Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [117]
Here came the parade of food to the banquet table. People lined up to watch servers bearing roasts, salads, fruits de mer, and gratins, and they exclaimed as each dish was carried past. Kelly carried a tray of spider crabs, red and spiky. She smiled; she looked almost happy to hear the crowd’s reaction. With rehearsed precision the chef directed each server where to place each dish. When all was in place, he began to carve the capon. Didier stood aside, grinning, next to his masked sister Clothilde.
“It’s fantastic!” Patrice said, running over to Lydie. Marcel helped the guests form a line while Guy took pictures of the untouched food. In this scene the only d’Origny pieces were the carving set, silver and vermeil serving pieces, and sterling silver boars, porcupines, and pheasants decoratively set around the banquet table.
The line began to move. People filled their plates, then went to find seats at white-clothed tables under the chestnut trees. The food smelled delicious, but Lydie wanted to wait until everyone had been served. Clothilde and Fulbert approached her. “C’est magnifique,” Clothilde said from behind her gold mask. “Vraiment,” said Fulbert. Clothilde leaned forward to kiss Lydie’s cheek, but instead of lips Lydie felt only cool metal. She smiled at the mask, an astonishing disk of thin gold with rays that wavered and made Lydie think of Medusa.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Lydie said. “Did Guy take some pictures of you? That mask is incredible.”
“A roll, at least,” Patrice said. “Wouldn’t you say, Clothilde?”
Michael tensed. Lydie could feel it even though her back was to him. Then she heard Anne’s voice. “ ‘Because out of modesty and lack of interest in his appearance he had omitted to put ribbons on the bottom of his breeches, so that he looked quite naked …’ ” she said.
“Anne!” Michael said sharply.
Perhaps she didn’t quite recognize him. She tilted her head from side to side. “ ‘There was some muddle about his wig, which made him wear the side at the back for quite a time, so that his cheek was quite uncovered.’ ” Her voice rose until she nearly screeched: “ ‘He went on pulling, but what was wrong refused to come right. It was a minor disaster.’ ” At that she yanked Clothilde’s gold mask from her face and clutched it to her bosom.
Clothilde gasped and touched her cheek, which Anne had scratched. Fulbert leapt forward to grab the mask, but Anne kicked him in the groin. He fell to the ground moaning. Michael stepped toward her; Anne stepped back. Her eyes on his, she said, “ ‘But in the same line Monsieur de Montchevreuil and Monsieur de Villars got caught up in each other so furiously—swords, ribbons, lace, all the tinsel, everything got so mixed up, tangled, involved, all the little hooks were so perfectly hooked up with each other that no human hand could separate them …’ ”
“ ‘But what completely upset the gravity of the ceremony,’ ” Patrice said, seeming to quote from the same text as Anne, “ ‘was the negligence of old d’Hocquincourt …’ ”
Anne focused on her. Her eyes were no longer dreamy, but suspicious, as if she was not quite sure of where she was. She looked from Patrice to Michael to Lydie to the mask she held in her hands. Lydie could imagine her balling it up like a sheet of tinfoil. Anne stared down at it for a moment, then looked up at Patrice. She handed the mask to Clothilde, who accepted it, stunned. Fulbert sat on the ground, holding his crotch.
“It’s not so lovely, is it?” Anne asked.
“The mask?” Patrice said, slipping her arm around Anne’s shoulder. “No. I’m sure you-know-who would have considered it pretty gaudy.”
“She had the most exquisite taste,” Anne said.
“You remind me of her,” Patrice said. “Really. Where did you have that wig made?”
Anne dimpled, patted her hair. “At Monsieur Antoine’s, bien sûr. He is old and doesn’t take many new clients, but if you are interested, I shall introduce you.”
“How kind you are to share him with me,” Patrice said. She glanced quickly at Lydie, then led Anne away.
“What a shocking woman,” Clothilde said,