‘I know.’
‘How’s Simone?’ asked Lily gently.
Angel hesitated. She still wasn’t entirely sure how her mother was coping with Papa’s death. He’d been ill for so long. It was ten years since they had come to New York for the surgery they’d hoped would cure him. It had taken months and months of waiting and most of their hard-won savings before Simone had finally accepted that, despite the famous surgeon’s best efforts, her husband would never be one of his success stories. It had taken another six months to find a nursing home they could afford for as long as Papa needed care.
In the end they’d had to settle for a place three hours train ride away in upstate New York. Not that the distance had stopped Simone – it was a rare Sunday that they did not visit Angel’s dad. But since he’d been gone, it seemed to Angel as though some part of her mother had gone with him.
She sighed. ‘You know what Maman’s like, she keeps things inside.’
Lily nodded. ‘Yeah, but I thought she might’ve talked to you.’
‘She has, a bit.’ Angel chewed her lip. In the week after his death, Simone had talked to Angel about Papa – mostly recounting memories of their life in France when Angel was little, before the accident that ended their happiness.
Angel had been too young to remember the day the tractor had run over Papa, crushing his back and leaving him partially paralysed. Whenever she asked Maman about it, Simone would always change the subject and talk about how good things would be when Papa was well again. She would never speak about the accident or about having to sell the vineyard or the dreadful months they’d endured with Grandpère before coming to New York. Angel soon learned not to ask.
She had hoped that Maman would tell her things – that she would overcome her sadness and talk to her about the past. Instead Simone built a wall around her grief and locked it away. She was as loving and affectionate as ever, but she would not share her pain.
Sometimes Angel wondered if she was as stubborn as her mother. She hoped not. It seemed like such a barrier to happiness and more than anything Angel wanted her mother to be happy.
She sighed. Simone had such a fierce pride that it made her impossible to move once her mind was made up about something. Angel shifted restlessly. ‘I sometimes wish . . .’
‘What?’ asked Lily.
‘Nothing,’ said Angel abruptly. She stood up and pulled Lily to her feet. ‘Maman is fine and so am I, but what about you? How’s the play going?’
‘Good, I think.’
‘I’ll bet it’s awesome,’ said Angel. ‘And you’re going to be amazing in it, like always.’
‘I’m not always good, Angel,’ said Lily with a smile. ‘Remember that awful play I wrote when I was ten?’
‘The one where you played all the lead roles and I made those terrible costumes?’ asked Angel.
‘The costumes were the best thing in it.’
‘They were horrible!’ cried Angel. ‘I was a total novice.’
‘I was worse,’ said Lily. ‘But look how far we’ve come since then.’
‘Sure, but look how far we’ve got to go.’
‘We can do it, Angel,’ declared Lily. ‘I know we can. I’m going to be a famous stage actress and you’re going to be a top fashion designer. It’ll happen – you’ll see.’
‘I like your enthusiasm,’ said Angel, ‘but I think it’ll need more than enthusiasm to get us over the line.’
‘Nah, it just needs you to win the Teen Couture and me to convince Dad that acting is a real career.’
‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ said Angel with a wry smile.
‘It’d be a lot easier if he’d stop listening to Margot. Or just stopped seeing her altogether!’
Angel hesitated and then said tentatively, ‘You don’t suppose you could try to like her?’
Lily snorted. ‘Been there, done that, got burned. Anyway, even if I could bring myself to like Margot, nothing could ever make me like Clarissa! She’s the most stuck-up, spoiled, self-absorbed, wanna-be-famous-for-all-the-wrong-reasons, queen diva who thinks she’s a lot more talented than she is!’
‘She must be pretty talented, or she wouldn’t have got the job with Miki Merua.’
‘She got the job because Margot pulled strings, like she always does.’ Lily scowled. ‘People don’t see Margot the way I do. They think she’s marvellous. It’s like she’s got some weird power that makes people practically fall over themselves to please her. She’s even got my dad sucked in.’
‘Maybe when he gets back from South America, you can tell him –’ Angel broke off as Lily’s mobile buzzed insistently.
‘Oh, shoot!’ cried Lily. ‘That’s Dad now.’
Angel followed her out the door.
In the kitchen her mother looked up from cleaning the coffee machine and smiled.
‘There you are, Angelique, ma chérie.’ Ten years in New York hadn’t diluted Simone’s accent and not even her plain housekeeper’s uniform could disguise her indefinable air of French chic.
‘Sorry I’m late, Maman.’ Angel hugged her. ‘But I found it.’
Simone stopped cleaning. ‘Not the velvet?’
‘Yes. Wait till you see it.’
‘Where was it?’
‘That little shop in Soho – I don’t know how long it’s been there but it’s everything I’d hoped for.’ She opened the parcel, cradling the velvet in her arms as her mother reached out to touch it.
‘It’s beautiful.’ Simone looked anxious. ‘Did you get enough?’
‘Just. It took the last of my savings, but it’s okay ’cause I’ve already paid for the international courier. The ball gown is the last thing I need to make and there’s still three weeks before I have to send everything to Paris.’ Angel hugged the fabric to her chest. ‘I’ll have to work on it every spare minute but I know I can get it done – I must!’
Simone hesitated, then said, ‘You know how much I believe in you, chérie. I know you are talented and passionate about fashion design, but . . .’ She twisted a strand of Angel’s tawny hair around her fingers. ‘Winning the Teen Couture is a big dream, mon ange.’
Angel’s blue eyes were earnest as she said, ‘I know, Maman, but some dreams do come true.’
‘Yes, but you’re competing with teenagers from all over the world. Young people trained in fashion design, while you’ve . . .’
‘Never even been inside a design studio, I know. But the Teen Couture is my chance to change all that. First prize is $50,000 and a year working in Antoine Vidal’s Paris salon.’ Angel’s eyes shone. ‘Can you imagine? Antoine Vidal – the king of haute couture himself. I mean, he actually trained under Christian Dior before setting up his own fashion house and creating the Teen Couture.’
She took her mother’s hand. ‘And tomorrow night I might get to see him – all because you convinced Jean-Pierre to hire me as a waitress last summer.’ Angel hugged the velvet. ‘Can you imagine – me in the same room as Antoine Vidal? And maybe, just maybe, I might make the final in the Teen Couture and get to meet him!’
‘Yes, chérie, I know.’ Simone’s soft brown eyes were sombre as she cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. ‘And I know how much you dream of it all. It’s just that . . . You and your papa were so close and now he is gone. I don’t want you to be hurt by anything more. Some dreams can be dangerous.’
‘Not this one.’ Angel’s voice rang with confidence. ‘I know I probably won’t win, but something good will come of it, I’m positive.’
Her mother looked sceptical. ‘I hope you are right, mon ange.’
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THE BEGINNING
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The Rapunzel Dilemma Page 31