Midnight Girls (34 page)

Well, she can dream all she likes. The last thing I’m going to do is get married
.

‘Hello, Imogen? It’s Romily! How are you, darling?’

‘Rom, how wonderful to hear from you. Where are you? In the States?’

‘No, I’m back from there.’ Now that she was home, she was beginning to remember her old life and the girls who’d been her dearest friends only a few short years ago. ‘I had a lovely time in New York, but now I’m home. What’s happening with you?’

‘Oh, God! I’d love to see you.’

‘Then come to Paris. You and Allegra. What’s stopping you?’

There was a sigh down the telephone line. ‘Allegra won’t be allowed. She’s been grounded since she was sent down—’

‘Sent down?’ Romily was shocked. ‘When did this happen?’

‘A few weeks ago. She’s stuck at home for the foreseeable. Why don’t you come here?’

‘Scotland, darling? It’s the back of beyond. And I won’t
have
time, I’m committed to so many things already. Why don’t we compromise on London? Maybe Allegra will be allowed to see me there.’

‘Well, I’ll ask …’

‘Good. We obviously have a lot to catch up on.’

After a few attempts to make arrangements, the London trip was abandoned. Allegra wasn’t allowed, Imogen explained, and it was so near the beginning of term, she herself had a lot of reading to do before she returned to Oxford. But they would meet very soon, she promised. Perhaps when things were settled, Romily could come to Oxford and see the sights …

Romily was disappointed. She’d been looking forward to seeing her old friends and swapping all their news. There had obviously been developments while she’d been away, with Allegra’s scandal and Imogen’s break up. She had so many questions, but finding out what had gone on would have to wait another few weeks, she supposed.

But the long silence from Allegra bothered her. It had been almost a whole year since she’d heard anything, even though she’d sent her usual postcards, always remembering to add
MG4E
, to show that she hadn’t forgotten their schoolgirl bond. Why on earth was she so distant? Imogen had spoken enigmatically of Allegra’s party lifestyle – perhaps she’d simply become absorbed in the excitement of Oxford and the new people she was meeting. Yes, that must be it. It was easily done – after all, Romily herself had hardly given a thought to the other two when she was caught up in Cherub. A visit, and soon, would remedy all that, she was sure of it.

It was a rare get-together for several branches of the de Lisle family. These happened only occasionally because members were usually scattered around the globe, but the occasion
was
Charles de Lisle’s sixtieth birthday and there was going to be a grand party at the Ritz to celebrate in appropriate style. But before that very extravagant occasion there was an intimate family dinner for twenty at Reynard on Ile-St-Louis.

‘I’ve never heard of this place,’ Romily said to Estelle, who was busy bustling about making sure that her chosen accessories for the evening were in immaculate condition. Romily picked up a chandelier earring and held it up against her ear. She frowned as she turned her head to see the effect. The diamonds glittered against her smooth brown skin. ‘Usually I know all the best restaurants,’ she continued, deciding to wear her emerald and platinum drops instead because they would contrast beautifully with the lavender silk of her Lanvin dress. ‘Perhaps this is a new one.’

‘I don’t know, mam’selle,’ Estelle said politely. ‘Which shoes will you be wearing this evening?’

‘With the Lanvin, it has to be either the lavender Blahniks or the dark green Prada,’ Romily said. ‘Bring me the Prada. I don’t want to be too much of a symphony in purple.’

I’m sure this evening is going to be tedious beyond belief
, she thought as she slipped the other earring into her lobe.
No men to flirt with
.

Her cousins were fine young men but there was no point in flirting with them. They were as familiar to her as brothers. Although she and Edouard had experimented a little together as teenagers during long hot summers on Chrypkos, there was no real spark there. She was feeling the lack of any romance in her life: it had been some time since she had had so much as a kiss on the cheek. Her sojourn in New York had been remarkable for the lack of any male attention – but then, she had been rather taken up by Cherub and her burgeoning business. Usually men buzzed around her, attracted by her elegance, good looks and, of
course
, the vast fortune of the de Lisle family, though most of them tried to hide their interest in that aspect. Her mother was fiercely protective of Romily, screening any young men in the vicinity and constantly trying to push candidates who came from her preferred background.

