'Charlotte-Anne! Goodness, what are you still doing out here? I've been searching the entire ship for you. I've even had you paged. Why didn't you answer? For a while I was sure you'd gone overboard.'
Charlotte-Anne turned around. Robyn stood resplendent in a floor-length gown of cascading ruby taffeta, with a matching stole that she clutched around her creamy, bare shoulders. Her ears, neck, and hands sparkled with rubies and diamonds.
'You look beautiful.' Charlotte-Anne's pale eyes swept Robyn from head to toe. 'Is there a party?'
'Party! We've both been invited to sit at the captain's table, and you're not even changed yet.' Robyn shook her head in despair and murmured,' Is there a party!'
Charlotte-Anne turned away and stared sorrowfully out at the dark expanse of the sea. The long, receding wake glowed with phosphorescence. Somewhere far behind it was home, where she longed to be now. She needed some time to herself, alone, to sort out her feelings and adjust to the temporary shipboard world, and, even more importantly, to prepare herself emotionally for life in a foreign country.
'I really don't think I feel up to it tonight, Robyn,' she begged off'.
Robyn's eyes flashed. 'Nonsense. An invitation to sit at the captain's table is practically a royal summons. And besides, you're not going to rob me of the pleasure of arousing everyone's envy as we descend the staircase of the Grande Salle a Manger together. We're clearly the two most beautiful women onboard, and I intend to break some hearts. There's the most marvelous Italian prince in a suite right down the hall from us. He's been invited to the captain's table too. Luigi di Fontanesi.' A little sigh escaped Robyn's lips. 'I met him once or twice. He's so dashing, and filthy rich. And a bachelor yet! Women throw themselves at him left and right, but so far he's managed to keep himself from getting involved with any of them. There was even a rumor going around a couple of years back that some girl in Deauville had tried to commit suicide over him.' Robyn looked temporarily deflated. 'Too bad I won't have it said that I rob the cradle. He's just a wee bit too young for me. He's older than you, though, but not that old. Somewhere in his late twenties. Now get inside, or do I have to drag you in and dress you myself? I took the liberty of going through your things, and I picked out what you're going to wear. The maid's already steamed it and laid it out.'
Charlotte-Anne was somewhat overwhelmed by Robyn's barrage of chatter, but she managed to plead, 'Not tonight. Please.'
'Yes, tonight!' Robyn's tone left no room for further argument. 'I promised your mother I'd take care of you. And to Robyn Morgan that means two things. First and foremost, protecting you from all things evil. And Luigi di Fontanesi is deliciously evil. And second, exposing you socially. I refuse to take no as an answer.'
'By the time you've finished dressing,' Robyn growled impatiently, lighting a cigarette and pacing the stateroom, 'dinner will long be over.'
Charlotte-Anne glanced at Robyn's moving reflection in the tilted mirror. 'I'm hurrying,' she mumbled, her mouth full of bobby pins. She was sitting in her slip in front of the built-in dressing table, deftly pinning up her hair. 'There, finished,' she said finally. She removed the remaining pins from between her lips, pivoted on the stool, and faced Robyn. 'How does it look?'
Robyn stopped pacing and nodded with approval. She had never seen Charlotte-Anne with her hair up, and she approved of how it furthered the impression of slender height. 'Wait a minute. Hold this.' She handed Charlotte-Anne her cigarette holder, leaned down, and pulled loose a few carefully chosen tendrils of Charlotte-Anne's hair. 'It shouldn't be too perfect,' she explained. 'You've got a young innocence about you, and we should emphasize it.' Her fingers worked deftly, arranging several 'vagrant' tendrils of hair to frame Charlotte-Anne's face. 'There. Perfect. Now turn around and look.'
Charlotte-Anne pivoted again and studied herself in the mirror. Robyn was right. The new arrangement heightened her heart-shaped face and emphasized the widow's peak she was hardly aware she had.
'Now, into your dress.'
'Just a moment.' Charlotte-Anne pulled open a drawer and took out the slim box her mother had pressed into her hand just before sailing. She lifted out the pansy charm. For a moment she held it suspended between both hands and looked at it closely. She had never really studied it before, and now she admired its fine filigreed silver and the deep purplish-blue hue of the pansy captured in the crystal, the richness heightened by the flower's center of rich yellow.
