African Enchantment

by Andrea Barry

  "No. No explanation is necessary! I didn't ask for this discussion." There was no doubt she had the upper hand now. He looked confused. She might as well deal a final blow.

  "I'll spell it out for you. You'll like it, because you'll be proven right in at least one of your assumptions. The lady changed her mind!" She was really angry now and realized she had almost shouted the last words.

  "Well, well…" His laugh was short and derisive. "You mean you are fickle, Patrice?"

  "Dear Armand." Patricia was almost enjoying the tug-of-war. "You should know when the emotions at play are only the assumptions of a hopeful male."

  She could be just as cutting as he was! "You are an expert on women, aren't you?" she continued coolly. "Perhaps you could, then, enlighten me on women who change their minds? And as long as you are on the subject, you might add an additional topic about men who play the field." She was so angry now, she didn't care what she said.

  "Ah, yes—playing the field. I'm glad you brought that up. A friend of mine, Monsieur Laval, still remembers you promised him a dance, when you were with me at Les Toits d'Abidjan—that is, before I so rudely prevented him from taking advantage of your generous offer."

  How he always twisted everything! Patricia had wanted to dance with this man only because Armand was engrossed in conversation with a woman she didn't even know.

  "I have no interest in you or your friends." That should put him in his place!

  "So be it. But, I assure you, that is not what Michel Laval thinks. You'll be pleased to know he expects to dance with you at Aunt Pat's birthday ball—your birthday ball too."

  "Really? I'm sure you will expect no such thing?"

  "You mean to dance with you? No, I shall not." He gave Patricia a look so penetrating, she visibly shivered, and even her fingertips tingled. "Simply because I don't expect to attend the ball."

  Why did she feel so disappointed to hear him say that? Patricia wondered, feeling an explicable stab in her heart. She must control herself better than that! She was finished with Armand. He was a playboy, a woman chaser—no match for her. If he were to be at the ball, he would surely end up humiliating her.

  "An urgent trip somewhere, I presume?" she said.

  "Something like that…" he answered vaguely, frustrating her curiosity. "Speaking of trips, I hear you're leaving soon."

  "Yes, I'll be going in a few days."

  Why was he doing this? He knew perfectly well when she was leaving. Hadn't he, at one time, begged her to stay longer?

  "Would it be impertinent to ask where you're going from here?"

  What game was he playing now? Now he is pretending he doesn't know where she lives. She wished he would move his eyes away from her. She could hardly bear the searing sensations they caused her.

  "I'm going to New York, of course. That is where I live and work." She willed herself to look away from him and think of what she was saying.

  "Yes, I know. It's just that I heard you say recently that you liked traveling and didn't enjoy feeling tied down. I thought perhaps you would put your desires into action now that you've had a taste of being foot-loose and fancy-free."

  "I never said I felt tied down by my work."

  "Oh, right," he countered, "you had been referring to a relationship with a man when you said 'tied down'—such as marriage—correct?" His sarcasm was transparent now and absolutely maddening. "I've mixed it all up, haven't I? Let me see… I think I have it straight now"—he pretended to fumble—"and, if I don't, please correct me—a nine to five job makes you feel free, but a relationship with a man makes you feel tied down."

  "I'm sorry to interrupt this fascinating monologue, but it's imperative I attend to other things now," she said. "Goodbye, Armand," she called, almost running out of the room.

  She didn't care how impolite she had been. She was exasperated beyond patience.

  The seamstress was putting the finishing touches on Patricia's costume and the dainty slippers. The mantilla now needed attention. There was still so much to do before the ball!

  Patricia busied herself with the hem of the lacy head adornment. Suddenly she heard footsteps from the direction of the balcony that edged her bedroom, as well as other guest rooms.

  What now? It seemed she would never finish her task! Was Armand still lurking about?

  Her curiosity got the better of her, and Patricia walked out to her porch to see who was there.

  A tall blond woman was leaning over the balustrade, in front of the adjoining room.

