The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  When they were done observing the fish, they went to a seat by the fountain that guarded the entrance of the building, a stone mermaid spilling water from a conch. Nina had done most of the talking during their visit, but now, outside the aquarium, she grew quiet.

  Even when he was young, he had not been terribly eloquent with women, and now the endeavor was doubly difficult, but Hector decided there was no point in sitting there in silence.

  “May I ask you what may seem an indelicate question?”

  “What is it?” she replied.

  “Is Luc Lémy courting you?”

  The idea had been buzzing through his head all morning long. When he’d caught sight of her at the party, they had been together and he’d thought that was the case, but then she said he had not escorted her.

  “He flirts with me but he has said nothing of the sort yet. He might. It’s difficult to know.”

  “He’s not a bad man,” Hector said.

  “An underwhelming endorsement,” she said.

  He wanted to be fair in his assessment. He thought Luc Lémy volatile, movable, and perhaps lacking in imagination, but he had his positive qualities. When he wanted to, he could be a pleasant chap. To pretend otherwise would have been a lie.

  “May I ask you a question that may seem indelicate this time?” she told him.

  “You may.”

  “You and Valérie—”

  “I have no interest in discussing Valérie,” he said, cutting her off.

  She grew serious, a frown upon her brow. “If there is a chance that we might be friends again, then we must be honest with each other. If you do not wish to tell me the truth, then I might as well leave now,” she said, sitting firm and straight.

  “What truth do you want?”

  “You love her still?” Her tone was neutral; she might have been asking about the weather or the time a shop opened.

  “No,” he said with a similar coolness.

  “She said you came back for her.”

  “I did everything for her.”

  “And yet she has vanished from your heart this effortlessly?” Nina asked. A flicker of emotion flashed in her eyes before she angled her head and he was not able to look at her.

  The fountain behind them murmured in the language of water as he tried to find the right words. He spoke slowly.

  “I have always loved artifice more than anything in the world. The painted backdrops and the lights on the stage, transforming the ordinary into a land of wonder. And it was like that with her. I met her in Frotnac, one summer. I had never seen anyone that lovely, of noble family, with fine manners, and I thought surely an exquisite woman would bring with her an exquisite love.”

  He did not wish to elaborate any more, but Nina had asked for the truth and he had the feeling anything in half measure would not satisfy. He pressed on, certain he would sound like an idiot by the end of the conversation.

  “She loved me, but I was penniless and we couldn’t marry. I left, determined to make my fortune. I gave her an engagement ring, and for a few months we wrote to each other. The letters grew scarce and then she told me she’d married someone else, a wealthy man.”

  “Gaetan,” Nina said.

  “Yes. It was like I lost my mind. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think. One evening in Zhude, I made the draperies in my room catch on fire and they tossed me out. It was cold.”

  He could almost see himself, snowflakes in his hair and eyes shiny with tears, half-drunk with cheap wine, stumbling through the snow, his cap pulled down low.

  “I got to the end of a street and I was near the sea and I stared at it. I thought ‘What is to stop me from sinking in it?’”

  “What stopped you?” she asked quietly.

  “I thought … I thought, ‘I’ll show her. I’ll get her back.’ And insanely, this thought kept me alive. That thought became me.”

  He wondered if she judged him an absolute fool, but having begun his tale, he supposed he should finish it.

  “She did not love me as I loved her, she never did. I did not understand that then, too lost in flights of fancy, but I see it now. I was enamored of an illusion for years on end, living on memories half-remembered and half-fabricated. At Oldhouse, something gave away. Even a sleepwalker must open his eyes at one point.”

  So many wasted days spent pining after a phantom. When he considered it now, he could hardly believe it. It had been madness, he thought. Like those men who would one day open the front door of their homes and step out and simply walk away for miles on end until they could walk no more, overtaken by a mysterious impulse that could not be explained. A “fugue,” they called it. Pathological.

  “It was not effortlessly. It tore me apart, but the poison has bled out,” he concluded.

  Hector felt her heavy gaze upon him, though he could not discern its essence. He stared back at her.

  “You do not believe me.”

  “It is difficult to do so, considering the circumstances,” she replied.

  He recalled the way Nina had found them in the library, locked in an embrace, and he understood how it might seem somewhat improbable.

  “There was a desperation in me last summer,” Hector muttered. “I think I was trying to avoid the end of my old dreams because I could feel their demise dancing in the air. But they have ended. I was afraid of losing myself, of changing, and here I am and it’s done.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She meant it and her kindness as she spoke; it was beautiful and terrible because he realized how little he had appreciated it, how foolishly he had squandered his days staring across the table at Valérie. And Nina was there now, and despite it all, she had space enough for kindness. One more quality to admire—he had not lied when he told her that—he liked her intelligence, her humor, and her pluck.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Nina nodded, looking down. She dipped her fingers in the water of the fountain and the cuff of her dress was getting soaked, but she did not seem to mind.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket.

  He gave her the black box and she took off the lid, admiring the contents. The insect gleamed like gold.

