The Making of Minty Malone by Isabel Wolff Read Free Book Online Page B

will enjoy your stay.’
    ‘I think that’s rather unlikely,’ I said. ‘In the circumstances.’
    ‘Please remember, madame –’
    ‘–oiselle.’
    ‘– that we are entirely at your disposal,’ he went on. ‘At the George V no request is too big, too small, or too unusual.’
    ‘OK. Then can you get my fiancé back?’
    ‘Our staff are on hand night and day.’
    ‘He ran off, you see, in church.’
    ‘If you need help, unpacking your shopping …’
    ‘In front of everyone I know …’
    ‘Or you’d like something laundered or ironed …’
    ‘It was so humiliating …’
    ‘Then we will be pleased to do it for you.’
    ‘It was awful.’
    ‘At any time.’
    ‘Just awful.’
    ‘We are here for you round ze clock.’
    ‘It was terrible,’ I whispered. ‘ Terrible. ’
    ‘Oui, mademoiselle.’
    The marble reception desk had begun to blur and I was aware of Helen’s hand pressing gently on my arm.
    ‘Come on, Minty,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go and find the room.’
    To call it a ‘room’ was like calling St Paul’s a church. The bedroom was about thirty feet long, with an enormous walk-in wardrobe. There was also a private sitting room, a huge bathroom, a separate shower room, and a terrace. The walls were painted a soft yellow, and there were antiques everywhere. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; its lustre drops looked like tears.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, sinking into the boat-sized bed. I looked at the huge bouquet of congratulatory pink roses and the bottle of chilling champagne. ‘It’s lovely,’ I said again. ‘It’s just so …’ A hot tear splashed on to my hand.
    ‘Oh, Minty,’ Helen said, and she was almost crying too.‘Incredible,’ she repeated, putting her arm round me. ‘Just unbelievable.’
    ‘Yes,’ I wept, ‘but it’s true. He did it. And it’s only now that it’s beginning to sink in.’
    ‘But why did he do it?’ she said, shaking her head.
    ‘I don’t know,’ I sobbed. ‘I don’t know. ’
    ‘Oh, Minty – you’re well out of it,’ she said, furiously blinking away her tears. ‘You don’t want a man capable of such a cowardly, despicable act. You’re well out of it,’ she reiterated, crossly.
    And I thought, I’m going to keep on hearing that – again and again. That’s what people will say: ‘You’re well out of it, Minty. Well out.’ And though it won’t help, they’ll be right. It’s bad enough when a man breaks off his engagement, but doing a runner in the church ? Outrageous! ‘You’re well shot of him!’ everyone will tell me confidently. ‘What a cad!’ they’ll add. Oh God.
    Helen stood up and opened the French windows. I followed her out on to the terrace. Pretty pots of tumbling geraniums stood in each corner, and a white satin ribbon had been threaded through the wrought-iron balcony. The table had been laid, for two, with a white damask cloth, sparkling silver cutlery, gleaming porcelain, candles and flowers. The perfect setting for a romantic sunset dinner à deux. I just couldn’t bear it.
    ‘I’ll ask them to clear it away,’ I said, bleakly. Then I sat down and took in the view. Ahead of us, to the right, was the Eiffel Tower, its cast-iron fretwork now illuminated like electric lace. To our left was the spire of the American Cathedral, and, further off, the gilded dome of Les Invalides. And then my eye caught the Pont de I’Alma, and the eternal flame by the tunnel in which Princess Diana had died. Worse things happen, I thought to myself, with a jolt. This is dreadful. Dreadful. But no one’s dead.
    ‘You will come through this, Minty,’ Helen said quietly.‘You won’t believe that now. But you will. And I know you’ll be happy again one day.’ And as she said that her gold crest ring glinted in the evening sun.
    ‘ Dum Spiro, Spero ,’ I said to myself. Yes. While I have breath, I hope.
    ‘Audrey Hepburn stayed here,’ said Helen excitedly in the hotel dining room the