She desperately wanted to be at home working on her ball gown, but she’d promised Taylor and Katie she’d help them pick out their dresses for the dance. They’d spent two afternoons downtown trying on dresses and Angel had eventually managed to talk Taylor out of the strapless apricot number she’d set her heart on and instead found her a gorgeous flame-colored fifties-style dress guaranteed to dazzle her date.
All the distractions meant staying up later than usual to sew, but by Friday the calico practice dress was finished—and a disaster. When she looked at it on the dummy it seemed so far removed from her vision that Angel wondered how she’d ever thought she had a flair for fashion design.
She forced herself to continue and each hour brought her a step closer to her dream dress. If she could just make the last part work, maybe she’d have a gown worth sending to Paris.
Angel smoothed a hand over the calico skirt and sighed. If she could make it work … but time was running out. In two weeks she had to send her Teen Couture entry to Paris; the ball gown was its centerpiece and she still hadn’t cut the velvet.
Picking up the dark-blue cloth, she rubbed it against her cheek and then threw her arms wide, flinging the fabric out across her bed. It was gorgeous. Surely she could make a dress worthy of it.
“And I will—starting now.”
She picked up her pattern pieces just as rapid footsteps sounded in the hall. Moments later Lily burst through the door.
“I got it, Angel, I got it!” Lily seized Angel’s hands and danced her around the room.
“Not London?”
“Yes!” Lily thrust a letter into Angel’s hand. “See for yourself. The London Drama Academy wants me in London on June twentieth.” She did a pirouette. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long, I can hardly believe it’s real.”
“Some dreams do come true!” said Angel.
Lily stopped dancing. “Yours will, too, Angel, I know it.”
“I hope so.” She hesitated and then said carefully, “What are you going to tell Philip? And Margot?”
Lily jumped up on the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all worked out.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Skeptic.” Lily bounced. “Listen, Dad’s overseas until the middle of next month so I don’t need to tell him anything. We’re only in touch via cell phone and even that’s mega-unreliable because of where he is, but the point is he won’t know if I’m in New York or London. As for Margot … ” Lily grinned. “She’s meant to be taking me and Clarissa to our place at the Hamptons for the summer, but,” she bounced again, “I’ve told Margot that Elizabeth Montague has invited me to stay with her at Martha’s Vineyard for those two weeks. Naturally, Margot said yes.”
Angel tried not to look impressed at this masterly plan. “It might work … ”
“Of course it’ll work. It’s perfect.” Lily jumped down. “You know my plans always work.”
Angel grimaced. “Maybe … ”
“Oh, you’re just thinking of that time your mother found out we’d—”
“Done something dreadful,” said a teasing voice. They turned to find Simone standing in the doorway.
“Maman.” Angel got up. “Are you okay?” She cast a worried glance at Simone’s pale face and the deep shadows under her eyes. Only that morning she’d found her mother holding her side. She’d tried to persuade her to go to the doctor, but Simone had refused.
“I’m fine, chérie—just my indigestion again.” She turned to Lily. “Margot wishes to see you.”
Lily looked dismayed. “Why? What does she want?”
Simone shrugged apologetically. “She did not say. Only that you are to go to your father’s study immediately.”
After Lily had gone reluctantly upstairs, Angel picked up her pin-tray and began carefully pinning the pattern pieces to the velvet. She couldn’t help thinking about Lily’s plan. It might work—Philip was away, after all—but, although she could understand Lily not caring whether she deceived Margot, Angel was surprised she was willing to lie to her dad.
Philip wasn’t the sort of father you needed to lie to and, like Angel’s papa, he was a good listener. In that first year, when Papa was so often in the hospital (and before Simone found out and put a stop to it), Lily would sometimes take Angel up to Philip’s study and insist she be included in story time.
He was always delighted to see them and Angel loved the way his whole face lit up at the sight of Lily. Philip had a smile that could light up a room, with twinkling blue eyes beneath straight black brows and thick dark hair with only the tiniest bit of grey at his ears. He was tall and lean, with an infectious rumbling laugh that made Angel giggle just hearing it.
As soon as he saw them, he'd stop whatever work he was doing, stretch out his long frame, and draw them across to one of the big squishy leather armchairs by the fire.
Lily would climb onto his lap, snuggle down and demand a story while Angel sat on a cushion on the floor by Philip’s knee. She’d lean her head against the arm of the chair and sometimes, if he was engrossed in the story, Philip would run his fingers through her hair. Angel loved that because it reminded her of Papa.
When they were settled Philip would read aloud or tell them a fairytale or—Angel’s favorite—make up his own story and they would take turns telling the ending. Angel would stare into the fire and think hard about what the hero might do now that Philip had him locked in a dark dungeon or stranded on some dangerous mountaintop in a storm. She’d imagine a fearless prison guard’s daughter smuggling him out through a secret passage, or a poor but beautiful peasant girl who’d braved the raging tempest to bring him to safety.
Lily usually scoffed at these romantic resolutions and whenever it was her turn to make up the ending she’d offer some dramatic yet practical conclusion like the hero making a speech in court and proving his innocence or skiing down the mountainside and saving the village in the valley below.
