Free Mademoiselle Chanel by C. W. Gortner Page B

pinched cheeks. Whirling away, I reached for my bag and near-empty pack of cigarettes (I smoked incessantly, the cheapest dregs I could buy, because it helped curb hunger).
    A knock came at the door.
    I froze, not moving, until the match I’d lit singed my fingers. I wouldn’t answer. He could knock until his knuckles bled. He could go to hell, back to his privileged existence, to his damn horses and empty promises.
    “Coco,” he said, his voice clear, for the door was almost as thin as me. “I know you’re in there. Open up. I want to see you. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
    That did the trick. Lunging at the door, I threw it open and before he could step over the threshold, I yelled, “Everywhere? Where did you look? I’ve been here the entire time, in the very room we rented together. You wanted to see me? Well, here I am. Look at me! ”
    I would have slammed the door on him had he not stuck his foot in the way. As he came inside I backed away, so enraged I could have strangled him with my bare hands.
    He said softly, “My God. What have they done to you?”
    I crumbled where I stood, covering my face with my hands as sobs overcame me. I had not experienced grief like this since my father left. It came pouring out, all the loss and bewilderment, the disbelief that no matter how much I tried, how strong I thought I was, the world would always be stronger—a tomb of illusions that would bury me under its weight.
    “You’re leaving now,” I heard him whisper, his hands about me, catching me by the waist and forcing me to him as I cried and tried to push him away. “You’re coming to live in my new château. Enough of this pride. I want you with me.”

XI
    W hat girl doesn’t want to be taken care of?
    That was what I kept telling myself when Balsan took me to Moulins to say my good-byes. After the ordeal in Vichy, even Moulins seemed like heaven, but I was only there to visit my aunts. I wore the new black linen jacket and skirt he had bought me—my other clothes tossed on the rag heap—and sat demurely as he assured Louise that I would want for nothing.
    Adrienne clapped in delight, as if Balsan had gotten down on his knee to present me with a ring. In the few months we’d been apart, she had reclaimed her self-possession, aglow because Maurice de Nexon had indeed been pining for her, though she didn’t explain why he had not come to see her in Vichy. Louise had found her a suitable chaperone, renowned for her matchmaking skills, who suggested a trip to Egypt for Adrienne and the baron, along with several other couples, to remove the lovers from their environment and see if marriage was truly something they wished to pursue. Adrienne later confided to me as we walked through the town square that Nexon’s family expected him to wed a girl of rank, but he’d told them he desired only her, so she was prepared to do battle to win his family over.
    “I couldn’t be happier for you,” I said, even if I wondered at her willingness to endure the inevitable disrepute of being seen as the baron’s mistress. I also wondered at Louise’s willingness to allow it, chaperone or not, even as I realized I was about to do the same with Balsan, though he’d not said as much. I could hardly judge a situation that I myself was willing to accept. Moreover, Adrienne was in love, while I did not feel anything remotely like that for Balsan. Gratitude, yes, and relief that he had found me, for I’d have perished on my own; but much as I searched my heart, I felt nothing approximating Adrienne’s desire for Nexon. Indeed, I feared further intimacies, though it was inevitable. Once again, as Adrienne regaled me with her hopes, I wondered if I was incapable of the unquenchable ardor she described.
    Tante Louise wished me bonne chance and averted her eyes, acknowledging with that one gesture that she was relieved to see me go. I had turned out to be my father’s child, intent on forging my own path; it was