Читать книгу Puzzled - Seraphima Bogomolova - Страница 12

Monte Carlo, France, 24 December

It is midnight. Finally, maman’s guests start leaving. The dining room deserted, the only signs of their presence left are the unfinished wine in crystal glasses, heaps of creased napkins, and remnants of melted candles on the tables.

I go up to my room. The storm has calmed down, but the droplets of rain haven’t dried out on the windows yet. I take off my tux, untie the bow and undo the collar of the shirt, finally freeing my neck from its starched clutch.

Lying down on the bed, I take the card out and study the name written on it. ‘Where could I have possibly heard it before?’ I think. But no matter how much I try, I don’t seem to be able to recall anything of relevant nature. Yet, I somehow feel that I know the woman whose name is embossed in gold on the card. Though, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone called Mademoiselle Du Monde, at least not at the dinners, suppers or balls that have been organised by maman. And even outside these ‘festivities’ I don’t remember meeting such a person. Unless, without me having realised it, our life paths happened to cross somehow.

I, of course, can enquire about it of maman. But chances are, she will misinterpret my intent. I’d better deal with it myself, I decide.

Hearing the knock on the door, I slip the card back into my pocket. The door opens a crack and in peers maman.

‘Chéri, are you asleep?’ she asks.

‘Not yet.’

She enters the room.

‘You’ve been such a darling tonight.’ she says.

I give her a grin.

‘You know, Monsieur Moreau is quite taken with you!’

‘Likewise. By the way, why haven’t you introduced him to me before?’ I ask.

‘Oh, there hasn’t ever been a right moment. He travels a lot, you know, and doesn’t visit Monaco often …’

‘Ah, I see.’ I mutter, not looking at her.

She comes to my bed and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

‘Good-night, sweetheart.’

‘Good-night, Mum.’

She leaves the room. I turn the light down and, staring into the darkness for a while, listen to the silence of the house, pondering over the name of the stranger who seems so familiar, then pull the blanket over my head and fall asleep.