The Cinderella Moment (3 page)

“The way a great sculpture is inside a block of marble,” she said aloud. “Trouble is I’m not Michelangelo.”

“Why would you want to be some old dead Italian guy?”

“Lily!” Angel spun round and immediately saw that her best friend was upset. “You okay? I thought you were talking to your dad.”

“I was—for about five minutes—until the connection failed.”

“That sucks.”

“It does, but that’s not why I’m mad.”

Angel’s eyebrows lifted. “Uh-oh, what’s Clarissa done now?”

“Apart from filling the bathroom with a million cosmetics, three hairdryers, a foot spa and a gallon of fake tan? She’s told Margot that half the mothers at school are taking their daughters to the Fundraising Gala at the Waldorf tomorrow night so now the she-witch has managed to get tickets and is insisting that I go with her and her detestable daughter.” Lily threw herself onto Angel’s bed and pulled a pillow over her face.

“But that’s awesome!” Angel couldn’t conceal her excitement. “Antoine Vidal is showing his fall collection at the Gala. He’s guest of honour and you’ll be right there
… ”

Lily sat up. “That’s great if you care about that stuff, but you know I don’t. It should be you watching it, not me. If I thought we’d get away with it, I’d happily swap places with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’m waitressing, remember? While you’re eating your thousand-dollar-a-head dinner I’ll be stuck out the back waiting to clear away mountains of dirty plates. I probably won’t even see Antoine Vidal—never mind his collection.”

Lily looked rueful. “I’m sorry, Angel. I know I’m being ungrateful but it’s unbearable to watch Margot schmoozing her way into what she thinks are the best social circles or listen to Clarissa sucking up to anyone connected with the fashion industry because she thinks she’s the next Coco Chanel.”

Angel grimaced. Lily had told her about Clarissa’s burning ambition to own her own fashion design studio and how Margot had spent a fortune at several emerging designers before Miki Merua had offered Clarissa a part-time job. It was hard not to feel a little envious—it must be amazing to have a mother who was rich enough to open doors like that.

“And Margot keeps nagging me about being friends with Elizabeth Montague because she wants to be friends with her mother, Jacqueline. It wouldn’t be so bad if Margot wasn’t so
good
at it,” groaned Lily. “But she is—look at how she’s got my dad wrapped round her finger.”

“No way—you’re the only person who’s ever managed that.”

“I wish, but Margot seems to have him well-fooled.”

“But your dad’s so
… ”
Angel tried to find the right word. “So
true
and
…
impossible to fool.”

Lily gave Angel’s teddy bear a fierce hug. “Apparently not, given that he seems to have fallen for her hook, line and sinker.”

“You don’t think Philip likes her
that
much, do you?”

“What do you think?” retorted Lily. “He asked her to move in while he’s away, didn’t he?”

“That’s because he cares about you, not Margot.”

“Oh yeah, then how come he rings her almost as much as he rings me?” Lily held out her cell phone, her face flushed. “She says she’s had three calls from him already.”

“Oh.”

“And there’s no point feeling glad that he can’t ring her much from South America because he’s in remote places, because he can’t ring me either.” Lily bit her lip. “Dad’s left Margot in charge—given her free rein to run the house and order me about.” She pushed the teddy bear away. “Every other time he’s gone away he’s always let Simone look after us.” She scowled. “So why not this time?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Angel. “Did you ask him?”

A shadow fell across Lily’s face. “What’s the point? He won’t listen to me. Look at how he reacted when I tried to tell him about the London Drama Academy.”

“But that’s theatre school and your dad doesn’t think of acting as a real career.”

Lily flopped back on the bed. “Tell me about it. I’ve wanted to go to theatre school in London since I was ten, and now that I might actually get the chance, do you think he’ll listen?” She sat up. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Angel: if I do get a place at the Academy this summer I’m going to England and nothing and nobody will stop me.”

Angel sat down on the bed next to her. “And I’ll help you—but right now let’s keep Margot happy and decide what you’re going to wear to the Waldorf tomorrow night.”

Lily smiled and held out her pinky finger. “Friends?”

Angel crooked her pinky round Lily’s. “Forever,” she replied.

After Lily had gone, Angel sat on her bed and worked on her sketch. She drew until midnight, but no matter how many times she reworked the velvet gown, she couldn’t seem to get it right.

Maybe if I sleep on it, thought Angel. She lay back against her pillow and flipped drowsily through her designs.

“Tomorrow.” She closed her sketchbook.

***

Angel woke. She’d been dreaming. Lily had been there, and Philip and her mother. Rolling over, she hugged her pillow and groped for the vision. There had been something about a dress. Wisps of the dream floated through her mind and she caught one before it vanished with the rest. Yes. There it was: midnight-blue velvet and
…
something else. Silver, it was silver.

Angel flicked on the light and grabbed her sketchbook and pencil. She bent over the page, her face intent and her strokes certain as she drew.

It was nearly two when she finally laid down her pencil. Discarded drawings littered the floor, but in her hand Angel held a single sketch. She looked at it for a long time before she turned out the light.
  

Chapter Three

When Simone came to wake her, Angel was in her pajamas hard at work pinning fabric to her ancient dressmaker’s dummy. She moved slowly around the mannequin, concentrating fiercely as she draped and pinned the yards of cheap calico cloth.

As she stepped back to gauge the effect, Angel saw her mother in the doorway, a glass of orange juice in her hand. Simone smiled. “I thought you could use an energy boost.”

“Thanks, Maman,” said Angel, taking the glass and drinking.

Simone touched the fabric. “You seem inspired.”

“I hope it’s inspiration. One thing’s for sure, pulling it off is going to be a challenge.”

“You’ll do better with some breakfast in you.”

