Lily smiled at Gemma who smiled back and together they received their prize.
It was almost midnight when Lily escaped with Ronan onto the balcony of her grandmother’s flat. As he closed the French doors behind them the music and voices subsided to a reassuring hum.
‘I’ve barely seen you,’ said Ronan, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.
‘I know,’ said Lily. ‘It’s been nuts ever since the curtain came down and then Angel insisted on helping me change into something pretty.’
‘Well, she does have excellent taste,’ said Ronan, smoothing his hand over Lily’s turquoise faux fur jacket. ‘I can see why Nick likes her.’
‘Should I be jealous?’ asked Lily, snuggling further into his embrace.
‘Nah, I’m dating the celebrity, not him.’
‘It was amazing being mobbed after the show like that,’ mused Lily.
‘Lucky for us the Comtesse organised this.’ Ronan kissed her some more. ‘It’s quite a party.’
‘You know Grandmama,’ said Lily, after a moment. ‘She was set on celebrating.’
‘I don’t think Gemma’s come down to earth yet,’ said Ronan, pointing inside to where Gemma stood surrounded by a group of first years, an enormous grin on her face.
‘She’s not the only one,’ replied Lily. ‘It still seems like a dream.’
‘Only it’s real,’ said Ronan. ‘You were amazing, Lily D. Even Mam was impressed.’
‘You’re kidding.’ Lily looked up at him. ‘I didn’t think I could ever impress Alondra.’
‘Actually, Mam likes you, Lily.’
‘She does?’
‘Uh-huh. She just likes to be sure you know how lucky you are to have me!’
Lily punched him playfully. ‘Good thing I’ve got Grandmama on my side then.’ She laughed. ‘I can’t wait to see them together when you come down to Cap Ferrat next week for Christmas.’
‘It’ll be a battle of the giants,’ said Ronan with a grin. ‘But after that night at the gallery, my money’s on Mam.’
‘I don’t know.’ Lily smiled mischievously. ‘Wait till Alondra sees what Grandmama’s done with your paintings.’
Ronan frowned. ‘I knew the Comtesse couldn’t really want six of them. I tried to tell her at the exhibition not to buy –’
‘They’re with the Picassos.’
‘What!’ Ronan stepped back and stared at Lily in disbelief.
‘Grandmama hung your tower picture between her two Picassos.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true. And she showed your paintings to a dealer in Paris. He wants to meet you.’
‘I –’
Just then, the door opened and Max appeared. ‘Aren’t you two cold?’ he asked. ‘It looks like it might snow.’
‘We’re fine,’ said Lily, pulling Ronan’s arms around her. ‘We’re keeping each other warm. How’s the party going?’
‘Amazing,’ replied Max. ‘Your grandmother’s a miracle worker! She’s got my mother raving about how marvellous it is that I’m at the Academy and what a bright, bright future I have as an actor.’
‘That’s great, Max.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ he said happily. ‘But even better, Charlotte’s brother, Edward, is here.’
‘You know, Max, you should forget Tarantino,’ said Lily suddenly. ‘You need to come to Cap Ferrat for New Year.’
‘Forget Tarantino!’ yelped Max. ‘Are you nuts –’
‘Did I mention that Edward’s driving down with Charlotte and Gemma and Phoebe?’ asked Lily innocently.
‘Oh.’ Max grinned. ‘Right. Then if Tarantino’s finished filming, I’ll be there.’ He paused. ‘By the way, your dad was asking for you.’
‘We’d better go in,’ said Ronan. He opened the door and they entered the crowded sitting room. Lily spotted her dad at once. He was standing with the Comtesse, his arm around Simone, talking to Angel and Nick. Every few seconds he lifted his head and gazed around the room. When he saw Lily, his face lit up.
‘Lily,’ he said as they drew near. ‘There you are.’ He smiled at Ronan. ‘Give her up for a bit, will you? I’ve only seen her for five minutes.’ He reached out and pulled Lily into his arms. ‘A great victory, daughter of mine, and well deserved.’
‘Really?’ asked Lily shyly.
