Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Marly got her day at Saint-Cyr. But it wasn’t quite what she expected. Firstly, because Freddie de Marche ended up inviting her entire family, which was not part of the plan. And secondly, because by the time the day was over, she had a red-hot crush on him.
“You invited everyone?” she complained when he dropped by with his stupidly wide-ranging invitation.
“You think people would believe I wanted just you along? It would be ridiculous to turn up and invite you out of the blue. As far as they know, we haven’t even met yet.”
Marly didn’t like conceding a point, so she stayed silent.
“This way you get what you want, and they won’t question it because they get to come too. Everyone’s happy,” he said smoothly.
“Except me.”
The slick jerk. Marly could see he’d won Aunt Betty and Mom over instantly. And Marly’s brothers were all chummy with him, keen to hit the water on the sailboats and to meet some of the girls they believed swanned about the resort in their bathing costumes.
“Well, lover boy, the deal was that you would escort me around.” Marly sulked. “None of this bunch will play tennis with me or take me out in a canoe. I want someone to do things with.”
“I’m sure your brothers will play tennis with you and take you out in a canoe.
” Freddie rolled his eyes at her scowl. “But if they don’t, I promise I will, because a deal’s a deal.
But the deal is one day, and one day only.
And if you step so much as a toe out of line, I’ll tell them you’re a nasty little blackmailer. ”
“And I’ll tell them you’re a midnight molester.”
He ignored that. “But if you behave yourself like a perfect angel, you’ll have a good day, and no one will know you’re an extortionist. Or that I was a misguided romantic.”
“You mean molester.”
He gave her a spiky look. “One day only.”
“Including the dance. You remember that when they try and leave me at home tonight.”
“They’re not going to leave you at home. You really are the sourest kid.”
“I’m not. I’m just sick of being left out. If I’m included, I’m sweet as pie.”
“Sure, you are, pixie stick.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll stop calling you that when you stop calling me a molester.”
The whole house was in a flutter in the lead-up to Saturday. Dresses were pressed, shoes were shined, hair was set. Even the boys fancied themselves up. Marly could barely get into the bathroom to wash her face.
Priscilla was acting like she was the first lady or something. She was all haughty and hostessy, as if she owned the resort. For Pete’s sake, she’d only ever been there once before.
“It’s such a shame he doesn’t have brothers.” Sylvie sighed. She was wearing her pink gingham sundress and looking pretty as a picture. Marly caught Priscilla eyeing Sylvie with a touch of concern. But Cilla didn’t need to worry, she was striking in her green and white polka dots.
Marly thought they were idiots wearing fancy dresses when there was canoeing and tennis on offer. Personally, she’d opted for pedal pushers and a striped boat-necked shirt. There was no way she was missing out on the fun just to look fancy.
“Oh, Marly, put a skirt on at least!” Mom scolded. “It’s Saint-Cyr.”
“I know it’s Saint-Cyr. I want to go out in a canoe.”
Mom didn’t put up much of a fight. She was too excited, and who really cared what a kid wore? “Fine,” she said, sighing, “but put your hair up, will you? You look like a scarecrow.”
Mom herself had set her hair and was in her best suit, with its tight knee-length skirt, her white gloves immaculate and a silly little hat perched on her bouffant hair. Aunt Bet was also in a suit, looking hot and uncomfortable in her blazer and pumps.
They went in Mom’s wagon, even though the resort was all of two minutes away, because all the women were wearing stupid shoes and couldn’t walk down the hill.
Marly was stuck between Sylvie and Priscilla’s poufy skirts while her brothers were crammed in the back of the station wagon, acting like a pack of wild dogs.
Marly wished they could have just walked.
It was a pretty walk down to the coast through the woods.
They passed the sign with its curly Welcome to Saint-Cyr greeting and the gravel driveway crunched under the wheels as Mom nervously drove them down to where the valet waited.
And he was wearing a little jacket with shiny buttons, just like Aunt Bet had promised.
The buttons were as big as half dollars and winked in the sun.
“What do you think I should tip him?” Mom whispered hurriedly to Aunt Betty.
Freddie de Marche was loitering on the porch of the hotel, waiting for them.
He was in loose cords and a short-sleeved knit shirt, nowhere near as dressed up as Marly’s folks were, but far more elegant looking.
His pale blue eyes were masked by a glamorous pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses, and he was smiling like a politician gearing up to kiss some babies.
“Good morning,” he welcomed them lazily.
