There were about two dozen guests, all approved by Ruby and Rousek, but only half of them were of interest to Hugo because only half of them would spend the following day talking international politics. The others, well-dressed and no doubt well-heeled, were Tourville’s fillers brought in to make sure the main players had people to talk to, drink with, and didn’t rattle around the old chateau unamused.
Hugo tucked himself in the corner, wedged between a bookcase and a curtained window, watching the evening unfold with interest because it had been a while since he’d attended a function like this, wary political opponents playing nice as they slowly got drunk. The Guadeloupe Islands were on the agenda for tomorrow, this was just the ice-breaker, but Hugo suspected that the important people in this room had been too long in the game to not play some of their cards tonight, so he watched their interactions closely.
Henri Tourville was the easiest to spot and didn’t look unlike his American guest. Taller and heavier, though, with the kind of figure you’d expect from a wealthy man who enjoyed throwing dinner parties and whose only exercise came from wandering his estate with a shotgun in the crook of his arm. His size seemed to be magnified by a large and very bald head. He smiled a lot and was an expert host, moving around the room like a ship broken from its moorings, bumping elbows with this couple for a minute or two before drifting past a chintz-covered sofa to find himself nestled into a different couple for a few minutes more.
Also there, as expected, was Felix Vibert, who was a little shorter than his friend Tourville and considerably paler, but with the same soft figure. Hugo had the impression that the unlit pipe in his hand, the moustache, and the eyeglasses were welcome barriers to strangers, and it was clear that Vibert became more comfortable the closer he found himself to his friend and host. His interactions with others, as best Hugo could tell, consisted of listening rather than talking, his face set in an unreadable mask. Occasionally, he’d eye the crowd, keeping track of his and his friend’s personal secretaries, elegant middle-aged women who could take shorthand or serve drinks as required.
Lake’s interest, unsurprisingly, was in Alexandra. In many ways, she was the exact opposite of her brother. She had his height, not too far from six feet tall, but was slender and wore a slightly closed look on her face, though that could have resulted from Lake’s attentions. She had thick brown hair pulled into a broad ponytail held with a glittering clip. Elegant in a burgundy-colored dress, she seemed to attract a lot of glances from the men in the room, though Hugo had the sense she wasn’t trying to.
Hugo turned as a figure appeared at his elbow: a woman in her late twenties, a sharp nose and even sharper brown eyes. He’d seen her at Alexandra’s side earlier, the less glamorous assistant — but up close she had a certain confidence of her own, which always appealed to Hugo. Her dress was black, neither sexy nor dowdy, and her short brown hair was loose and sported a streak of pink that should have been too young for her, but wasn’t.
“Bonsoir, monsieur. I’m Natalia Khlapina.”
“Bonsoir.” Hugo extended a hand and they shook. “Hugo Marston.”
She switched to English, her accent light. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Maybe in a little bit, for now I’m fine just—”
“People watching?”
“Yes.”
“Paris has always been good for that.” She eyed the people in the room, too, then looked up at him. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
She started to move off and Hugo suddenly thought he’d been rude. Or maybe he just wanted to talk. “You’re Russian?”
“From Saint Petersburg. Ever been there?”
“Once. I’d like to go back.”
She laughed gently. “As I tell people, it’s a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
“No?”
“No. Too dark, too cold, and the politics are to die for. Literally. And look around, look where I live now, why would I want to go back?”
“For the snow and vodka?”
She shook her head. “I prefer champagne and sunshine. And working with Alexie, I get plenty of both.”
“What exactly does she do? What do you do?”
Natalia watched him for a moment, appraising. “You know about her history?”
“I know what people have told me. I don’t know how much is true.”
“It doesn’t matter at this point. What’s done is done and what people say, well, no one can control what stories go around or what people choose to believe.”
“That’s true.”
“We met at the university in Saint Petersburg. She was a guest lecturer, I was a PhD student in history. She ended up staying the whole semester, partly laying low, and we worked together on a couple of papers. When it was time for her to leave she asked me to come with her.”
“I see.”
She smiled, almost a tease. “You are wondering if we were lovers?”
“Not really, no,” Hugo said. “None of my business.”
“You think that stops people asking?” She looked away and frowned. “Men, mostly.”
“We are pigs, no doubt. So are you working now?”
“Yes. We have started a small business doing genealogical research. Family trees. We just got back from America, where people are obsessed with where their ancestors came from.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Yes? I don’t understand it. It’s as if people don’t have an identity of their own, or as if it’s not enough. I’ve been there several times and whenever I meet someone they inevitably tell me they are English, or Irish, or German, even though they, their parents, and their grandparents were born in the United States. Even your senator, his website says he’s part Native American. Why does all that matter to people so much?”
“America is a land of immigrants, I think it’s natural to wonder where your family originated from.”
“What about you? Where’s your family from?”
Hugo smiled. “Texas. Austin, Texas, if you want to get specific. As far back as I know.”
“And how far back is that?”
“My great-grandparents.”
“For a few hundred Euros I can take you further back than that.”
Hugo still couldn’t tell if she was flirting with him, he’d been too long out of the game. “Thanks. If I feel the need, I’ll call you.”
“You should.” From nowhere she produced a business card and pressed it into his hand. “My number’s on there. You might find it interesting.”
They stood in silence, watching the gentle ebb and flow of the room, everyone in there experienced at the art of small talk and momentary seduction. Glasses clinked and the hum of chatter never rose too high, apart from the occasional peal of laughter. With the yellow light and gold drapes, with the classic furniture and formal attire, Hugo thought of old-time movies, and this one he watched with his companion from the anonymity of their corner, a front row seat.
Right now, they were both watching Charles Lake deep in conversation with Alexandra Tourville. He could tell from Lake’s body language that he was enjoying himself, but his companion was harder to read.
“Does she need rescuing?” Hugo asked quietly.
“I doubt it. She’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”
There was a note of … something in her voice that made Hugo wonder. But it could have been admiration, envy, or even bitterness, so he didn’t ask.
“Time for that glass of champagne,” Hugo said. “And maybe you can introduce me to your boss, whether she needs an intervention or not.”