When Gen came home from work on the third day, Maman had returned. She was alone, a heap of pink silk, ruffles, and blond hair on the sofa. And she was weeping.
“Maman, what is it?”
Suzette let out a long, plaintive wail. “Hercule has thrown me over!”
Oh, no. Gen had suspected this was coming, but not so soon.
Gen dropped onto the sofa next to her mother, who was in disarray, in her dressing gown, her hair unbound and tangled. “Perhaps it was just a quarrel. You’ve argued before and patched things up.”
“No!” Suzette cried. “No, it’s all over now. He says he’s finished with me forever.”
“He’s a bastard.”
“Geneviève!”
“Maman, he is. You’re better off without him.”
Suzette tilted her head. “You know, you’re right, Gen.”
“Of course I am.”
“Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going out tonight. There’s a great fête at the Rivoli ballroom tonight. Everyone will be there. I’ll wear my best dress, and every man there will be at my feet with longing.”
“That’s more like it.” It wasn’t what Gen would do, but she’d long ago realized that she and her mother viewed the world very differently.
“I’ve got that red dress that was just delivered. Good thing I ordered it while Hercule was still paying the bills, right? It will serve him right when I wear it to entice another man.”
“Excellent. I’ll leave you to get ready,” Gen said, standing up and heading for their tiny kitchen to see if there was anything to eat for dinner. Her mother caught her hand as she passed.
“But I haven’t any gloves!”
“Maman, you’ve got scores of gloves.”
“Nothing new. My newest pair has a hole in the little finger. Gen, I can’t appear in patched gloves. I’ll look desperate. It’s vital that I look as if I haven’t a care in the world.”
With a sigh, Gen resigned herself to the inevitable. “I’ll pop out and get you a new pair, shall I?”
At that, Suzette’s eyes slid away. “Well, we’re a bit short of cash at the moment.”
A tickle of dread formed in Gen’s stomach. “Maman, what have you done with LeVeq’s allowance? He gives you money every week. You were meant to be saving some.”
The last time her mother had parted with a lover, Gen had explained that these inevitable breakups would be easier to weather if they were able to save a bit of money. With a little cushion in the bank, their situation could never grow too desperate. Maman was supposed to have set aside a regular sum from LeVeq’s weekly allowances. As long as she’d been with him, there should have been a modest little nest egg saved by now.
“Well, there’s always one thing and another, you know. Hercule could be quite stingy about paying some of my bills, when he thought I was being excessive. And I couldn’t very well go about in last year’s dresses. Hercule, being a man, never understood how important new dresses are to a lady. When he wouldn’t buy what I required, I was forced to do it myself.”
“Maman…” Gen sank onto a chair. “You haven’t saved anything?”
Suzette’s hands fluttered before her face. “Oh, Geneviève, you know I don’t like talking about this sort of unpleasantness.”
“No, you always leave the unpleasantness to me,” she snapped, then instantly regretted it. That wasn’t fair. After all, Suzette was the one who’d had to cater to LeVeq’s every sexual wish, and if that wasn’t unpleasant, Gen didn’t know what was. “I’m sorry, Maman. I didn’t mean that. Perhaps there’s something I can pawn.”
Suzette looked around helplessly. “But what? We so desperately need everything here.”
Gen cast a bitter glance around their tawdry sitting room, every flat surface stuffed with useless knickknacks. There was almost nothing in this house they needed for survival, but sadly, all this frilly clutter wasn’t going to bring much at the pawn shop.
“It’ll have to be a piece of your jewelry, then.”
Suzette gasped. “You can’t! Not my jewels!”
“Maman, I have to. What will we do for money otherwise?”
Suzette’s bright blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh, that hateful Hercule. He has treated me abominably. I’ll make him pay. I’ll make him green with envy.”
“I’m sure you will, Maman. In the meantime, I need something to sell.”
For just a moment, Suzette’s eyes turned steely with assessment. For all her feminine fluttering and helplessness, Gen would bet she’d calculated the worth of every piece of jewelry in her box. “The pearls,” she said at length. “The ones with the diamond clasp, not the sapphire clasp. Their length is quite unfashionable now.”
“All right. I’ll sell the pearls.”
“Cream,” Suzette said.
“Cream, what?”
“The gloves. They should be cream and over the elbow. Go down the hill to Madame Rouchefort on Boulevard de la Villette. She has the best. Don’t go to that horrid man at the Emporium. His are like burlap sacks.”
Gen sighed wearily. “Yes, Maman.”
Chapter Three
Suzette didn’t acquire a new man at the Rivoli Ballroom, so the next night, she was out at the casino, and the night after that, at the opera. Each of these outings required some new purchase to see her properly outfitted, so the money from the necklace that was meant to cover the rent would now barely stretch to cover half that sum. Gen attempted not to panic since there was nothing she could do but continue to work and earn her share.
Her mother’s spirits were sinking as well, which was a whole new line of worry for Gen. In the past, when her mother broke off with a patron, there would be a line of men waiting to take his place. This time, there was no stream of flowers being delivered to the flat, there were no gentlemen showering her with gifts, trying to entice her. No one seemed eager to secure her favors.