But whatever the story or its ending, it was magical just being there.
Philip and Lily’s relationship had always been special and Angel had thought they had an unbreakable bond.
Until last Christmas.
Lily had gone up to Philip’s study to see if he’d take her ice-skating at Rockefeller Center, and when she’d come down it was as if a door had closed somewhere inside her and not even Angel had been able to break it down.
Angel sighed, put down her pins and eyed the velvet thoughtfully. She’d expected Lily back by now. It was getting late—maybe she should put off cutting the velvet until tomorrow. It’d be a slow process because the fabric marked easily and she had to ensure the nap faced the same way on each piece. Still, if she stayed up, Lily might return and tell her what Margot had wanted.
Angel picked up her scissors. The sooner she got cutting, the sooner she could start sewing.
As she smoothed out the velvet, she wondered what Margot could be talking to Lily about for so long. Maybe Philip had called from South America or Lily had forgotten a Junior League meeting again and Margot had insisted on taking her. Or maybe Margot had decided to have a heart-to-heart with her …
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Angel aloud. “Lily wouldn’t have stayed five minutes.”
She pushed the thought away. If she were going to cut the velvet, she needed to focus.
By midnight she was done and the velvet lay in pieces on her bed. This was her ball gown—all she needed to do was sew it together.
Angel smiled. It was such an easy thought—but sewing the gown together and making it look exactly like her design was going to take every minute of the time left before she had to send her entry to Paris.
She put on her pajamas and got into bed. She lay awake for a while, thinking about Lily and the Teen Couture, and only realized she’d fallen asleep when a hand on her arm woke her.
“Lily? Is that you?”
“Who else?” Lily switched on the bedside lamp.
“Are you okay? You never came back. What did Margot want?�
��
“To ruin my life.”
Angel froze. “Margot’s found out about London?”
“Worse. She’s had a letter from my grandmother.”
Chapter Seven
Angel stared. “A letter?’ she said at last.
Lily nodded.
“From your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“The one in Paris?”
“I’ve only got one grandmother,” said Lily.
“Yes, but she never gets in touch,” said Angel. “And why would your grandmother write to Margot?”
“She didn’t. She wrote to my dad—her first letter in over ten years.” Lily scowled. “Naturally Margot opened it.”
“Naturally,” agreed Angel. “What did it say?”
“Margot says it’s an invitation, but I know it’s an order.” Lily put on a posh accent: “The Comtesse de Tourney requests the pleasure of my company in Paris for this year’s summer season.”
“But that’s fantastic!” cried Angel. “Lucky you.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not going.”
Angel gasped. “But—I don’t understand. It’s Paris—why wouldn’t you want to go to Paris?”
“Well, for starters because it’s the exact same two weeks as the London Academy.”
“Oh,” said Angel, suddenly unsure of what to say. She knew how much the London Academy meant to Lily, but this was an invitation to Paris. Paris! And Lily hadn’t seen her grandmother since she was five. “That can’t be your only reason,” she said.
Lily hesitated and then said slowly, “It isn’t that I don’t want to see my grandmother. It’s just that … I don’t want to see her now.”
“Why not?”
Angel was surprised to see Lily’s face tinge with color.
“What’s wrong with now?” persisted Angel.
This time the pause was even longer. At last Lily said, “It’s Dad, he … ”
“What?” asked Angel.
Lily shook her head.
“Is this about what happened last Christmas?”
Lily nodded.
“You had a fight?”
Lily nodded again.
“About?”
Emotion flitted across Lily’s face, then she sighed and the secret she’d been holding in since Christmas burst out.
“He said he was thinking of getting married again. He said I needed a mother because—because he couldn’t give me everything I needed. And then when I argued with him it all just got worse and worse—like everything I said came out the wrong way and then when I’d run out of words he told me he really liked Margot and that he was so pleased I’d overcome my resentment and how great it was that I liked her because she liked me and how she had all this empathy and understanding ’cause she had a teenage daughter of her own—as if that made her the perfect candidate and … and then he said it would be such a relief to him if there was someone in the house I could talk to about things!” Lily looked miserably at her friend. “Oh, Angel, if you’d heard him you’d know exactly—” She broke off.
Angel nodded. She could only imagine how hurt Lily must’ve been. She and her dad were so close and Philip had always tried to make up for her not having a mother. And it helped that Simone was downstairs because when Philip was away Lily could talk to her.
For Philip to suggest that he needed to get married again just to provide her with a mother was nuts. Angel sighed. Sometimes adults were weird.
She looked at Lily. “But I still don’t get what this has to do with you going to visit your grandmother in Paris?”
“That’s because I haven’t told you the rest,” replied Lily.
“Go on.”
Lily dropped onto the bed. “I told Margot that Dad and the Comtesse don’t speak and he wouldn’t want me going to Paris to see her.”
“What did she say?”
“She laughed that annoying laugh and said that was all in the past and the best way to help my dad was to accept my grandmother’s invitation.”
Angel frowned. “I don’t think Philip would agree.”
“That’s the trouble, he has agreed.”
“How can he? Margot only just got the letter and he’s not in phone contact.”
