The Cinderella Moment (36 page)

Angel’s heart skipped a beat. She stared at her mother. Was she going to tell Philip she loved him? That even though she had married Yves Moncoeur she still felt something for the man she believed had betrayed her?

She crossed her fingers, held her breath and prayed that her mother would have the courage to tell Philip what was in her heart.

But Simone’s words were not what she expected.

“Seventeen years ago, after I left Paris, I went straight to my father’s farm. I hadn’t seen him for years, but I had nowhere else to go. Papa wasn’t happy to see me, but he let me stay. I was sure it would only be for a few days because Philip would soon return from America and come for me.”

Simone touched her wedding band. “My father was not easy to live with. He drank and would fall into such violent rages that I often sought refuge at the next-door farm. Yves Moncoeur and I had played together there as children and he had always been kind to me. Though I never told him Philip’s name, he knew I was waiting for the man I loved.”

She touched Angel’s cheek. “Your papa was the kindest, most understanding man who ever lived and, as the weeks passed and I heard nothing, he told me that if my lover did not come, he would gladly marry me. He said—”

She broke off as Philip suddenly stepped forward, his face ashen. “I
would
have come, if I’d known where you were!” He held out his hands to Simone. “But I couldn’t find you and the detectives found you too late. You’d married Yves and I had no choice but to believe what my mother had told me—that you’d fallen in love with someone else.”

Simone stared at him in disbelief. “But my letter explained.”

“I didn't receive it. Not then. I didn't find it until years later.”

The words fell like a stone and the look on her mother’s face made Angel want to throw her arms around her and explain what had happened to her letter all those years ago.

“But I put it in our book,” said Simone. “The day after your mother—” She stopped and stared accusingly at the Comtesse.

Elena de Tourney gasped and stepped back. She stumbled and would have fallen if Vidal had not caught her. “It’s all right, Elena,” he said. “I am here.”

She gripped his hand and Angel saw the concern on his face as he said, “You must rest. All of this,” he waved his hand at Philip and Simone, “can wait. Let us go somewhere private.”

“No, Antoine,” said the Comtesse. “It must end here. If I am to find peace in the future then I must face my past without flinching.”

Vidal hesitated, then bowed and gave her his arm. “Then let us face it together, Elena,” he said. “As we have always done.”

They stood together and it seemed to Angel as though the anger and bitterness faded from the Comtesse’s face as she faced Simone. “Philip never received your letter. But it was a genuine mistake. It was placed in the wrong book—I honestly don’t know how—but he did not find it until six years later.”

Simone stifled a sob and a shadow seemed to pass over Elena de Tourney’s face. “When Philip found your letter he confronted me with it and demanded to know if it was true. I told him it was too late for the two of you.” Her face contorted. “My arrogance meant I lost my son that day. I lost him to the woman he had always loved—I lost him to you.”

The Comtesse gazed at Simone, pain etched into her face, and Angel saw a flash of pity in her mother’s eyes.

“Madame—” began Simone, but the Comtesse stopped her.

“No, let me finish. Please.”

Simone fell silent.

“I have nothing but regret for the things I said to you that day seventeen years ago. I valued my pride and my heritage above my son and so he left. Until yesterday, I thought he had gone forever.” She blinked away a tear. “I am sorry, Philip. Sorry for my pride and my arrogance and for refusing to accept that you truly loved Simone.” She held out her hands beseechingly. “I know that what I did cannot be undone, but I beg you,” she turned to Simone, “and
you
to forgive me. I was wrong about you and I was wrong about your daughter.”

She turned to Angel. “It is true that I was enraged by your deception, but it was not only because of the lies you told or because you were Simone Moncoeur’s daughter. I was angry because I regretted losing you. We had shared so much these past two weeks and I felt a connection—not the tie of blood, but something even more powerful. Do you know what it was?”

Angel nodded. “It was love,” she whispered.

“Yes,” said the Comtesse, “it was.” She stood a little straighter and said firmly, “Two days ago I made you an offer which you refused. I make you that offer again because—if your mother will allow it—I want you in my life, Angel Moncoeur.”

Angel’s heart leapt and then she saw the look on her mother’s face.