‘Really.’ Philip hugged her close. ‘You were truly remarkable, my darling,’ he said. ‘Ethereal. Otherworldly. It was an extraordinary performance.’
‘Oh, Dad, do you really mean it?’ whispered Lily. She felt as though a huge burden had been lifted from her.
He stepped back and took her hands in his. ‘I do. And what’s more, your grandmother has informed me that I was wrong to ask you to give up acting for the family business or to make you choose between you and Angel.’
‘What?’ cried Angel. ‘But I would never let Lily give up –’
‘I know you wouldn’t,’ interrupted Lily. She smiled at her sister. ‘Which is why I told Grandmama that when I’d finished my training, I’d join Dad in the business.’
‘You did?’ said Philip, startled.
‘Yes, my son, that is exactly what she did,’ said the Comtesse. ‘Which is why neither you nor I can allow it. Angel and Lily must be free to develop their talents and make their own way in the world.’
‘You are right as usual, Maman,’ said Philip.
‘But what about the business?’ Lily frowned. ‘Someone in the family has to follow you. We can’t let down six generations of de Tourneys.’
‘We won’t,’ said Philip. ‘You never know, one day you or Angel might decide you’ve had enough of acting and fashion.’ He smiled as they both shook their heads vigorously. ‘Well, if not you, then I’ll have to hope that one of my other two children will want to run the company.’
‘Other children?’ cried Lily and Angel, staring at him in confusion.
Philip nodded and drew Simone into his arms.
‘Are you saying –’ began Angel, staring wide-eyed at her mother’s radiant face.
‘You don’t mean –’ said Lily, gazing in wonder at her dad and stepmother.
‘Twins, Philip?’ said the Comtesse. ‘What an excellent idea!’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Books may be written in isolation, but they would not exist without the support of family and friends. I owe a huge debt of thanks to the usual suspects: Barry, Elanor, Christopher and Ben, as well as dear friends Dianne Tobias, Fiona Skinner, Jenny Walshe, Roy and Frances Hay, Paul Nicholls, Phil Rebakis, Mary Bourke and Barbara Kloester who continue to be there for me. My editorial team at Penguin are second to none and I am enormously grateful to Amy Thomas, Davina Bell, Jane Godwin and Clair Hume for their insight and wise counsel. Thanks guys for loving Lily and Ronan and helping me to tell their story. Thanks also to Melissa Faulkner and Karen Scott. Thanks to my fabulous agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for her friendship and support, and to the RWA sisterhood – all of the fabulous authors and soon-to-be authors who understand the journey and are always ready to lend a helping hand. A big shout out to Linda Brumley and Kerri Lane for their generous encouragement when I needed it most; to my best and favourite English teacher, Jenny Peters, for making Shakespeare wonderful; and to Jennifer Nason for our long and cherished friendship. Heartfelt thanks to my cousin, Colin McPhillamy, whose vast professional experience – both on and off Broadway – and knowledge of the challenges and vagaries of the theatrical world are written into the very foundations of the London Drama Academy; to my mother, Valerie, who gave me books to read and love from an early age and who read the first Rapunzel draft – the password is fortitude; to my brother, Peter Wyllie Johnston, who has always believed in me and whose encyclopedic knowledge of classical music, opera and Australian musical theatre continues to enrich my life; to my sister, Marjorie, for her unfailing interest in my writing, for Our Town and for Kunja Villas where I wrote part of this book; to my sister, Susan, who loves to talk books and writing, and t
o my brother, Jon, for all the hugs. On the technical side I owe a big debt of gratitude to fencing expert, Neil Hick, whose knowledge of the sport proved invaluable. To John Nolan, a great friend and a goldmine of information and expertise in all matters artistic. To motorcycle supremo, Steve Brouggy, for his invaluable advice about motorcycles in general and how best to avoid hitting a large Sussex cow in particular. Thanks, too, to Mick, Jacob and Dave at Harley Davidson Geelong for their expert advice on handling a Harley FX Superglide II. Any errors are mine alone. As always, John Nolan is a great friend and a goldmine of information and expertise in all matters artistic. And finally, to all the authors who inspire me – you are too numerous to name – I thank you all for the joy of reading.