  Dressed in the latest fashion, she seemed, just the same, somewhat bedraggled. Hearing Patricia enter the balcony, she turned to face her. Her face, very pretty and heavily made up, looked tired. There were circles under her eyes. She appeared to be a glamorous woman, but not at her best at the moment.

  The woman smiled. There was something familiar about her face, but Patricia couldn't quite place her.

  "I'm Brigitte Duval," the woman said, extending her manicured hand in a friendly fashion. "You must be Patricia." Her French accent was very strong. "Armand told me so much about you."

  Patricia stifled a gasp. So this was Armand's girlfriend! What in heaven's name was she doing here in Aunt Pat's house?

  Just then Patricia heard her aunt's voice coming from the living room. "Brigitte, you must meet Patricia, come, I'll take you to her."

  Before Patricia could speak, Brigitte Duval called back, "We've already met, Aunt Pat."

  She reached for Patricia's hand and led her to the living room. Then raising her hand to her forehead she said, "Oh, Aunt Pat, I'm so tired— I've been having such trouble. It's not easy to have one's chosen way of life come suddenly to an end."

  Patricia began to feel like a spectator watching a play whose plot was a riddle.

  It was Aunt Pat who, realizing Patricia's confusion, said, "Brigitte has been acting in films for several years now, but she's decided to give up her career."

  Perhaps Armand had decided to marry Brigitte, Patricia speculated, and that is why she was dropping her motion picture career.

  "Well, it isn't quite as simple as that," the actress sighed. "You see, Patricia, my husband was never enthusiastic about my acting." She brushed away the long blond hair that was practically covering her face.

  Her husband? Patricia was truly shocked. Armand was the lover of a married woman? Next she will probably say she is divorcing her husband to marry the French playboy she's been cavorting around with. Patricia remained silent, waiting to hear the rest of what seemed to her a strange tale.

  Brigitte continued, her voice pained. "I felt that acting was more important than my marriage, and I left my husband Gil. My first two pictures were fairly good, and very quickly I was referred to as a star. But then, just as quickly, everything began to tumble. Things went from bad to worse and no one seemed to know me. My agent insisted it was because I wasn't seen in the right places with the right people, that I was never in the public eye when off the screen. But I was working so hard, especially trying to lose my accent so I could act in Hollywood. I never had a chance to go anyplace or meet anyone socially."

  She sighed again and turned to Patricia. "So I asked Armand for help," she said. She stopped and reached into her handbag for a cigarette.

  "Armand, Marinette, and Brigitte were brought up together," Aunt Pat interjected. "She is the little cousin I told you about, who fell off a horse right here on the lawn, in front of the house."

  "Oh, of course. You said Armand ran after the horse and brought it back." Patricia was beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  "So you see," Brigitte repeated, "I've always turned to Armand for help. Being seen with Armand—a prominent man of impeccable background—would put me back into the public eye. My agent thought it would bring publicity and restore my career. I must tell you that Armand really didn't want any of this, but went along with this"—she searched for the right word—"this hoax only to help me."

  She relaxed her head against the back
of the couch and sighed again. "The plan didn't work, and in the long run it's probably just as well."

  Patricia felt as though a huge weight, that had been constricting her chest for heaven knows how long, had just been lifted. Ever since she had met Armand, she had been sure that he was Brigitte Duval's lover. Now it turned out he was no such thing. He was merely doing his cousin a good turn. Why didn't he ever explain all this?

  The answer occurred to Patricia even as she thought the question. She had never given him a chance to explain, she had just exploded into anger and drawn the wrong conclusions from false premises.

  "One of us will have to become more understanding, or we shall have no relationship at all," she remembered saying to herself. She would make a concentrated effort to become tolerant. That is… provided there was still a relationship to work on.

  She turned her attention to Brigitte.

  "I'm going back to my husband," the blond actress was saying. "Thank goodness Gil still wants the marriage. He's so understanding! And I promised Armand I would never ask him to go out of his way for me again. But Patricia"—a pretty smile appeared on Brigitte's face—"let's talk about you now. From what I know of Armand, he must be head over heels in love with you."