“It’s all right, Maman,” whispered Angel, “the Comtesse—”

“Does not know the rest of the story,” interrupted Simone. “Only Yves knew, but now he is gone. I know he would have wanted me to finally tell it all.”

She stood there, pale but resolute, and suddenly Angel felt poised on the brink of something huge, something from which there’d be no turning back.

Simone continued. “I’d waited for Philip for nearly six weeks when I discovered what Yves had already suspected.” She gazed imploringly at Philip. “I waited for you as long as I dared, but when I heard nothing I married Yves. He was a good man and he knew better than anyone what Papa would do if he found out I was pregnant.”

Angel froze.

Eventually, she found her voice. “P—pregnant,” she stammered. “But
…
but
…
did you have the baby?”

Her mother nodded.

Angel stepped back and looked from Simone to Philip. “But that
…
that means—” She struggled to speak.

Simone took her hands and said gently, “Yves was your darling Papa, but he always knew he was not your father.”

“And I knew I was,” said Philip, stepping towards her.

Angel stared. “You knew?” she demanded. “And you never said?”

Philip nodded. “Simone knew I would suspect you were mine as soon as I saw you, so she made sure I understood that so long as Yves was alive, he must go on being your father and never know that I was the man she had waited for.” He sighed. “Your mother only agreed to become my housekeeper because she was desperate, but she made it clear from the outset that her first loyalty was to Yves and I could have no part in her personal life.”

“But why would you agree to that?” cried Angel. “You knew you were my father and you had all the power—you gave us a home, you paid Maman—” She gazed at him in confusion.

“And I would have done much more,” said Philip gently. “But your mother was married to a good man—a man who did not deserve to have his love for you set aside because of a chance meeting.” He hesitated, and then said slowly, “Simone would never discuss the past, but she made sure she told me the one thing she knew would stop me from asserting my rights as your father—she told me how Yves had broken his back.”

“No! Philip,” cried Simone suddenly. “Please don’t.”

“Angel needs to understand,” said Philip softly. “And we both owe it to Yves to tell her the truth.”

“Tell me,” cried Angel, and suddenly Lily was beside her, her arm around Angel’s shoulders.

“Tell us both,” said Lily.

Simone looked at them and sighed. “Yves was working in the vineyard. He’d got down off the tractor to fix something when it slipped its gears and began to roll. It would have been all right except that I had brought you out to the vineyard to see your papa. You were four and you’d run ahead.” Her face grew grim. “One moment you were running beneath the vines and the next moment I could see the tractor heading straight towards you. Your papa—Yves—barely reached you in time. He caught you and threw you clear, but
…
but he could not escape in time.”

Angel paled. “But that means Papa—”

“It means only that Papa loved you,” cried Simone, hugging her tightly. “
Nothing
else.”

“He was a wonderful father and he deserved your love,” added Philip gruffly. “But I wish—” He took a step towards them and stopped.

Angel pulled free of her mother’s embrace and gazed at her parents. Her mind was whirling but there was a look on Maman’s face that made Angel catch her breath.

Philip took another step closer and held out his hands to Simone. “I know you’ve suffered because I got your letter years too late, and I know that Yves was a far better man than I can ever be, but if there is even the slightest chance that you still feel anything for me, then give me the chance to prove how much I love you!”

The color rose in Simone’s cheeks and she looked at Philip with a light in her eyes that Angel hoped would never be extinguished.

Philip didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms and held her as if he’d never let her go.

A tear rolled down Angel’s cheek and she realized she was smiling. Then Lily was hugging her and Kitty was jumping up and down and Nick was there, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Then Philip and Simone reached for her and Lily.

At last Angel turned to the Comtesse.

As their eyes met, Elena de Tourney said softly, “I, too, would like to be hugged. That is, if my granddaughters were willing?”

Lily ran straight into her grandmother’s arms.

Angel hesitated. “Are you sure, Madame?” Then, seeing the Comtesse raise a questioning eyebrow, she laughed and said, “Are you sure,
Grandmama
?”

“Quite sure,” said the Comtesse, holding out her arms.

***

It was nearly midnight when Lily found Angel sitting with Nick on a sofa in a corner of the ballroom.