CHAPTER 1
Angel knew the moment she saw it. The colour was exactly as she’d imagined – a deep midnight-blue. She ran her fingers over the velvet, catching it between her palms to test its weight. Just as she’d thought: pussycat soft, but heavy and luxuriant enough to hang perfectly.
She lifted the bolt of cloth down from the rack and carried it to the counter. The salesgirl smothered a yawn. ‘How much?’ she asked in a bored tone.
If she only knew what it’s for, thought Angel. ‘I’ll need six yards.’
The girl looked at her doubtfully. ‘That’ll be three hundred and eighty-nine dollars.’
Please let there be enough, Angel thought, digging into her purse and placing the bills on the counter, her heart beating faster as the roll of cash gave up its twenties, tens and fives, until all that was left was a small wad of one-dollar bills.
She counted slowly: three eighty-two, three eighty-three, three eighty-four . . . She was five dollars short. ‘Maybe just under six yards.’
The girl unrolled the cloth and Angel watched in quiet ecstasy as the fabric flowed in great velvet waves across the counter. It was perfect.
—
The uptown bus seemed to take forever. It was a sultry May evening and Angel’s legs prickled with sweat under the parcel of fabric on her lap. It’d be hot walking home from her stop, but she didn’t care. She’d help her mother with dinner, rush through her homework and get started on the dress. She’d have to go carefully. This dress, more than anything she had ever made, needed to be exactly right, down to the tiniest detail. And when it came time to cut the velvet – well, she’d work up to that.
It was nearly seven when she turned into Fifth Avenue and ran up the front steps of the five-storey townhouse. Inside, the marble foyer was brightly lit and she could hear voices upstairs. The hateful Margot by the sound of it, probably berating the cleaner again, unless – had Lily come home early from play rehearsal?
Angel paused for a moment, straining to hear. The first voice reached a new pitch and the answering murmur grew even softer. Definitely Margot and definitely not Lily.
It could be Clarissa. Angel hadn’t yet met Margot’s seventeen-year-old daughter, but she’d heard her. Last week, after Lily’s dad had left for South America, Lily and Clarissa had fought like cats. Afterwards Lily had come down to the kitchen wing and burst into tears.
Angel and her mother had tried to comfort her, but they’d both known it wasn’t the fight that had upset Lily so much as her dad inviting Margot and Clarissa Kane to stay the whole six weeks he was away.
Lily had done everything to convince her dad not to invite them but she hadn’t succeeded. And it was only after the fight that Angel had realised how much Philip’s decision had upset her best friend. She’d never known Lily to lose her cool like that. Sure, she had a passion for drama, but she could always hold it in when she wanted to. Trouble was, as Lily told Angel later, on that occasion she hadn’t wanted to.
In the week that followed, Lily came downstairs so often to report Clarissa’s latest iniquity that Angel suspected the older girl of deliberately trying to start another fight. So far, Lily had managed to refrain from taking the bait, but Angel doubted she’d last another five weeks without biting back.
Angel listened again. The voices were moving away; she heard footsteps, a door close and silence. She sighed with relief and crossed the foyer. As she passed the hallstand she stopped. Thrown carelessly against the antique Japanese cabinet was Clarissa’s discarded schoolbag. Books, folders, pens, an iPad, headphones and a crumpled cheerleader’s uniform spilled out across the floor beside a black-and-white Moschino jacket.
At least, it looked like one of the latest Moschino designs . . . Angel hesitated, glanced nervously around and, satisfied she was alone, put down her parcel and picked up the jacket.
She cast a judicious eye over the cut and fabric. It was well-made and she noted with approval the even seams and well-fitted lining. The black-and-white look was very much in the Moschino style, but it wasn’t Moschino. Angel checked the label and felt a tiny shock of recognition. A flamboyant black CLARISSA told her at once who had made the jacket.
Ever since Lily had told her that Clarissa designed her own clothes and had a part-time job working for the up-and-coming New York fashion designer, Miki Merua, Angel had felt a guilty fascination for her best friend’s archenemy. Anything to do with fashion was an irresistible lure for Angel and (despite Lily’s regular catalogue of Clarissa’s vices) she found it hard to believe that anyone who brought their own dressmaker’s dummy and sewing machine to the house could possibly be as bad as Lily made out.