She was glad her mother had given it to her. It was something familiar , a link to the past, and she realized at once that it would mean as much to her as it had meant to Elizabeth-Anne.
'Here, let me.' Robyn took the necklace from her and secured it around her neck. Charlotte-Anne touched the charm. It felt cool and smooth, and filled her with confidence.
She rose from the stool, crossed over to the bed and picked up the sleeveless evening gown her mother had chosen for her. Made of layers of pure white, diaphanous chiffon, it was Grecian in its simplicity. She lifted it over her head and let it float down smoothly over her.
'You look,' Robyn said, stepping back in disbelief, 'like nothing I've ever seen before.' She sounded delighted. 'Believe me, next to you everyone else will look garishly overdressed.'
'Oh.' Charlotte-Anne's face settled into a frown. 'It isn't enough? Perhaps a bracelet or some make-up or - '
'No, no,' Robyn laughed. 'I meant it as a compliment.' She removed the cigarette from the holder, stubbed it out in an ashtray, and dropped the holder into her clutch purse. She took Charlotte-Anne by the arm and led her to the door, then opened it and switched off the lights. 'Let's go knock 'em dead.'
5
The Grande Salle a Manger towered three decks high, and the murmur of conversation and the strains of elegant music wafted up to the top landing of the grand staircase. Charlotte-Anne clutched the bannister on the top floor and gazed down. All her confidence seeped out of her. Even from this height, the dining room was a sea of elegantly turned out men and exquisitely gowned women. She wished she had inherited her mother's easy confidence and adaptability.
She looked pleadingly at Robyn.
'You look exquisite,' Robyn assured her with a smile. 'Your mother chose well for you. The gown is just right for your age and figure, and I never knew anyone could project such clashing worldliness and formal innocence with pinned up hair. You're simply ravishing. Now down we go.'
Charlotte-Anne took a deep breath. Below, the first course was just being served by an army of white-jacketed waiters. She saw heads leaning back as diners looked up at her and Robyn. Even from three floors below, she could feel the eyes appraising them. The grand staircase had been designed for sweeping entrances, and it terrified her because she realized that just as it could show off elegance and grace it would magnify the slightest, humiliating flaw.
She clutched the bannister more tightly, the glances from below making her knees go weak. Oh, if only they hadn't arrived late! If only she hadn't spent all that time out on deck, they would have been just two more in a crowd descending the staircase. Now, making a grand entrance by themselves, she was certain something terrible was going to happen. She would trip on her hem or stumble on the carpet and go falling down an entire flight of steps.
'Chin up,' Robyn sang softly under her breath, her lips composed in a careful smile as she led the way. Charlotte-Anne couldn't help but marvel at the older woman's poise, at the swanlike neck with its regal chin, and the elegant definition of the slanting, patrician cheekbones. Robyn was lithe and polished, and seemingly unaffected. As she stepped forward beginning the long descent, her ruby taffeta gown billowed out from her tiny waist and the snug fit of the low cut bodice.
Here goes, Charlotte-Anne told herself, following Robyn as she admonished herself: Just go steady. Put one satin slipper in front of the other, and repeat that process until you reach the landing. After that, there's only one more deck to go, and then you're on the bottom.
Once more, she glanced down at the sea of upturne
d faces. This was like . . . she caught her breath. Yes, just like being onstage. Somehow that thought gave her confidence and she squared her shoulders and moved on, more relaxed. She was still unaware of the sensation she was creating. She was so young, and unaffected, so like a young gazelle in her freshness and grace, that she was breathtaking. The white chiffon accentuated her every move, and with each step she took, her confidence grew a little more.
Only when she reached the middle landing, where Robyn turned and waited for her, did she realize the effect she was having on the diners below. Her audience was captivated, she could feel it. It was like the electricity coursing between an actor and his audience. Together, she and Robyn swept down the last flight, two elegant swans, one red and one white, and all eyes in the Grande Salle k Manger were upon them.
