The Masterpiece by Belinda Alexandra

Author:Belinda Alexandra [Alexandra, Belinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Eve

Paris, June 1946

The morning after the Fouquets’ ball, I sat in front of Marthe de Villiers, Madame Fouquet and Lucile like a doomed aristocrat before the Revolutionary Tribunal. And like those hapless victims of the past, I too knew that it was a mere formality and that my fate was already sealed, no matter the evidence presented or the pleas made.

‘What a scandal!’ said Madame Fouquet with a shiver full of repugnance. ‘And in my home! The one I welcomed this young woman into as a complete stranger in a spirit of generosity. Why, I heard that young Hubert Thirard was so taken with her that he asked his mother for permission to court her. It’s one thing for her to have led a doddery old man astray . . . but to have almost destroyed that young man’s future is unforgivable.’

Marthe stopped weeping her false tears for a moment and frowned. ‘My husband is a hero of Verdun, Edith,’ she said. ‘It’s taken me years to nurse him back to a state of equilibrium since he received that terrible injury in the service of France. Then this woman destroys all my efforts for her own personal gain.’

Although they had formed an alliance, it was obvious that Marthe and Madame Fouquet were not friends. They were united in their ambition to keep certain people out of their circle of society. I was sure that if Lucile’s friends had known about Cyrille’s previous pursuits of young women, then Madame Fouquet would certainly have known too. It was not my having been caught in a compromising position with Cyrille that irked her, but that her ball had been infiltrated by someone who was of an ‘inferior’ class.

The only one who could save me was Lucile. If she would address the difficulty with a firm hand, the other two women would have to back down. But when I tried to catch her attention, she stared at her coffee cup, which Madame Fouquet promptly filled. Without my guidance, she seemed to have turned into a lump of dough, entirely unable to direct her own thoughts and therefore was easily led by Marthe and Madame Fouquet.

‘It’s a terrible shock, my dear,’ Madame Fouquet said to Lucile, ‘to be treated so terribly by someone you were only trying to help. But young women like that never change. You should never let servants get the upper hand.’

The word ‘servant’ hit a nerve. They might have been richer and more powerful, but I wasn’t going anywhere quietly.

‘Lucile,’ I said, ‘you must know that I would never have anything to do with Cyrille de Villiers. The man is completely odious. He launched himself at me. Marthe set us up.’

‘Oh, the cheek!’ said Marthe. ‘Not only a tart but a liar! She was after his money.’ Then weeping into her handkerchief again, she added, ‘What have I done to deserve this? I’ve been a loyal and loving wife.’

‘I can’t bear to hear any more of this,’ said Madame Fouquet. ‘I have a hairdresser’s appointment at eleven o’clock and a luncheon at twelve.

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