Angel held the jacket away from her – the cut was good and the black panels were a cute idea but something –
Upstairs a door slammed. She stiffened as the staccato tip-tup sound of high heels on marble came towards her. Angel dropped the jacket, grabbed her precious parcel and fled.
Opening the door to the kitchen wing, she passed through into the safety and familiarity of her own world. There was no gleaming marble here, but over the years Angel had grown to like the bare walls and worn carpet. This part of the house might be austere but it was quiet and these days that was all she wanted.
She walked quickly down the hallway past the long-disused butler’s room and the former housekeeper’s old room. Angel’s bedroom was opposite her mother’s at the end of the hall. They were next to the kitchen, which made things quicker in the morning – especially when Philip had guests and there were breakfasts to be delivered upstairs.
Angel frowned. Usually Philip de Tourney’s houseguests were pleasant and undemanding, not like Margot and Clarissa Kane. It was incredible: they’d only been in the house a week and already they’d created havoc. No wonder Lily kept staying late at school. Unless . . .
She crossed the hall and entered the butler’s old room. Here lay a treasure trove of unwanted things gathering dust. In the centre of the room two large wooden wardrobes and a low table formed a makeshift theatre and standing on the table, with her back to the door, was Lily.
‘What do I want?’ Angel heard her say. ‘What motivates me?’
‘Fame, money, a movie deal – the usual things,’ said Angel.
Lily spun round. ‘I wasn’t talking about me!’
‘I know, but maybe it’s what your character wants.’
‘No way,’ cried Lily, jumping down. ‘Emily Webb is deeper than that.’ She sat down on the coffee table. ‘Though she’d probably like a new dress if it was offered.’
‘Who wouldn’t want a new dress?’ smiled Angel, holding out her parcel.
Lily’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t tell me you finally found it?’
‘Look.’ Angel sat down and parted the paper.
‘OMG, it’s exactly how you described it – the same colour as –’
‘– the dress you were wearing the day we met.’ Angel nodded. ‘I’ve always remembered it. It was the prettiest dress I’d ever seen.’
‘You couldn’t have seen many,’ objected Lily. ‘You were only six.’
Angel smiled. ‘You’re forgetting, I’d seen your mother’s entire wardrobe by the time you came down here.’
‘Yes, and you looked so guilty!’
‘I
felt guilty. We’d only been here three weeks and I thought for sure your dad would tell Maman we had to leave.’
‘No chance of that, Dad was far more likely to be mad at me for invading Simone’s privacy. He’d made me promise not to come down here bothering her.’
‘And we both know you always do what your dad tells you.’
Lily gave her a shove. ‘I do when he’s reasonable. Anyway, he likes us being friends. He knows what a good influence you are on me.’
This time it was Angel’s turn to shove. ‘Sometimes you make me sound so boring.’
‘As if you’re boring! You just think about stuff. Not like me . . .’
‘You do jump in sometimes,’ conceded Angel.
‘Which can be a good thing, right?’ asked Lily. ‘Like coming down here that day and knowing straight away we’d be best friends.’
‘Even though I was going through your mother’s things?’
Lily looked surprised. ‘You weren’t hurting anyone. If my mother had been alive I don’t think she’d have minded. All I wanted was to see the little French girl my dad had brought home with our new housekeeper.’
‘I’m a quarter American,’ protested Angel. ‘Papa grew up in France but he was born here and . . .’ she fiddled with the velvet, ‘. . . he died here.’
Lily looked at her sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Angel,’ she whispered. ‘I know you miss him.’
Angel managed a tiny smile. ‘It’s okay. He was sick for a long time.’
Lily put her arm around Angel’s shoulders. ‘I can’t believe it’s been four months,’ she said softly. ‘I wish I’d been here with you when it happened.’
Angel shook her head. ‘You couldn’t have done anything. That was the weekend your dad came back from China. Your first real chance to see him since New Year’s.’
‘True, but I would’ve given up our holiday if you’d told me about your dad.’
The Rapunzel Dilemma Page 30