She wondered if it was her imagination, or if the orchestra really did switch to an elegant waltz to accentuate their entrance. Her face blushed pinkly, and the rosy glow only served to heighten her beauty. Robyn turned to her, a half-smile on her lips, her eyes sparkling.
The instant they reached the foot of the staircase, the maitre d' appeared as though by magic. 'Madame. Mademoiselle.' He bowed gracefully to each one of them in turn. 'This way, if you please.'
He led the way through the sumptuous mirrored room. They swept through the sea of tables, white draped and gleaming with silver and crystal, past millions of dollars worth of jewelry, on dazzlingly clad women. The Ile de France was a flagship of ocean-going luxury, and once again Charlotte-Anne marveled that, despite the misery of the Depression, there was still so much wealth in evidence.
When they reached the table of honor, the captain was already on his feet. He stood with his shoulders squared and his resplendent black uniform seemingly gilded with ormolu. His face was distinguished, his hair silver, and his eyes dark.
'Bonsoir, Madame Morgan.' He bent over Robyn's proffered hand and kissed it with a flourish. 'It is an honor to have you aboard once again.'
'You flatter me, Captain Louvard, that you even remember me.'
'No, it is I who am flattered, to have you sail with us so often, Madame.'
Robyn turned to Charlotte-Anne. 'May I introduce my traveling companion, Miss Charlotte-Anne Hale.'
'A pleasure indeed.' The captain bent over Charlotte-Anne's hand. 'Mademoiselle.'
The captain made the introductions with the gentlemen, all in ties and tails, standing and the ladies remaining seated.
'May I present Mrs. Reichenbach,' Captain Louvard said, beginning on his right.
'Mrs. Morgan and I are old friends,' the buxom woman with thinning red curls and several chins elucidated. 'I'm pleased that we're making the same crossing, my dear. It's nice to run into familiar faces.'
'Especially those who aim to win back their poker losses?' Robyn teased.
Mrs. Reichenbach laughed heartily, her bosom heaving. Then she eyed Charlotte-Anne and sighed softly. 'You look so lovely, my dear. Though it's devastating to be reminded of one's own lost youth.'
Charlotte-Anne smiled gratefully. This was an accolade indeed. Mrs. Reichenbach was well known as one of New York's premier hostesses, and the wife of the country's richest and most powerful newspaper publisher. More powerful, it was rumored, than even William Randolph Hearst.
Captain Louvard gestured across the table. 'His Eminence Giovanni, Cardinal Corsini, special envoy to His Holiness, the Pope.'
His Eminence smiled politely, but with little warmth. His face was that of a medieval prince of the church, thin and hollow. He inclined his head. 'Ladies.'
'His Grace the Duke of Fairfax, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Fairfax.'
The Duke, standing, bowed; seated beside him, his wife nodded and smiled graciously. The Duke was thin and white-haired, the Duchess much younger, and very beautiful with her rosy English complexion.
'His Excellency, Ambassador and Senora Cabral de Perez,' the captain said next, and added gallantly, 'Ambassador and Senora Perez are Argentina's latest diplomatic gift to France.'
The ambassador was an elderly man with the face of the aesthete. Senora Perez was a pale-skinned Buenos Aires beauty with coal black eyes, sensuous lips, and jet black hair pulled back in a chignon. She wore a gown of gold brocade, and around her neck hung the largest emerald Charlotte-Anne had ever seen.
'It seems, captain,' the ambassador said with a smile, 'that your country lost a fine diplomat when you decided to devote your life to the sea.'
The captain smiled and his gaze shifted. 'The Honorable Chief Justice Alexander Goode of the United States Supreme Court, and his wife, Mrs. Goode.'
Charlotte-Anne shifted her gaze. The Justice was a portly, imposing man with a leonine mane of white hair. He looked uncomfortable in formal dress. His wife was tiny and projected good humor. 'How do you do?' they both chorused, then laughed. 'It seems,' Mrs. Goode said, 'that we're always saying the same thing at the same time. Rest assured, it's not rehearsed.'
Charlotte-Anne laughed politely.
Captain Louvard turned to the next guest. 'General Erich von Kersten, from Munich.'
