Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [108]
Guy nodded, trying out settings on his light meter. They had worked together often, and Lydie knew he didn’t need specific direction. She caught sight of Kelly, standing with other servants. She waved to Kelly, motioning for her to step away from them so that Lydie could speak to her privately, but Kelly misunderstood, or pretended to. She waved back at Lydie, then turned away. What did it say about Kelly’s spirit and drive that she would come to the Loire, having been told she didn’t have to, the day after her world was rocked forever?
As Patrice came toward Lydie, Lydie had the impression of looking into a funhouse mirror. Patrice was a tall, dark-haired, identically dressed version of herself. Lydie had borrowed “shooting clothes” from Patrice and dressed at home, before dawn. This was the first time they’d been face-to-face in near daylight. A khaki skirt, rolled at the waist to shorten it; a tawny suede jacket with compartments full of shotgun shells. “Didier is out of his mind with joy,” Patrice said. “He’s already seen a deer on the front lawn.”
“He’s not going to shoot deer, is he?” Lydie asked, momentarily distracted from Kelly.
“No, just birds.” She looked from Lydie to Michael to the photographer. “We about ready?” she asked.
“As ready as ever was,” Lydie said. Her concentration had kicked in, and she discovered that she meant it. Then Didier came forward, followed by a guard carrying a black lockbox, and the hunt was on.
Patrice, Didier, Michael, and Lydie walked four abreast through a hayfield, waist-deep in mist. Only Lydie was gunless. Guy and Marcel, the guard, followed. Lydie listened to the rasp of boots through dry grass she could not see. It was not quite dark, though the sun had not yet risen. The world was pale and gray, the color of a cloud.
Then wings flapped, birds cackled, and shadows appeared on the lightening sky. There were two nearly simultaneous orange bursts: Didier’s gun and Guy’s flash. Lydie jumped. The dogs, only their heads visible over the mist, raced to find the birds.
“Great shot!” Patrice said. Didier, in his padded green hunting jacket, looked proud and excited.
“Let’s see what the dogs bring back before you say that,” he said.
Lydie stood still as Patrice and Didier hurried forward to meet the dogs. They seemed pleased by the catch, but Lydie hardly noticed. The shot roared in her ears, and she felt curious about something that had never occurred to her before: what was it really like for her father? She wasn’t thinking of the impact on her family or wondering about his last crazed thoughts. For the first time, she wondered whether the shot rang in his ears, whether he had even heard it.
“Four grouse in one shot!” Didier called.
“Still a little too dark for good pictures,” Guy said.
Didier stuffed the bloody birds into a leather sack slung over his shoulder. “Let’s get a few more before we start taking pictures.”
The line formed again, continuing across the field. The rising sun, illuminating the silvery mist and dark forest, made the scene beautiful and eerie, and after Didier shot another bird and Patrice shot three, Lydie told everyone to stop. “You can keep hunting, but we have to start photographing,” she said. “Marcel?”
Marcel, tall and dour, came to her, bearing the lockbox in outstretched hands. He wore a pistol on his hip. “Didier?” she said.
Didier produced a key, opened the box. Although Lydie had never seen the actual jewels, she knew what would be inside. Michael said “wow” at the sight of them, but Lydie went about her business methodically, noticing but not distracted by their sparkle. She pinned a sapphire-and-diamond brooch, shaped like a snowcapped mountain, on