sure that the French patisseries are the best in the world. I'm confident I'm right, because I have tried patisseries from every country on Earth. And let me tell you, French patisseries rule.
On Friday I was enjoying my favorite cafe au lait and brioche at my favorite street cafe on 172 boulevard Saint Germain, when I saw Nirupa walking alone. I've been keeping an eye on the kid from sometime now, because I never trust young, teen witches to be left unchecked, especially when they come to Paris on vacation. That day, though, I was distracted, because of the delicious brioche, but lucky me, there came Nirupa in search of the same treat, at exactly the same location. Now that I am thinking, I already knew that Nirupa would have come here, so it was not distraction on my part, but rather omniscience. Feels good to be this powerful.
Nirupa walked to me, "Monsieur, can you tell me the time, please?"
A chill ran down my spine. I thought she recognized me, but she didn't. Of course she couldn't have recognized me, what was I thinking? The way I've disguised myself would have made it difficult even for me to recognize myself, had I come face to face with me. I told her the time, and then, looking around and seeing that every other table was already taken, I invited her to sit with me and let me treat her to a delicious brioche. She smiled, and set opposite me, in a free chair. I noticed she looked nervous.
"I hope you won't mind me asking if there is something wrong," I asked her.
She looked at me suspiciously.
"I've got a granddaughter your age," I lied. "I know that life can sometimes feel really confusing for youngsters."
"Well, it certainly feels very confusing to me." She said.
"And why is that, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked uncannily.
"I'll tell you monsieur, because I badly need advice, and you seem like a pretty decent grand-père," She said.
"Of course, I'm a loving grand-père." I lied again. "You can trust me."
"There is this party at the house of my boyfriend and I'm invited to go. I was very thrilled to go till recently."
"And what happened recently, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Well, my mother called. She is heading this way and there's no way she'll let me enjoy the evening with my beau. I'm so desperate."
"That doesn't seem like a very big problem to me, chérie," I said.
"Maybe not to you, Sir, but it certainly is a very big problem to me. I love my mother, but it's so difficult to make her see that I really care. She is always criticizing me, and she's got no faith in me at all. I can only imagine her disappointment and contempt when my boyfriend proposes to me on that night."
"What!?" I exclaimed before having time to restrain myself. "No! You can't do that! No way you're marrying Luc at 15." Good heavens – for being so powerfully aware and psychic, I sure have a talent for saying too much on occasion.
"And what's it to you Sir? I can marry whomever I want. And how do you know that my beau is called Luc?"
"Of course, of course," I tried to play it down my silly outburst. "You must have mentioned him, anyway, what I meant, as a grand-père's advice to his petite-fille, is that you need to work it out with your mom first. I believe, if your maman would come to the party with a date of her own, she'll feel more at ease, she'll feel happier, which would make things far easier for you."
"That's a great idea," Nirupa sighed, "But where could I find a date for mom? She is such a difficult person, and besides I don't know anybody her age in Paris."
"Well, I think I might have a solution for you," I said, halting my speech, taking pleasure at observing how the impact of my last words was slowly setting on the girl.
"Who would that person be?" She asked.
"Oh, well, it would be me. I don't mind helping people whom I find really sympa. Now, I know I must be a little old for your sweet mother, but I'm still a gentleman."
Nirupa's facial expression instantly switched from interested into something unfathomable. For a split second I regretted having played it smart. But, after that first moment of awkwardness, Nirupa threw herself at me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
"Oh, thank you monsieur, thank you so much."
Is it really necessary to say that I got my invitation to the Christmas ball, at the Besson Castle, on the mail the next morning? And, as it turned out, the same evening Nirupa's mother agreed to go with me to the party. Superb!
A "glimpse" Christmas Ball
A French Ball in a private castle is the only social function that can still be modestly described today as impregnated with splendor and magnificence beyond belief.
