Heirs Book Two: American Lady (11 page)

Reluctantly the accusation pulled Charley’s
thoughts away from her love-induced fantasies of Maixent. She found
that keeping their affair clandestine only made it more
intoxicating when they did snatch moments alone. Her wanton inner
goddess urged her to indiscretions like inching her bare foot up
his leg to distract him while they were dining with his parents or
running her hand up under his polo shirt while standing behind him
and chatting casually with Thiérry as they took a break in their
tennis game.

But if she were going to marry Maixent she
wanted to be an integral part of his family. Resolutely she
concentrated on Aurelie’s words. The only eligible man who had come
into their obit during her stay at the palace was Thiérry. Charley
remembered how distraught Aurelie had been about her dress for the
Valentine Ball when Thiérry had been her partner. Her
hypersensitivity and snide remarks indicated a rather strong crush
on her brother’s best friend, Thiérry.

“And what’s the purpose of being a princess?
Am I expected to stay in St Benezet hosting Red Cross lunches and
opening garden shows for the rest of my life?” Aurelie continued
complaining. “Charley, you don’t know how lucky you are to get a
career for yourself. But what can a princess do? Maix has got his
future with the company as he calls it. But what do I have to look
forward to in the future?”

“I do know a little bit how you feel because
I didn’t choose to be born to famous parents, either. The American
press will never let me forget that I’m part of the most celebrated
political family in my country. But if you want to stay sane, you
have to learn to ignore all the fuss. Famous or not, all teenagers
angst over what they’ll do in the future. It’s just that our
mistakes are more public.” Mentally, Charley grimaced, remembering
some of the worst speculations about her love life splashed across
magazine headlines. The media coverage was something that Dan had
simultaneously sneered at and coveted, forever resentful that the
reporters were only interested in Charley and not his career.

“Listen, when I was your age I was more
confused about what to do with my life than a novice playing
Pictionary. Starting a career as a photographer was something that
happened haphazardly. I didn’t go to college planning it. ” Charley
was used to dispensing big sisterly, usually unheeded, advice, to
Declan.

Aurelie shook her head disconsolately and
Charley realized that once again her advice was going to be
ignored. “I feel trapped, like a prisoner. Everybody gets a say in
how my life is run except me,” she said bitterly.

Charley tried again. “You feel that way
because you’re putting your attention on what you can’t do. Change
that a hundred and eighty degrees and focus on all the things you
can do. For instance, you told me it’s your dream to study
literature at the Sorbonne, right? Your parents are letting you
stay out of the Altobello limelight in Paris with your uncle.
That’s something to be happy about. Sure, being a princess has
responsibilities. But you get a lot of privileges other people only
dream about.”

Charley smiled encouragingly but Aurelie
fell silent, glowering. Bombing out with Maixent’s little sister
was not what Charley wanted. Daydreams of being Princess Charmagne
beckoned but she resolutely pushed them aside to persist in trying
to change Aurelie’s mood. Inside her head she took a deep breath
and cracked out the jackhammer to dig deeper into Aurelie’s
disenchantment and do it quickly so Aurelie didn’t write off her
future sister-in-law’s inept attempts at relationship building
101.

While she was no Marilyn vos Savant, a quick
review of Aurelie’s complaints led her to the unmistakable
conclusion that Aurelie was jealous of her mother’s world-renowned
style and beauty. What Aurelie needed was not advice, but empathy.
Charley could honestly relate to Aurelie’s feelings. “It’s not easy
living with an icon for a mother. It’s hard to emerge from their
scene-stealing shadows and be seen as your own person.”

“No one sees me as a grown up woman. They
still think of me as Maix’s little sister. I thought that night at
the ball that,” Aurelie stopped suddenly, biting her lip not to
give away too much. “I mean I thought that night would change my
life.”

Yep, she had a bad crush on Thiérry. Did
Maix know? Probably not, because men tended to be blind about their
sisters. As she had already complained, Maix still treated her like
a young teenager whereas he viewed Thiérry as a contemporary.

“So things haven’t changed since you
returned from New York?”

