Chapter 7: An Invitation to a Party

I enter Mama’s study and stand on the white line in front of her desk. That’s the required procedure when I’m summoned into her study. It is taking all my courage not to tremble. She doesn’t look up, which suits me fine as I’m sure I’ll break down and confess everything if she looks me in the eye.

“I’ve been given some startling news concerning you, Andrea.”

Oh no! Here we go!

“Within the last half hour I’ve received a request from the Comte d’Arles for you to be Eloise’s companion at a party on Tuesday night. The party will be held at the mayor’s house and is an important gathering to cement goodwill between French and English settlers on the island.”

I briefly relax once I realise I’m not about to be caned or worse. But then I wonder what has prompted this invitation. Perhaps Vichy still suspects I know too much and it’s a plot to lure me away from the house.

“I’m startled because I wasn’t aware the Comte d’Arles knows you,” says Mama. “And to the best of my knowledge, you and Eloise are not the closest of friends. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“The invitation is as much a surprise to me as it is to you Mama,” I reply.

“Hmm. Be that as it may, it’s a good opportunity for you to expand your social circle. If you are willing to attend then I will give my permission.”

“Yes, I will attend. Thank you Mama.”

I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, but refusing would mean having to think up a good reason.

“Good. These opportunities don’t come up very often, and I’m pleased you’ve not tried to make some feeble excuse to avoid going. Here’s the invitation. Please write an acceptance letter and give it to me before bedtime. You may leave. Eloise should be waiting outside; please ask her to come in on your way out.”

I leave feeling both relieved and concerned. Eloise is indeed waiting outside the door, and I tell her to enter. I join Charity in the dining room, finishing the remains of afternoon tea.

“Well?” asks Charity, clearly worried in case our earlier tête-a-tête has been discovered.

“I’ve been invited to a party on Tuesday night,” I reply.

“Who’s invited you? Where? What sort of function? With eligible men?” asks Charity like an excited teenager.

“The Comte d’Arles. At the mayor’s house. A dinner dance. I don’t know,” I answer each question in turn.

“But why you?” asks Charity, who now seems a bit put out that she wasn’t invited.

“Because she speaks excellent English and French, and Mistress Brigitte, is highly respected in the social circles of Fort Royal,” says Eloise as she enters the room.

Charity looks a bit miffed, but she can’t argue against Eloise’s answer. Charity’s English born family in much higher than mine in the social pecking order of Fort Royal, but I can speak French fluently while Charity cannot. However, something tells me that isn’t why I’ve been invited. Eloise has donned her ice cool mask of indifference that she seems so capable of doing. I know I’m not going to get any more details out of her at the moment.

Charity and Eloise then go through to the reception room, leaving me alone. I fetch the box I found earlier in the day and open it up. The document is about twenty years old and the ink has faded in places. But I can make out that it is an adoption agreement. At first I think it relates to Randolph’s adoption. Mama told Randolph and me many years ago that he was adopted. I nearly shout in alarm when I realise the child’s name on the form isn’t Randolph’s but mine. I reread the agreement several times over, but the facts are unchanged. Mama adopted me a year or so before she adopted Randolph. I simply sit there trying to assimilate what this all means.

My musing is halted when I hear voices and footsteps coming up main stairs. I quickly put the document back in the box, and I hide it under my bed. The voices belongs to Rebecca who has arrived while I was reading the document. Rebecca and her mother often visit Mama and me on a Sunday afternoon. Today, Rebecca is on her own and she is delighted to find Charity and Eloise are here. Having the ability to be on good terms with everyone is one of Rebecca’s special skills.

The four of us sit in the reception room and chat away about a variety of things. That our conversation periodically drifts towards sexual matters underscores the true nature of these social gatherings. After Charity and Rebecca leave, I remember that I’ve still to write a reply to the invitation from the Comte d’Arles, so I leave Eloise reading a book, and quickly compose a letter of acceptance.