Chapter 10 #2
Celine chuckled nervously, feeling sweat starting to bead at the back of her neck.
Ana?s might be fine with lying to Madame LeBeau about the competition, but how was Celine to explain her predicament to Coco?
She was the only friend Celine had made so far—even if Bastien suspected her intentions—and Celine didn’t want to toss that away.
“I’m afraid the doors to your car will burst open on such occasion,” she replied belatedly, hinting with a quick lift of her chin towards the boxes in the backseat. Then to Ana?s. “Coco, meet Ana?s. Bastien’s sister.”
There was a trace of confusion on Coco’s face at the blatant lack of resemblance, but she didn’t question it. She only smiled at Ana?s from underneath her cloche hat and extended her hand. “My pleasure. Though I do hope you don’t resemble him in manners either.”
“I’m not in the habit of flirting arbitrarily,” Ana?s said and offered Coco her box of bonbons in lieu of a proper greeting. “Try one, they’re the most delectable treats you will ever taste.”
Coco removed the gloves she had on and picked a pink one. Then she narrowed her eyes towards the shops in the background. “Say, what brings you two around the bridal district?” A second passed. Realisation set in. Her face brightened. “Are you marrying Bastien?”
Celine and Ana?s choked on the chocolate they were chewing. “Mon Dieu, non!”
“You’d have to chain Bastien to a bride and a priest for him to marry someone,” Ana?s supplied. “The soon-to-be groom is my other brother.”
Celine shot her a warning look. But Coco appeared somewhat intrigued, if not delighted by the prospect. If word got out amidst their circle of friends, Celine imagined they would react the same way about her little escapade with Bastien. If not worse.
Yes, that’s right. She was sneaking off to an abandoned house with his brother.
I heard they put a twist on secret affairs and met early in the morning rather than late at night.
I wonder what Jacques did when he found out.
Bloodbath, Celine thought with a shudder.
Coco, however, simply replied. “A love triangle, then. You are living my dream life, Celine LeBeau.”
“That’s not—”
“It would certainly be an interesting turn of events,” Ana?s mused. “I like your way of thinking.”
Celine’s anxiety was spiking up. “But it’s not—”
“And all the time she spends touching him at Maison Baudelaire. That would explain all the tension.”
Celine didn’t like where this was going.
“Ew,” Ana?s grimaced. “He’s my brother.”
That, to her immediate relief, brought the argument to a full stop. The weight straining Celine’s chest loosened up a bit. “There is nothing going on between me and Bastien. He…”
But she broke off, sensing her mother’s footsteps even before Madame LeBeau could saunter out of the store.
“Who is your new friend, darling? Do introduce us,” she asked, three wrapped bags dangling from her thin wrist. She handed them to their driver and approached the girls, wearing a jewel bright smile on her lips. Celine resisted the urge to shrink away somewhere—anywhere.
Coco extended a hand. “I’m Coco—”
“Chanel!” Celine spat out quickly—too quickly for her brain to shoot a signal to her mouth and keep it shut. But the word had left her lips and all Celine could do was clear her throat. “The Coco Chanel, maman.”
An expression of horror crossed Coco’s face, turning her skin paler than Celine’s own had been the entire morning.
“I—” Coco stammered. She cast Celine a confused glance.
Celine’s brows came together in a plea. Please, play along. I will explain everything tomorrow.
Recovering fast, Coco returned to Madame LeBeau. “Oui, pleased to meet you Madame.”
Her mother quirked a brow, trying to peer through the shade cast on Coco’s features by her hat. “My, my. Pardon me for my confusion, Mademoiselle Chanel, but I had always assumed you would be…”
“Older?” Coco filled in, struggling to mask her accent.
Celine shut her eyes tightly, cursing herself for forgetting that the real Coco Chanel would turn thirty eight that year.
Although it helped that Coco’s hair was bobbed (despite it being strawberry blonde) and that her style matched that of the real Chanel’s.
“No need for apologies, Madame. It is merely cosmetics. I am experimenting with a new line and who better to try it on first than myself, don’t you think?
” She chuckled nervously. “Good to know it works.”
“Right, right,” Madame LeBeau mused quietly.
Celine chewed on her bottom lip violently, expecting to taste blood at the ripped skin.
The only person who seemed to be enjoying all of this was Ana?s, who continued munching on her chocolate bonbons like she was sitting at a picture.
When she caught Celine’s narrow glance, she shrugged, as if to say I’m not saying anything.
But this is what you get for weaving a large web.