Lily’s face puckered. “Apparently he had a few minutes at an airport and called Margot.”
Angel stared at Lily in dismay. “Did you have a missed call on your phone?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Angel digested this in silence. Philip had had an opportunity to call home and he’d chosen to ring Margot instead of Lily. That meant things were serious. Maybe Lily was right and her dad really was planning to marry Margot Kane.
Angel looked up. “So, you don’t want to go to Paris right now, because …?”
“Because I’m not doing anything to help Margot get what she wants and what she wants is for Dad and my grandmother to reconcile because the Comtesse knows all ‘the best people and goes to the best parties—even the Versailles Ball.’” Lily mimicked Margot’s voice perfectly.
Angel gave her a shove. “Don’t do that, it’s scary.”
“Sorry.” Lily hugged her knees. “Anyway, to hell with Margot. There’s no way I’m helping her marry my dad and I’m definitely not missing out on the Academy just so she can schmooze up to the Comtesse de Tourney.” She looked directly at Angel. “So those two weeks I’ll be in London.”
“But how can you be in London when your dad and Margot want you in Paris?” asked Angel. “I mean, even if your dad were happy for you to go to drama school—which he’s not—it’s obvious he wouldn’t want you choosing that over visiting your grandmother.”
“I don’t care! I am not having Margot as a stepmother, so I’m not going to Paris. And I’m definitely not missing out on the London Academy.”
Angel blinked at the ferocity of Lily’s reply. “There’s always next year,” she said.
“No way.” Lily stood up. “I’ve made up my mind: I’m going to London.”
“But you can’t be in London and Paris at the same time. How can you?”
“Come here.”
Lily pulled Angel to her feet. Snapping on the light, she drew her to the mirror.
“Look,” said Lily.
Angel looked at Lily’s face, heart-shaped and animated, her eyes alight with mischief and then at her own puzzled reflection.
“See?” said Lily, pointing to the mirror.
“What?” asked Angel, mystified.
“We could be sisters.”
The penny dropped. “No way! Don’t even think about it.”
“But why not?” Lily looked surprised. “We’d have an awesome time—you in Paris, me in London. Think of it, Angel—two whole weeks in the city of your dreams and no one would ever know.”
“Oh yeah? What about your grandmother?”
“No. That’s why it’s so brilliant. She hasn’t seen me since I was five—not even a photo—she’d never know you weren’t me.”
“Other people would know.”
“Nuh-uh.” Lily looked triumphant. “I haven’t been back to France—no one in Paris knows me.”
“But what about your dad? And Margot? What’s to stop her turning up and exposing me?” demanded Angel.
“No chance,” said Lily. “When Dad phones he never knows where I am—so London, Paris, New York—it doesn’t matter. As for Margot,” she wrinkled her nose, “she’ll be way too busy sucking up to the in-crowd out in the Hamptons.”
“But—”
“If you go to Paris in my place, the Comtesse will take you to all the best couture houses. Jacqueline Montague says she knows all the top designers, including Antoine Vidal. Think about it, Angel—you could meet him.”
Angel hesitated. Imagine meeting Antoine Vidal! And seeing the great couturiers: Chanel, Dior, Versace, Givenchy, Karl Lagerfeld, Balenciaga, Oscar de la Renta, and Vidal. She might get to see his fall collection, after all.
She imagined ta
lking to him about his latest designs and the Teen Couture, his grey eyes smiling …
Then another vision flashed into Angel’s mind: of lying flat on her face on the floor of the Waldorf Ballroom while Antoine Vidal stared down at her. Angel shivered. That was reality, not this crazy plan of Lily’s.
She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, Lily. I can’t.”
Lily seemed to deliberately misunderstand. “Yes, you can—it’ll be easy. Think about it—you know everything about me—you even speak French better than me.” Lily’s eyes sparkled. “There isn’t anyone who could be me better than you.”
“Except that I’m not you,” replied Angel firmly. “And I never could be you, no matter how hard I tried.”
“Sure you could,” urged Lily.
Angel paused. How was it that the most difficult things seemed so simple to Lily? She always had some plan or idea that she was sure would solve everything. But this was different. This was taking things to a whole new level and if it went wrong—Angel couldn't risk hurting her mother. Not when Simone had already lost so much. And what would Papa have said to such a crazy plan?
“I can’t,” said Angel firmly.
“But why?” cried Lily. “I thought you’d love to go to Paris.”
“Well, duh, of course I would. Just not like this.”
“But I’ve told you why I can’t go to Paris, and I need to go to London.”
“Well, maybe you can’t always have what you want.”
“But why?” demanded Lily. “Why won’t you do it? It would mean so much to me—to both of us.”
“It’s too big a risk.”
“There is no risk. I told you—no one will even know!”
“And what happens at the end of the two weeks?” demanded Angel. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to see your grandmother and then what? I’m pretty certain she’ll notice that you’re not me and then we’ll be in real trouble.”
“Not if I go to Paris at the end of the two weeks and explain. Even if the Comtesse is mad—she’ll be mad at me, not you. And by then you’ll be safely back in New York.”
The Cinderella Moment Page 5