Chapter 5

5

C harles stepped off the Eurostar with his hand on Manon’s back to guide her through the crowds. He signaled a porter to come and help with their bags and led the way to the taxi stand. Manon was relatively unknown in London, and it was a pleasure to be able to move about freely without fear of being recognized.

Nevertheless, she kept her sunglasses on and moved furtively, which drew more attention to her than if she had acted more naturally. They jumped in a taxi and headed to the newly opened Cambria hotel on St Thomas Street. Charles relaxed on the vinyl seat and meditated as they drove past the streets teeming with people.

When they arrived at the hotel, Charles contemplated the sparse pieces of artwork, bare marble floors, and isolated settees and decided the lobby was too austere for his taste. He was vaguely aware of the irony in his judgment since he lived in a rambling, drafty chateau. They walked up to the reception desk and asked for their suites. Manon Duprey was booked in the Kensington Suite, and Charles was staying in the smaller Cambria Suite. As they rode up in the elevator behind two bellhops, she leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “I don’t know why we can’t stay in the same suite.”

He cracked a smile but only patted her arm draped around his waist by way of an answer. She was not used to men remaining immune to her charms, and he guessed this little gesture made her want to double up on the seduction. Or scratch his eyes out. Charles followed one of the bellhops out of the elevator and promised Manon he would be by to pick her up for dinner at eight. They were eating at Barney’s Tavern and had reservations to dine there at nine o’clock.

Charles went into his suite and watched the bellhop place his suitcase on the folding stand with elastic bands across it. After he tipped the uniformed man, who let himself discreetly out, Charles was alone. He walked over to the window.

It had begun to rain outside and grow dark, and he watched the people below scurrying for shelter. His spirits sank as the rain fell from the somber, gray skies, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had bothered to come to London at all. He had been instantly attracted to Manon when he met her at a charity dinner several months ago, but sometimes it felt like the longer he spent in her company, the more he was aware of their differences.

A perfect example occurred on the way over. They had first class tickets on the Eurostar, but through a mix-up, another couple had been assigned the same seats on the fully-booked train. He was prepared to let it go, but she refused to be downgraded and made a quiet, but embarrassing, scene.

Charles had spent his entire life with a family who expected to be honored because of their title. More specifically, he walked in the shadow of a mother who expected to be recognized and given her due. He had had enough. The more Manon Duprey tasted the fame and glamor attached to her career, the more she was drawn to a pampered life. Charles de Brase, wealthy and titled, was aiming for simplicity in life. The actress, naturally simple, was climbing towards elegance. Their relationship seemed to be heading for a draw.

He wasn’t used to indulging in such morose reflections, so he shook it off and walked over to his suitcase to take out a shirt for the evening. On his way across the room, he suddenly paused, struck by a thought. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.

“Bonsoir, Isabelle, it’s your uncle,” he said, when he heard a young woman answer the phone.

“ Oncle ,” she squealed, dropping her heavily-accented English for her mother tongue. “Where are you calling me from?”

“I’m in London. Your mother asked me to look in on you to see what mischief you’re getting up to.”

“ Je suis sage comme une image ,” she retorted pertly. “Innocent as you please.”

“I thought I might come to Cambridge tomorrow afternoon for a visit if you’re free.”

“Oh.” She was clearly taken aback. “I, um…I’m free, but I promised to work in the soup kitchen all afternoon. I don’t suppose you want to join me for that?”

“That sounds like a perfect way to spend the afternoon, ma filleule . I’m pleased that you’re getting involved in such a noble undertaking. I think I’ll come.” He smiled, waiting for more.

“ Oooh . Uncle Charles, you called my bluff,” she said, with her usual gaiety. “If you must know, I’m going along with a new…friend. We know each other from class, and he’s invited me to go with him. To be perfectly frank, I don’t wish to scare him off right from the beginning by having my imposing godfather come along.”

“Ah, so I’m imposing, am I?” Charles laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t come and frighten him away. He’s English then, I’m assuming?”

“Actually, um, he’s…Nigerian.” It sounded like she was cringing over the phone. “I don’t suppose you approve.”

“Why do you need my approval? You’re a grown woman—or nearly so—and you can make your own choices. Plus,” he added, “I’m not nearly as archaic as you think.”

“You don’t let me call you Charlie,” she retorted.

“No one is allowed to call me Charlie,” he said calmly.

“Except Maman .” He could hear the mischievous grin in her voice.

Charles said, “Your mother only thinks she can because she’s older than me, but that doesn’t make it true.”

There was a pause and Isabelle’s voice grew serious, “But Grand-mère is archaic, isn’t she?”

“I’m afraid Grand-mère is.”

“So you won’t tell her or my mother just yet,” she pleaded, “not until I’m more sure of my feelings?”