The Ball at the Besson castle was all that. It shone with sophistication, smelt with perfumes and elated the soul to delightful heights. It was a collection of brilliantly fashionable people walking around sheaves of flowers and trailing vines masterfully put in every corner by Madame Besson's personal florist. Madame Besson was the most accomplished host that could ever be. The way she moved around people, the way she conversed with them, flattered them, laughed with them. It made perfect sense why her husband had gladly assented to put up with her darkest side, for fear of losing her, because her bright side had a way of lifting up spirits and making people feel good about themselves. And her beauty – she was beautiful beyond anything known to humankind. Wrapped in a simple blue, sheath dress, with a single, hollyhock flower made out of golden velour on her left shoulder, she looked perfect.
Nirupa looked charming too in her Notte by Marchesa Grecian chiffon dress, with mesh upper body, and beaded neckline and waist. At the very last moment at the store the French saleswoman had convinced her to buy a ball gown for such an occasion, instead of the lovely cocktail dress Nirupa had selected. "Ma chere girl," the woman had said looking compassionate. "You want to be radiant and confident in your appearance. Believe me; nobody would take pity on a young, naive girl who has the misfortune of possessing a very bad taste."
But while waiting for Luc to introduce her to his mom, Nirupa felt that there was nothing in this world strong enough to make her feel confident in herself, regardless of how much she wanted to. Madame Besson had a way, even from afar, to intimidate her and make her feel small and unimportant. Nirupa felt so ill at ease that her eyes watered. "Why is Mom taking so long?" she looked around desperate and anguished. Dara and her date weren't still there, and Nirupa found herself wishing that the wait wouldn't be for long. The sudden realization of her immense need for the comfort and security that only her mother's presence could provide caught Nirupa by surprise. "Maybe, I'm not as self sufficient as I thought I was." This thought flashed in Nirupa's mind. "Or maybe I just love Mom."
"Oh, my dear girl, I'm so happy you could make it," Madame Besson interrupted Nirupa's self-scrutiny by kissing her twice, on both cheeks.
"Thank you for inviting me, Madame," Nirupa was fast to reply. "And thank you for inviting my mom and her date too. I'm sorry it was so last minute. I apologize...,"
"Oh, nonsense," Madame Besson brushed the matter off lightly, "But I see you're not wearing any jewelry tonight." Her gaze shifted from Nirupa's face to her neck, and then to her hands with bare, unadorned fingers. Madame got unexplainably sulky as she turned away from the young couple. That confused Nirupa, while Luc offered to get some drinks for them. "Never mind maman," he tried to soothe her. "It's not about you, I promise. It's just her. She's made this way." Luc left, and Nirupa felt again the ominous return of the urge to cry. Maybe it was her after all, because nobody else about her seemed to feel the way she was feeling.
"I see you've already stooped to feelings of self-loathing." Dara's abrasive remark made Nirupa jump.
"And you don't miss a single chance to point it out to me, do you Mom?" Nirupa snorted without turning to face her mother. But, for as much as she quickly assumed her usual, defiant attitude toward Dara, Nirupa felt immensely grateful that her mother was there.
"If I didn't care about you, I certainly wouldn't," Dara said, "But, alas, I care way too much to let other people take a
dvantage of, and hurt my naive teenager."
Nirupa, who didn't take her mom's last comment as anything but a new assault to her ways and free life choices, turned around swiftly, ready to comeback in the same abrasive way. Her zealousness was interrupted, though, by what she saw. Her mom looked stunning. Nirupa had never seen her mom look anything like that. She was wearing a strapless, sheer tulle dress with silk floral embroidery at the neckline. The gown of the dress was made of solid wire stitching. Her dark, long hair was styled upwards in an elegant bun. Dara was gracefully holding the arm of a fine gentleman in a black tux and bowtie.
But, before Nirupa had time to say anything about anything, Madame Besson appeared out of nowhere, next to Dara and the unknown gentleman. She was fast to greet them using her unmatchable, hostess charisma.
