Looking down, Sylvain hid a smile. His parents seemed fascinated.
‘Of course,’ Mr Cassel said. ‘We don’t see Sylvain as much as we would like because we’re busy, too, so we understand completely.’
Syvlain’s mother placed her arm across her son’s shoulders with obvious affection. ‘We are always trying to convince him to come home to us more often.’ Her voice was throaty, her accent as smooth as the silk dress she wore. ‘But he always says, “No, Maman, I have work to do.”’ She gave a resigned smile. ‘He is like his father.’
Her perfume was heady – she had the insouciant elegance of a model. Allie was dazzled.
‘Well, they work us very hard here.’ She glanced up to find Sylvain watching her with open affection. A smile flickered across her lips and a flock of butterflies swirled in her stomach. She lost her train of thought.
‘You must come and visit us.’ Mrs Cassel stepped into the silence smoothly. ‘We would love to host you.’ She turned to Sylvain. ‘Invite her to Antibes in the summer, darling. Wouldn’t Henri and Hélène adore her? She is adorable.’
Adorable? Allie looked at Sylvain desperately.
‘That’s my aunt and uncle.’ He apologised with his eyes. ‘And, please consider yourself officially invited.’
‘Thank you very much,’ she said in her most polite voice. ‘That’s very kind of you. I would love to see your home.’
‘Allie must go and see her other friends now,’ Sylvain said to her relief. ‘We can’t keep her here all night.’
‘Oh but she is so charming!’ they chorused, as she hurried to say her goodbyes, smiling politely until her cheeks hurt.
The party spilled over into the dining room, which had been set up much like the great hall with tables and candles. There was no sign of Lucinda there, but a delicious smell distracted her and she followed her nose to a buffet table in one corner where she liberated a mini crab cake.
Popping it in her mouth, she turned and nearly collided with Carter.
‘I’m sorr—’ he started, and then he saw her. She saw the surprise on his face. ‘Allie.’
Tensing, she waited for the icy rage that seemed to accompany him these days like a frozen cloud. But instead he looked stunned. His eyes swept her body, taking in her hair, the dress, the high heels she’d borrowed from Jo.
More than anything at that moment she regretted the crab cake, which she was now trying to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She turned away quickly to grab a glass of water from a nearby table and took a quick swallow – if she didn’t she feared she might throw up all over her pretty dress.
When she turned back around he was gone.
Baffled, she looked at the space where he had stood. If only she knew what she was supposed to feel. The confusing signals he sent were torturous.
I’m over you. I’m not over you. I want you. I hate you …
Maybe Jo was right. Maybe she should stop letting Carter decide who she dated.
Setting the glass back down, she made her way through the crowd. There must have been hundreds of people there. They filled the main hallway, the grand stairwell and even the entrance hall. Their conversations and laughter echoed off the high ceilings and reverberated in Allie’s head. Despite the cold night, the building felt stuffy, as if the guests were using up all the oxygen.
So when Allie found herself standing by the front door, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to turn the handle and slip outside, into the dark night.
TWENTY-EIGHT
After the heat inside, the icy air felt good as it chilled the perspiration on her skin. Shivering pleasantly, Allie shook her head so the cold air could reach under her heavy hair and cool her neck.
On the curved driveway in front of her, rows of parked cars were neatly aligned. She could see chauffeurs gathered by the west wing with newspapers and cigarettes. They didn’t seem to notice her as she headed around the end of the building, wobbling a bit as Jo’s delicate shoes rocked on the uneven ground. Camouflaged in the darkness, she followed the unlighted footpath towards the walled garden. In the air she could smell a faint ashy tang of cigarette smoke and hear occasional bursts of muffled laughter from smokers gathered outside the school’s back door, but she was nearly at the folly now and hidden by the trees.
And then she stood in front at the small, white marble structure, with its domed roof. It held only the statue of a woman, draped in diaphanous scarves and dancing for ever. The statue’s lips curved up a little, as if she enjoyed dancing in the cold, one bare foot perpetually raised.
Reaching out Allie touched the smooth icy stone as she thought about the night Sylvain found her here, and taught her how to fight.
‘You’re not wearing a coat, you know.’
For some reason, his voice didn’t surprise her, although she hadn’t heard his footsteps. For a second she closed her eyes, lost in indecision. Then she turned.
Sylvain stood a few feet away next to the stairs that led up to the statue. When their eyes met, Allie shivered again. She gestured vaguely at his tuxedo. ‘You aren’t either.’
‘Yes, but a tuxedo comes with a jacket, so I at least have this.’ He shrugged the black, silk-lined jacket off and held it out to her. His crisp white shirt seemed to glow in the darkness.
‘But now you’ll be cold,’ she pointed out, not reaching for it.
His lips curved up. ‘I’ll live.’