Chapter 4 Death in the Afternoon
DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON
Stepping off the cobbled streets of Lutesse into Montmartre was like entering another world.
The music and dancing was already underway.
Maren and Carlotta accompanied me and Seff as we bypassed the long line of patrons waiting to get in.
All eyes turned toward our famous friend: she was dressed in a spectacular red dress.
The hemline came up well past her knees, exposing a strip of skin between it and her stockings.
Tiny ruby gems sparkled along every millimetre of the dress; the neckline plunged to her belly button, exposing her delicate décolletage and slim torso.
Atop her chin-length hair she wore a red satin turban, accented with an ornate crystal brooch.
Her lips were blood red, and the black kohl around her eyes was sharp enough to kill a man.
Maren was luminous, the simple black shift she wore covered in silver piping, gems and beading.
She had arranged her flaxen hair in neat finger curls, with ostrich feathers artfully pinned behind her left ear.
She wore silver elbow-length gloves and the most spectacular silver heels I had ever seen.
I needed to borrow them some day. If she would ever agree to part with them.
I wore a deep royal-blue shift dress that came to mid-calf.
The bodice hugged my curves, the skirt accented with layers and layers of blue beaded fringe that hissed and clinked while I walked.
Atop my head was a simple silver band, and my navy satin gloves came up to my elbows.
While my strappy black heels didn’t look anything close to as spectacular as Maren’s, they were practical and comfortable, and I would not regret the choice during our gala performance the day after next.
Camera flashes popped and exploded around us as we entered the darkened club. We would look good together in the Lutesse Herald tomorrow. “Carlotta at Montmartre,” it would read. The rest of us would hardly be worth a mention.
Once inside, the frivolity became even more apparent.
The dance floor was already filling up with sparkling ladies and sleek gentlemen.
Important looking men milled around tall circular tables sipping whiskey, champagne and absinthe.
The band played on a raised stage at the far side of the dance floor.
Piano, drums, brass and bass—the music was intoxicating, and I wanted to get out onto the floor and twirl.
But instead of heading to the dance floor, we made our way to the left, where there were several large red velvet booths.
Holding court at the booth in the farthest corner was Viscount Erik de Barras.
There were two beautiful women on either side of him, both looking far too young to be Seff’s mother.
He had an arm draped casually over one of their shoulders.
He whispered something in her ear and she giggled.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the scene as we approached.
There were several other men in suits and a few more young women squeezed into the circular booth.
Viscount Erik de Barras was a formidable man.
He was tall, with broad shoulders, stocky and imposing, with hair the same white blonde as his son’s, albeit much thinner with age.
He was clean shaven and wore an impressive tuxedo.
The viscount had an air of dismissive coldness, as if he knew his time was more important than yours.
“Seff, my boy,” the viscount addressed his son as we reached the booth.
This was it. The meeting that would decide my future with Seff.
If his father approved, would Seff propose?
Would he finally move our relationship forward?
If the viscount didn’t approve, would that be the end of us?
My fate was out of my hands now as I approached the booth, trying to keep my knees from knocking together under all that beaded fringe.
“Father, this is the girl I told you about: Seraphina,” Seff said with deference.
I could just barely ignore that he had said “girl,” not “woman” or even “sweetheart.” I tried to brush it off.
“She is a ballerina at the Lutesse City Opera, as is her friend Maren.” He gestured to my right.
“And certainly you are familiar with La Carlotta,” he said, gesturing to my left.
“Ah yes, ladies, welcome to Montmartre. Please, call me Erik.” The viscount seemed to be in a good mood as he reached out his hand to grasp mine; his grip was firm and tight.
“And Carlotta! I’m simply enchanted. I’ve been a fan of yours for a while.
Your performance in Hannibal was awe-inspiring.
” The viscount clasped Carlotta’s hand with both of his, as he greeted her jovially.
The women sitting beside him lowered their eyes and slipped out of the booth as he showered Carlotta with praise.
“Grazie, Signore.” Carlotta slipped into her native Enotrian as she made a show of blushing at the Viscount’s compliments. It was all an act, but she was so good at playing the ingenue that she almost had me fooled.
“Enjoy yourselves, ladies. The champagne is on me tonight,” he said, gesturing to the party that was already carousing around us.
Maren and Carlotta took that as their cue and slunk off toward the bar on the other side of the dance floor, Maren flashing a sympathetic smile over her shoulder as she went.
I would have given anything to go off and dance with them, rather than sit here having this conversation.
But Seff motioned for me to sit as he slid into a newly vacant seat in the booth. I followed, mouth dry, palms sweaty.
“Seraphina, Seff tells me you are quite the dancer.” The viscount turned his attention to me while he motioned for a server to bring me a glass of champagne.
He looked me up and down, settling on my face.
His gaze was innocent enough, but there was an edged hunger to it.
I was thankful that I had chosen the high neckline for the occasion.
“Yes, I’ve been training as a ballerina since I was a very young girl,” I responded with that practised demure expression. “It’s been my dream to be a part of the Opera Company since then.”
“I look forward to seeing you perform at the gala. Will your parents be watching as well?” he said casually.
Even though it had been years since I’d lost them, it still felt like a sucker punch to have them brought up in such a cavalier way. The hole in my chest that never quite closed up ached in response to his question.