"We're truly pleased to have little Nirupa's mother with us tonight," she said. "And, Monsieur it's a pleasure to have you with us too. May I inquire about your name, Monsieur." She asked.
"Certainly Madame, It's Charles," He smiled.
"Oh, what a pretty ring!" Madame Besson exclaimed looking at Dara's hand. She was immediately sorry for being to obvious in showing her interests, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the ring for some reason.
Dara smiled. "Yes, it is," She said, "Thank you."
"Could I try it on?" Madame suddenly asked.
"Maman!" Luc objected, a horrified look on his face.
"You're right, cheri," Madame Besson pulled it together immediately. "My apologies, Madame," as she gave a slight and graceful bow of her head to Dara. "It was a most inappropriate request, indeed."
"Oh, it is alright," Dara said. "You don't have to feel sorry. The thing is that only Nirupa can touch this ring."
"Of course, I understand," Madame Besson smiled apologetically.
"It is my ring, mother," Nirupa suddenly chimed in. "And, it's alright by me if Luc's mom tries it on."
Dara frowned. She looked ill at ease, unsure of what to do or say.
"C'mon, take it off," Nirupa urged Dara.
Dara reluctantly took the ring off her finger and handed it out to Madame Besson, who took it, looking thrilled and overjoyed.
Right at that moment Monsieur Besson appeared to greet the guests. He grabbed Dara's hand kissing it and said, "Time to join the Cotillion." He pulled her toward the middle of the room. "Ni, get the ring from her," Dara called at Nirupa who smilingly called back, "Have fun, Mom."
"You too, Monsieur," Luc's dad called at Monsieur Charles. "Join your charmante date and me in this age-old dance.
"I hardly think so," Monsieur Charles shook his head indignantly. "Somebody's got to keep an eye on the irresponsible." He mumbled, as though to himself. "Where did your mother go?" Monsieur Charles grabbed Luc by his arm realizing suddenly that Madame Besson was no longer with them. She had simply, silently vanished.
"I don't know," Luc shrunk his shoulders confused.
"Putain!" Monsieur Charles cursed looking around with increasing concern.
"Young Lady, if we come out of tonight's mess safe and sound, you'll be grounded for an entire month." Charles said to Nirupa.
"What?" Nirupa looked at him flabbergasted. "You're not my dad, sir. I don't care about what you say."
"I'll deal with you later," Monsieur Charles said to Nirupa, and left the room running.
What happened that night at the Besson Castle would be the talking stock of the Parisian Polite Society for months afterwards. Even though, nobody in Paris could say with outmost certainty that they really knew what had happened that night at the Besson castle, The Ones who were invited at the Christmas Ball were the most pitiful lot. None of them was able to recall anything accurate at all. But, the only thing upon which everybody seemed agreeable was the fact that the fire that broke out, which lit up the entire castle as it would a torch, was terrifying and bizarre at the same time. The bizarre part had to do with the fact that after the fire squad had put out the fire and helped everybody out of the castle, the Besson family were nowhere to be found. Nor could the police find anywhere the red-haired girlfriend of Luc Besson, or her mother and her date, the mysterious Monsieur Charles, about whom no one in Paris was even remotely familiar.
The Bessons appeared three months later to attend the Paris fashion week. They claimed to have been traveling around Tuscany and South America during the cold months. Nobody believed them.
With the Besson's return, a new wave of rumors started circulating around Paris. People talked of a special emerald ring that Madame Besson had brought with her from South America. Some, who were amateurs of occultism and special members of several secret societies in Paris, believed that the ring Elodie Besson had on her finger was accursed. It was the evil counterpart of the legendary ruby ring which ancient powers of creation and destruction were undisputable. But Madame Besson didn't say much. She had become a reclusive. People had seen her wandering alone along the Seine after dusk, talking to an invisible companion. Some believed she had gone mad. Little did they know that she could not have been more lucid; and more hungry for power than ever before.
The End
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends