Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [109]
“Now, that’s my idea of a rock,” Patrice said. She held out her gloved hand, wiggled her index finger. “Slip it on.”
Didier tried. It didn’t fit. “Shit, Marcel,” he said. “You know her size.”
“Perhaps without the glove,” Marcel said.
It didn’t fit her bare finger. Lydie’s eye was on the sun, which was shining through the forest. Soon it would rise above the trees, and the mist would burn off. “Let’s forget the ring,” she said. “Give Patrice some dangling diamond earrings, and let’s take pictures.”
Didier came to Lydie, held her right hand, slid the ring over her brown kid-gloved ring finger. “There,” he said. “Now grab your gun.”
Lydie froze. The sight of that huge diamond on her finger was mesmerizing, but she looked past it, to the rifle Didier was holding out. “I can’t,” she said.
“You don’t have to shoot,” Guy said. “Just pose, holding the gun. It’s what we planned. There’s not much time.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Michael said, but Lydie reached for it, in a daze. Her fingers closed around the wooden handle, highly polished and engraved with Didier’s name. It was the first time she had ever touched a gun. Its weight surprised her; she had no idea of how to hold it.
“Left hand on the barrel,” Patrice said, “the stock in your armpit, and your finger on the trigger.”
Lydie pointed at the sky, looked down the barrel at the sight. Her father had used a shotgun. Shooting his Margaret Downes, he could have used two hands. But how heavy, how clumsy it must have been to turn the gun on himself, to hold it in one hand, point it at his head, and pull the trigger. “Take the picture,” she said to Guy. “Fast.” His flash went off three times, in quick succession, and Lydie lowered the gun.
“Excellent shots,” Guy said. “With that diamond and the gun metal sparkling, and dawn breaking through those trees.”
“Let’s take another try for birds,” Didier said. “Get some pictures of Patrice in these earrings.”
Lydie started to join them in line, but Michael took her hand, held her back. Michael said nothing, only looked into her eyes. The gun had felt so solid, Lydie thought. He would have had to lift it, aim it, pull the trigger. It took some time. Had he been scared of what he was about to do? The phrase “without hope” came into her mind. Lydie thought of Kelly, a young woman with high hopes journeying far from the Philippines. Another journeyer came to mind. She thought not of her mother, but of her father, a young man full of dreams, sailing on a steamer out of Rosslare Harbor, setting a southwest course for New York City.
The day was sunny, hot for September. Patrice and Lydie both wore sundresses. Patrice followed Lydie around. Now they were in search of Kelly and had walked from the kitchen to the salon to the lawn, where they found Michael and Didier sitting side by side in chaise longues.
“It’s definitely warm enough to hold the ball outdoors,” Lydie said to Didier.
“But why, when we have that beautiful ballroom?” he asked. “My guests would prefer it.”
“I’m thinking of the pictures,” Lydie said. “The château owners told me about chandeliers in the attic, from when this place was new, made for hanging in trees. Imagine hanging them in those chestnuts over there—” She pointed across the lawn. “I mean, anyone can hold a ball in a ballroom …”
Michael grinned at Lydie’s powers of persuasion. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Okay—we dance under the stars,” Didier said.
“Let’s check out those chandeliers,” Patrice said.
“We’ll need help,” Lydie said. “Let’s find Kelly, okay?”
Kelly stood in the great kitchen peeling carrots. The sight of her pierced Patrice’s heart. Patrice had harbored such mixed feelings about Kelly’s going to America, but now she felt only wholehearted sorrow that Kelly’s chance was lost. Other workers stopped talking at the sight of Patrice and Lydie. “Hey, there,” Patrice said to Kelly.
“Oh, hello, Mum,” Kelly said. To Patrice she looked unchanged,