  "I wouldn't be so sure." It was Patricia's turn to sigh. "You see, Brigitte, I thought you were Armand's mistress."

  "I'm not surprised. Anyone who reads the papers thought that! But didn't Armand tell you I was his cousin?"

  "I guess I never really gave him a chance. You see, the last time your name was mentioned, I became so irate, I ran out on him… with Derek."

  "Oh, dear." Brigitte shook her head. "I expect that made him very angry."

  She reached for another cigarette and lit it with a golden lighter she had fished out of her purse. "But Armand can be very understanding, Patricia. You'll just need to tell him you're sorry, and everything will be all right." She looked searchingly at Patricia. "Are you in love with him?"

  "Yes. And of course I'll tell him I'm sorry," Patricia cried. "That's the least I can do."

  "Then don't worry about it. Armand is not one to hold grudges."

  Patricia was suddenly overcome with a sense of urgency.

  "Where is Armand? Is he still here?" she asked.

  "He is probably refueling the plane, getting ready to leave," Brigitte said.

  "I'm sure he'll come back to say goodbye before he leaves," said Aunt Pat who had been silent through their conversation.

  "I'll go look for him." Patricia felt every minute counted. She walked to the back of the house and out toward the airstrip. Before she could see the plane, she heard the revving up of its engines. She had come to recognize its sound, for it was louder than the noise made by Aunt Pat's single-engine craft. She ran toward it. She had to talk to Armand. There would be no more cat-and-mouse game between them. She would go where he went. She loved him.

  Patricia was out of breath when she reached the airstrip. Derek stood in front of the small hangar watching Armand's jet rise into the sky. It was too late.

  "That's all right." Patricia was filled with purpose. "I'll get a hold of him wherever he is." It shouldn't be too hard. He's probably on his way to Abidjan. Abidjan! Patricia became dreamy when she thought of Armand's home. She wanted to be there with him.

  Chapter Nine

  Patricia found the next few days to be the most frustrating time of her life.

  No one seemed to know where Armand had gone—not his sister, not even his most trusted secretary, Madame Ariel, who usually knew the whereabouts of her employer at all times.

  "Count Armand said he would be in touch with me as soon as he reached his destination," she told Patricia when she phoned Abidjan. "So far I haven't heard from the Count, Miss Wells."

  "Would you please let me know as soon as you do hear from him?" Patricia asked anxiously.

  "Of course, Miss Wells, I'll be glad to." She then added, trying to be helpful, "Count Armand is expected back early next week."

  Early next week Patricia would be back in New York!

  It was obvious to her that Armand didn't wish to see her or hear from her. He had left no address and no telephone number where he could be reached. Patricia guessed she had infuriated him one time too many.

  If only she had known there had been no need for jealousy, that Brigitte Duval was never Armand's mistress, only a relative in distress, whom he was kind enough to help!

  "I should be grateful for this experience," Patricia told herself. "Falling in love is everyone's lot sooner or later," she philosophized. She felt more grown up, more mature as a result of her involvement with Armand. But now it was over! And she felt devastated.

  "I didn't come to Africa to fall in love. I traveled here to visit my aunt," she reminded herself. At least that part of her experience brought her a great deal of pleasure and happiness. Her Aunt Pat turned out to be a person she both loved and admired.

  Patricia scanned the checklist she and Aunt Pat had made in preparation for the costume ball. This was the day of the happy occasion, the celebration of Aunt Pat's, as well as her own, birthday. A large colorful tent was set up in the garden, where Chinese lanterns hung from flowering trees. Patricia joined her aunt inside the tent as servants placed bouquets of flowers on the tables. Over a hundred guests would soon be dining and dancing here.

  "You are a very able party organizer," Aunt Pat praised Patricia. "I hope that when you marry, it will be to someone who enjoys entertaining. And, of course, I would expect him to be someone with tastes as sophisticated as your own," she added cryptically.

  Whatever made Aunt Pat say something like that? Patricia mused when she returned to her room to dress for the ball.