They had reached the end of the Bayfront and
paused, Aurelie avoiding eye contact by looking ahead at the yachts
skimming jauntily along the blue waves. Behind them the cafes and
restaurants were lazily filling with diners, conversation buzzing
faintly towards them on the breeze. Charley’s stomach rumbled
hungrily. She caught Aurelie’s eye and gave an embarrassed
grin.

“Do you think we could continue this
conversation over lunch?”

Aurelie gave a shy smile and nodded. She
called the Swiss guard over and spoke quickly to him. He nodded
once and loped on ahead as Aurelie turned back to Charley.

“Let’s go to Ramboldi’s. You know, I hate
having bodyguards but sometimes they’re handy. Franz will scout
ahead for us and make sure we’re good for a table. Do you have to
have secret service agents when you’re in America?”

Charley chuckled. “Not at all. In fact when
dad became vice president back in the 1950s he didn’t even rate a
secret service agent. I know mom makes use of the secret service
from time to time but Declan and I prefer to live normal
lives.”

They passed under the green and white
striped awnings and outside diners, through a boisterous bar to be
placed at the back of the building at a tiny table in a private
nook away from windows. Charley blinked her eyes trying to adjust
to the darkness. It was so dim inside that she needed the
individual lamps on the tables as runway beacons guiding them to
their table. No doubt Aurelie had chosen Ramboldi’s for just this
factor so no tourists would be able to recognize her.

A waiter dashed forward with a pitcher
dripping condensation, to fill their glasses with ice water.
Charley drained her glass gratefully and the waiter carefully
refreshed it, two lemon slices floating on top. She ordered a
bouillabaisse topped with rouille while Aurelie ordered the
swordfish provencal with a shared plate of fougasse as a starter to
tide them over till their meals arrived. The waiter scurried
away.

“So, you were saying since you returned from
New York after the ball nothing has changed?”

The taupe linen tablecloth was set with
several fragile wineglasses and a battalion of silverware. Aurelie
played nervously with a knife.

“I’m dedicating myself to my studies. I’m
determined to graduate as Mention Très Bien, the equivalent of
summa cum laude in America.”

“I see. So, no interesting boys at the
Sorbonne? Hard to believe there isn’t some bad to the bone Parisian
heart throb to tempt you.”

Aurelie shook her head vehemently. “They’re
just immature boys,” she said with disgust, confirming Charley’s
suspicion that her crush was on Thiérry. They both paused as the
waiter returned with their bread.

Charley nibbled daintily at the deliciously
warm fougasse but Aurelie generously slathered her slices with
olives and mozzarella.

The taupe linen covered table was scattered
with crumbs by the time Aurelie, tensely swirling the morsels
around with a finger, spoke. “You don’t know how lonely I get
sometimes, Charley. My uncle Gaston and his wife Marie-Francoise
are enmeshed in their own lives and in furthering her artistic
interests. My fellow students give me a wide berth because of who I
am. The girls in my classes are airheads entrenched in trendy
cliques to discuss clothes and boys. I just can’t fit in.” She
sounded as world-weary as an eighty year old.

Charley was sure that Aurelie was too shy or
proud to make the first move towards friendship. It didn’t help
that Leigh had once again taken over the direction of Aurelie’s
wardrobe, trying to squeeze Aurelie into clothes that were simply
unflattering to her bodyshape. Her self-confidence was shot to
pieces and she had clearly piled on the kilos since February,
probably eating her own weight in delicious French pastries as she
sat night after lonely night humped over her text books.

The same waiter returned with their main
meals. Bowing deferentially, he offered them the pepper mill which
Charley waved away and Aurelie accepted.

“This swordfish is heavenly. Did you know
that Ramboldi’s head chef is the brother of Hyacinthe, the palace
chef? The two of them have such an intense rivalry that we can’t
mention it if we eat here. Makes it awkward because Ramboldi’s is
the Marchessenis’ favorite restaurant.”

The two girls savored their lunch in silence
for a few minutes.

