Lessons in French by Hilary Reyl

Author:Hilary Reyl [Reyl, Hilary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781451687941
Google: 3QFwBwAAQBAJ
Amazon: 145168794X
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2013-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

thirty-one

I rushed home to meet Portia.

As Orlando and I panted into the courtyard, we were greeted by a grinning Madame Fidelio. A jeune monsieur très bien had left flowers for me today, she said, handing me a large bouquet of pink and white peonies from Bastien, which I was cradling, incredulous, thinking about how much such out-of-season flowers could possibly cost, hearing Mom rant about the absurdity of South American flowers when there were perfectly good ones in our own backyard, when I bumped into Clarence and Henri.

“Thanks for walking Orlando,” said Clarence, obviously for Henri’s benefit since I walked Orlando every day. Despite his inherited wealth, Henri had no servants and Clarence didn’t like to appear soft.

Henri looked almost timidly at me, as though something had changed between us since last night’s turkey dinner, but then he turned to the peonies and gave them a familiar smile.

“I am telling our friend Clarence that I do not believe in guilt.” The flowers floated in the blue of his gaze. “Do you believe in guilt, Katie? Do you believe you have any responsibility you don’t deeply feel?”

I gave a demented smile and a hesitant head shake.

Clarence must have told him about Claudia, I thought, trying to catch Clarence’s attention with a look of significance. But his eyes were scattershot. He took Henri’s arm and began to pull him away.

“Christ, not now, Henri. Goodnight, Katie. Excuse us. We’re late for the opening of a dear friend. He’ll never forgive us.”

“But perhaps Katie would like to come to the gallery?”

“Thanks, but I’m having a drink with Portia.”

“Lovely,” said Clarence in a particularly unlovely voice as he dragged Henri off. After a few paces, though, he stopped, his back stiffened, and he turned around to me. He took his wallet from his pocket and handed me a one-hundred-franc note. “Here. The two of you have a good time.”

One hundred francs was an obscene amount of money. He must be atoning for something.

• • •

I tried to open the front door quietly so as to have some time to compose myself, into what I did not know, but I did know I was not ready to face Portia.

Ready or not, she heard me and called me into her bedroom to show me the clothes Lydia had bought her with Sally Meeks’s journalist discount. The new outfits were laid out on her bed and dressing table, draped over her chair.

“So?” she said brightly. The Valium must have worn off.

“Portia, your father just gave me, gave us, one hundred francs to buy our drinks tonight.”

“Oh, he’s obviously feeling guilty!” She laughed.

“Guilty for what?”

“My God, Kate, don’t be so serious! Mother asked him to come out to dinner with us, and he said he had to go to an opening with Henri, and she tried to make him feel bad.”

“Oh. That’s all.”

“He really is the world’s sweetest man, Daddy. I should admire him.” Then she laughed again. “I should try to be earnest, like you. Where on Earth did you get those amazing flowers? We have to get you a vase.

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