He opens his mouth to argue and I turn to hobble away on my crutches, making the decision for him while I try to persuade myself coming here wasn’t a colossal mistake. So what if I wind up alone in a corner all night, watching Henri dance with his future wife? I get a firsthand view of a 1930’s dance in pre-war France.
“You’re not ditching me that easily,” says Henri behind me.
I look back at him, feeling inexplicably upset. “Go ahead. You obviously wanted to dance with her and I’m perfectly capable of finding a chair for myself.”
“You don’t seriously think I want to swing dance?” he asks with a brow raised. He grabs a chair at an empty table and holds it for me.
“Why not?” I ask. “She’s very pretty. I’d think that would induce you to dance whether you wanted to or not.”
His brow furrows. “I’ll get us cocktails,” he says. “Perhaps that will improve your mood.”
He walks away, but no sooner has he left than a man I don’t recognize drops into his seat.
“Exactly who I was hoping to talk to!” he says. “I thought I’d have to wait until Henri was in the bathroom before I got my chance.”
He’s young and handsome in a slightly more polished way than Henri. More like Mark, actually. To my surprise I find I don’t prefer it.
“Have we met?” I ask.
He smiles. “From what I’ve heard, the Durands only let you leave home to attend mass, and since I try to make sure I’m still asleep during mass, meeting you has proved difficult. My name is Luc. What would you like to drink?”
“I think Henri—”
Luc waves his hand. "Henri will come back with something dull. Have you ever had a sidecar?” He grabs someone passing by and pushes some francs in his hand, before clapping him on the back. “There. He’ll be back with our drinks in a moment, but hopefully I’ll have persuaded you to run off to Paris with me before he returns. I doubt your cousin is going to let me linger long enough to see you finish a drink.”
“Paris?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says with a crooked smile. “We’re heading there once they’ve run out of booze here. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.” He gives me such an unapologetically lecherous look that I can’t help but laugh.
“Got Durand away from her already?” says one of two men approaching the table.
Luc leans toward me. “Here come my friends, trying to move in the moment I’ve got you to myself. They’re very bad people. I don’t know why I like them.” He turns to them as they take seats at the table. “Go away. I got to her first.”
They both laugh, introducing themselves to me in English, though they don’t speak it with Luc’s ease.
Henri is near the bar with drinks in hand, surrounded by a half circle of females vying for his attention. I’m sure he’s told all of them they look lovely too, though he appears to be trying to get away from them. I accept the drink from Luc when it’s delivered, taking some small amount of consolation from Luc’s conversation in French with Jean and Marc, rude though it is.
No wonder Henri’s been keeping her to himself, says Jean.
Can you marry a cousin? asks Marc.
No, but I bet you can fuck one if you keep it quiet, replies Luc.
Luc turns to me, asking about my trip here and how long I plan to stay and if I’m ready to leave for Paris yet because the dance is already boring him. Suddenly Henri is looming over us both. He sets a drink in front of me with an irritated glance at my half-empty sidecar.
Trying to get my cousin drunk, Barbier? he asks Luc.
I was hoping I might, Luc replies. No luck thus far, however.
I’ve never seen Henri smile in quite such a threatening way before. If I see you near her again, I’m going to smash your pretty face wide open, he says quietly, still smiling as if his words are pleasant, and there won’t be enough liquor in the world to get you laid. Now get out of my seat.
Luc raises a brow and shrugs, leaning over my hand with a broad smile. “Your cousin is telling me I need to leave. But if you want to come to Paris with us, let me know. I’ll help you escape.” He moves away with a wink, and Henri drops into the chair he vacated.
“Stay away from Luc,” he says. “He’s not a good person.”
I finish my sidecar. “Tell me something, Henri, who are the good people in Saint Antoine? Because as yet I’ve only heard you mention the bad.”
He glances over at me. “There aren’t any.”
“Except for you?”
He picks up his glass and empties it. “Not even me,” he replies.
We watch Marie dancing, flushed and happy. I envy her mobility and feel sorry for her at the same time—this is who she could be and should be all the time, if their lives were less closed off.
“She should be at university,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “She deserves far more than a quiet life on the farm.”
I glance at him. “So in spite of all your garbage about a woman’s place and being ladylike, you’d be okay with her working, maybe doing something that isn’t traditional for females?”
He looks at me incredulously. “I can’t believe you feel you need to ask me that. Of course I would. I’d want her to do whatever makes her happy.”
“Then you must see that it’s not right, keeping her stuck here.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m doing it to protect your kind and your way of life. And a lot of things aren’t right, but we’re all going to have to learn to live with them.”
The music changes, and everyone on the dance floor begins doing a particular dance I don’t recognize. “What is that they’re doing?” I ask him.
“The Lindy Hop,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “It’s named after your compatriot, Charles Lindbergh. I’d think you’d know that.”
I lean toward him, still watching the dance floor. “He died not long after I was born. He’s only a compatriot to me in the way Joan of Arc is one to you.”
He laughs. “You do realize Joan of Arc lived 500 years ago, yes? It’s not as if she and I just graduated a few years apart.”