She’d even slept with a man after one of her outings, breaking her own cardinal rule. In the past, she’d never gone to bed with a man until the terms of their arrangement had been agreed to. Now, bordering on desperation, she’d slept with a gentleman, hoping a sample might convince him he’d like more. It hadn’t worked. The next day, he hadn’t sent so much as a bouquet of flowers.
Every day, Suzette sank further into despair, convinced that her time was up, she was too old, and her beauty too faded, to secure a man. And the last thing Gen needed on top of all her other worries was one of her mother’s dark moods. When she descended into one of those, it was impossible just to drag her from her bed.
As Gen left the bookshop on Saturday, she ran into Leo, passing on the street outside. She hadn’t seen him since their last outing, so she hadn’t had a chance to broach the subject of their relationship again. Before she could do it now, he mentioned he was on his way to the Moulin de la Galette to meet André. Maybe it was shameless, since her real object was seeing Archie again. Or maybe she just wanted a momentary escape from reality, even if it only lasted a few hours. Gen was inviting herself along on his evening before she knew what she was doing. Leo looked discomfited, but he didn’t tell her no.
Tonight, she promised herself firmly. Before the night was out, she’d discuss their situation with Leo and put an end to things. Considering he hadn’t stopped into the shop to see her or invited her to go with him this time, she suspected he wouldn’t be too sorry to part ways.
André was in his usual spot, surly and rumpled in the midst of all the laughter and gaiety. Why did he come to such a festive place, if all he was going to do was sit in a corner, smoking and glowering? And why on earth did Leo find him so interesting? She would never understand it.
André looked her up and down with undisguised distaste as she approached his table with Leo. She’d heard those old Communards had advocated equality of the sexes. André seemed to be the exception to that rule. But, as experience had taught her, hatred of women was a commonality many men shared, regardless of their political persua
sions or place in society.
“You brought your woman?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll make herself scarce, won’t you, Gen?”
She glared at Leo. “For the last time, I’m no one’s woman, and yes, I am more than happy to make myself scarce. You’re lousy company these days, Leo, do you know that? I don’t know why you’re so enamored of this washed-up, angry old man.”
André’s eyes went wide. “Are you going to let the little bitch get away with that?”
Leo froze, looking momentarily torn between his old loyalty to her and his new loyalty to André. The fact that he hesitated at all told Gen everything she needed to know.
“Leo has no right to scold me, and neither do you, old man.”
She didn’t bother staying to hear what André or Leo might say next, turning away and striding into the crowd toward the bar. While she waited for the waitress to bring her a glass of wine, she dropped her face into her hands. When had she so completely lost touch with Leo? When had he turned into this angry stranger? Her infatuation with him had faded some time ago, but she had hoped they might always stay friends, as they had been since their earliest days. She was more and more doubtful that would be possible. He’d fallen fully under André’s thrall, and their years together seemed to mean nothing to him now.
“Gen? Is everything all right?”
She lifted her head to find Archie standing close by her side. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to reach out to comfort her but wasn’t sure if he’d be taking liberties if he did so. His hesitancy made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. In her world, where men took what they wanted from women without ever stopping to think what a woman might want, Archie’s chivalry was heartbreakingly earnest.
“Just a bit of a quarrel with Leo.”
“Are you in difficulties?”
Straightening up, she smiled at him. After all, he was the reason she’d come tonight. “Not anymore. I’m glad to see you again, Archie.”
His answering smile lit her up from the inside out. “I can assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual. I confess, I came tonight hoping I’d see you.”
“You did?”
Archie nodded, looking away in mild embarrassment and running a hand across the back of his neck. “And the last four nights.”
“Oh. Well, I’m here now.”
“Yes, you are. Shall we get a table? And maybe something to eat?”
This time, Archie found them a rare table for two near the railing, in a corner where the trees grew thick beside the courtyard. Jasmine wound around the trunk of one, its tendrils twining through the railing, trailing along the edge of their table, and scenting the air around them. This far from the lanterns hanging over the dance floor, they were partly in shadows, but a tiny candle in a battered tin holder cast a flickering light across their faces.
“Did you paint today?” she asked as they settled into their chairs.
“Not painting, but I did some sketching. I’m planning out a painting, and I’m doing studies for that before I start.”
“I would love to see your work sometime.” It was a forward statement, because it implied being alone with him in his flat, but Gen wasn’t sorry. She’d go with him right now, if he asked her to.
“I would love to show it to you sometime,” Archie replied, his eyes flicking to hers as if he wasn’t quite sure they were discussing the same thing.
“Do you have a studio?”
He laughed softly. “If you can call it that. It’s just one room, and I live there too. It’s in Place du Tertre, not far from here.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re here so much,” she teased.
But he didn’t laugh. He just looked at her with those beautiful green-gold eyes, the candlelight illuminating his high cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. “That’s not why I come here, and you know it, Gen.”
