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derwent_fFandom: Where Do You Go To My Lovely - Peter Sarstedt (Song)
Characters: Original female characters
Rating: G
Summary: Years later, two childhood friends run into each other in the Riviera.
Notes: Jukebox gift for
‘I love my nephew,’ Lady Angkatell begins, eyes tracking Roddy’s back as he walks away, blissfully ignorant of what is being said about him, ‘but he can be so helpless sometimes.’
‘Which is to say: I was vastly relieved when he married such a sensible girl as you.’ The old woman nods approvingly at Elaine, who smiles at the compliment. ‘My pleasure.’ It is a sign of how good she’d become that her carefully cultivated accent no longer requires her undivided attention.
She turns her gaze aside. Their table on the second-floor balcony provides an open view to the glimmering turquoise sea below. It reminds her of her honeymoon cruise, and she’s just about to mention it when a commotion at the stairs catches her attention.
During the early days, Elaine would’ve made sure not to gawk, afraid that it would reveal her ruse. After all, as the self-proclaimed member of an old, noble Italian family, she was supposed to be accustomed to rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty, wasn’t she? But soon she realised that despite their own fame, the beautiful people that flooded the Riviera every summer were no less immune to being star struck than the commoners.
The crowd of admirers surrounding the woman obscures her face. Elaine turns to her aunt-in-law with a questioning glance.
‘Marie-Claire de Souza,’ Lady Angkatell explains. ‘Her mother was French, her father was from de Souza family from South America. Or is it the Caribbean? Some such place, anyhow. Came here a couple of months ago – when you and Roddy already sailed – and became the new darling overnight. Every day there’s something about her in the society pages.’
‘Indeed?’ Elaine murmurs. She looks back at the woman, now seated on the centre of a table, two bewitched men on each side.
The woman looks up to address the waiter, and Elaine’s breath catches. It has been a more than a decade, but even underneath all the glamour, she’d recognise that face anywhere.
Oh, she thinks, suddenly dizzy, so that’s where she ends up.
The maid shows her to Marie-Claire’s drawing room. It’s an airy, light-filled room with fashionable furniture. Framed certificates adorned the walls. From Sorbonne, and as fake as cultured pearls. (Though if anyone suspects, they don’t talk about it.) She peeks at the record collection. The sleeves are full of autographs. The paintings are Picasso – gifts from the artist himself, she knows.
‘Bon jour, Lady Willard. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ The words announce Marie-Claire’s entrance to the room. Elaine stands, tall and still for a moment, before turning back to face the other woman.
Marie-Claire gasps. Her eyes search Elaine’s face, no doubt discovering the resemblance to the young girl she once knew.
Elaine merely smiles. ‘Hello, Marie-Claire, or should I say –’
‘No!’ The vehemence startles both of them. Marie-Claire takes a deep breath, composes herself, and waves at the couches. ‘Please sit down – Elaine, isn’t it? Would you like a drink?’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having, thank you.’ Her hostess nods stiffly. Elaine finds herself laughing. ‘It’s alright, Marie-Claire, I’m not here to blow your cover. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’
The other woman visibly relaxes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says as she pours them Napoleon brandy, ‘I wasn’t expecting to run into someone …’ She trails off, unsure of how to say it.
‘From the old days?’ Elaine suggests. ‘Neither did I.’
Marie-Claire hands her the glass and sits down with a practiced poise. It’s a pretty scene, and Elaine can picture it in her mind’s eye: Marie-Claire, photographed for a magazine among the trappings. The only thing out of place in the picture is Marie-Claire herself – to those very few who know who she truly is.
She takes a long, good look at Elaine. ‘You look amazing.’
‘So do you. Your dress.’ She gestures at Marie-Claire’s chic black dress, ‘Balmain, right? A little bird told me you’re his latest muse.’
Marie-Claire smiles. A wide, proud smile that tells Elaine the poor little girl from the past still lingers around. ‘Yes and yes. It’s a gift.’ She stands up and twirls, showing it off. An image from the past suddenly comes into Elaine’s mind, of young Marie-Claire, performing the exact same gesture – albeit dressed in rags. She returns the other woman’s smile. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she says, and finds herself genuinely happy for her childhood friend.
‘But I’m being vain.’ Marie-Claire chuckles. ‘Tell me about yourself, Elaine. Congratulations on your marriage. The English Earl – how did you snag him?’
‘Oh,’ Elaine waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s a long story – he thinks I belong to a branch of an old, almost extinct Italian noble family. And you? How did you end up with this de Souza name?’
‘Sheer luck. I worked briefly in a hospital. Had a patient who turned out to be a member of the family. He was lonely, and I became his friend. In return, he told me everything about them. When he died, I decided to take up the name.’
The next hour flies by. They talk about Marie-Claire’s plans: to go to St Moritz in the winter. Elaine promises to introduce her to Aga Khan, who is a business partner of her husband. They swap tips on deflecting nosy questions about their fictional families. Elaine hadn’t realised how much she needed to talk to someone who understands.
‘When will I see you again?’ Marie-Claire asks as Elaine prepares to leave.
‘No idea. Roddy has to go back to England and takes care of the family estate.’
‘Is it as tedious as I think it is?’
Elaine laughs. ‘Most of the time, yes. But I’ve never been one for endless adventure.’
‘No.’ Marie-Claire’s expression turns thoughtful. ‘No, you were – always been – one for security.’
‘After what we went through, can you blame me?’ She teases. ‘And you, are you ever going to take pity on one of your admirers?’
‘No!’ Marie-Claire throws her head back and laughs, freely, joyfully. ‘I’m going to conquer the world.’ Her eyes spark as bright as the diamonds on her necklace.
‘I’ve got a feeling you will.’ Elaine steps out the door and turns for one last look at Marie-Claire. ‘Goodbye, darling.’