“My mother died when I was very young.” I didn’t break eye contact with the viscount, though my legs shook beneath the table. “My father was killed in the war. My family is the Opera Company now.” I swallowed hard. I spoke of my parents so infrequently. It still hurt to say the words aloud.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He fought for our side?” The viscount didn’t sound very sorry at all, and his question was inappropriate at best. I didn’t know how to respond.
“Uh… He fought with the resistance.” The truth was the best answer I could give. Even though it might have swayed the viscount’s decision, I couldn’t bring myself to dishonour my father’s memory.
“Indeed?” The viscount raised his eyebrows. “And how do you feel about the war?”
Traumatized? Orphaned? Absolutely ruined as a person?
How did the man want me to answer this question?
How could I speak casually about something that had caused me to lose everything I had left?
I wasn’t sure I could. But for Seff, I would try, so I schooled my face into the most neutral expression that I could muster.
“I abhor violence of any kind. The war brought nothing but unnecessary tragedy to my family.”
“Too true. Well, perhaps you’ll have a family of your own before long. God willing.”
Ah, yes. The viscount was not just a viscount.
He was also a prominent member of the Church of Scion, obsessed with creating legions of little Scion followers.
Erik de Barras was a deacon, the closest a married lay person could come to the exclusive priesthood.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just flashed an awkward grin and looked over at Seff, deferring to him.
“These parties,” the viscount said, motioning to the crowded dance floor.
Maren and Carlotta were dancing and drinking champagne, glittering like jewels in the crowd.
“They are so…vulgar. But I suppose it is good to see people celebrating again, after so much tragedy,” he sighed, referring once again to the war.
“Mm hmm,” I mumbled in polite agreement.
God. All I wanted to do was change the subject.
Every time someone brought up the war it felt like a scab being ripped off before it had fully healed.
It left me raw and exposed. I had spent a lot of time carefully building walls around those wounds.
This was not how I hoped tonight would go.
“It is just so discouraging, to see this whole generation solely focused on parties and dancing and frivolity,” the viscount continued, gesturing toward me.
“No offence, of course, but what use is dance and music and art when there is so much to rebuild? The very fabric of society is being torn apart day by day, and you feel that your time is best spent twirling on your tiptoes?”
My stomach lurched. I was never good in situations like this; I tended to nod and agree with things that I didn’t remotely believe and only think of the perfect thing to say hours later.
I didn’t want to make a scene or offend the viscount, so I did what was automatic and let out a girlish giggle, tucking an errant curl behind my ear, feeling smaller than a speck of dust. This conversation was going exactly as I had worried it would, despite my efforts to appease and impress this man.
“Well, at least you’re getting all this out of your system now, I suppose.
” The viscount took a long sip of something that looked suspiciously like a Death in the Afternoon, the slightly green liquid shimmering in the delicate crystal coupe.
“You certainly won’t have time for it soon enough.
” He took another pull from the coupe, swallowing loudly, lips smacking together.
“Family. That’s what society needs. Strong families.
Women in this city are far too worried about having a career—trying to live independently.
Quite frankly, these childless women are poisoning our society.
What we really need are women in their place in the home, having children.
Leave the rest up to the men, and what men can’t take care of we’ll leave up to God. ”
I chewed on my bottom lip, shifting my gaze to Seff. He avoided my eyes.
I didn’t know what to say. The viscount demanded my respect.
And yet the things he said made me queasy.
I didn’t want to leave my career. But on the other hand, I didn’t exactly have much of a career to pursue in the first place.
I was just a chorus dancer. And before long, I would be too old for even that.
What would I do then? I supposed it would only be sensible to marry someone like Seff: someone who could take care of me, though it would mean the death of my own ambitions.
A pang went through me as I thought of what those ambitions might have been, once.
I tried to hide the dismay that I felt. Damn my transparent face, always betraying me.
The viscount finished the cocktail in front of him and waved for another. “What?” He looked me directly in the eyes. “Do you intend to be a chorus dancer forever? Seraphina, you’re not even a principal and you’re what? Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four,” I corrected, not entirely sure why I bothered. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, and I tried in vain to blink them away. It killed me to give the viscount the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin.
“Even better. And you know with a body like that you don’t exactly have an illustrious career ahead of you,” he said, gesturing to my figure, speaking about me as if I wasn’t even present.
Seff remained conveniently silent. “You’d be much better off bearing my son some children, don’t you think?
” The viscount’s tone was derisive and cruel.
I bit back the tears prickling at my eyes, but it was no use: one slipped out, giving me away.
“I don’t see why this is upsetting, do you, Seff? I’m approving of her as a member of my family. She should take it as a compliment.” He leaned back, rolling his broad shoulders, as if daring me to say something back to him.
I couldn’t.
“And to hear that your father fought for the resistance on top of it all? You should be thanking the Lord that I’m even allowing my son to spend time with you.
You don’t belong to the right social circles.
What exactly do you believe you can offer my son?
You’ve got the right body type for breeding.
That’s about it. Take my approval for what it is, girl.
” He slammed back the contents of the next cocktail.
He was well on his way to drunk. And I had to get away from this conversation.
“I’m so sorry, could you excuse me for a moment?” The tears were going to fall in earnest any second now; I needed to get away from this table before they did. I needed air. Seff didn’t say a word. Not a word in my defence, as he watched me scramble up and out of the booth.