Moonlight Over Paris(49)
“Only those who know nothing of modern aviation say it is impossible, Monsieur, ah—”
“Howard.”
“Monsieur Howard. But I know better. I say it is entirely possible.”
“It’s got to be an expensive proposition,” Sam persisted. “The outlay will far exceed the prize money. What is the going rate for a Fokker C-IV, anyway? I doubt you can buy one readymade from your friendly neighborhood aircraft salesman.”
“You speak of matters of which you are clearly ignorant—”
“The plane would need to be built to order,” Sam mused, “with the extra weight stripped away, bigger fuel tanks, better instruments . . . that can’t be cheap.”
Mr. d’Albret’s face had reddened, but rather than address Sam directly he turned to Helena and unleashed a dazzling smile. “I believe that questions of commerce should not enter into such a noble endeavor. I have decided to pursue the prize for the glory of France. I anticipate no difficulty in securing the support I require.”
Although he was clearly expecting some kind of response, Helena only smiled and nodded, and then dealt with the awkward moment that ensued by taking a sip of wine. After that, Mr. d’Albret turned to the woman at his left, and Helena was left to listen to étienne as he became ever more charming and loquacious, though she tried, with little success, to follow Sam’s conversation with her friends.
A second course, of grouse in a morel mushroom sauce, was served; and then, though she could scarcely eat another bite, another course arrived, this time roast filet of beef with braised carrots and duchess potatoes.
“Your niece will not believe me, but I believe she is truly gifted.” étienne was singing her praises to Agnes and once again was exaggerating wildly. “Hélène has been experimenting with new mediums, you know, and is absolutely fearless in her pursuit of inspiration. Why, only the other day she was telling me of her plans to visit Les Halles at night to draw the workers there.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Agnes had been stunned into silence, perhaps for the first time in living memory, and Helena herself could only stare, horror-stricken, at her friend. She had mentioned her notion that such a visit would be interesting, and possibly very useful, and they had talked of étienne accompanying her on such an outing, but she would never have been so foolhardy as to venture out at night by herself.
Agnes recovered first. “Helena, how could you? Think of the danger—and what it would do to me if anything were to happen to you. I’m terribly disappointed, you know.”
“I wasn’t planning to go by myself. Tell her, étienne. We were—”
“You’re a grown woman, and I trust you to behave in a sensible fashion. Or at least I did.”
“Auntie A, I would never have gone on my own. I’m not that foolish.”
“I’ll take her,” Sam said. “I’m a night owl anyway,” he added, “so it’s not a problem.”
“I don’t need your help,” Helena said, bristling at his description of her as a problem. “étienne has already agreed to go with me.”
“I don’t mind if you prefer to go with Sam,” said étienne.
“See? All sorted.”
“Fine,” she muttered, though she felt anything but fine at their high-handed manner toward her.
Resolving to ignore all further discussion on the subject, she turned pointedly to Mr. d’Albret, set her hand lightly on his forearm, and offered up her most winning smile. “I do hope you’ll tell me about your time in the Aéronautique Militaire. You must have been terribly brave . . .”
In this fashion she survived the final course, apricot tarts with vanilla ice cream, and followed her aunt dutifully to the grand salon when it was time for after-dinner digestifs.
Helena didn’t partake, having drunk rather more wine at dinner than was her habit, and instead stood quietly and listened to Mr. d’Albret describe his wartime exploits, some of which were very impressive indeed. Sam remained nearby, and every time she looked in his direction he was watching her, his eyes merry with suppressed laughter, and she couldn’t tell if he was laughing at her, or the Frenchman, or both of them.
At long last Mr. d’Albret took his leave, and when he bent to kiss her hand she very nearly snatched it away. Sam noticed, of course, and his apparent relish of her discomfort was so intensely irritating that she felt like shouting at him.
Mr. d’Albret was speaking to her again; she had to force herself to concentrate. “I wonder, Lady Helena, if I might have the honor of escorting you to dinner one evening? And perhaps we might go dancing afterward?”
She was about to refuse, but she made the mistake of looking to Sam yet again, and it seemed, from the expression in his eyes, that he was daring her to say yes.
“I would love to go to dinner with you, Monsieur d’Albret,” she answered, and to her great satisfaction Sam looked every bit as annoyed as she had hoped.
She said good night to her friends; étienne, rather the worse for wear, refused her offer of a guest room for the night, but Mathilde promised she would see him home safely.
“I shall also take good care of your frock,” her friend whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“It was my pleasure,” Helena replied honestly. “I would offer to give it to you, but I think you would refuse. All the same, I hope you know you may borrow it, or anything else I have, anytime you wish. I do mean that.”