I don’t laugh, the way I normally might. Disappointment has left me feeling dangerously unstable. If I wasn’t on crutches I’d already have left.
“You seem unhappy tonight,” he says quietly, but the thought goes no further, because another set of girls is approaching the table to talk to Henri. He rises, kissing their cheeks, telling them both in turn how beautiful they look tonight. I must be the only female in the entire damn room he can’t say it to, and I’ve had it. I will walk home on the crutches, or perhaps I’ll even go to Paris with Luc. It’s a feeling I’ve experienced many times at home, this misery so deep that I’ll grasp onto anything to keep myself afloat.
He’s talking to them about some fair in Eperney and I grab my crutches and begin striding away without even excusing myself.
I’ve only made it two table lengths away before he’s at my side again, placing his hand on my forearm to hold me in place.
“Where are you going?” he asks. “Come back to the table before some drunk knocks you over.”
I snatch my arm from his grasp, turning my head to meet his eye. “Fuck off, Henri,” I hiss. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
His jaw drops. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight? It’s as if you want—” he cuts himself off mid-sentence, glaring at a boy standing just behind me. She’s not here for your viewing pleasure, Henri snaps at him. Look away if you'd like to keep those eyes the rest of the night.
"What was that about?" I ask.
"He was about to knock into you. I told him to be careful of your ankle.”
I hold his eye. "Really? And what did you say to Luc?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I told him you are engaged. Was I wrong?"
“Yes,” I reply, getting ready to move again. “You were wrong because I don’t need you speaking for me as if I’m a child.” I set my crutches in another direction but am stopped by Marie, who skips t
oward us, flushed and smiling.
“I’ve found you at last!”
Henri raises a brow. “We’ve been here over an hour and you were on the dance floor the entire time, so don’t pretend you’ve been looking for us.”
“Who were you dancing with?” I ask.
She waves her hand lazily. “Just Xavier. He was in Henri’s class. But I need to rest. Can we sit?” She turns to Henri. “And Claudette is looking for you. You’d better dance with her or there will be hell to pay.”
He frowns. “You’ll keep an eye on Amelie?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and begin moving through the crowd again. I’m twenty-one for God’s sake. I can’t imagine why Henri’s decided to act like I’m some three-year-old he’s saddled with for the night.
Marie is by my side a moment later. “Can we sit?” she asks. “I’m exhausted.”
I’m tempted to mention that I’d be exhausted from dancing too if my ankle wasn’t broken, but I already know what she’ll say in response: you wouldn’t be here at all if your ankle wasn’t broken.
We grab two chairs and she fans herself with a program of some kind. “Are you having fun?” she asks.
I force myself to smile, watching Claudette pull Henri onto the dance floor. “Yes,” I reply. “It’s a very nice dance.”
For someone who claimed to have no interest in swing dancing, he does it quite well, and that doesn’t surprise me. Henri’s one of those men for whom athleticism comes easily, naturally. Even the things he doesn’t want to do, he does well. And as much as he’s hurt my feelings tonight, I wish I were the one out there dancing with him.
“They make a pretty couple, don’t they?” asks Marie-Therese, observing them.
I shrug. They do, but I refuse to agree to it. “So who’s this Xavier?”
“I told you,” she says without interest. “Just someone who went to school with Henri.”
“He was cute,” I say, waiting for a reaction from her. “Is he nice?”
She nods, barely paying attention to the question. “Very.”
“He didn’t ask you out?”
She takes a sip of her drink. “He did. I told him I couldn’t while we still had company here.”
I laugh. “Oh my God. You stick me with a broken ankle and then use me as your excuse? It’s one date. Why not go out with him?” And move on from the priest, since you refuse to act on it. Move on with your life so Henri can move on with his.
“This town is not so big that you can just go on a single date without repercussions. He’s someone I’ll have to run into for the rest of my life. And speaking of people we keep running into, André is coming this way.”
I sigh. André is perfectly nice, but I’m not interested in him in the least and I’m feeling slightly too tired and disgruntled to be pleasant right now.
He holds his hand out to me. “May I have the next dance?”
I shake my head. “I can’t get out there. Not in a cast.”
His eyes twinkle. “But you could if they played a slow song, couldn’t you?” As if on cue, the music changes, and a ballad begins. “Don’t tell me I bribed him for no reason,” says André with a grin.
He leads me to the dance floor and we pass Henri and Claudette, who are just on the way off. Henri’s eyes darken as we pass. “Your cousin doesn’t seem to like me too much,” says André.
“Don’t take it personally,” I reply. “He doesn’t like me too much either.”
He places one hand politely on my waist and clasps the other and we begin to dance the way they mandated in high school, one body width apart. I find myself thinking about last night with Henri and the chocolate bar, the way we were pressed together, that desperation in his eyes when I was on top of him. How was that only yesterday, when today I’m apparently the only unattractive female in the whole town? My God, what a wasted effort this all was.
André asks if I’m having a nice time and I smile at him. “This is my first dance of the evening, so at least I can say it’s improving.”
The floor crowds quickly and he pulls me closer. “Here,” he says, after a moment, “come with me. People are getting too close to your cast.”
