Chapter 30 #2
“Please what?”
“Maybe you’re not that in love with him, but he certainly is.”
Celine sniffled. “Since you seem to know so much about Bastien, why don’t you tell me why he wasn’t here today?”
“I told you,” Gabriel huffed. “I don’t know. Claude took the letter before I could read it.”
Celine glanced at the office on the second floor, pursing her lips. She waited until everyone had left before ascending the iron-wrought staircase, Gabriel at her heel, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Monsieur Baudelaire said from the other side.
Any other day Celine would have raved over being in his office and seeing the design board behind his desk. Today, however, she noticed very little upon entering.
“Gabriel,” he said, looking up at his assistant from a set of designs propped before him. “Good, I was meaning to—Mademoiselle LeBeau,” he added, surprised.
“I told her not to come up here,” Gabriel interjected.
“It’s fine,” Monsieur Baudelaire said. He turned to Celine. “Everything alright?”
Celine had prepared a profound string of apologies for Bastien’s absence as she was climbing the stairs, but Monsieur Baudelaire interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “It wasn’t your fault he wasn’t here today. There is no need to apologise, Mademoiselle LeBeau.”
“Still—” She looked down at her hands. “Thank you—for not disqualifying my team.”
“I do have rules, but the designer is allowed to choose their model as they please.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I simply failed to imagine the model deciding to quit.”
Celine stilled. “Quit?”
“Monsieur Reneau had made the decision to quit the competition in his letter, as long as it did not affect you.”
Quit. Confusion grew quick, a hot and horrible wave within her. How could he quit now when they had only one more round to go? This made no sense.
The headache started gnawing at her temples again. Celine couldn’t sort out any of her thoughts anymore past the need for a large glass of water and a handful of Aspirin.
Monsieur Baudelaire regarded her thoughtfully. “You didn’t know.”
She caught herself staring blankly ahead, her fingers falling on her watch. “No, I…I did not,” she uttered quickly, pushing down on her chagrin. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said. “Regardless, you have made it to the final round. Gabriel will be more than happy to assist you in Monsieur Reneau’s place.”
Gabriel looked liked would rather run through the streets naked. He produced a grumble in protest which was rendered quiet by a curt glance Monsieur Baudelaire sent his way.
“Will that be alright with you, Mademoiselle LeBeau?”
“O-of course,” Celine forced out. “Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head. “Nothing else. Have a good day, Monsieur Baudelaire. Gabriel.”
The descent of the stairs was as mechanical as putting Gabriel into the dress had been—pure muscle memory.
So was the packing of her supplies and the walking out of Rue Cambon.
A dull sort of anger was thrumming inside her—not at Bastien, but at herself.
She had leaned too much on him. Trusted him too much.
She still couldn’t understand why he had quit, but exhaustion was pressing on her and she didn’t have the strength to start pondering.
Vaguely aware of her surroundings and the retreating warmth of the day on her bare arms, Celine walked herself home.
· · ·
Celine tried her best to rub a bit of colour into her cheeks and dab at her tears when she entered the cul-de-sac.
It was difficult pretending the day had been a mundane one when all she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and disappear off the face of the earth.
The alternative would be to find Bastien wherever he was hiding and murder him.
All the way home she had replayed what had happened at Le Shanghai; replayed her trek through the roaring streets in Montmartre; she even replayed the part where she had drunk herself stupid on rum.
And she still couldn’t find a reason behind him quitting.
If anything, he should be the one wandering the streets in self-loathing gloom.
Celine paused by the gate to take a deep breath.
And saw the shiny paint of a familiar black car parked in their driveway, with Jacques reaching for the door handle.
He gave up the task the moment he sighted her; his entire body going rigid. Celine felt her own spine stiffen, causing the gate to creak at the minute movement. She braced against it, her entire system jostling awake.
She hadn’t the slightest clue what to expect of him right now. Save for the tight set of his jaw and that somber look in his eyes, he gave nothing away. He was no different from the Jacques that would show up for their dates. Cream suit, blue tie, not a strand of hair out of place.
So they lingered there with the night and a good stretch of the driveway between them, until Celine decided enough with the cowardice. She owed him; if not an explanation, in case she couldn’t muster one, then at least a voiced acknowledgement.
“Salut,” she managed timidly, starting towards him with laden steps.
Jacques clicked the car door close. He simply nodded at her greeting.
“I was…coming back from Maison Baudelaire,” Celine said, as though she needed an excuse for returning home. But the day had drained her, and she looked no more appealing than soggy bread, so she was lucky coherent words even made it past her lips. “I made it to the final round.”
“Congratulations.” The word fluttered meaninglessly between them until it died out in the silence of the driveway.
Celine knocked her fists at her sides awkwardly.
‘Sorry’ was the next word settling on the tip of her tongue, but she knew Jacques wouldn’t appreciate it.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine how betrayed he must have felt.
Perhaps she could—she was feeling devastatingly betrayed herself at the moment.
Her heart was in shambles over someone she had merely spent nine weeks with.
Jacques had a whole year of memories—however false they were—to resent her for.
“About last night…” she dared meekly.
It was difficult to tell the extent of his knowledge. A thousand wordless questions flitted across his hazel eyes; none of them, however, leaving his lips.
“Bastien,” Jacques gritted all of a sudden and Celine braced herself. “He said he took you from the party. That there was an issue with the design you had prepared for today.”
As if triggered by the words, a glimpse of last night returned to her, and Bastien’s promise rang out clearly. I have no qualms about dealing with Jacques afterwards.
So this was him dealing with Jacques? Lying? Celine drew the inside of her cheek between her teeth, and bit down, hard enough to bruise it. She really wished Bastien was here right now so she could wrap her hands around his throat and shake him.
“When did he tell you that?” Celine asked.