The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [31]
“It cost him.” Madame Berri shook her head with a sideways look.
Claire shrugged, the what can you do in these times? expression the Parisians fell back on more and more. Still, her mouth watered looking at the table. “Thank you for asking, Madame Berri. About Paris. I do love it.”
“Good.” A grin tugged at her lips. “You may call me Odette.”
“Thank you, Odette. Please call me Claire.”
Laurent walked into the room with a woman on his arm. Unlike the other women in the room, she made no concessions for the cold weather. Early thirties, in a thin silk dress, deep green with fluttering cap sleeves. Dark hair cut short and fingered into place. Long emeralds dangled from her ears. Her thin silver heels cracked across the parquet floor.
Claire raised an eyebrow toward Odette.
“Couture. New, I’m sure.” Odette’s nose wrinkled, as if she’d eaten something bad.
Not Claire’s style, but no denying the clothes were expensive. Nicer than could be found in stores these days. But the woman wasn’t much to look at. Tiny eyes and a hard little mouth that seemed to search for reasons to turn down. It appeared Laurent had found himself a moneyed woman. Not what Claire expected to find this evening, but, she decided, good for him.
“Is that his latest?” Claire watched as they circled the room, welcoming guests, making their way toward the pair by the fire.
Odette’s head swiveled toward Claire. “Oh . . . No. I wish. That—” Odette sighed. “That is his wife of many years.”
A flash of heat tore through Claire’s body. He had asked, almost pleaded, for her to leave her husband and move to Paris with him, and he was married? She willed her cheeks cool, her expression composed while thoughts screamed in her head.
Laurent smiled and said hello to Odette, then switched to English as he turned to Claire. “Claire. I am so glad you could make it. Was Madame Palain not able to join us?”
Claire smiled, anger adding warmth that wasn’t there. Poise. Restraint. “Thank you, Laurent, for your kind invitation. Madame was indisposed tonight.” And it’s damn lucky for her she’s not here. Claire offered her cheeks for Laurent’s la bise, quick pecks, right and left, right and left.
He put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and drew her forward. “I would like you to meet someone. This is my, eh, wife, Sylvie Olivier.”
Sylvie’s eyes flicked once down and up Claire’s form. Her skin pinched around her lips as if she bit into a lemon.
Poise. Restraint. “Madame Olivier, I am pleased to—” Claire said.
Sylvie turned to Laurent. In a voice that cut across the room, she said in French, “From what I’d heard, I expected her to be more attractive, Laurent.”
Claire felt Odette flinch next to her. An icy smile stretched across Claire’s face. She’s going to play it this way, eh? Claire responded in French, her tone loud and cheery. “That is so sweet of Laurent to speak of me. He never mentioned you at all.”
Silence exploded across the room like a mortar. Claire arranged her most innocent expression. She knew how to win this game. Rising in position in New York society was a blood sport.
Grey coughed into his drink.
Claire kept her smile as Sylvie’s eyes glittered and her pinched expression deepened. It was a standoff, and neither woman was going to back down.
Laurent retained his smile but his eyes twitched like a snared animal’s. His discomfort was a small salve to Claire’s pride. He will have to chew off more than his foot to escape this trap, she thought.
“This is a beautiful display you put together tonight,” said Odette. “Laurent, would you like to open the champagne?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” He gestured welcome to the scattered guests in the room. “My good friends. Thank you all for joining us tonight. Please enjoy yourselves.”
He steered Sylvie away. She took her seat at the end of the table without another glance back.
Odette hung back with Claire. Her tone was light. “You must try the foie gras. This is from ducks raised in Gers. It is worth it.” A gentle squeeze on Claire’s arm held more meaning. There is more here than