One British breeze and it all comes apart.
“I’m assuming,” Madame LeBeau dragged out, and that was enough for the three girls to whip their heads in attention. “That you will want my daughter featured on the cover again?”
“Nothing like that, maman. Mademoiselle Chanel was only…” Celine trailed off, unsure.
Oh no. No, no.
Real panic swept in now. How could she be out of lies already? How could there be an allotted amount of lies per brain?
What to say? What to say? What to say?
“She has agreed to design Celine’s gown,” chimed Ana?s, nodding proudly at her swift intervention. “For the birthday soirée. Remember? You said you wanted it to be something special.”
“Is that so?” Madame LeBeau droned, cutting her daughter an icy glare. “I wish Celine would have told me earlier. I certainly hope it will be something appropriate. A long silhouette, of course.”
“Of course,” Coco nodded without missing a beat.
“And no ruffles. I detest them. And no—”
“Maman,” Celine interrupted, slipping her fingers underneath her glove to scratch her wrist. If she kept lying at this pace, she would soon hit bone. “We should let Mademoiselle Chanel be on her way now if we want that dress ready for the party. You can send her a list of preferences later, no?”
“Right,” Ana?s added, guiding Madame LeBeau away. “Besides, Celine and I are supposed to meet Jacques and Grandfather at the races in”—she gave her wrist a flick, consulting her watch—“forty minutes. We best be on our way too.”
Hearing that, Madame LeBeau needed little persuasion to give her thanks and goodbyes to Coco, following Ana?s into the car. Celine tarried behind for a moment, just to clarify what had happened. But Coco was already waving a hand in the air as if to dissipate the thought from Celine’s mind.
“Explain it to me at Maison Baudelaire. It gets awfully droll there with everyone focused on their work. I will see you soon.”
Once Coco was back in her car, waving a small goodbye, Celine let out a grateful smile. Though she had been lucky they had run into someone who didn’t wish her imminent doom, she still had to be more careful.
Slipping into the backseat, she drew in a deep breath and eyed the storefronts as they left Place Vend?me.
· · ·
“Bonjour, Monsieur Ménard.”
Celine shielded her eyes as she stepped into the private box the Ménards rented at Hippodrome de Longchamp Racecourse, Ana?s at her side.
The hand on her watch was slowly creeping eleven and the sun was still hanging high above the course.
The sharp smell of dew and turf permeated the air, sneaking along the seats that lined the grandstand.
Excitement electrified the atmosphere as they weaved through the throng of people who had come to watch.
Celine had never been much of an equestrian.
Having fallen from a horse when she was younger, she was now terrified to so much as touch one.
But Jacques adored them, so she’d become well acquainted with the jockeys and the race club.
His purebred, Pharaoh, was Monsieur Ménard’s pride and joy, including the ten professional races it had won his grandson.
“Ah, Celine. What a ray of sunshine you are!” Monsieur Ménard exclaimed, greeting both girls with a wide grin which crinkled his white moustache.
Jacques, who was sitting idly beside him and already in uniform, immediately burst into a warm smile the moment he heard Celine’s name.
“Come sit my dears, the day is getting better and better.”
“High bets?” Celine asked, well aware of the harrying pressure Jacques was under. Especially today.
On a deep, deep level, she realised, they didn’t differ that much from each other when it came to pleasing their families.
“High as the sky,” Monsieur Ménard replied proudly, waving his hat up in the air. “But Ménards always win, hence I have no intention of losing my money today.”
The notion of Monsieur Ménard betting on his own grandson disturbed her greatly, but Celine plastered on a dazzling smile for the old man nonetheless. To her right, Ana?s displayed no interest whatsoever in the gamble, already making heart-eyes at one of the jockeys.
“I thought you had decided to stop fooling around for a while,” Celine said, loud enough so that only Ana?s could hear.
Although, between the pandemonium of discussions over the bets, the onlookers finding their seats, and the horses neighing as they were led around the course, Celine’s words were probably lost in the commotion.
Ana?s lifted one of her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just perusing. Everyone is allowed to peruse.”
Celine pulled a face. “You don’t even like men.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like looking at them,” Ana?s went on as though that was enough of an explanation. “Especially when they’re in uniform.”
Tutting at her, Celine descended the stairs towards their seats where a round table with refreshments awaited them.
Monsieur Ménard was squinting at the starting gates through a pair of binoculars.
“Today’s race,” he said, “will make Jacques the second winner of the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe cup in history.”