Million Dollar Road (43 page)

“M
y name should be on the list—Emma Favreaux. I'm expected.”

At the arched stone entrance, the uniformed guard studied a clipboard. He ran a gloved finger down the page, searching.

“
Oui, madame
. Welcome to the Caserne des Célestins. You may enter.”

“Merci,”
Emma murmured. She pulled her heavy wool coat close around her shoulders as she walked under the arch of the barracks. This Friday morning in Paris, the April air was damp and cold, especially after the warmth of the taxi. As Emma crossed the immense graveled courtyard, its flagstone paths bordered with bare-limbed trees just beginning to bud, the sky overhead lowered a smoky gray: it might rain later today.

There was another high arched passageway ahead and Emma paused for a moment, gathering her composure before she passed underneath it. She glanced at her watch. She was ten minutes early, but the trip from the hotel on the Left Bank to the headquarters of the Republican Guard hadn't taken as long as she'd feared it would. The traffic had been light and the Pakistani cab driver made excellent time, swooping down the motorway bordering the Seine like one of Paris's battered black ravens, until he'd pulled up at her destination on the Île Saint-Louis. The walled gray-stone compound was the time-honored home of the last of the mounted French Cavalry.

Emma's breath was a white plume in the cold as she inhaled the unfamiliar smells of superheated steel from a nearby blacksmith forge and the pervasive, distinct scent of horses. It was time. There was no putting this off and she was as ready as she ever would be, she thought. Following the directions she'd been given, now she'd go inside the building marked MANÈGE, and then she would have to wait to see what happened next.

Be here now
.

Emma smiled at the thought as she pushed the brass-hinged door open. Dear Margot. Her therapist would be proud of her: she'd come a long way in more ways than one.

Following the signboards in French, Emma climbed the dark, winding stone stairs until she emerged, breathless and blinking, to the top of the stairs and onto the gallery. It overlooked a high-ceilinged place of filtered light, wing-flapping pigeons, muffled hoofbeats, and a haze of dust—the indoor riding arena of the Republican Guard.

Below her on the hoof-printed tanbark surface, at least fifty riders worked the horses that were stabled here in the midst of the city. The riders were turned out in their everyday black uniforms and dull helmets, but almost all the horses were burnished golden chestnuts with short, neat manes and flowing tails. It was an arresting sight and for a long moment Emma could only watch, marveling at the graceful movements of the gleaming horses below her, at the skill with which the riders avoided collisions as they guided their mounts through their daily workout. This was what it meant to be in the presence of living history: these soldier-horsemen were successors to the regiments that had come before them. Throughout the nearly two hundred years since the Guard had first come to be headquartered at the Caserne des Célestins, this had been the routine of tens of thousands of mornings.

Down the steep steps from Emma, several other observers were already seated in the gallery. They were likewise bundled up against the cold, huddling together on the cement risers as they watched the spectacle below them with fascinated interest.

One of them, a girl, sat apart from the rest, her feet propped on the riser below her, chin in her hand. Emma took a deep breath of the dusty, damp air of the riding arena, crossed her fingers for luck, and descended the steps.

The girl looked back over her shoulder at her approach. She tossed long black hair, glossy and as well tended as the tails of the horses below her, and raised her hand in a tentative wave. Emma's heart beat faster but she mustered a smile.

“Lireinne,” she said, her voice warm. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

Lireinne gestured at the place beside her, an invitation for Emma to sit. “I come here most mornings when I'm not working. It's worth it, getting up early so I can watch the horses.”

Emma settled on the cold cement of the riser with an involuntary shiver. “How did you find out about this place? It's amazing. I had no idea there were stables here, right in the heart of Paris.”

Lireinne returned her gaze to the horses and riders below. “I told a . . . friend of mine about Mose. I still miss him, you know. I know he's in a good place now, but he was my best friend for years.”

“I remember,” Emma said softly.

