Chapter 12
"Well, my parts weren't too bad, I hope?" Tiffany nervously inquired, as soon as they were offstage.
"Awful," he didn't even pause to consider. His back was to her, there was no verifying the statement.
Although pride would not allow her to admit it, she was nettled. "Right, monsieur, and yours was quite brilliant, I suppose?"
"I'm usually modest, but I'm always truthful. It was the nothing but the best, surely you agree?" he continued polishing his flute, "It is most baffling, whoever had the ignorance to school you on the complicated workings of music was most surely misguided."
Tiffany inhaled every shred of patience she owned, "And specifically what, may I ask, oh-almighty, did I fall below expectations on?"
"If you must know, your ladyship, your first movement stumbled, the second fumbled, and the third simply crumbled," he commented, hardly controlling his chuckle.
She laughed with mirth, and ran toward him and he received her with a playful grin. "Is that correct, my lord? Now now, how could the legendary Monsieur Leveré fail to appreciate my wonderful playing? What a shame!"
He punched her arm, "A shame, Mademoiselle Cheldon, would be to dally all day and remain backstage polishing while I shall be joining the festivities outside," and sent Tiffany scurrying off to attend to her flute, his smile following after her.
A lively dance floor, refreshments, and a string quartet greeted them as Sébastien and Tiffany arrived in the ballroom from the storage room backstage. Though performances were thrilling, they were also tiring, and hard work made Tiffany thirsty. Sébastien must have felt the same, as he swiftly offered, "Stay here, I'll go get us a drink," and weaved away through the crowd.
Humming softly the smooth melody of his solo, Tiffany observed Jared and the pretty French girl, amused. She was not compelled to perform any sisterly duties whatsoever, warning Jared to take care where the dear thing's heart was concerned—Jared could be childish at times, but never was he reckless with the feelings department. Feeling sudden guilt, she turned, leaving her brother to his privacy, subsequently bumping face on into a man.
"Oop- Pardon me."
"That is unnecessary, mon chéri, in fact, I quite like you in that position, your skin's so warm upon mine," a large ball of a man, who somewhat resembled Pavarotti, stood in her way, "You were fantastique on stage just now, can we be friends?"
Was this his idea of a pick-up line? Goodness, judging from his mess of a beard and crackled face, he was at least as old as Grandfather. He continued, "Let's dance, my love." My dear God. What did he just say?
Before Tiffany could so much as articulate a feeble, "Wait-" he practically carried her off to the dance floor, with Tiffany flapping her arms in obvious panic. "Monsieur, please, I'd rather not- Would you put me down!"
He had little choice but to do so; she had voiced that phrase rather loudly. However, he was far from discouraged, and pressed on, "Yes, that's it, darling. Let's not waste time and get straight to the point," then bent over his paunch with visible effort and took dead aim at Tiffany's ajar mouth. Desperate, Tiffany did the one thing she could, she squirmed out of the grasp of his sausage-like fingers and ran with all her life for Sébastien.
That man had the unbelievable cheek to follow! As he was gaining on her, like some oversized rhinoceros dead on its prey, she frantically sought Sébastien's welcome protection. With the ghastly man less than a yard away, a pair of secure arms wrapped tightly around her, and a voice, like bells of a church murmured in her ear, "Tiffany, Dieu merci." Sébastien.
"Well, Tiffany, darling, would you now honor me the waltz you promised earlier?" he then spoke aloud shielding Tiffany from the brute.
Unabashed, the man accused furiously, "I claimed her first, young man!" Some people needed everything spelt out. Drastic situations called for drastic measures.
"I'm afraid, Monsieur Rigattro, that that's where you are mistaken," drawing a breath, Sébastien lashed out, "She's mine," before adding, "We're engaged, you see." He could hardly meet her eyes. Monsieur Rigattro's speculative gleam in his beady eyes, however, drove Sébastien to convince him once and for all, for Tiffany's sake. As if he did it everyday, Sébastien placed his mouth rashly upon Tiffany's stunned ones, albeit only long enough to send Monsieur Rigattro on his way.