“Okay, I’ll just finish pinning.” Angel stopped as a bell sounded in the hall.

Simone sighed. “That’ll be Margot. She and Clarissa ordered breakfast in bed. I’d better run.”

“Don’t you dare,” commanded Angel. “Remember what the doctor said—the indigestion will only stop if
you
stop rushing around. The she-witch and her horrible daughter can wait.”

“You must not call them that,
chérie
. They are Philip’s guests.”

“I know, but I hate how they constantly ring that bell and keep you at their beck and call. They’ve only been here a week and already they act like they own the place. I don’t get why Philip invited them to stay while he’s away.”

“He was thinking of Lily. She is growing up and he worries about her not having a mother.”

Angel looked at Simone in surprise. It was unusual to hear Maman speak so openly. “Lily doesn’t need a mother—she has you.”

“I love Lily, but a housekeeper is not the same as a mother.”

Angel stabbed a pin into the dummy. “A gold-digging social-climber isn’t the same as a mother either.”

Simone’s brow furrowed as she gently rubbed a pencil smudge off Angel’s cheek. “Philip will have his reasons for asking the Kanes to stay. We must make the best of it.”

“But—”

Angel was about to list the twenty reasons why Philip had got it wrong when Simone said, “The truth is that Lily would hate anyone who married her father.”

“No, just Margot Kane.”

“Well, that is Philip’s business. Perhaps Lily must learn to accept her father’s decisions, whether they are to her liking or not,” said Simone.

“But she still has the right to an opinion,” said Angel.

“An opinion, yes, but no more than that.” Simone frowned. “Sometimes adults must make decisions which their children do not like, but that does not mean their parents weren’t trying to do what they thought was best.”

“Like you with Papa.”

Her mother looked at her sadly, then said softly, “Yes, like me with Papa.” She touched Angel’s cheek. “Sometimes,
mon ange
, the right decision is not the best decision and the best decision can be impossible to make, no matter how hard you try.”

The bell rang again, long and insistent, and Simone hurried away.

Angel threw on her clothes and ran after her. When she reached the kitchen Simone was putting the silver covers over the plates on Clarissa’s breakfast tray. As she lifted it, Angel saw her mouth clench in pain. She ran forward.

“Don’t, Maman, let me.”

She took the tray and heard her mother whisper in French, “
Angelique, chérie, ne m’en veux pas
… ”

Angel’s heart leapt. This was the language of her childhood. She put down the tray and hugged her mother. “I didn’t mean to upset you either.
Je suis desolée
—I’m sorry.”

As Angel picked up the tray again, Simone said, “Don’t let Clarissa upset you. Remember, those that have the power—”

“Make the rules. Don’t worry,
Maman
, I’ll be
…
an angel.”

The tray was heavy and as she climbed the stairs Angel was glad she’d taken it. Her mother’s pain was worrying and Angel wished she’d go back to the doctor. She’d only been once and was diagnosed with indigestion. The doctor had told her to slow down and avoid rich food.

Simone insisted she’d followed his instructions, but Angel knew she was often nauseous; only last week she’d heard her retching in the bathroom. Maybe it wasn’t indigestion, thought Angel. Maybe it was grief. Maman might have had nearly a year to prepare for her husband’s death, but that didn’t lessen the pain of losing him. Sometimes Angel missed Papa so much it physically hurt—maybe Maman’s pain was the same.

Angel had tried talking to Lily about Simone’s symptoms, but Lily’s only response had been to suggest they buy her one of the health remedies she'd seen on TV. It wasn’t the answer Angel was looking for, but then Lily was never ill, so getting her to understand Angel’s worries about her mother was difficult.

Angel sighed. There were times when she wondered how Lily—who easily understood a character in a play—could be so lacking in empathy in the real world. She loved Lily, but lately she’d found herself wondering if sometimes her best friend wasn’t just a tiny bit spoiled.

She pushed the thought away and tried to think of who else she could confide in about Simone.

There was only Philip, but Maman would kill her if she talked to him about personal matters. Even after ten years, Simone still maintained a strictly professional relationship with her employer: she ran the house like clockwork, managed the staff, prepared all the food and met with Philip regularly to discuss household issues and Lily’s schedule.

In the early days, Philip would come down to the kitchen to talk and he’d often bring Angel a treat and ruffle her hair and ask her in French how her English was progressing. She'd loved these visits but, after the first few, Maman seemed to find it more convenient to take Philip’s instructions upstairs.

That first year at the de Tourneys', Maman would often talk about where they would live once Papa was well again. Angel knew she longed to move on and get a different kind of job, but Philip paid her generously and they needed the money. Papa’s surgery had taken most of their savings, but Simone had been convinced that the next procedure would work.

Only it hadn’t.

It’d been hard for Simone to accept that her husband would never be well again, and she never seemed entirely comfortable living at the de Tourneys'. Simone never talked about her feelings, but Angel sensed her unease. As she grew older she thought it was probably because Simone’s mother had been a cook, whereas Philip’s mother was a comtesse. Not that Philip ever mentioned it, but maybe it was hard taking orders from someone you’d been to college with.

Maman rarely talked about her life in Paris before she got married, but she’d told Angel she’d known Philip at university. They’d lost touch after she’d left to marry Yves Moncoeur but had met again by chance at
Café Un Deux Trois
on Times Square where Simone had been working as a waitress. It was there that Philip had offered her the job as his housekeeper.

As she reached Clarissa’s bedroom, Angel suddenly wondered if they’d stay at the de Tourneys' now that Papa was dead.

A sudden surge of sadness rose up inside as she thought of her father. He'd been so frail but he'd made their last days together so precious. She felt a lump in her throat as she remembered what he'd told her.

“I can serve, but I'm nobody's servant,” whispered Angel as she knocked on Clarissa's door.