He pulls me into the hallway and off to a balcony on the other side, and we are suddenly alone. “Oh,” I say. “I thought you were taking me to another part of the dance floor.”
He pulls me toward him, holding me closer than necessary. “We can still dance,” he says, his breath gusting against my ear before he pulls me closer still, throwing me off balance just enough that I land against his chest. “It’s better when it’s private like this, I think.”
I pull back but he doesn’t release me. “I think this will look a little inappropriate if anyone comes out here,” I say, trying to wriggle from his grasp.
“Who cares?” he asks. “Are you really so worried about what your cousin will say?”
His head lowers as if he plans to kiss me, although I think I’ve made it amply clear that I’m trying to push him off. I’m saved by Marie-Therese, who throws open the curtains and stands there looking at us with wide eyes.
“Henri is looking for you,” she says, nervously. “We’re leaving now.”
“What a shock,” says André drily, slowly releasing me. I stumble in my haste to get away and hobble back toward the ballroom while Marie thanks him for watching me and then runs to my side.
“Are you okay?” she asks, steering us down the side hall instead of the main ballroom.
“I’m fine,” I say between my teeth. “Although I don’t understand why the hell you just thanked him for watching me. You treat that family like royalty.”
She looks at me uncertainly. “Henri and I have no family at all. No grandparents, no parents, no aunts or uncles. If something happens, we may need to rely on the people of the town to help us, and because of that, alienating anyone is a bad idea, and alienating the Beauvoirs is an especially bad idea, because they are wealthy and employ a lot of people here, and much of the town will take their cues from them.”
I sigh. I was about to insist I wasn’t going to read to Madame Perot again but I see Marie’s point. She can’t afford to piss people off, and I only have a few more weeks here, so I’m certainly not going to piss anyone off on their behalf. It’s not as if André actually did anything. He just acted like my opinion didn’t matter the first moment he had the option to ignore it. What is it Henri said? Don’t judge a man until you’ve seen him without an audience. I suppose now I understand what he meant.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask. “I need to get my crutches.”
“To the front,” she says, worrying her lip. “Henri has your crutches.”
“So he sent you after me like I was a child on the loose,” I reply. “I guess that gave him some extra time with Claudette.”
Her lips twitch. “Actually I was the one who demanded he wait, because I was worried he would wind up killing André if he went out there and saw the wrong thing.”
I groan. “Jesus, Marie! What did you think we were doing out there?”
She lifts a shoulder. “There’s only one reason to go on a balcony with a man alone.”
Henri is pacing in front like a caged tiger, and he rounds on me the second we emerge, “Had fun out there, did you?”
“Fuck you, Henri,” I hiss. “I didn’t even know we were going onto a balcony. He said he was worried about my cast and we were going somewhere with more room.”
His eyes remain narrowed. “Are women really so naïve in your time that you didn’t understand what that meant?”
I move toward the exit. “Maybe men in my time just aren’t so underhanded about their motives.”
His hand wraps around my bicep to stop me. “Did he try something?”
I glance at Marie, who’s looking extremely worried. Her eyes plead with me not to make things worse. “We danced for all of two seconds and he asked me why you don’t like him,” I snap. “Satisfied? You were so determined all night to make sure I
didn’t have any fun, and rest assured, I didn’t.”
We don’t say another word to each other the entire way home. He drives, his jaw locked tight, while I sit beside him, my hands clenched in my lap. Only Marie-Therese speaks, chattering on in back about the band and the clothes and the drinks, as if it was the most spectacular night ever, when I know for a fact she didn’t enjoy it as much as she wants to pretend.
“And wasn’t Amelie lovely tonight, Henri?” she asks as we pull up to the house. “Not a man in the room could take his eyes off her.”
I wait. I wait for one kind word and I know he’s not going to give it to me.
“Perhaps if her dress was less bright,” he replies, “it wouldn’t have been an issue.”
It hurts. All I wanted from the night was for him to notice me. I’ve got no business wanting that, but I did want it, badly, and he never gave an inch. Instead, he acted like I was a burden, and it reminds me very much of my childhood. Of feeling desperate for a single word of approval or praise or love and only getting a list of what I’d done wrong instead.
Marie climbs from the car without waiting for him, calling him several choice words in French as she slams her door, and I try to follow, pushing my door open and climbing out less steadily.
“Just wait,” he grumbles, turning off the car.
I ignore him, hobbling slowly toward the house over uneven ground.
“Amelie,” he shouts, “just wait. You’re not supposed to be walking out here without your crutches, especially in the dark.”
I round on him. “Don’t worry. My dress is so bright and garish and attention-grabbing I’m sure it’ll provide sufficient light.”
He walks toward me, contrition replacing some of the anger that’s been on his face since we left the dance. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Your dress wasn’t too bright. I shouldn’t have said it.”
I begin to walk away again. “Come on,” he calls. “I said I was sorry. What’s the matter?”
I take a deep breath. I refuse to cry over this. I’ve suffered far worse and I don’t need his approval. I’m never even going to see him again in a few weeks anyway.
Across Time: Across Time Book 1 Page 16