope and wretched disbelief. “But even if that were true,” she said at last, “it’d never work. Not now that the Comtesse and Vidal and Nick’s parents know the truth. They must hate me.” Her face quivered. “Don’t you see? I can never come to Paris again and I’ll never be able to work in fashion.” She choked back a sob. “Not when Antoine Vidal believes I’m a thief and Clarissa is the real designer.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to prove him wrong,” said Lily firmly. “Show him and everyone else that Angel Moncoeur is not only a better person than the real Lily de Tourney, but she is also one heck of a fashion designer.”

  “But how?” asked Angel. “It’s impossible. It can’t be done.”

  “Oh, yes it can, because there’s a taxi and I have a plan.”