  “You said I shouldn’t send the rest of them, but I did buy twenty. I thought you might want this one. It’s like the one I saw you catch by that stream, and you were pleased with it.”

  “A water diving beetle. You remembered that,” she said.

  “Not at first. I told them to get me twenty beetles, but then there was one that looked like this and I recalled the one you caught. Do you want it? If you don’t—”

  “Yes,” she said quickly.

  She held the insect up to the light, and when she did, it seemed to change color depending on the angle, now growing brighter or duller. She placed it back in the box and secured the lid on.

  “I did like the other beetles you sent,” she said.

  He chuckled at this only because the way she spoke it made it seem like a shameful secret.

  “What amuses you?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  Nina was peeved, blushing at his words even though once again he did not think he’d done or said anything that could cause any shame. He chuckled again, which, if he’d pause to consider it, was a feat since he tended to silences and a bit of starchiness.

  “Thank you for the gift,” she said once the color had faded from her cheeks.

  “You are welcome.”

  “Twenty, you say?”

  “One for each of your years.”

  “Whom did you buy them from?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Ferrier and Ferrier.”

  “You’ve been had. I wager you could have bought them at Theo’s for a fraction of the cost,” she replied cheekily.

  “Next time I require twenty beetles, I’ll ask you to accompany me to the shop.”

  Her eyes swept over him. Under the bright sun, her hair was so black, it seemed almost bl
ue; it glinted, like a raven’s wing. She dipped her hand in the water again, tracing circles with her fingers.

  “Perhaps we might meet again if you’d like,” he told her.

  Nina did not speak and he could not begrudge her the caution in her face. There would be no leaps and bounds between them.

  He did not wish to assume that she’d care about him anymore, even if she had at Oldhouse. A year had passed. And Hector himself was not sure where all this might lead; he’d had scant practice at the sport of affection. He’d seldom wanted it, preferring to dwell in the pits of melancholy. He was, in short, a jumble of thoughts and feelings, uncomfortably raw for a man his age.

  “We could attempt to become friends once more, as you said,” he proposed nevertheless, for he did need her to realize this was on his mind.

  Her body was tense, her fingers stilling in the water. She looked at him and he thought it might all come to naught, because she’d suddenly drifted far, her thoughts no doubt wary. But then Nina smiled. It was like looking down and finding the first green sprouts rising from the frozen, black earth. Almost invisible and yet there, heralding spring.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he repeated.

  Her hazy smile grew more obvious.

  It was something. It was something indeed.

  Chapter 9

  AGNES HADUIER WAS OLDER THAN Valérie and as ugly as a worn sow, but she attempted to compensate for her inadequacies by purchasing the most expensive, fabulous dresses and sporting an array of highly elaborate hats. Though they moved in the same social circles and had known each other for years, they were not friends. Valérie couldn’t truly trust anyone who was not a member of her family. She reserved her devotion for the Véries, the importance of blood kin and duty to her own imprinted on her since an early age.

  “How are your beloved roses doing, Valérie?” Agnes asked.

  “Blooming beautifully,” Valérie replied. Agnes had a large garden, but it was tacky and disorganized compared to Valérie’s perfect rose ensemble.

  Agnes smiled while Valérie looked at her with a face of flawless alabaster, hiding the indifference that assaulted her in the presence of this woman. Agnes wore a blue hat with a feather sprouting from the back, which Valérie found ostentatious and off-putting.

  “I was sorry you could not make it to my party.”

  “Yes, I apologize for that,” Valérie said dryly. She had sent the woman a note promptly the morning after the party. She always minded her courtesies—what else could Agnes want now?

  “My dear, if you had gone … well, perhaps … This is hard for me to say, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that your cousin Antonina behaved poorly.”

  “How poorly?”

  “There was some small matter about her doing a few levitation tricks. Very common, I’m afraid. No, but the real issue, and the reason why I come here today, is to warn you about that other matter.”

  Agnes paused dramatically, as she was wont to do when she was spreading her poison. Nothing delighted her more than gossip. She had a barbed tongue.

  “She was seen leaving the party in the company of a man, my dear. That performer, Hector Auvray. Everyone speaks about him these days, but he’s too quiet in person. I wouldn’t have invited him to the party, but my husband insisted. You know how he is about these sorts of people. Can’t get enough of them.”

  It was a testament to Valérie’s self-control that she did not begin screaming at the top of her lungs, for that was exactly what she wished to do. Instead, she managed to stay sitting in her chair and stare at Agnes with cool eyes.

  “Did you see them?” Valérie asked.

  “No. My friend Bertrand Roge did. Antonina, leaving with that man, and you can be sure he was not her escort to the party, not at all. And he is essentially a theater performer! Dear me, there will be talk of this.”

  Yes, there would. Which was precisely why Agnes had come. Not to warn Valérie, but to relish her discomfort knowing how embarrassing the incident could be. They’d say Antonina knew nothing of deportment; they’d gossip about the Beaulieus.

  And Hector. Hector, why was he doing this?

