CHAPTER 9
Dinner at the Beaulieus’ was a carefully choreographed affair, everything from the beautiful white roses at the center of the table to the selection of each dish signaling Valérie’s superb taste. She dominated the room with a trained certainty that made Nina seem drab in comparison.
As for Gaétan. Having spent many years trying to envision the man who had married Valérie, imagining his every gesture and feature, Hector found Gaétan’s appearance almost anticlimactic. He had pictured Valérie’s husband as somewhat older and more imposing. Gaétan Beaulieu, however, was a man who could never be called imposing. There was a distinctive banality about him. Hector almost felt sorry for him.
The conversation was stilted, and Hector felt that, if she had wanted, Valérie would have seamlessly made the whole dinner vivacious, but instead she sat, sphinxlike, conscious of her power, unwilling to lift a finger, smiling coolly as dish after dish was set down before Hector. Gaétan kept talking about people and places Hector did not know, with a petulant tone that made Hector stab the pale fish on display with his fork.
“But you must have met the Ludeydens,” Gaétan said. “Isn’t that right, Valérie? Everyone knows the Ludeydens.”
“Yes,” Valérie said. “Everyone does.”
“I don’t attend many parties,” Hector replied. He had given a variation of this answer now thrice, and Gaétan was incapable of getting the point. Irritated, he kept himself from making the glass of wine jump into his hand, as he wanted to.
“Hector says there are many odd butterflies in Port Anselm,” Nina said.
He’d almost forgotten she was there, at his side, and when she spoke, he was a little startled. He looked at the girl.
“Gaétan helped me catch a few when I was a child. He was a lepidopterist,” Nina added.
“Hardly! My cousin exaggerates,” Gaétan said. “But, say, you know about butterflies, too, Mr. Auvray?”
“I’m not a naturalist at all. But there was this occasion on which I had the chance to witness a moth drinking the blood of an ox. I’m told only the males do this and the females prefer to dine on fruits.”
“Goodness,” Gaétan declared.
Then the man began to explain his childhood hobby and how he’d pinned a series of fine moths, which decorated his room when he was a youth. The conversation was better after this.
Hector knew Nina had helped him out of an uncomfortable spot, and he wished he could have voiced his thanks, but since it was impossible at the moment, he looked at her again and smiled. She returned the smile. Sweet girl, he thought.
After dinner the men retired to the library, which, like the rest of the house, bore the imprint of Valérie’s hand in the deftly placed silver ashtrays, the potted ferns in the corners of the room, the white sofa near the fireplace, the plush carpet.
He could picture Valérie walking around that room, her fingers brushing against the spines of books, touching the curtains. It was harder to imagine Nina in this room, in this house, even though she obviously lived here. Valérie occupied every inch of space. He thought of her as the pale, sweetly fragrant moonflower, which extends itself up and can surround and cover the whole of a structure, cocooning it.
“Would you like a brandy, Mr. Auvray?” Gaétan asked, opening a cabinet and removing a decanter.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I am glad we could meet. Little Nina speaks highly of you.”
“Undeservedly, I am sure,” Hector replied.
Gaétan handed him a glass and smiled. Hector thought he had a stupid smile. A rather uncharitable rumination.
“As you may be aware, this is Nina’s first season in the city. It is an important time in a young woman’s life. Many people to meet and sights to see.”
“I can imagine.”
“Yes. I am glad she has made a new friend, and as I said, she speaks highly of you. Yet I must admit hesitation on my part when she mentioned your name. You see, you’ve been far afield for so long, you are almost like a … well, a foreigner. A bit of a mystery, which no doubt Nina finds interesting, but I myself must be cautious. A man’s reputation is his calling card, and you have no card to speak of. I don’t think I even know where your family is from.”
“I am from Treman, Mr. Beaulieu. My family can’t vouch for a name or estate,” Hector said, his voice harder than he’d intended.
“What does your father do?”
“Both my parents are dead. I began performing when I was eight and have earned a wage that way for more than twenty years. I believe I’ve done well for myself in this time. I own the flat where I reside, plus many bonds, I have lost count of them. I have invested extensively in a number of ventures.”
It was all true, even an understatement. He was as wealthy as any of Beaulieu’s friends. Perhaps not so wealthy as Beaulieu himself, though he was not fully aware of the man’s finances, but wealthy enough to dine in the same establishments he did, join the same gentlemen’s clubs, obtain invitations to the same parties. He’d soared to rare heights without the benefit of family or friends.
How he’d managed this in ten scant years was explained rather easily. Hector had been possessed. He’d felt it necessary to show Valérie he could achieve what he’d said he would do. To amass the fortune, the prestige they had dreamed about. Every step he took was inspired by the echo of that long-lost love. Even now, Hector knew he was still possessed. Perhaps even more than before.
What was he doing here, talking to this man, pretending cordiality? Étienne was right. It was a folly. But Hector did not make his way to the door. He sipped his brandy and held one hand behind his back, standing rather rigidly and looking at the numerous burgundy-leather-bound volumes lining the walls.
“Nina might have told you the name of our family’s home. It’s Oldhouse, for a reason. The Beaulieus have resided there for more than a century,” Gaétan informed him. “This is nothing compared to my wife’s family, but if you say ‘the Beaulieus of Oldhouse’ in Montipouret, everyone knows exactly of whom you speak. I gather it is not the case for the Auvrays of Treman.”
“I like to think I am unique and therefore cannot speak of ‘Auvrays.’” Hector replied.
“That I think you are. Let me clarify. Mr. Auvray, I admire a man as successful as you, a man who clearly has wit and determination. Wit and drive, however, do not equal impeccable manners,” Gaétan said, pausing to take a sip of his brandy. “However, my wife seems to think you a perfect gentleman, and she is an excellent judge of character.”
Hector was surprised to hear Valérie had vouched for him. He’d thought she might hinder his efforts to insinuate himself into her household. Could this mean she wanted him around? He looked down quickly at his drink.
“We would be happy to consider you a new friend, Mr. Auvray, and we most certainly welcome you into our home.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
“I do want to clarify one point. Nina is at an age to be courted. I can understand if you wish to be our friend, and Nina’s friend, and would presume no other interest in her on your behalf. If you do, however, intend to court my cousin, I would like to know it now. For one, I appreciate formalities.”