Lireinne shrugged. “Anyway, my friend brought me here and introduced me to one of his old army buddies in the Guard. They let me come here after that, just so I can be around horses again. I love it. Most of the time, I'm so busy it's like I can't hardly keep up with my life. This gives me a chance to just sit, watch the horses work, and think about stuff. Sometimes I get to give my favorites carrots after they're done working, before I have to leave to head over to Luigi's.”

“I almost didn't recognize you,” Emma said. “You look fabulous, genuinely fabulous.”

“Thanks.”

Clothed in skintight tobacco-colored jeans and a mossy-textured, fox-fur-collared sweater, thigh-high suede boots, and a fringed silk scarf of muted blues, violets, and greens, Lireinne was the picture of a youthful sophistication informed by that indefinable yet unmistakable
something
that was the hallmark of a truly French sense of style.

Emma felt old and dowdy in her long wool coat, thick black stockings, and sensible Dansko clogs, but couldn't begin to hold that against Lireinne. The girl seemed so perfectly right, so at home in her clothes that it would have been like envying an exotic rain-forest bird its natural plumage. It seemed as though it would be enough, just catching a glimpse of such beauty, but as Emma glanced again at Lireinne's profile she couldn't help but notice the tension in her face and shoulders, her tight air of reserve.

It was understandable, of course: she and Lireinne hadn't exchanged a word since the day Lireinne lashed out at Emma, over seven months ago. Emma was at a loss as to what she should do next, but she knew better than to try to force the encounter. She'd have to be patient and wait for Lireinne to initiate the talk—if there was to be one—even if she had to sit here all day.

The two of them watched the scene below for several silent minutes.

“Bud still sleeping?” Lireinne asked finally.

She turned her head to look Emma in the eye, and the change in her came as a shock. Lireinne's face was thinner now than Emma remembered it, her cheekbones high and pure, her green eyes as huge and as brilliant as though she had a fever. They rivaled the glittering pair of tourmaline-and-diamond earrings almost hidden in her hair. Over the months, Lireinne's features had been clarified, distilled to an essence, her already lovely face transformed to something otherworldly and impossible to forget. The crescent-shaped scar through Lireinne's eyebrow was another part of that incredible, heart-stopping beauty, a necessary complement that made it somehow strangely . . . complete.

Not wanting to stare, Emma turned her wondering gaze away from Lireinne's face with an effort. “Well, yes. Bud was worn out from the trip. He basically passed out as soon as we got in the room this morning. It's good of you to let him rest. I left him a note, though, telling him you'd called, that I was meeting you here.”

Lireinne nodded. “That's okay. I can see him later, when he's had a chance to crash for a while. I remember that flight from when I first came here. Me, I was too excited about being in Paris to sleep, but Bud's pretty old,” she said with the unconscious arrogance of youth.

Hiding an amused smile, Emma said, “Being your age helps a lot when you're dealing with jet lag. Flying in First Class helped some. Bud's a big man and somehow I couldn't see him jammed into one of those economy seats. He was nervous enough about flying as it was, without feeling like he was caught in a bear trap. I wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.”

Her expression cool, Lireinne gave Emma a long look. “Yeah, it was real nice of you to do that. I mean, you didn't have to take the time to come with him either, but I bet Bud needed you to show him the ropes. He's never been more than a few miles from Covington, just like me. I was glad to have Con around when I got off the plane that first morning. Immigration's a bitch.”

“It is,” Emma murmured. “I'm sure Con was a big help.”

She didn't tell Lireinne that the plane tickets had been a present from Con, just as she hadn't told Bud whose money had paid for this trip to visit his daughter. She'd known Bud wouldn't have been able to stomach that, but her own finances hadn't been equal to a long weekend in Paris. Con's characteristic generosity—and frequent flyer miles—had made it possible for Lireinne and her stepfather to have this time together. Emma had offered to come along to help Bud, a first-time flyer, navigate the airports, flights, and the foreignness of overseas travel. She'd some prior experience with it, thanks to the long-ago trips she'd made to Europe with Con.

