Julie's Butterfly (19 page)

C
HAPTER
24

He had done it.

He had really done it.

He had jumped from the safety of the nest and had not crashed to the ground. He had soared. For the first time in his life, he had felt what it was like to fly. It really was as sentimental as he felt. And he didn’t care.

As she explored his naked body, Bastian had inwardly retreated to his own private hell, but he had managed to control his protective instincts and succeeded in remaining still. He even felt rather proud of himself, even if it was at heart a sign of inadequacy.

Bastian could hardly believe that he had to get up and get dressed. But that was how it was. The leisurely morning he’d spent with Julie had passed far too quickly, and once up, he could hardly wait to return to bed.

But first, he had to accompany her to this birthday party. He was not looking forward to meeting her family and facing the next drama, but having confronted his demons already that morning, he could not imagine that the day could hold anything worse.

He drove home, hopped in the shower, and treated his wounds. He then refilled his cigarette case with new bandages. If anything unexpected happened and he injured himself, he didn’t want to drip blood all over Julie’s parents’ house. He decided on a basic pair of black jeans and a dark-green turtleneck sweater. He threw on the black jacket he had worn to the art opening, picked up his gloves, and set off to collect Julie.

As they were already going to be late, he waited in the car. When she appeared in the doorway, her whole face was radiant. She wore a close-fitting knee-length knitted dress that mirrored the color of her eyes, with sleeves just above the elbow and an intricately patterned hemline. Beneath it, she wore knee-high leather boots that made her look two inches taller. With her light-colored spring coat over her arm, she stowed her keys in her purse and got in the car. She leaned over the central console and kissed him hello.

“You look wonderful,” she remarked.

He smiled—that was his line. “You too.”

She gave him the address, and he followed her instructions until they turned onto a broad avenue lined with ancient chestnut trees in the most upscale part of town. They found a parking space in front of a high fence bordered by a six-foot hedge.

Julie took a deep breath, got out, and waited for Bastian to come around.

“Whatever happens in there today, don’t let it get to you,” she said.

Bastian frowned. “OK.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “Then let’s go.”

She put her small hand in his leather-clad paw and gave a light squeeze as they crossed through a black double gate decorated with cast-iron leaves. They headed up the asphalt drive toward a three-story late nineteenth-century villa with a white front door framed by columns and luxuriant clusters of white lilies.

“Well, we’re here,” said Julie.

She rang the bell, and a young woman in a white blouse emblazoned with the logo of Fine Food & Catering opened the door with a polite smile.

“Welcome,” she said and took a step to one side. “May I take your coats?”

Julie handed over her jacket with a word of thanks and led Bastian into a hall with a curved staircase and double doors opening onto a small parlor.

A mature couple was standing at the entrance to the room; they had to be Julie’s parents. Her mother looked like an older version of Julie, but in place of the softness in Julie’s large brown eyes was a cool arrogance that alerted him instantly to the social circle he was about to encounter. She wore a fuchsia evening dress with a silver embroidered filigree pattern, with shoes and a stole to match. Expensive pearls adorned her ears and neck. Julie’s father looked no less illustrious in a black tuxedo, white shirt, and bow tie. They were exchanging a few polite words with an elderly couple as Bastian and Julie approached. Julie held his hand tightly for support as though it were not Bastian who needed it but the other way around.

Julie’s father nodded stiffly. “Julietta, how lovely to see you.”

“Happy birthday, Daddy.” She hugged him briefly, and her father clapped her rather awkwardly on the shoulder. She turned to her mother and brushed a light kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Mom.”

“Good evening, Julietta.” She gave Bastian a disparaging look, which he returned effortlessly.

“May I introduce Bastian Colbert. Bastian, these are my parents, Louisa and Joseph Hoffmann.”

He offered Louisa his hand. Her arched eyebrows rose slightly as she took it in her fingertips, smiling condescendingly.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said in a tone that indicated the opposite.

Oh, yes, he liked this woman from the start.