His quiet confession hit her right in the heart, and she swallowed hard, bracing herself to make a confession of her own. “You’re the reason I came here, too.”
He let out a breath in relief, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad to hear that.”
The courtyard, which had seemed so festive and colorful last time she was here, now suddenly felt too crowded. What she really wanted was to be alone with Archie. She wanted privacy and silence and space to see if all this promise hanging in the air would materialize into a reality that was just as intoxicating. But here, in this open-air dance hall, there was so much they couldn’t do.
Feeling eager and bold, she opened her mouth to suggest just that, but Archie began speaking at the same moment.
“Perhaps we should—”
“Would it be too—”
They both stopped, laughed nervously, swallowed hard.
“Please, go on,” he said.
“No, you.”
Archie shifted in his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching where they rested on the table. “Would it be too forward of me to ask if you’d like to take a walk outside?”
A slow glow of happiness, one that matched the candle burning between them, sparked to life in her chest and quickly spread. “I’d like that.”
For another long moment, she and Archie just stared at each other, smiling, wrapped in this intimate moment made just for the two of them. It was he who broke the silence.
“Erm… Do you need to speak with Leo?”
That reality splashed over her like a bucket of cold water. She still hadn’t spoken to Leo. And now, in the middle of the courtyard of the Moulin de la Galette, with that hateful André looking on, wasn’t the time or place. Maybe she’d just tell him she was leaving with a friend she’d met. It was technically true, and she certainly didn’t plan on betraying Leo with Archie tonight. She just wanted to be alone with him, so they could talk.
First thing tomorrow, she’d go around to the flat Leo shared with his mother and talk to him properly. It would be better that way anyway. But it would be rude to disappear on him without a word, even if he didn’t seem to care much whether she was there or not.
“Wait here a moment. I’ll tell him I’m leaving.”
Leo was right where she’d left him, bent forward over the table, deep in conversation with André. In her head, she practiced the words and casual tone as she approached. “Leo, I’ve met a friend from the neighborhood, and we’re going home together. No, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Perhaps she was overly optimistic imagining him expressing that last sentiment. He’d probably be relieved to be rid of her.
She was so caught up in perfecting her excuse that she was nearly upon Leo and André before their conversation reached her. So wrapped up in their discussion were they that they didn’t even notice her standing there.
“Are you sure you can get the gunpowder, though?” André was saying.
Gunpowder? Whatever for?
Leo nodded. “I’ve got a friend who can get it for us. He’ll nick it from the factory where he works. But we can’t assemble it at my flat. My mother is always there.”
André grunted. “We’ll do it in my rooms, then. It’ll have to be this week. The Palais Garnier is most crowded on Saturday night, so we want the explosion to happen then. That’ll send the right message to those Possibilistes. Then they’ll know we demand real change, not these timid half measures.”
Gen froze as the reality of what Leo and André were planning sunk in. They were sitting here, calmly discussing bombing a public place. Killing innocent people. All to make some stupid political point.
She rushed forward, grabbing Leo’s shoulder. “Leo, what are you doing? This is madness!”
He glared up at her before slapping her hand away and pushing himself to his feet. “Stay out of this, Gen. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“You’re talking about killing people! Leo, this isn’t you. I won’t let you do this.”
“I told you your foolish woman would make trouble, Leo,” André growled.
“Stay
out of this, you madman. This is all your fault. Leo would never consider doing something so monstrous if you didn’t put the idea in his head.”
André surged to his feet, lunging at her. Leo thrust one arm out to ward André off as he gripped Gen’s arm with the other, pulling her back. “Get out of here, Gen. Just go home.”
“No, not without you. I’m not leaving you here with him to plot this horrible thing.”
Leo’s face twisted up with frustration and rage, and he began dragging her toward the door. She fought to free her arm, but his grip was ruthless. “Leo, just listen to me. Stop. You can’t do this.”
He didn’t stop, dragging her through the crowd and out the front gate into the street. “Go home, Gen. Leave me alone.”
“Leo, stop!”
He released her with a forceful shove, but her balance was still off, so she fell forward, hitting the cobblestones hard. Her head struck too, and pain bloomed across her temple.
“Gen!”
But it wasn’t Leo’s voice that rang out in the night. It was Archie’s. He was at her side in a flash, sliding his hand under the side of her head that had struck the pavement. “Lie still,” he murmured.
“No, I’m all right.” She struggled to sit up. Archie slid an arm around her shoulders, helping her. “I have to talk to Leo.”
“Save your breath, Gen. I know what I’m doing.” Leo was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, a mutinous look on his face. “I’m going to make a difference for once. Me! Leo Roche! I’ll do more for the French workingman than any politician in Paris.”
“Leo, listen to yourself. You’re about to ruin your whole life for some crazy idea.”
“Shut up, Gen. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Gen,” Archie said quietly, touching the side of her face. “You’re bleeding.”
The Notorious Lady Grantham: A Grantham Girls companion novella Page 4