Parisian Promises by Cecilia Velástegui

Author:Cecilia Velástegui [Velástegui, Cecilia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Libros Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Madame la Vicomtesse

The Vicomtesse Agnès Challant de La Guerche stormed into the pool house in the same abrupt way she’d stampeded past the salon the night before. She had neither greeted nor even acknowledged the presence of Monica, Lola or Christophe. She’d simply proceeded to shut herself in the master suite of the château for the rest of the evening.

This morning she was a study in severity, dressed all in black. The tight riding clothes clung to her skinny, wiry body like a dark straitjacket, the perfect complement to her ebony helmet hair. Only her alabaster skin and a tuft of white hair in her fringe lent a degree of softness to her mien. This illusion of delicateness was, however, exactly that: an illusion.

“Bonjour, les enfants,” she chirped and yanked open all the Venetian blinds in the pool house. The sunlight blinded Lola and Monica, both harboring a bad hangover. “Aren’t you the art students that Madame Caron de Pichet insisted must paint en plein air on my property? She couldn’t wait for my return, I see. Well, now I can’t wait to get started on critiquing your work.”

“Bonjour, Madame,” crowed Monica, clutching a sheet up to her chest and trying to sit up. Lola wriggled down under the covers to hide from the sun.

“That simply won’t do, my little Américaines,” the Vicomtesse reprimanded. “It is customary to address me as Madame la Vicomtesse. Surely Serge instructed you in our ways, didn’t he?”

“I apologi––”

“No need to apologize. I’ll deal with Serge later.” She clapped forcefully to get Lola’s attention. “Just rise and shine and meet me by the easels set up in the arbor in ten minutes. Let me evaluate your sketches. I am a judge of artistic talent––and, I should warn you, I am brutally honest.”

Madame la Vicomtesse positioned herself at the end of the bed and lifted the down duvet. “Only four female feet, how very odd,” she mumbled, frowning.

She cracked her small riding whip and looked under the bed. “Come out, you scoundrel!” she commanded, waiting with her hands on her hips. But when nothing emerged, she marched out of the pool house without another word.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Lola, emerging from under the covers.

“The owner of this château. She wants to look at our sketches right away.”

“Who was she looking for in our bed? Is she insane or what? It’s too early.” Lola covered her head with a pillow.

“She’s obviously very demanding,” Monica conceded, “but we did spend the night here and we ate her food and drank her champagne––lots of champagne. So let’s at least be civil and go to the arbor. She might give us some good tips on how to improve our work.”

“Hell no, I won’t go,” chanted Lola, as though this were an anti-Vietnam rally back in L.A.

“Please!” Monica pleaded. “Don’t cause any problems for me or for Madame Caron de Pichet. She’s a dear old friend of Madame la Vicomtesse. That’s what we have to call her, by the way, in case you didn’t hear.

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