  It wasn't in keeping with her character to make a remark like that. In all the time Patricia had spent with Aunt Pat, no mention or suggestion of marriage was ever made in such an overt fashion. Was it possible Aunt Pat had become concerned about Patricia's seeming lack of interest in romance? Was she hoping Patricia would choose a man to marry? Who? Surely not Derek?—no, not Derek! Aunt Pat had voiced her opinion of him as a young man she was very fond of, but one who would bore a woman when in a romantic involvement.

  It was Armand she had in mind, Patricia knew without a doubt. But he was finished with her, finished and done. She couldn't tell if Aunt Pat knew of the dramatic break-up or if she guessed that Patricia was in love with him. Oh, what did it matter now? She was about to leave Africa—she would just have to try to have a good time at the ball.

  Patricia surveyed her costume, stitched of shining crimson satin. The delicate black lace that edged the many ruffles of the skirt was also used at the plunging neckline of the bodice.

  Patricia proceeded to put on makeup, using dark eyebrow pencil to accentuate her own brows. She made up her lips with bright lipstick and applied much more rouge than usual to her cheeks. She followed up with light powder on her nose and chin as well as the upper part of her cheeks.

  Her makeup completed, she put on her black wig, its long curls falling to her shoulders. She adjusted the wig carefully, making sure that her own red hair was completely out of sight.

  She was now ready to slip into her dress. The bodice fitted very tightly, making her waist seem even smaller than it was, accentuating her shapely breasts. The skirt, trimmed in layers of ruffles, fanned out below the hips, reaching almost to the ankles with its pretty black lace edging creating an intriguing effect.

  Lastly, Patricia put on a satiny black mask. It fitted across her eyes and part of her nose, with small slits for the eyes. She stood in front of the mirror surveying herself carefully, finding that she was unrecognizable, yet exotic and very attractive.

  She now pinned a red rose made of silk to the black lace mantilla that adorned her head, and walked over to the gaily decorated tent, where the music was just beginning to play.

  She had barely entered the tent when she was approached by men clamoring to dance with her. As the party progressed, she was constantly o
n her feet. Some of her partners she recognized, in spite of their masks. Some she wasn't sure she had ever met. She kept hoping against hope that Armand might be there, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Midnight approached and Patricia realized it was time to decide who would be her partner for the "Ladies' Choice" dance. This was the crucial dance of the evening, a game of sorts. At the end of this dance masks would come off and everyone's identity would be revealed.

  She could choose Derek, she had recognized him easily. He had dressed as Lord Nelson and she couldn't mistake his thin face under the large hat. Or she could approach a young man who had danced particularly well and pursued her relentlessly. She wasn't sure who he was, but he seemed to know a lot of people. Or… Her eyes were suddenly arrested by a tall, powerful figure of a man dressed as a medieval knight. She saw him the moment he entered the tent, quite late, the ball already in full swing and the midnight dance the next one. Even if Aunt Pat hadn't told her Armand would be disguised as a medieval knight, she would have known him instantly. His stance, his walk, were unmistakable to Patricia.

  Tall and straight, seeming uninterested in joining the crowd, he stood all by himself, sipping a glass of champagne. A visorlike dark mask covered his face, and on his head he wore a hood of silver mail. His body, clad in a silvery hauberk, rippled with muscles under the metallic fabric.

  The music stopped and it was time for the midnight dance. Patricia rushed toward Armand. She had to make sure to dance with him. She watched, worried, as another girl came to him ahead of her. But he shook his head negatively, a privilege allowed in this game, even though seldom exercised.

  When Patricia reached him, he bowed deeply. Patricia extended her hand and he held it a moment longer than necessary, his eyes seemingly intent upon her wrist. He then formally led Patricia to the dance floor to wait, as other couples were, for all the ladies to complete their choices.

  The orchestra leader raised his baton and the dance began. Armand encircled Patricia's small waist with his arm. Shivers rose up her spine, as his fingers pressed the small of her back. An engulfing warmth invaded her that only Armand's nearness elicited. Her heart fluttered, and the pleasure of it all was unbearable.