Grateful that she was accompanying him, nevertheless Bud had a hard enough time accepting this trip even though he was under the impression she'd put it on her own credit card.

“Don't know when I can pay you back, Emma.” Bud had been looking at their airline tickets, shaking his head. Lireinne had tried to buy him one, but he hadn't wanted her to pay for his ticket either, saying his stepdaughter needed to hold on to her money since she insisted on sending most of it home for Wolf's future school expenses.

Emma slipped her arms around Bud's back, resting her head contentedly on his broad shoulder. “It's something I
want
to do, darling. Look at it like, oh, an early birthday present. Besides, didn't Sarah say she's finally had enough of hauling water to her horses? Next month she wants y'all to dig her another well down in the pasture. After that, if you end up with money to spare you can repay me, but going to France with you is something I want to do.”

Emma paused. “I've missed her, too, you know.”

Her strained relationship with Bud's daughter was something they rarely spoke of, but even if Lireinne hadn't actually asked her to come, Emma hoped that by now the time might be right for something like a reconciliation. The girl might still reject an overture, and if she did, Emma planned to pass the days going to museums while Bud and Lireinne had some much-needed time together. Emma was under no illusions that she'd be welcomed with open arms, but she didn't want Bud to have to travel by himself for this first, all-important trip. Besides, she had always wanted to see Paris once more.

Bud nodded with reluctant acceptance. “Okay, I'll do it. Seems like years since I seen my little girl instead of only seven months, and she sounded like she really needs to see me, too. It's real good of you to do this for me, Emma, but you know I'm not gonna rest easy, not so long as I'm owing you a dime.”

Emma had wondered at her newfound capacity for this loving deceit, but taking Con's money had been the best option for getting them to Paris. In the past months, what Con called “the friend thing” had become something real and good between them. Giving Bud and her the means to take this trip was Con's way of trying to be helpful and she was grateful to him for it. When Bud repaid her, she'd quietly pass the money back to Con. Later, if Bud's feelings about her ex-husband ever changed—which didn't seem likely—she'd tell him then where the tickets had come from.

A pair of pigeons took off overhead, their wings beating a quiet thunder. Thinking about the strange way events had worked out, Emma had to smile at the ironic circumstance. She loved Bud's quiet, stubborn nature, but she wasn't sure he'd ever appreciate Con's gesture, no matter how much time had passed.

“So it's you and Bud now, huh?” Lireinne's sudden question broke into Emma's thoughts.

“Yes, I believe so. Are you okay with that?” Emma asked. She was struggling not to betray her apprehension at this blunt, almost antagonistic inquiry.

Her scarred eyebrow raised, Lireinne lifted her shoulders in an impassive shrug. “Would it matter if I wasn't?”

Thinking Lireinne's question over, Emma couldn't answer right away. Finally, she said, “I don't know. I do think it would be a big problem for Bud if you told him you're against us . . . um . . . being together. He wouldn't want you to be unhappy about it.”

“Yeah, probably. I'm not going to kick up a fuss about y'all, though, so you can quit stressing.” Lireinne's voice was without emotion. Looking away from Emma, her narrowed eyes stared straight ahead, her full lips as compressed and tight as her clasped hands.

“But he's a good man,” she said, “so don't you
ever
go fucking around with his feelings. You got me?”

“Look, Lireinne.” Emma ventured cautiously here, trying to be as careful as though she were approaching a wild creature. “I don't know what to say to you. I'm never going to hurt Bud, not like I did you or any other way—not if I can help it.”

“Yeah?” The skepticism in Lireinne's answer stung, but Emma knew it was deserved.

She said, “What will it take for you to forgive me, Lireinne? When I answered the phone this morning and you asked me to meet you, I wasn't sure what to think. I assumed you wanted us to be able to talk without Bud's being around. Please, just tell me—what do I need to do to make things right between us? I'm not asking this for me, but for Bud. I know neither of us wants him to feel like he's being pulled in two different directions.”