He then held his hand out to Joseph. His face registered surprise at the sight of Bastian’s gloves, but he took his hand and shook it heartily.

“Happy birthday,” said Bastian with a curt nod.

“Thank you.”

Her father seemed affable enough. He looked at his daughter with an awkward smile.

“Go on in. Your sister and the others are already there.”

“They arrived half an hour ago,” remarked Louisa pointedly.

Julie pressed her lips together and forced a laugh. “We’ll see you later.”

As she led Bastian inside, he got the distinct impression that she would rather have run in the other direction.

“Nice,” he commented in a hushed voice.

“I wanted to spare you all this,” she said miserably.

Bastian gave a low laugh. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

One wall of the small parlor was lined with tall shelves full of statues and antique leather-bound books. A gift table already overflowed with lavishly wrapped boxes. Sweeping flower arrangements of white lilies and roses swallowed much of the light coming in from the two high windows and released a heavy, sweet scent. Julie led him over to the table, where she deposited a small box. The package stood out from the rest as it was wrapped in bright wrapping paper and decorated with a matching ribbon.

“What’s in there?” asked Bastian.

“An engraved fountain pen,” said Julie. She added with a smile, “From both of us.”

A feeling of warmth spread through him. He would like to pull her to him and kiss her passionately to demonstrate how breathtaking he found the idea.

Seeming to sense his emotions, Julie turned to him, stroked his cheek, and gave him a light kiss on the lips. She then led him through another set of double doors into the party itself. It was substantially larger than the parlor, with five large, festively set banquet tables and room enough for at least forty people. The chairs were covered in loose white covers. Some of the guests were milling around, looking for their places, while others were already seated and deep in conversation. Two waiters were serving flutes of champagne and petits fours.

Bastian felt Julie’s weight shift in his hand as she stretched up on tiptoe and scanned the crowd.

“I’m sure we’re going to be seated with Jo, Max, and Luke,” she said. She smiled as she located her nephew and waved. Luke jumped down from his chair, wound his way through the guests’ legs, and flew into Julie’s arms.

“You’re finally here!” he cried.

The warm embrace seemed to make up for the cold reception from her parents.

“Hello, big boy. You look very handsome.”

Luke tugged at the small red tie that had already come loose around his neck. The tail of his white shirt had come untucked on one side and was visible beneath his gray suit. One of the laces of his small patent leather shoes had come untied. He looked up at Bastian, with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

“I brought my soccer ball,” he said.

The boy’s broad grin was infectious, and Bastian smiled.

“We have to get the formal part of the evening out of the way first,” Julie said.

Luke frowned but nodded before dragging Julie over to one of the two back tables in front of a set of French doors that led out to a large garden where a sizable tent had been erected.

“We’re sitting over there,” said Luke. “With the Collins family.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m sitting between Mom and Marie Collins.”

“That’s nice,” replied Julie.

“She’s four. Practically still a baby.”

“But it’s only during dinner,” Julie said.

The Collinses had already taken their seats at the table. Next to them were Luke’s father, Maximilian, whom Bastian had met briefly the week before, and Julie’s sister, Jo. Both turned their gazes upon him inquisitively.

They all offered their hands in greeting. No one commented on Bastian’s gloves, although they obviously noticed them.

At precisely three o’clock, the hosts entered the room and asked their guests to take their seats. True to his politician nature, Joseph gave an expansive speech about his life and his successes, mentioning, in passing, his pretty daughters and beloved wife. As he talked, the waiters brought out a variety of platters laden with delicious-looking finger food. He finally thanked everyone for coming, declared the buffet open, and said he hoped they would enjoy the party.

Not that it bothered him particularly, but Bastian was amazed when they did not come to sit at their daughters’ table, but instead took their seats at the large table in the center. He leaned over to Julie. “Why aren’t your parents sitting here with us?” he asked quietly.

Julie, who had just started eating, looked up in surprise. “My parents prefer high society,” she said with a scornful grin.

