A Rather Charming Invitation by C. A. Belmond Read Free Book Online Page B

my French is not nearly good enough for a dinner party.”
    “A fine time to say so!” he responded in mock dismay. “We’re ruined.”
    “Honorine can surely translate for us if necessary,” I said hopefully.
     
     
    But when we entered the salon, Honorine was nowhere to be found. A group of total strangers were milling about, cocktail glasses in hand, speaking French in low, melodious voices. As we arrived, they switched seamlessly to English, which I thought was considerate, yet typically French.
    The first thing that struck me about this room was the way it was softly scented with lemon blossoms, from little plants with their shiny green leaves, installed in pale peach china pots that nicely contrasted with the dark panelled walls. A large fireplace—flanked by iron tongs and pokers with handles shaped like angels and ogres, and a fire screen with embroidered dragons, knights and other medieval images—was occupied by an urn-shaped basket filled with sprays of long-stemmed fresh flowers. The multiple windows looked out on the same view of the lawn and avenue in front, but heavy velvet curtains were partly drawn, a signal of the evening hour.
    A fine, upright-looking man who appeared to be in his early thirties stepped forward and said, in perfect English with a polite French accent, “You must be Penny and Jeremy. I am David.”
    This was Honorine’s older brother, whom she’d described as colluding against her with her mother. He was slender, dark- haired, pale-skinned and dark-eyed, just like Honorine. He had a graceful way of moving, as if his gestures were timed to music; but he also had an animated, slightly high-strung quality. As he handed each of us a glass of champagne, he introduced us to the other dinner guests.
    There was a stout mayor and his wife; a muscular-looking retired general and his petite wife; a couple in their thirties who both taught at university and had grown up with David; and an elderly doctor and his white-haired wife. There was also a slim, pamperedlooking, curly-haired man in his early twenties, conspicuous for being the youngest person in the party. This was Charles, a law graduate, and he was accompanied by his doting mother and his tall, broad-shouldered father. As soon as I heard the name Charles, I realized that this must be the fellow that Honorine was supposed to marry. Someone mentioned the Vespa he’d received as a graduation gift, so he was the rider I’d noticed earlier.
    David’s wife was the very proper Auguste, a woman with mildly blonde hair pulled into a chignon at the back of her head, and she was dressed in varying shades of beige. They had three children who’d been romping about on the side lawn, until they were summoned to come inside and bow and curtsy to us, before being sent to have their dinner in the first-floor tower room, which was the children’s dining salon. The adults serenely continued chatting, and I learned that David was in charge of the family perfume business. I could tell, from the way that everyone listened attentively to him, that he was highly respected among their friends and neighbors.
    The guests had now seated themselves on various upholstered chairs, which left the swooping grey silk sofa available for Jeremy and me to sit on. David remained standing by the enormous fireplace. I stole a look at the women, who wore finely cut dresses of silk or linen, in soft, pale colors of the season, and delicate jewelry remarkable for its subtlety. The men wore dark suits that draped very naturally and made everyone looked polished yet relaxed. Only the older gentlemen wore ties.
    Gradually the guests began to ask us polite, tentative questions, whose answers they received with sincere and gentle interest. How did we like life on the Côte d’Azur? Did we prefer winter in London? How did my parents feel about me living abroad, so far away from them? It soon became clear that they were all assembled here in our honor, and, like Honorine, they