Leonie (39 page)

Caro laughed. “Don’t forget you’re also a beautiful woman,” she said, “and from what I can see, he looks like a very attractive man.”

Léonie examined him as he threaded his way through the tables toward them. She had thought him so old when she had met him on the train, but now she realized that he could have been no more than thirty. She smiled, at sixteen, thirty
is
old. He was short and wiry, with dark hair, prematurely graying at the sides, and amused brown eyes that met hers admiringly as he took her hand.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember,” he said.

“You played a more important role in my life than you know, Monsieur Bernard, and, besides, I couldn’t remember whether I ever paid you back the train fare—am I guilty?”

“I had a note from you with the money a few weeks later. I think you sent me your first wages.”

She laughed. “I probably did. I was an honest woman then. Caro, this is Paul Bernard, a theatrical entrepreneur—I think that was what it said on your card?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.…”

“We were just about to have some coffee,” said Caro quickly. “Won’t you join us?”

Léonie stared at her in surprise. Why the sudden enthusiasm for Paul Bernard? Of course, Caro wanted her to meet some attractive men.

“Now, what was it you were saying, Monsieur Bernard?” asked Caro with a smile, as he accepted the chair pulled forward by the waiter.

“Do you remember when we met on the train, I told you that you had what was needed to become a success in cabaret? Even as a simple country girl, you had the looks—no, more than that, there was an arrogance, a flamboyance lurking under those layers of woolens. I saw you again, twice. At the Internationale.”

Léonie groaned. “Oh, God, I’ll never forget it.”

“You shouldn’t forget it, it was probably the best introduction you could have had to show business—nothing could ever be worse. It was humiliating, especially for the young girl you were then.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean ‘innocent’?”

He thought about it. “Yes, possibly. But that’s in the past. What I want to talk about is the present. Where you are now. You are a public figure—known to everyone in Paris, probably in the whole of France. People would flock to a theater just to see the beautiful mistress of the Duc de Courmont.…”

She was shocked. “Like a freak in a circus!”

“I didn’t mean that, and it’s certainly not true. They’d come to see
you:
a beautiful woman, tragically forced to hide away her child so that a rich, powerful man can’t take the child away from her. The public would adore it, they would pay just to see you.”

“To see me? But what would I do?” she asked, remembering
that she had posed exactly the same question all those years ago on the train.

“You’d make a fortune,” he replied quietly.

Money. Once again she needed money, this time to pay for the lawyers—or at least to be able to pay back Alphonse and Caro, since it was they who were spending a small fortune hiring lawyers on her behalf. She had worked in the cabaret before when she needed money and she flinched at the memory. No, it was too much, too humiliating. No money was worth it.

So that was it, he thought, he’d said the right thing, she needed money. “I promise you that it would be nothing like before. You’ll be prepared this time, you’ll learn what to do, how to move, how to use your voice. It will take a little time, but we’ll make you the most famous—
not
the most notorious—woman in Europe, Léonie Bahri. And a rich one.”

She shivered at the thought of the cabaret—a fortune, he had said. She could pay back Alphonse, pay for her sins, pay for Amélie. “I’ll think about it,” she agreed finally.

Caro sighed as they shook hands. All I thought was that he was an attractive man, and it’s time she met someone—and now look what’s happened. Oh, dear, I’ve done it again!

“Léonie, you can’t,” protested Caro as they drove toward the law courts. The preliminary hearing was that afternoon, and the purpose of the lunch had been to boost Léonie’s morale, but now, instead, she was disturbed.

Léonie sighed. “I wish I were brave enough to do it—he said I could make a fortune, Caro. I’d be able to pay back you and Alphonse; after all, Amélie is my responsibility, not yours.”

“We’ve already discussed that. Alphonse is doing this for himself now, as well as you.” He’d been there when Léonie had had to part with Amélie, he’d gone through the search for Charles’s killer, he hated de Courmont now almost as much as Léonie did. “It doesn’t matter, Léonie, he can well afford it. Of course, he’s not as rich as Monsieur, but he’s still very rich.”

