Night School: Legacy

‘We’re thinking of selling the house in Saint-Tropez, actually …’

When somebody rested a hand on her arm she flinched. But when she looked up Sylvain was smiling at her. ‘Allie. My parents would like to meet you.’ Taking in her bright red hair, his eyebrows winged upwards. She responded with an apologetic shrug as he led her over to where his parents waited expectantly.

‘Madame and Monsieur Cassel, may I introduce Mademoiselle Allie Sheridan,’ Sylvain said.

Shaking her hand, they studied her with frank interest.

‘Uh … Hi … Or bonsoir.’ She’d never felt less sophisticated.

They exchanged pleasantries and she responded in her schoolgirl French. Then his father spoke in English.

‘What is it like,’ he asked, ‘to grow up as the granddaughter of Lucinda Meldrum?’

‘Papa, that’s personal,’ Sylvain protested, looking horrified.

But Allie was getting used to this; she decided to answer. ‘It’s strange,’ she said leaning forward confidentially. ‘But we’re not close.’ This seemed to intrigue them, so she added, ‘She’s very busy you know. Travels all the time.’

Looking down, Sylvain hid a smile. His parents seemed fascinated.

‘Of course,’ Mr Cassel said. ‘We don’t see Sylvain as much as we would like because we’re busy, too, so we understand completely.’

Syvlain’s mother placed her arm across her son’s shoulders with obvious affection. ‘We are always trying to convince him to come home to us more often.’ Her voice was throaty, her accent as smooth as the silk dress she wore. ‘But he always says, “No, Maman, I have work to do.”’ She gave a resigned smile. ‘He is like his father.’

Her perfume was heady – she had the insouciant elegance of a model. Allie was dazzled.

‘Well, they work us very hard here.’ She glanced up to find Sylvain watching her with open affection. A smile flickered across her lips and a flock of butterflies swirled in her stomach. She lost her train of thought.

‘You must come and visit us.’ Mrs Cassel stepped into the silence smoothly. ‘We would love to host you.’ She turned to Sylvain. ‘Invite her to Antibes in the summer, darling. Wouldn’t Henri and Hélène adore her? She is adorable.’

Adorable? Allie looked at Sylvain desperately.

‘That’s my aunt and uncle.’ He apologised with his eyes. ‘And, please consider yourself officially invited.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she said in her most polite voice. ‘That’s very kind of you. I would love to see your home.’

‘Allie must go and see her other friends now,’ Sylvain said to her relief. ‘We can’t keep her here all night.’

‘Oh but she is so charming!’ they chorused, as she hurried to say her goodbyes, smiling politely until her cheeks hurt.

The party spilled over into the dining room, which had been set up much like the great hall with tables and candles. There was no sign of Lucinda there, but a delicious smell distracted her and she followed her nose to a buffet table in one corner where she liberated a mini crab cake.

Popping it in her mouth, she turned and nearly collided with Carter.

‘I’m sorr—’ he started, and then he saw her. She saw the surprise on his face. ‘Allie.’

Tensing, she waited for the icy rage that seemed to accompany him these days like a frozen cloud. But instead he looked stunned. His eyes swept her body, taking in her hair, the dress, the high heels she’d borrowed from Jo.

More than anything at that moment she regretted the crab cake, which she was now trying to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She turned away quickly to grab a glass of water from a nearby table and took a quick swallow – if she didn’t she feared she might throw up all over her pretty dress.

When she turned back around he was gone.

Baffled, she looked at the space where he had stood. If only she knew what she was supposed to feel. The confusing signals he sent were torturous.

I’m over you. I’m not over you. I want you. I hate you …

Maybe Jo was right. Maybe she should stop letting Carter decide who she dated.

Setting the glass back down, she made her way through the crowd. There must have been hundreds of people there. They filled the main hallway, the grand stairwell and even the entrance hall. Their conversations and laughter echoed off the high ceilings and reverberated in Allie’s head. Despite the cold night, the building felt stuffy, as if the guests were using up all the oxygen.

So when Allie found herself standing by the front door, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to turn the handle and slip outside, into the dark night.





TWENTY-EIGHT