Everything about him had a lazy air. Marly wondered if all rich people were that languid.
Maybe they didn’t drink enough coffee. Or they slept too much.
Freddie had expensive-looking teeth, Marly thought, like he got them cleaned by a dentist every morning.
“I’ve organized a table on the patio, if you’d like breakfast? ”
“Oh, we’ve already had breakfast,” Aunt Betty said in a weird, breathy kind of voice.
“Mother, he’s organized a table,” Priscilla prodded.
“Perhaps coffee if no one’s hungry?” Freddie suggested. “The coffee here is excellent.”
“I’m hungry,” Marly volunteered. She wanted to know what fancy people ate for breakfast. She doubted it was shredded wheat, like her mom forced her to eat.
“I’m sure the boys are hungry. They’re always hungry,” Mom twittered. They followed Freddie de Marche as he led them through the foyer, leaving Marly to bring up the rear.
Saint-Cyr itself was everything Marly could have hoped for.
It was what Mom would call perfectly exquisite.
That was what she said when things were rich-looking.
The foyer was polished black-and-white tile, with a staircase that split in two like the one in Gone with the Wind, and there were tall palms everywhere in copper tubs, and a giant vase of red and white gladiolus on the desk.
The place smelled like lemony furniture polish and the ocean.
Marly’s tennis shoes made a squeaking noise as she walked.
That’s what happened when you waxed your floors too much—things got squeaky.
They passed through the French doors out onto the back porch, which apparently was the “patio” even though it didn’t look anything like a patio. It was actually just a deep veranda with white wicker furniture. Freddie led them to a long table under the awnings with a perfect view down to the bay.
Freddie pulled Cilla’s chair out for her, and then did the same for Mom and Aunt Betty.
Sylvie stayed standing until he pulled hers out too.
Marly pointedly sat herself. Their waiter appeared in another one of those jackets with half-dollar buttons, and everyone ordered coffee and orange juice and not a single person let Marly get a word in edgewise.
Freddie de Marche noticed, his stupid lips twitching with amusement.
“What about you, kid?” he drawled, right when the waiter went to walk off. “You fancy some waffles or something?”
“Marly’s had her shredded wheat. She’s fine,” Mom said with a fake little laugh.
“No, she’s hungry,” Marly retorted. Marly hadn’t eaten anything that morning, determined to make the most of her day out and to eat as much resort food as she could stomach.
“I recommend those waffles then,” Freddie de Marche said, leaning back in his chair. “Get the Canadian bacon and syrup too. Trust me, it’s a winner.”
They all acted like he was a goddamn saint for letting her order waffles. Mom and Aunt Betty didn’t order anything but coffee, and Sylvie and Cilla ordered grapefruit, for Pete’s sake.
“Is your mother here?” Priscilla was asking Freddie when the food arrived. Her half grapefruit was topped with a shiny red cherry.
“I thought we could have tea with her later,” Freddie said, acting as though he’d like nothing more in the world than to sit around with his mother and Cilla’s folks on this sparkling June day.
“She’s excited to meet you all,” he said, but Marly could tell he was lying, even if no one else could.
“And boys,” he said, giving Marly’s brothers a polished grin, “I took the liberty of penciling in a sailing lesson for you, if you’re interested.
” He checked his watch. “Starts in about fifteen minutes. I thought you might take your sister?”
“No,” Mom said firmly. “Last time they took Marly out on the water, they almost drowned her.”
“Mom, I was eight!” Marly couldn’t believe her mom was screwing up sailing for her. She’d hoped for canoeing, but sailing was a million times better.
“To be fair, we’d probably still drown her,” Bobby volunteered.
“She’s very drownable,” Virge agreed.
And that’s how Marly found herself stuck at the table with the simpering women while her brothers went off sailing on this linen-fresh June morning.
The bay was an outrageously beautiful shimmer at the end of the lawns, and yet here she was in front of an empty waffle plate, listening to Mom and Aunt Bet pump Freddie de Marche for information on his career plans.
Freddie himself didn’t look too thrilled about it either—that was something at least.
“Can we play tennis?” Marly blurted eventually, bored to death with all the talk of law and Harvard and blah blah blah. “Cilla, you and Freddie can play me and Sylvie.”
“I didn’t bring my tennis shoes,” Priscilla said, the spoilsport. “And we can’t just invite ourselves to play, sweetie.” The “sweetie” was pointy and sharp.