Money was important: Athina de Lisle felt that Romily would only be happy with a man who was independently successful and already comfortable in the world of the super-rich. It was not as though Romily needed anyone to support her, but a man rich in his own right could not possibly be fortune-hunting. Or at least that was the idea. The only poor man Athina de Lisle might be prepared to look on favourably would be one with royal blood, or blood so noble that his name would bring honour and prestige to the de Lisle family. There were a few of those knocking about: Bourbons with claims to the non-existent throne, or sons and grandsons of deposed kings and emperors. There were some Russian Grand Dukes, still hoping that the Romanovs would be restored, and while they were dirt poor, or at least in comparison to the de Lisles, Athina de Lisle would be prepared to overlook that for the sake of Romily becoming a Grand Duchess. A princess – a crown princess, in particular – would be even better, and she was always trying to find out when any eligible Danish or Spanish princes might be about, despite their irritating propensity for marrying Americans and Australians.

Romily didn’t care either way: a prince was fine by her, as long as she was in love with him. As for sex, she would see if her marquis was in Paris and perhaps resume their sensual afternoons, although she had been hoping that by now there would be someone new on the scene.

She put on the Prada shoes that Estelle had brought over: they looked wonderful and she adored the contrast of the dark green with the lavender, and the way they picked up
the
glitter of her emeralds. ‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘Which bag shall I take?’

‘I thought the green Fendi,’ Estelle said, producing it from its protective bag.

‘Excellent.’ Romily smiled, satisfied. ‘Then if you could fetch my wrap, I’d better get downstairs.’

The Rolls Royce took them to Ile-St-Louis. At the restaurant, the maître d’ greeted them with polite enthusiasm and led them to a private dining room on the first floor.

De Lisle relations were already gathered and there was a flurry of kisses and greetings before people took their places at the table.

‘I’ve never been to Reynard before,’ declared Charles de Lisle, ‘but I’ve heard great things about it, so I’m very much looking forward to it.’

The food was indeed delicious. Accustomed as they were to fine dining and Michelin starred chefs, the de Lisles were favourably impressed by the cooking. It was traditional French food with a modern twist that caught their interest and gave their spoiled tastebuds something new to titillate them.

‘Really very good,’ was Charles’s verdict as they moved to dessert, a frozen chocolate parfait with a warm vanilla froth. ‘I must bring Albert here – he will appreciate this, I think.’

Romily took a tiny spoonful and let it melt in her mouth, savouring the sweetness on her tongue and the smooth seductiveness of the chocolate. She saw her mother shoot her a warning look that she knew was saying,
Romily, don’t eat too much of that! I don’t care
, she thought.
The only time I ever have something sweet is at times like this, and even then, I only ever eat half of it
. That was the rule: she could have dessert but only in minute amounts. It was the same with wine: she had one small glass of whatever was being served with the food, but drank only half of it. Her mother had impressed on her the
fattening
nature of alcohol – ‘A glass of wine has the same calorie content as a glass of butter!’ she would declare – and the fact that a woman drunk was one of the most vulgar sights in the world. The way English girls tucked away alcohol was an absolute scandal to her, and proof that the British had lost their standing in the world. Women should know about good wine, appreciate and savour it, but they were not to swig it back like men under any circumstances. This lesson had been stressed so strongly that Romily had entirely lost her taste for alcohol and often preferred to have a single glass of champagne and then drink water.

‘And what have you been doing with yourself, my dear?’ said a soft voice at her elbow. It was her aunt, who had been engaged in conversation with her other neighbour for most of the dinner.

‘Oh, I’ve been away in New York,’ she said. ‘I decided to stay there for a while.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ her mother said, leaning closer with a tinkling laugh. ‘Romily decided to try her hand at playing shop! Her first and, I hope, only foray into being a career girl.’

‘Oh.’ Her aunt raised her eyebrows and smiled at Romily’s mother. ‘That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. I myself believe it is very good for everyone to work. I’ve always encouraged Edouard and François to take jobs and earn the money they need.’