  I shall kill that girl, Valérie thought. She provides me nothing but woe.

  “I am glad you have brought this to my attention. You must understand I would be grateful if you could do anything to mitigate such talk,” Valérie said.

  “I will speak to Mr. Roge, but one can’t predict how these matters will go.”

  In Loisail, certain things were not said out loud. Secrets were written in the movement of a fan or the gestures with a glove. Innocent words hid the sharpness of knives. Now Agnes and Valérie were speaking in this code.

  “I would be eternally grateful for your assistance.”

  “I shall try. In the meantime, will you be supping with us next week? My husband was dearly hoping you and Gaetan would come to our Thursday soirée, a last-minute reunion I’ve organized. Gaetan is a busy man, hard to talk to these days.”

  Yes. That was it. Tit for tat. Valérie didn’t like Agnes, but now she’d have to make an appearance at her stupid get-together while Gaetan would be whisked away to the smoking room to discuss money matters. The Haduiers were not paupers, but everyone knew they spent more than they should and their extravagant lifestyle was funded with generous loans, which they repaid haphazardly. They owed Gaetan money and would try to defer payment.

  Vipers and scorpions, she thought.

  “I believe we can make it,” Valérie said.

  “Thank you. I have taken up too much of your time. It has been lovely speaking with you.”

  “Thank you, dearest Agnes. You will forgive me if I do not rise and escort you out. I suddenly feel rather tired,” Valérie said.

  It was undeniably rude not to stand and kiss the woman on the cheek, but then Valérie was trying to make a point. Agnes gave her a stiff nod.

  When the perfumed cow had exited the room, Valérie allowed herself to dig her nails into the arms of her chair.

  Antonina. That stupid whore. What else could be expected of her? But most important, what was Hector thinking?

  They are on speaking terms, but that means nothing, she thought. But, no, it was bad. It could ruin all her plans. Say, for example, that he was merely being polite. That still meant a possible distraction, Antonina’s head turned away from Luc Lémy. And at worst, he was a true rival for her affection.

  Valérie needed Antonina to marry Luc. Hector was a wedge between them.

  Without meaning to, she also thought about him in other terms. Hector was hers. He was always hers, and even if she wouldn’t have him, he should remain so.

  Valérie rose and went to the office, where she wrote a quick, stern missive. She instructed a servant to arrange for it to be delivered right away to the home of Luc Lémy.

  Luc did not take too long to arrive, though the minutes were like sandpaper against Valérie’s skin. She gave word that he should be brought to the conservatory, where she paced among her flowers, and there he greeted her with that charming smile of his and a bow.

  “You are, as usual, utterly lovely,” he said, and though he spoke with ease, the tone of her message had impressed the urgency of this meeting upon him: his eyes were anxious.

  “Thank you,” she said tartly.

  She needed him to understand the gravity of the situation—rather than trying to delicately explain the matter, she decided to be blunt.

  “Tell me, Mr. Lémy, exactly how difficult is it to seduce a naive country girl?”

  “Pardon me?” Luc replied. He had opened his cigarette case and froze in astonishment.

  “Antonina. She should be head over heels in love with you by now. You’ve had many days to reel her in, and yet what happens? I hear Auvray may be interested in her again.”

  “What exactly did you hear?” Luc asked.

  “He escorted her home after Haduier’s party.”

  “I was there. I had no idea Hec
tor was there, too,” Luc said, flustered.

  “Did you even realize she was gone?”

  The guilt tattooed across his face would have been sufficient proof for her, but then he babbled a few words. “No, I did—”

  “Of course not. What were you doing exactly?” Valérie asked.

  “Talking to friends. Dancing.”

  “Dancing. Not with Antonina, I would think, or else she would have been in your arms and it would have been difficult for Hector to extract her from them.”

  She imagined how it had gone. Luc had talked to his “friends,” and after a bit of drinking and a bit of dancing, he’d forgotten all about her. Perhaps he had even left the party with these “friends,” looking for other sport, and had imagined that Antonina was still at the Haduiers’ home, safe and sound. He could not have predicted she would meet Hector or leave with him, but he should have been paying more attention. Now who knew what this would cost them.

  “In my defense, I had not received approval from your husband to court Antonina until a couple of days ago. It would have been improper—”

  “Save your talk of manners. Do not pretend you have not lured a woman before. A kiss or two, a bit of fumbling with each other is all it should take.”

  He blushed like an idiot. As if the first thought in the mind of a man of his ilk was not how to lift a woman’s skirts and rut between her legs. Valérie had asked about him; she knew about a dancer a year prior and a painter’s model the year before that, and the countless strings of nobodies he carried behind him.

  “Antonina is a lady,” Luc said. “You can’t be suggesting I attempt to compromise her.”

  “You’ll compromise her, whether on your wedding night or sooner than that. Sooner would be better if it would help our cause. Don’t stare at me like that, boy. I speak from common sense. If you won’t, I’m sure Hector Auvray can volunteer to do the honor, then toss her at your feet.”