told her the terms on which it was based. But that did not mean she merited the other woman's contempt, she told herself
roundly. Who was Marie-Laure to judge—to criticise? On what terms had she herself married the Baron, who looked old enough to be her father?
It was a relief when Gaston announced dinner. It was a long and tedious meal. Philippa, on edge, supposed the food was good, but tasted little of it. She wanted to talk to Alain—to warn him that their sham marriage hadn't fooled anyone for a moment— but he was at the other end of the table.
'Do tell us, my dear,' Josephine de Courcy leaned forward, her eyes
unwinking as pebbles. 'You and dear Alain—such a romance—and so quick too! Quite fascinating. And the question we all wish to ask is— how did you meet?'
Philippa, grimly aware that she was once more the centre of
attention, forced a light smile. 'Was it really quick? I feel as if I've known Alain forever. We met through my father, actually. He's Gavin
Roscoe, the landscape painter, and Alain bought one of his pictures—
The Bridge at Montascaux.'
There was an astonished silence. Philippa stole a look at Alain,
whose whole attention appeared to be centred on the peach he was
cutting into quarters.
'So you are an artist's daughter,' Louis de Courcy said jovially at
last. 'Perhaps you will introduce a note of much-needed culture into
our crude commercial world.' He laughed heartily, and was echoed by
an
uneasy ripple of amusement round the table. 'Do you share your
father's interest in painting, ma chere?
'His interest, perhaps, but little of his talent, although I was
actually at art school when Alain and I decided to marry,' Philippa
returned composedly. 'In fact,' she added with sudden inspiration, 'I plan to continue my studies here in Paris with—Zak Gordano.'
'I am impressed,' Louis de Courcy said slowly. 'Monsieur Gordano
has a formidable reputation as a teacher.'
Philippa shrugged. 'Then I hope I can persuade him to take me
as a pupil.'
'I do not think you need concern yourself on that score,' Sidonie
said rudely. 'As Madame de Courcy, you will find all doors open to
you.'
'Not Zak's,' Philippa told her coolly. 'Painting is what matters to
him, not social standing.' Although the fact that he's a friend of my father's might help, she added silently, as she leaned back in her
chair.
'Your wife, nephew, is clearly a woman of talent,' remarked Louis.
'Each day I spend with her brings some new and delightful
surprise,' Alain said smoothly.
Philippa shot him a glance under her lashes. His face revealed
little, but she felt that delight was hardly his predominant emotion at her impulsive announcement.
At the conclusion of dinner, the whole party adjourned to the
salon. Conversation was desultory. Everyone seemed to have
accepted that the promised sensation was not going to take place
after all. The Baron and his wife were the first to leave, and not
long after that Alain announced that he and Philippa were also
departing.
'So soon?' his uncle queried. 'We are desolate.'
'And my wife and I are on our honeymoon,' Alain returned
evenly. 'I am sure the company will understand, and forgive us.'
They were in the limousine, travelling back towards the
apartment, before Philippa could begin to relax.
'That,' she said with feeling, 'was a truly ghastly evening.'
'Which you handled with great aplomb. Please accept my
thanks.' Alain paused. 'You understood at once, of course, why my
uncle invited us there tonight?'
'It was fairly obvious.' Philippa drew a breath which ached in her
chest. 'She's very beautiful—Madame de Somerville-Resnais.'
'Yes.' The flat monosyllable told her nothing, and it was too dark
in the car for her to read his expression with any accuracy. He
volunteered no other comment, and after a moment or two Philippa
sighed soundlessly and settled back in her seat, resigning herself to a silent journey.
When they reached the apartment, Alain
roundly. Who was Marie-Laure to judge—to criticise? On what terms had she herself married the Baron, who looked old enough to be her father?
It was a relief when Gaston announced dinner. It was a long and tedious meal. Philippa, on edge, supposed the food was good, but tasted little of it. She wanted to talk to Alain—to warn him that their sham marriage hadn't fooled anyone for a moment— but he was at the other end of the table.
'Do tell us, my dear,' Josephine de Courcy leaned forward, her eyes
unwinking as pebbles. 'You and dear Alain—such a romance—and so quick too! Quite fascinating. And the question we all wish to ask is— how did you meet?'
Philippa, grimly aware that she was once more the centre of
attention, forced a light smile. 'Was it really quick? I feel as if I've known Alain forever. We met through my father, actually. He's Gavin
Roscoe, the landscape painter, and Alain bought one of his pictures—
The Bridge at Montascaux.'
There was an astonished silence. Philippa stole a look at Alain,
whose whole attention appeared to be centred on the peach he was
cutting into quarters.
'So you are an artist's daughter,' Louis de Courcy said jovially at
last. 'Perhaps you will introduce a note of much-needed culture into
our crude commercial world.' He laughed heartily, and was echoed by
an
uneasy ripple of amusement round the table. 'Do you share your
father's interest in painting, ma chere?
'His interest, perhaps, but little of his talent, although I was
actually at art school when Alain and I decided to marry,' Philippa
returned composedly. 'In fact,' she added with sudden inspiration, 'I plan to continue my studies here in Paris with—Zak Gordano.'
'I am impressed,' Louis de Courcy said slowly. 'Monsieur Gordano
has a formidable reputation as a teacher.'
Philippa shrugged. 'Then I hope I can persuade him to take me
as a pupil.'
'I do not think you need concern yourself on that score,' Sidonie
said rudely. 'As Madame de Courcy, you will find all doors open to
you.'
'Not Zak's,' Philippa told her coolly. 'Painting is what matters to
him, not social standing.' Although the fact that he's a friend of my father's might help, she added silently, as she leaned back in her
chair.
'Your wife, nephew, is clearly a woman of talent,' remarked Louis.
'Each day I spend with her brings some new and delightful
surprise,' Alain said smoothly.
Philippa shot him a glance under her lashes. His face revealed
little, but she felt that delight was hardly his predominant emotion at her impulsive announcement.
At the conclusion of dinner, the whole party adjourned to the
salon. Conversation was desultory. Everyone seemed to have
accepted that the promised sensation was not going to take place
after all. The Baron and his wife were the first to leave, and not
long after that Alain announced that he and Philippa were also
departing.
'So soon?' his uncle queried. 'We are desolate.'
'And my wife and I are on our honeymoon,' Alain returned
evenly. 'I am sure the company will understand, and forgive us.'
They were in the limousine, travelling back towards the
apartment, before Philippa could begin to relax.
'That,' she said with feeling, 'was a truly ghastly evening.'
'Which you handled with great aplomb. Please accept my
thanks.' Alain paused. 'You understood at once, of course, why my
uncle invited us there tonight?'
'It was fairly obvious.' Philippa drew a breath which ached in her
chest. 'She's very beautiful—Madame de Somerville-Resnais.'
'Yes.' The flat monosyllable told her nothing, and it was too dark
in the car for her to read his expression with any accuracy. He
volunteered no other comment, and after a moment or two Philippa
sighed soundlessly and settled back in her seat, resigning herself to a silent journey.
When they reached the apartment, Alain
Similar Books
My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past
Jennifer Teege, Nikola Sellmair