‘That’s different,’ declared Athina de Lisle. ‘They’re boys!’

‘Why is it different?’ asked Romily, feeling anger spark into life.

‘Well … it’s obvious. A man must go out into the world and do something – and succeed. It’s vital for his self respect. Look at your father, he works very hard managing the family business.’

Romily bit her tongue to stop herself retorting that her
father’s
work there was largely a front. He had an office where he amused himself playing at being head of this and that, but not much was actually done except by the lawyers and accountants and managers who really looked after the vast de Lisle fortune. She said in a tight voice, ‘And women don’t need self-respect?’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course they do. But a woman’s self-respect comes from knowing she’s as beautiful and elegant as she can possibly be, and that she is a good wife and mother. Isn’t that right, Régine?’

But Romily’s aunt said quietly, ‘I don’t know if that is all they should do, if they are capable of more.’

‘Exactly!’ declared Romily. ‘I know I can succeed in business if I want to, all I need to do is learn how.’

Athina de Lisle pulled a disbelieving expression. Then she laughed again. ‘But look at your silly little shop! My darling, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but it was a disaster! You chose the wrong location and didn’t understand the first thing about how to sell. I saw it for myself. Were you selling clothes or lighting? Jewellery or cushions? It was impossible to tell. Such a mess. I’m not surprised it failed.’

Romily drew in a sharp breath, feeling hurt and angry. The whole table was now listening to Athina de Lisle’s views on the role of women and everyone heard her dismissal of Cherub, her daughter’s first business effort, as an unmitigated failure.

Romily jumped to her feet. ‘I’m not staying here to listen to this rubbish!’ she shouted. ‘How dare you speak to me like this? At least I’ve tried to make something of myself! You’d be happiest if I spent all day beautifying myself and dressing myself and planning my social life. Well, don’t you understand? I want to do something
more
than that! I refuse to let you imprison me like this. Ever since I got back, you won’t let me move without a bodyguard …’

‘Can you be surprised?’ retorted her mother. ‘When you nearly got yourself killed by a thug?’

‘At least I had the courage to try and live on my own. When have you ever tried venturing out of your cosy little world and seeing how other people live?’

‘Romily, sit down!’ ordered her father sternly, taking his napkin from his lap and dropping it on the table. ‘Don’t speak to your mother like that.’

‘You always take her side!’ cried Romily, not caring that the whole family was staring at her, aghast at this public display of emotion, particularly on such an occasion. ‘You don’t care that she wants me to waste my life doing nothing, just like you!’

Her father gaped at her, looking outraged.

‘Romily, you’re disgracing yourself,’ hissed her mother. ‘I can see you’re upset. Please, let us all calm down. I’m sure we all know you’re very talented.’ She smiled around the rest of the room as if to reassure them that Romily’s tantrum was nothing to worry about.

This condescension only increased Romily’s anger. Blood rushed to her face and fury made her hands tremble. She opened her mouth to speak but, in her rage, nothing came out. She could feel tears building behind her eyes and her lip begin to tremble.
I won’t cry in front of them! I won’t show them I care
. She turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

She clattered down the stairs in her high shoes, then out through the restaurant and on to the street. The car had left, and anyway she didn’t want to go home. She needed somewhere private. Looking around her, she saw a side street, headed for it and found herself in a quiet area that led around the side of the restaurant. A line of bins showed it was the back entrance to the place they’d been eating at. Not caring anything for the beautiful lavender silk of her Lanvin dress, Romily sat down on the doorstep and began to cry.

It was pitch dark, she realised, and cold. She’d left her wrap behind in the restaurant cloakroom, though she’d had the presence of mind to pick up her bag. But there was no money in it. How would she get home? She would have to swallow her pride, go back inside and face the humiliation of asking if she might ride home in the car. This thought made her cry even harder.
They’re right
, she thought with a sniff.
I am totally dependent on them. I’m utterly useless. I failed with Cherub, just as Mama said. I’m only good for wearing expensive clothes and going to parties
. She wrapped her arms round herself as protection from the chilly night air, and wept.