had bought the hat for her last summer.
Fleur could only see her mother twice a year-during the Christmas holidays and for a month in August. In exactly fourteen days they’d be together in Antibes, where they spent every Christmas. Fleur had been marking off the days on her calendar since last August. She loved being with Belinda more than anything in the world. Her mother never scolded her for talking too loud, or upsetting a glass of milk, or even for swearing. Belinda loved her more than anybody in the whole world.
Fleur had never seen her father. He’d brought her to the
Fleur gave a shrill whistle as she reached the fence that marked the edge of the
The chestnut whickered as he came up to the edge of the fence and stuck his head over the post to nuzzle her shoulder. He was a
Fleur planned to be a great horsewoman someday, despite her current status as the clumsiest girl at the
The days before the Christmas holiday dragged endlessly until the afternoon arrived for her mother to pick her up. Fleur was packed hours in advance, and as she waited, the nuns passed through the chilly front hallway one by one.
“Do not forget, Fleur, to keep a sweater with you. Even in the South, it can be cool in December.”
“Yes, Sister Dominique.”
“Remember that you’re not in Chatillon-sur-Seine where you know everyone. You mustn’t talk to strangers.”
“Yes, Sister Marguerite.”
“Promise me you’ll go to Mass every day.”
She crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt. “I promise, Sister Therese.”
Fleur’s heart burst with pride when her beautiful mother finally swept into their midst. She looked like a bird of paradise descending into a flock of chimney swifts. Beneath a snow-white mink coat, Belinda wore a yellow silk top over indigo trousers belted at the waist with braided orange vinyl. Platinum and Lucite bangles clicked at her wrists, and matching disks swung from her ears. Everything about her was colorfully mod, stylish, and expensive.
At thirty-three, Belinda had become a costly gem, cut to perfection by Alexi Savagar and polished by the luxuries of the Faubourg St.-Honore. She was thinner, more prone to small, quick gestures, but the eyes that drank in her daughter’s face had not changed at all. They were the same innocent hyacinth-blue as they’d been the day she’d met Errol Flynn.
Fleur bounded across the hallway like a Saint Bernard pup and threw herself in her mother’s arms. Belinda took a small step backward to steady herself. “Let’s hurry,” she whispered into Fleur’s ear.
Fleur waved a hasty good-bye to the nuns, grabbed her mother’s hand, and pulled her toward the door before the sisters could bombard Belinda with an account of Fleur’s latest misdeeds. Not that Belinda paid any attention. “Those old bats,” she’d said to Fleur the last time. “You have a wild, free spirit, and I don’t want them to change one thing about you.’”
Fleur loved when her mother talked like that. Belinda said wildness was in Fleur’s blood.
A silver Lamborghini stood at the bottom of the front steps. As Fleur slid into the passenger seat, she gulped in the sweet, familiar scent of her mother’s Shalimar.
“Hello, baby.”
She slipped into Belinda’s arms with a small sob and cuddled into the mink, the Shalimar, and everything that was her mother. She was too old to cry, but she couldn’t help herself. It felt so good to be Belinda’s baby again.
Belinda and Fleur loved the Cote d’Azur. The day after they arrived, they drove from their pink stucco hotel near Antibes into Monaco along the famous Corniche du Littoral, the serpentine road that twisted around the cliffs of the coastline. “You wouldn’t get carsick if you’d look straight ahead instead of out the sides,” Belinda said, just as she’d said the year before.
“But then I’d miss too many things.”
They stopped first at the market at the foot of Monte Carlo’s palace hill. Fleur’s stomach quickly recovered, and she bounded from one food stall to another pointing at everything that caught her eye. The weather was warm, and she wore khaki camp shorts, her favorite T-shirt, which said, “Draft beer, not students,” and a new pair of Jesus sandals Belinda had bought her the day before. Belinda wasn’t like the nuns about clothes. “Wear what makes you happy, baby,” she said. “Develop your own style. There’s plenty of time for high fashion later.”
Belinda was wearing Pucci.
After Fleur made her selections for lunch, she dragged her mother up the steep path from the Monte Carlo market to the palace, eating a ham and poppy seed roll as she walked. Fleur spoke four languages, but she was proudest of her English, which was flawlessly American. She’d learned it from the American students who attended the
Someday she and Belinda were going to live in California. She wished they could go now, but Belinda wouldn’t have any money if she divorced Alexi. Besides, Alexi wouldn’t let her get a divorce. Fleur wanted to go to America more than anything in the world.
“I wish I had an American name.” She scratched a bug bite on her thigh and tore off another bite of sandwich with her teeth. “I hate my name. I really do. Fleur is a stupid name for somebody as big as me. I wish you’d named me Frankie.”
“Frankie is a hideous name.” Belinda collapsed on a bench and tried to catch her breath. “Fleur was the closest I could get to the female version of a man I cared about. Fleur Deanna. It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
Belinda always told Fleur she was beautiful, even though it wasn’t true. Her thoughts flew in another direction. “I hate having my period. It’s disgusting.”
Belinda delved into her purse for a cigarette. “It’s part of being a woman, baby.”
Fleur made a face to show Belinda exactly what she thought of that, and her mother laughed. Fleur pointed up the path toward the palace. “I wonder if she’s happy?”
“Of course she’s happy. She’s a princess. One of the most famous women in the world.” Belinda lit her cigarette and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “You should have seen her in
Fleur stretched out her legs. They were covered with fine, pale hair, and pink with sunburn. “He’s kind of old, don’t you think?”
“Men like Rainier are ageless. He’s quite distinguished, you know. Very charming.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Last fall. He came for dinner.” Belinda pulled her sunglasses back over her eyes.
Fleur dug the heel of her sandal into the dirt. “Was
“Hand me some of those olives, darling.” Belinda gestured toward one of the paper cartons with an almond- shaped fingernail painted the color of ripe raspberries.