“You and Maixent look good together. I’ve
never seen him react like this to a girl. You two seem to have more
chemistry than the periodic tables.” The yearning in Aurelie’s
voice was poignant, and it was easy to see she was longing for a
love of her own. Charley was unable to keep her radiant smile under
wraps. She was bursting to reveal their secret to his family, but
Maix insisted they take the politic route of waiting until she left
before he broached the subject of marriage with his parents.

Impulsively she reached across to press
Aurelie’s hand.

“Sweetie, you’re still nineteen. Life isn’t
passing you by just yet.” The misery in Aurelie’s eyes said clearly
she thought Charley was wrong, but what can you do when the only
man you’re interested in shows no desire for a relationship.

* * *

Meticulously Leigh arranged the camellia
blooms in the Steuben glass tulip bowl, their frothy pink
petticoats floating like a chorus of can-can dancers amid the dark
green of their skirts. She took great pleasure in ensuring that the
music room was always awash with the scent of fresh flowers because
she enjoyed her time here. In the corner by the sofa stood her
cross-stitch frame with her basket of silk threads.

Dernier Cri
magazine had sent a
photographer to the Palace just before Easter and she had staged a
photograph of herself, needle poised gracefully above her neat
stitching. Although the photograph had been staged, embroidery was
a suitably stately activity that Leigh actually enjoyed. She found
the intense concentration needed to ensure each stitch was in the
right place and her focus to ensure the chosen colored silks
harmonized, both soothing and meditatively zen-like. Just as she
enjoyed arranging the flowers for this room.

She moved the bowl to the Georgian side
table and as she did so Thiérry surged into the room, grasping her
around the waist. Startled, the glass slipped from her hands and
water and flowers cascaded over the Aubusson carpet. The shock of
the fall caused the repaired crack to fracture again.

“Now look what you’ve done!” she hissed
angrily, wrenching herself out of his arms and bending to pick up
the two halves of the bowl. Unlucky vase which Maixent had broken
so many years ago. She doubted it could be mended again.

“The servants will clean it up,” he remarked
scornfully, reaching for her again.

She slapped his hands away irritably. “That
was my favorite vase. Now I have to get someone in here to clean up
the mess before the carpet is ruined as well.” As Leigh moved past
him Thiérry caught her, pulling her against his body and burying
his mouth in her neck.

His strong hands clamped around her waist so
she couldn’t move. She pushed against his forearms, feeling his
muscles as rigid as wood. He moved one hand to release her breast
from its cup so it oozed into his hand beneath her cotton jersey.
He skimmed the flat of his hand over her nipple until it hardened,
then rolled it between his fingers until she gave a soft yelp. Her
heart was pounding wildly against her ribcage as she battled her
physical desire. She had to get away before her yearning body
surrendered recklessly to the passion building under his caress.
Summoning all her willpower and strength, she jabbed an elbow into
his chest, just below the sternum. Stunned, his arms released her
as the air whooshed out of his lungs and she swung around to slap
him hard across the cheek then leapt out of his reach.

“Don’t be like this. I know you want me.”
His voice wheezed as he caught his breath, one hand to his chest
and the other stretched out pleadingly. “When we get married I’m
going to keep all the other boytoys locked in the cupboard.”

“In your dreams!” she retorted,
straightening her bra and rearranging her jersey.

“Seriously, my intentions are honorable,
Leigh. I want to marry you when Henri dies. He can’t live forever.
He’s already past seventy.”

“Seventy is not a death sentence.” He was so
earnest about his intentions that she didn’t know whether to laugh
or be petrified. Obviously, keeping her distance for the past two
months and just saying no had not crushed his crush. She had to be
more ruthless. “Thiérry, I wouldn’t marry you even if Henri died
tomorrow.”

“Why not?” His perplexed brow was wrinkled,
as if he were deciphering Stephen Hawking’s theory on black
holes.

“Because you’re penniless.” Leigh made her
voice callous and uncaring. “All you and your father have are the
salaries the palace pays. That’s hardly going to keep me in
style.”

“So, if I was rich, say worth millions, then
you would marry me?” Thiérry persisted.

Swiftly Leigh backtracked as Thiérry moved
towards her. Before she could answer the door into the room was
pushed open by a boisterous Maixent.