“Here you are!” she said, dropping down beside them and glancing shrewdly at Nick. “I know, I know, you lovebirds want to be alone, but I’ve got a message for Angel so there’s no use glaring at me, Nick—you should be grateful.”

“I can’t say that gratitude is the emotion uppermost in my mind when I think of you, Lily,” said Nick darkly.

“Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for me, you’d never have met my best friend and you wouldn’t be here now, looking at her in that soppy way.”

“And if it wasn’t for you,” retorted Nick, “Angel wouldn’t have spent half the night alone and cold and frightened.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” said Angel. “Well, not much. And you’re not to start arguing,” she declared, pretending to glare. “I met Nick because I came to Paris to get my designs back.”

“Which you did,” said Nick, pulling her closer, “and totally triumphed!”

“And I am
so
glad I was there to see it,” crowed Lily. “The defeat of Margot and Clarissa Kane: a truly magical moment! And now our parents are getting married and everything’s awesome.”

“Except the London Academy,” said Angel suddenly. “How do we fix that?”

Lily grinned. “Dad’s so happy he’ll say yes to anything, so I asked him if he could pull some strings and get me an audition.”

“You’re pulling strings, Lily?” said Angel mischievously. “You almost sound like Clarissa.”

“I do not!” said Lily, revolted. “I’m much nicer than—” She clapped her hand to her head. “Oh, what a ditz I am! You’re wanted—that’s what I came to tell you.”

“What’s up?” asked Angel.

“It’s a surprise,” replied Lily, her eyes sparkling.

She led Angel across the ballroom to the dais, where Vidal was waiting.

He stepped up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Tonight I am proud to present to you the
true
winner of this year’s Teen Couture—Angel Moncoeur.”

As if in a dream, Angel received the shining silver trophy from the world-famous couturier. She held it up and looked out at the crowd. There was her mother in Philip’s arms laughing and crying at the same time, and Nick beside his parents, each clapping furiously, and Kitty smiling up at her with Giles at her side and the rest of the summer season group behind them.

And there was Lily, her best friend, dancing with excitement at Angel’s moment of triumph.

It was Lily who reached her first. “You did it,” she laughed and held out her hand.

“Friends,” said Angel, extending her little finger.

“Sisters,” corrected Lily, with a grin.

“Forever,” agreed Angel, and smiled. 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book has been bubbling in my brain since 1997 when I came across a magazine article while at a hairdresser in the Middle East. It has been through numerous incarnations since then, although Angel and her dream of winning the Teen Couture fell into my mind fully formed. A number of loyal supporters have helped me to bring Angel’s story to life and I must thank my wonderful friends: Nikola Scott, Paul Nicholls, Roy Hay, Dianne Tobias, Jenny Walshe, Helen MacDonald, Fiona Skinner, Mary Bourke, Phil Rebakis and John Nolan for their rigorous reading, helpful comments and attention to detail. Special thanks to my teen readers: Lily Pandora Fletcher Stojcevski, Emily Ezzy, Zoe Bucher-Edwards, Hannah Milligan, Rebecca Green, Hannah Roland-Kristensen, Maeve O’Callaghan, Laura Watkins, Caitlin Scally, Madeline Keegan, Morwenna Billingham, Brianna Walshe and Eden Forster. Thank you also to Dr. Claire Darby for answering my medical questions, Anne-Marie Butt for her advice and corrections of my schoolgirl French, George Mihaly for his knowledge of French vineyards, Wendy Brennan for her kindness and encouragement when I was just starting out, the inimitable Anne Gracie who said all the right things at the right time, Linda Brumley for her invaluable advice, and to Valerie, Marnie, Peter, Susan and Jon for their enthusiasm and support. A huge thank you to my brilliant editors at Penguin: Amy Thomas, Clair Hume, Sarah Fairhall and Jane Godwin, for falling in love with Angel’s story and helping me to make it all it could be, to Georgia McBride who has achieved so much and who inspires us all, and to my wonderful agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan. To my family: Ben, Christopher and Elanor – thank you for reading the final draft and for giving me your insights into the teenage mind – and to my own hero, Barry, who has waited a long time for this book and has never faltered in his love and support of its author.