Léonie was silent. They had both been so good to her, it was only because of them that she had survived. Caro had helped her to pay for the expansions to the inn, adding extra rooms so she would be able to take more guests. And now this court case. There must be some other way to make money, but what could she do? She knew only how to be a kept woman—and she wasn’t very
successful at that. The cab drew up in front of the law courts and she stared at the solid, intimidating stone building with a pang of fear.

Caro took her arm and squeezed it. “It’s all right, it’s only a preliminary hearing. It’ll just be between the lawyers today—no one is going to ask you any questions.” They walked down the gloomy, echoing corridors together and the usher held open the door to let them pass. The small courtroom was crowded, spectators lined the benches and journalists waited avidly, pens poised over notebooks. Her lawyer came forward to greet her, and taking a deep breath she entered the courtroom.

She could feel the curious eyes on her, crawling all over her, searching for signs of emotion in her face, taking in the details of her dress as she walked with him to his desk, sitting with her eyes lowered, waiting. She remembered Loulou’s words from so long ago: chin up, spine straight, look them in the eye. She lifted her head, tilting her chin at an arrogant angle, and looked directly into the eyes of Monsieur sitting opposite. She hadn’t expected it; wasn’t it just going to be the lawyers?
No one had told her that he would be there!
Panic flowed through her body. She couldn’t move: she gazed into his eyes as though mesmerized—those familiar dark, deep blue eyes, those eyes that knew her as no other man’s ever had. There had been so much between them, so much passion, so many storms—and now so much hate. But she would have loved him if he’d only let her; how different life would have been then. He was thinner and there were lines around his eyes and deep grooves by the sides of his mouth. He looked different, but he was still an attractive man. She wondered, with a flicker of jealousy, if there were other women; did he have new lovers?

When Léonie lowered her eyes he felt as though she had shut him out of her world. For a moment she had been his again. What was she thinking as she sat there? Did she hate him? He remembered those first days on the Côte d’Azur, when her thoughts had been so transparent he’d been able to read them in her face. No longer. I’m only doing it for your own good, Léonie, he wanted to say to her, to bring you to your senses, so you’ll come back to me.

The judge took his seat and the lawyers conferred and the reporters scribbled busily. Léonie felt isolated, quite separate from the whole scene, as though it were happening to someone else, like a dream. How odd, she thought, that this is all happening to me and because of me, and yet I feel like a spectator. I sit here and
people all around me discuss Amélie and make decisions about her future and I’m helpless to do anything about it. It was the same feeling she’d had when Rupert left her and she had been alone and penniless at the inn—Monsieur had won then, but he wouldn’t win now. She had resolved then that she would never again be poor and at anyone’s mercy. Today Paul Bernard had offered her a way out and she had been too proud to accept it, but not anymore. Monsieur wouldn’t stop at this court case, she knew it now. He’d meant it when he said he would get Amélie if it took him forever. This was a lifelong struggle, and if she were to win she would need money. If Paul Bernard were right and people would pay to see her, then she would do it. Then she’d be able to protect Amélie always—even if it cost every sou she ever made.

It was over. The case had been stated and an adjournment declared for preparing fresh documents. Léonie could feel Monsieur’s gaze, forcing her to look at him.

Her lawyer took her arm and escorted her from the court, followed by murmurs of admiration from the crowd. Caro had been right about the navy blue dress, she thought grimly; it was the perfect image. But it would be a different one on stage: there she would have to be the mistress, not the mother.

Monsieur walked from the court flanked by his lawyers and watched by the now-silent crowd. Léonie was in front of him, her blond hair coiled tightly on her neck, tied with a girlish blue velvet ribbon. He longed to touch it, to feel its silken texture … if only she’d turn around and speak to him. But she didn’t. Caro rushed forward and took her arm, hurrying her from the building. He watched until they had disappeared in the crowd, and then he walked alone down the steps, back to his splendid house on the Ile Saint-Louis.