It appeared at first glance as though she approved of her parents’ behavior, but her eyes told a different story. She pointed out to Bastian the local dignitaries assembled around her parents: a bank manager and the mayor with their wives and a lobbyist—who, to judge from her appearance, already had her best years behind her—and a young man whom Julie didn’t know.

Her sister came to her rescue. “That’s Vincent de Rossi,” Jo explained, giving Julie a meaningful look.

It took a moment, but a look of recognition eventually flickered across Julie’s face. She narrowed her eyes.

“Do you know him?” asked Bastian with a feeling of unease.

“No,” said Julie dismissively. “Not personally.”

“He comes from a family of Italian aristocrats and is an architect in Father’s practice,” explained Jo, though he wasn’t especially interested. The young man was talking with Louisa, which detracted somewhat from his pleasant first impression.

As the conversation around the table fell into inconsequential small talk, Bastian remained quiet. Though everyone seemed to be kindly disposed toward him and spoke to him with genuine interest, he wasn’t entirely comfortable. He answered people’s questions politely, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a detailed account of his work or his views. The subject turned to current affairs, and he followed the opinions put forward around the table with interest, confirming his first impressions of people as he did so.

Jo appeared outwardly to be very similar to Julie, but she also had the cool bearing of her mother, which only softened when speaking to her son or Julie. Unlike their parents, the two sisters seemed to have a close, warm relationship, which was visible from the way they smiled at each other across the table. Although they were only talking about the birthday present Jo had found for their father, Bastian sensed that they were simultaneously holding an entirely separate and much more interesting unspoken conversation, especially since Jo’s eyes darted constantly between Julie and himself.

Maximilian, who spent most of the meal fiddling with his cell phone under the table, was charismatic, ambitious, and extremely articulate. Under other circumstances, Bastian would have deemed him a worthy discussion partner, but as it was, he had little interest in taking their acquaintance any further.

The Collins family was a classic example of society’s airheaded upper echelons. The eccentricity of their affectations was only exceeded by their insubstantial babble, which soon came to hurt his ears. Little Marie turned out to be a spoiled brat with no manners, although he warmed to her when she inhaled her chocolate shake and then spluttered all over the table, spreading an unattractive brown spray across the white tablecloth and the flowers.

The guest list—made up predominantly of self-satisfied old-school gentlemen and their pearl-bedecked, affected wives—reminded him a little of those who had attended Isabelle’s opening.

He had no idea what he expected, but certainly not this kind of snobbish gathering that lived up so completely to its own cliché. On the other hand, it was perhaps preferable to an intimate family gathering, at which he would undoubtedly have been put mercilessly through the wringer.

The only person who did not fit in was the woman sitting next to him. Julie had only let go of his hand when good manners required her to shake someone’s hand, after which she always sought his out again beneath the starched white linen tablecloth. In an attempt to ease her tension, he traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. But it hardly seemed to help; she still looked agitated.

Her inhibitions only seemed to ease when everyone got up from the table. The French doors were opened onto the terrace so that the guests could mingle in the sunshine if they wished. The catering company had set up a small bar and tables and were serving the guests wine and champagne.

Maximilian rose and looked around the table. “Who’d like to kick a ball around?”

Luke was off in a flash to get his soccer ball. Julie looked at Bastian uncertainly. He was dying to get out of this room, but he would not leave her side. He hoped she would interpret his expression correctly. Her lips twitched into a smile, then she looked at Maximilian. “I’m up for it.”

Bastian stood, similarly relieved. Jo declined and stayed back with the Collinses while the other four went into the garden and found a quiet spot behind the pavilion where they could kick the ball around.

Julie had not been wrong about her absence of athletic prowess. Despite her lack of coordination, however, she did her best to keep up with her eager young nephew. Maximilian teased her in good fun while trying to improve his son’s performance with well-intentioned advice. Luke clearly adored him. For a moment, Bastian wondered how it must feel to have a child look at you in that way, but he kicked the thought away angrily with the next ball.