Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [107]
Michael nodded but said nothing.
“Leave now, Michel,” Anne said, in as sane a voice as Michael had ever heard. He obliged.
The weather is wonderful … I find the countryside lovely, and my Loire River is as beautiful here as at Orléans. It is a pleasure to meet old friends en route. I brought my large carriage so that we are in no way crowded.
—TO FRANÇOISE-MARGUERITE, MAY 1675
DAWN WAS ABOUT to break and Château Bellechasse stood in mist rising from its moat and from the Loire River, wide and sluggish, on whose banks it stood. Built of smooth stone, asymmetrical, the château had pointed turrets, balconies, massive doors that could hold back an army. Roses clung to its walls, and perhaps it was the château’s fairy-tale delicacy that made Lydie give the roses old names: Florizel, Belle Isis, Belle de Crécy. Lydie remembered telling Kelly the news last night and pressed closer to Michael. All the way down from Paris he had responded every time she’d stirred; now he pressed her right back.
“Sleeping Beauty, we’ve come to rescue you,” Patrice said from the front seat, but in a flat voice. How were they going to accomplish this? How could they stage a festive ball when everyone felt miserable? Lydie felt like a bundle of nerves: the least thing was going to set her off. She had arranged for several country-house-weekend sort of activities for the photographer’s benefit: the grouse hunt, dressing for the ball, and the ball itself. Now all she wanted to do was snuggle under an eiderdown.
Tiny stones crunched under the wheels as Didier steered the car into a lot behind the stable. The other vehicles in their caravan from Paris followed. Lydie, Michael, Patrice, and Didier climbed out without speaking, stretched, looked around. A perfect lawn stretched to the riverbank in one direction, to a dense forest in the other. Lydie and Patrice stood together as Michael and Didier directed the truck, full of props and two borrowed hunting dogs, and four cars, full of servants, photographers, and d’Origny’s guards, to park beside his car.
“Did you sleep last night?” Patrice asked.
“No,” Lydie said. “Did you?”
“No,” Patrice said. “I can’t bear to face her today. I wish she’d decided to stay home.” Both women looked toward the truckload of servants, Kelly and her sister among them. They had urged Kelly to stay with her family; when she would not, they had invited her sister to come with her.
“Once Kelly says she’ll do something, she does it,” Lydie said. “She would think that by not coming she’d be letting me down.”
“There’s a sorry little tone in your voice that tells me you think you let Kelly down,” Patrice said. “You didn’t. You went to the mat for her.”
“We’re going to miss our chance, if we don’t hurry,” Didier said, removing his gun case from the trunk.
Lydie tried to organize herself; they would have to rush to set up the hunting shots in time to catch dawn and the morning mists. Then the entire day loomed ahead, until the ball that night. Michael came to stand beside her. Although he didn’t touch her, his presence strengthened her. Lydie sighed.
“You did your best,” Patrice said. “Tell me you know that.”
“At the moment I’m a bit distracted. Here we are, photographing jewels at a beautiful château. Doesn’t it seem a little … unbalanced?” Lydie asked.
“But you’ll get through this, won’t you?” Patrice asked anxiously. “For Didier?”
At Patrice’s concern for her husband’s project, Lydie smiled. “Yeah. I’ll even do a good job.”
Patrice gave her an impetuous hug, then walked toward Didier. Lydie and Michael stood alone. Lydie realized that Michael had never been with her at a major shoot, and that gave her something new to feel nervous about. “Just pretend I’m not here,” Michael said. “Or else let me be your flunky and give me something to do.”
Lydie laughed. “There’s nothing I can think of … just watch, if you want.”
“If I want? Are you kidding?” Michael said.
Lydie forced herself to concentrate, to explain her ideas to the photographer. “Mysterious and funky, very dramatic,” she said. “We want the feeling of