“Of course I won’t, silly creature. When have I ever been a tattle-tale?” He always made her laugh when he used childhood slang. It was so strange coming out of his mouth.

“I suppose I should get going,” he continued. “I just wanted to check in with you. I’ll tell Louis you send kisses.”

“If you want,” she said. “But we text all the time, you know.” He hadn’t known, and was surprised, since he and his son never communicated that way. In fact, we rarely communicate at all .

“I’ll send Grand-mère your kisses then.” He paused, adding dryly, “Unless you text her too.” Isabelle just giggled.

“Now I can tell your mother I have faithfully discharged my duty to look in on you.”

“Of course you would never call me on your own volition,” Isabelle said, teasing, but petulant.

“I’m hurt,” Charles shot back. “How can you accuse me of such a thing when I was willing to come serve in the soup kitchen with you?” He thought for a minute before adding, “Come to think of it, this must be an exceptional young man to drive you to altruism.”

Instead of retorting in jest as he expected, her voice turned pensive. “He is. Actually…before you go, there is a favor I’d like to ask of you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Go ahead.” Isabelle took a deep breath and began laying out her idea.

After they hung up, Charles selected a pink and white checked Alain Figaret shirt and a muted purple silk tie, and laid them on the bed. He began peeling off his jeans and shirt from the day’s trip as he considered Isabelle’s request. The phone on the nightstand rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he went over to pick it up.

“Hello, chéri.” Manon’s animated voice spilled out of the receiver. “I just wanted to let you know that Bruce is also dining at Barney’s Tavern with the director, and he arranged to have us all seated together. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Charles answered. It was widely rumored that British actor Bruce Richards had been smitten with Manon ever since he met her, and it was he who pushed the director to give her this first starring role in an international film. If this was a ploy to get him jealous, it was not going to work. “We can meet them in the lounge.”

“That’s precisely what I told him. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

When they arrived, Bruce Richards and Guy Moss, the director, were already seated at the bar. Both of them had a whisky in front of them, and Bruce stood. “Manon,” he cried out, his fair skin already flushed from the alcohol. “It’s great to see you again.” He kissed her on one cheek.

“Hello, Bruce. Hello, Guy.” She tilted her cheek to be kissed and spoke in awkward English. “I present Charles.”

“It’s an honor.” Bruce shook his hand, and Guy gave a nod and extended his hand.

“So you’ve made it.” Bruce switched his attention back to Manon. “I hope you find the Kensington Suite to your satisfaction. I haven’t seen it myself yet, but I’m told it’s very comfortable.”

“It’s lovely.” Manon smiled graciously. “It will be hard to leave the bed in the morning for our five o’clock call.”

“That won’t start until Monday and will only last for two weeks,” Guy interjected, with a strong Glaswegian accent. “This is the last location before we wrap things up, and I find it’s best to get through the difficult scenes first.” He smiled in his crooked way that was easy to mistake for a grimace. He was not known for being an easy person to work with.

“How long are you staying?” Bruce addressed Charles, before lifting his drink to his lips.

“Only until Sunday,” Charles answered. “I’ll have to begin work again.”

“He has to oversee the upcoming races, too. He owns the racetrack and the chateau at Maisons-Laffitte.” Manon tapped her escort’s arm.

“Not to mention my real work,” Charles muttered inaudibly.

“Oh—where’s that then?” Bruce’s pale eyes didn’t waver from Manon.

“It’s not far from Paris.” Charles took a sip of the whisky, which had just been set down in front of him.

“I’ll have to come and visit the chateau sometime,” Bruce said, not realizing he was inviting himself over to the viscount’s principal residence.

“Certainly,” Charles replied, without missing a beat.

At that moment, the hostess came over to tell them their table was ready, and a fan walked up at the same time to get Bruce Richards’s autograph. Manon tensed up when he headed their way but looked comical when she realized the young man had no idea who she was. Charles put his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. Bruce caught the gesture and put his brows together, but immediately handed the signed napkin back to the gentleman with a large smile.

The dinner did not interest Charles, and it took all his good breeding to hide just how bored he was. The talk centered around the industry, actor gossip, details of the scenes in the movie, with Guy giving directions to both Manon and Bruce in a sonorous voice, and no one apart from Manon making an attempt to include Charles in the conversation. When they finally stood to leave, and Charles was signaling for a taxi on the corner, Manon leaned in and said in a small voice, “I’m afraid you found the evening to be terribly boring.”

“Not at all,” he responded, politely. But when they reached her suite at the hotel and she invited him in, he surprised even himself by saying he was tired and would see her in the morning. The pretty blond actress was unable to cover her chagrin, and her smile glittered. She shut the door loudly behind him as Charles walked away, which made him chuckle. When he entered the blessed silence of his own room, he found he didn’t regret his decision.