Marie-France stared at the newspaper in disbelief. The words of the article jumped out at her—it was a full account of the previous day’s court hearing in the custody battle for a daughter between Léonie Bahri and Gilles! There were even descriptions of the protagonists—the slender, beautiful, young blond mother and the arrogant, rich aristocrat. Oh, the papers loved it, it was the kind of story they would follow for weeks—months—in all its juicy details. And she had known nothing about it. Nothing! She had been away for more than a month at the château and had returned only yesterday—and Gilles had said
nothing
. All Paris had known before
she did! She was so angry she was shaking; she hadn’t even known about the child. She picked up the paper again to check—a daughter, it said, Amélie, now eight years old.
Eight years!
He hadn’t seen Léonie in years; why was he suing her now for the child—and one she claimed was another man’s? She reread the words, letting the details sink in this time. Dear God, how could Gilles do this, didn’t he realize what a fool he was making of himself—and of her! Had he even considered her feelings when he took this action? He was humiliating himself and her; their name was being dragged through the courts and daily newspapers for everyone to read and speculate over. It was the scandal of the decade! She thought of Gérard and Armand—what was he thinking of, to do this to his sons. It couldn’t go on.

She walked to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of brandy. It was the first time in her life she had ever done such a thing, but the spirits calmed her and she began to think more logically about what she must do. First she must speak with Gilles and then there must be a family meeting. Her own family as well as his would be against him, they would use all their efforts to stop him. Nothing would harm the good name of her children, she would make sure of that.

–
• 37 •

Léonie’s days were divided between lengthy meetings at the stuffy wood-paneled offices of her lawyers and the bare cold room where she was learning her craft, being put through her paces by Paul Bernard’s team of choreographers, voice teachers, writers, and costume designers. They exercised her, danced with her, and sang with her until she was on the point of exhaustion and knew that she would never be any good, crying her anger at Paul, accusing him of trying to humiliate her.

“It’s not so, Léonie,” he reassured her as she sat on the bare wooden boards, sweating and limp, tears running down her cheeks. “I promised you that it wouldn’t be like last time, and it won’t, even more so, because now we know you have a voice.”

“But it’s so small, they’ll never hear me.”

It was true, her voice was small, but it had a roughness, a core of emotion, that was appealing, and it was a bonus he hadn’t counted on. Of course he had known they could get her into shape so she would know how to hold herself and be able to pace through some simple dance movements—it would have been enough for the audience, who only wanted a glimpse of the notorious Léonie—but the voice was
good
. “Dry your tears,” he commanded, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“I don’t want to see anyone. I’m too tired.” Wearily she pushed the damp hair from her brow.

“He’s a songwriter; he’ll be writing special songs for you.”

“For me? But why … I’ve just learned all these others.” She was too tired, she didn’t want to be bothered. All she wanted was to go home and forget the whole thing, but she couldn’t, she had to go on. It was for Amélie.

Jacques Miel was probably her age and was neither attractive nor unattractive. He was just sort of ordinary, except that he
wrote the most incredibly romantic songs, songs of love and loss—and sex. An inner life burned behind those rimless spectacles and within that thin body. It seemed as if all his energy and emotion was poured into his music and his lyrics. God may have made his features ordinary, but his was one of the most inspired talents she had ever known. He was fascinating. From the moment she met him, the stage act that had loomed in her mind as a near disaster took on a different aspect, and for the first time she felt that it might possibly succeed. And all because of Jacques’s songs.

She began to spend her evenings at his apartment, going over the lyrics with him. He knew exactly the phrasing she should use; he was better than the voice teacher.

“You don’t have a trained voice,” he told her, “but what you do have is a special quality. It’s rough on those lower notes, a bit raw and sexy … that’s what we need to use. We don’t want you singing sweet little songs, that’s not you, Léonie.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked wistfully. It would have been nice to be sweet and simple.

“It’s not you on stage.” He amended his statement.

“That’s the problem. I wish it weren’t me on stage. I’m afraid of all those eyes crawling over me, looking at Léonie Bahri. What do I have to offer them? It just makes me want to hide.”