General Kersten was red-faced, meaty, and teutonically correct. He took a few steps back, walked around the table, and clicked his heels together smartly. He bowed low over their hands, and smiled broadly. 'One charming lady is a gift, but two charming ladies are heaven-sent.'
Charlotte-Anne could almost feel the effort it took Robyn to keep from cringing. Even she was glad when the general went back to his seat.
'And last, but certainly not least,' the captain said softly, 'His Highness, Prince Luigi di Fontanesi.'
Charlotte-Anne turned to her immediate left, by reflex now proffering her hand. He was standing directly beside her, and took her hand gently in his. It was then that she met his eyes. Their gaze held, and for an instant she felt paralyzed.
He was by far the most handsome man she had ever encountered. His bold, tawny yellow cat's eyes seemed to burn through her, and his white teeth gleamed predatorily. He seemed to tower over everyone, and even though he was formally dressed she could sense the sheer power of his physique, the wide animal shoulders of the athlete tapering down to a small waist and narrow, tight hips. She could almost taste the unabashedly lusty appetite in his sensuous lips and feel the cynical indolence of his bearing.
He bowed low over her hand and his breath lingered a moment too long. She felt a chill, mixed with a blast of heat coursing through her.
'You are very beautiful,' he said so softly that she strained to hear the words.
Startled by his highly charged, brazenly lengthy touch, her cheeks blazed crimson. She snatched her hand back and dropped her eyes. For some reason she felt curiously violated. She had never known a man who could simply look at her, and with an ever so light touch reach deep down to the depths of her soul. She was glad that everyone else had resumed the meal. It took her several moments to collect her composure. At least, she thought, her reaction to him hadn't been noticed by anyone.
But then Robyn caught her gaze and smiled knowingly.
Charlotte-Anne flushed again. Were her feelings that transparent?
'Mademoiselle?'
Charlotte-Anne turned to Captain Louvard and smiled awkwardly as he held her chair for her. She took a seat at his left, and then he helped Robyn into hers at his right. At first she was relieved not to be sitting beside Robyn. She didn't want to have to put up with her knowing looks. What was it she had said up on deck? The prince was 'deliciously evil'. And, Charlotte-Anne amended, dangerous. Why else would that woman in Deauville have tried to commit suicide over him?
Yet, while she was glad to be spared her friend's scrutiny, she felt uneasy in this crowd of strangers. Everyone was so much older than she was, and so much more accomplished. What could she possibly have in common with ambassadors and cardinals and princes? She found herself yearning to sit unnoticed at one of the other of the hundreds of tables in the room.
She gazed hesitantly around and then suffered her second sh
ock. Only now was she aware of who was sitting on her left - Prince Luigi di Fontanesi.
She slid her napkin off the serving plate and unfolded it slowly in her lap. Then she raised her head, having decided she would avoid looking at him or speaking with him. Everything about him frightened her - his indolent self- assurance, his striking good looks, the physical power radiating from him, his unsettling ability to look deep into her soul.
She was grateful when a waiter placed the first course in front of her. Looking down into her shallow soup plate, she saw four poached quail eggs in mushroom caps floating in a rich golden sauce sprinkled with real caviar. Ordinarily, such a treat would have delighted her, but now all she saw was bountiful satisfaction for an appetite which had deserted her. Still, eating was something to do. She seized upon her spoon, intending to concentrate fully on the food before her. Her efforts were in vain.
From her left, she couldn't help but sense his amused, searing gaze burning through her with such intensity that her hands began to shake. It infuriated her, because she knew good and well that he strove exactly for the effect he was achieving. And she knew he must be silently laughing at her.
She tightened her lips, disgusted with herself for allowing him to cause such a violent reaction to rage within her. But 'allowing' had little to do with it. She felt totally helpless.
She couldn't wait for this dinner to be over with.
She concentrated more closely on her plate, absently pushing the food around with her spoon. Around her, the conversations became more heated, and snatches of phrases seeped into her consciousness, becoming a collage in her distracted mind.
'Are you entering the Monte Carlo Grand Prix this year, Prince Luigi. . . '
'The social reforms begun in Argentina in the last decade . . .'
'Economic chaos . . . '
'Since 1924, Duke Fairfax, when the labor government first. . . '
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