Harcourt. Light-hearted and hopeful, but, above all, pretty. He’d made her feel so pretty, the way he’d looked at her back then, when she’d always assumed she was just ordinary, that there was nothing about her to warrant any sort of compliments.
That was because she’d always had to work so hard to please her exacting parents. She’d done her utmost to make them proud of her, with her unstinting work in the parish and her unquestioning support of her mother in bringing up the younger girls.
And what good had it done her? The minute she slipped, nothing she’d done before counted for anything. All they could say was that she was self-indulgent and ungrateful, and vain.
Though at least now she knew she hadn’t been vain. He must have liked more than just the way she looked, if he’d contemplated marrying her. He’d liked her. The person she’d become when she’d been with him. The girl who felt as though she was lit up from inside whenever she was near him. A very different girl from the earnest, constantly-striving-to-please girl she was in the orbit of her parents. He’d shown her that it was fun to dance and harmless to flirt. They’d laughed a lot, too, over silly jokes they’d made about some of the more ridiculous people they encountered. Or nothing much at all.
She’d slammed the door shut on that Amy when he’d abandoned her.
She’d tossed aside the former Amy, too, the one who was so intent on pleasing her parents.
It had been much easier to nurture the anger Aunt Georgie had stirred up. She’d become angry Amy. Bitter Amy. Amy who was going to survive no matter what life threw at her.
‘It is time I took you to another café,’ said Monsieur Le Brun. ‘It is a little walk, but worth it, for the pastries there are the best you will ever eat.’
‘Really?’ She pursed her lips, though she did not voice her doubt in front of Sophie. There wasn’t any point. The proof of the pudding, or in this case, pastry, would be in the eating. So she just followed the pair to the café, let the waiter lead them to a table and sank gratefully on to a chair, wondering all the while which, out of all the Amys she’d been in her life thus far, was the real one? And which one would come to the fore if he should come into this café, looking at her with all that masculine hunger?
She reached for the sticky pastry the waiter had just brought and took a large bite, wondering if it might be a new Amy altogether. An Amy who was so sick of people assuming the worst of her that she might just as well be bad.
She licked her lips, savouring the delicious confection. She sipped her drink with a feeling that before she left Paris, there was a distinct possibility she was going to find out.
‘How are you this morning?’ Amethyst asked Fenella, noting that she still looked rather wan and shamefaced.
‘Much better,’ she said, sliding into her place at the breakfast table and pouring herself a cup of chocolate with an unsteady hand. ‘Yes, much better.’
What Fenella needed was something to take her mind off herself, Amethyst decided. She could not possibly still be feeling the after-effects of drinking too much. She was just indulging in a fit of the dismals. Since offering her sympathy had done so little good, perhaps an appeal to her deeply ingrained sense of duty might do the trick. A reminder that she was supposed to be a paid companion.
‘I hope you do not think I am being strict with you, but I really must insist you get back to work today.’
Fenella sat up a little straighter and lifted her chin. Amethyst repressed a smile.
‘I need you to double-check any correspondence that Monsieur Le Brun may have written regarding the trade opportunities we’ve come over here to secure.’
At Fenella’s little gasp of dismay, she held up her hand. ‘My grasp of the French language is only very basic, so I need you to keep an eye on everything he does. It is bad enough having to rely on him to represent me at meetings,’ she grumbled. ‘Anyway, I have to spend some time reading the packet of mail which has caught up with me...’ she sighed ‘...before we can take Sophie out anywhere. It shouldn’t take me long, but I must just make sure there is nothing so pressing it cannot wait until my return. Jobbings already thinks I am flighty, because I have come jauntering off to foreign parts, as he put it. He fully expects me to fail in this venture,’ she said gloomily. ‘He doesn’t think I have a tithe of my aunt’s business acumen.’
‘You do not have a high opinion of him, either, do you?’
‘He is honest and diligent. Which is more than can be said for most men.’
Fenella cut a pastry into a series of tiny squares, her expression pensive. ‘What is your opinion of Monsieur Le Brun, now that you have got to know him better? Sophie said that you did not seem so cross with him yesterday as you usually are.’
‘Well, although he looks far too sour to have ever been a child, let alone remember what one would like, he did take us to a whole series of places which were exactly the kind of thing that a lively, inquisitive child like Sophie would really enjoy,’ Amethyst admitted.
‘Yes. Sophie told me all about it,’ said Fenella, lifting her cup and taking a dainty sip of tea.
‘I confess,’ Amethyst continued, ‘I had my doubts when he said that he did not mind having a child form part of our party. I got the distinct impression,’ she said with a wry twist to her lips, ‘that he would have said anything to get the post, so desperate was he for work. Even the testimonials he provided were so fulsome they made me a bit suspicious.’
‘So why, then, did you take him on?’
‘Because he was desperate for the job, of course. I thought if he would say anything to land the job, then he was likely to work harder to ensure he kept it. And so far, my instincts have not failed me. He has worked hard.’
‘Then you do not...’ Fenella placed her cup carefully back on to its saucer ‘...dislike him as much as you did to start with?’
‘I do not need to like the man to appreciate he is good at his job. So far he has proved to be an efficient and capable courier. And though his manners put my back up they have a remarkable effect on waiters on both sides of the Channel. He always manages to secure a good table and prompt service. I attribute that,’ she said, digging into her own plate of eggs and toast, ‘to that sneer of his.’
‘Oh, dear, is that all you can say? Is that really...fair?’
Amethyst raised her brows, but that was not enough to deter Fenella. ‘You did make a good choice when you employed him,’ she said stoutly. ‘He is...’ She floundered.
‘Arrogant, opinionated and overbearing,’ said Amethyst. ‘But then he is a man, so I suppose he cannot help that. However,’ she added more gently, noting from the way Fenella was turning her cup round and round in its saucer that her companion was getting upset, ‘I am sure you need have no worries that he may take his dislike of me out on you. What man could possibly object to the way you ask for his advice? For that is what you do, isn’t it? You don’t challenge his dominance by giving him direct orders, the way I do, so he has no need to try to put you in your place. You just flutter your eyelashes at him and he does whatever you want, believing the whole time that it was all entirely his own idea.’
