Black-clad waiters carried trays of delicate flutes half-filled with golden champagne, while others offered a dazzling array of hor d'oeuvres. Ronsard plucked a glass of champagne from one passing waiter and a delicate pastry from another. He had just taken his first sip of the rather mediocre wine-it was always mediocre at such parties-when he heard his name being called.
He turned to see his sister, Mariette, bearing down on him with her husband in tow. Eduard Cassel's expression was indulgent, as always. Mariette was a bubbly froth of a woman, as giddy and harmless as a butterfly. She was three years younger than Ronsard and he had always been protective of the pretty creature. When she married, she had chosen a man fifteen years her senior, and Eduard had taken over as her protector.
Eduard had been beneficial to Ronsard on several occasions. Positioned as he was in the Ministry, he often knew interesting little details about the government, the economy, and some high-ranking officials' personal lives, which he passed along to his brother-in-law. In return, Ronsard had set up and regularly added to a substantial trust in Mariette's name, allowing the Cassels to live in a level of comfort that far exceeded Eduard's salary.
"Louis!" Mariette flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "I didn't know you would be here tonight. This is wonderful. How is Laure?"
"She is well." Louis's voice was flat, his tone pitched so his words didn't carry. He didn't discuss Laure in public. Many of his acquaintances had no idea she existed.
Mariette wrinkled her nose in apology. "Forgive me," she said contritely. "I forgot."
"Of course," he said gently and kissed her forehead as he held out his hand to her husband. "How are you, Eduard?"
"Well, thank you." Eduard was slightly heavy, balding on top, and his features could best be described as "not ugly." His expression was usually bland, disguising the shrewdness that lurked in his eyes. "And you?"
"Well." Those social niceties out of the way, Ronsard settled his arm around his sister's waist. "You look stunning. That gown is very becoming."
She beamed and smoothed a hand down the shimmery pink fabric that brought out the color in her cheeks. "You don't think it too young?"
"My dear, you are young."
"And so I tell her," Eduard said. "She grows lovelier every day." As saccharine as the compliment was, he meant it. His devotion to Mariette always weighed heavily in his favor, in Ronsard's estimation.
"Oh, there is Juliet," Mariette cried, her attention instantly diverted. "I must speak to her." She darted away, her full skirt fluttering around her as if she would take flight.
Ronsard and Eduard drifted away from the crowd, strolling casually as if they had nothing more important to do than idly chat and look for acquaintances in the throng. "I think everyone in government is here tonight," Ronsard observed. "There must be something interesting in the air."
Eduard shrugged, his heavy lips set in a benign smile. "Elections, my friend. Everyone is courting everyone else. And commerce is always interesting, is it not? The Iraqis wish to buy a very expensive, sophisticated computer system from us, but the Americans, as always, are having a tantrum at the idea. Their economy is healthy, so they can't comprehend difficulty in other countries. Our industrial leaders don't like having the Americans intrude on their business; But if we tell them to leave-" He spread his hands. "The Americans have so many lovely dollars. What does one do?"
"Whatever one must, on the surface," Ronsard said dryly. No Frenchman liked the American presence that seemed to permeate the world. France was French, and would remain so. Whatever agreements the Americans forced, they could not be everywhere and oversee everything. France agreed, then did whatever was in France's best interests. Pragmatism was the cornerstone of the French character.
"The Russians, of course, are desperate for technology. Unfortunately they have no means to pay. Perhaps the Americans will pay for them. These are interesting times, are they not?"
"Very interesting." In the past ten years, old boundaries had been completely obliterated. Politics was in a state of flux, and such an atmosphere was very favorable to his business. Instability was the greatest of motivators to a certain type of person.
"The American ambassador is here, of course," Eduard continued. "His aide is drifting around with his ears on alert."
The ambassador's aide was an employee of their Central Intelligence Agency. Everyone knew who everyone was, but still an astonishing amount of information was passed around at these functions. Intelligence officers were often conduits of information that governments wanted to dispense to other governments, but by back channels. No one, after all, wanted to precipitate a crisis.
"A family friend is visiting the ambassador and his wife. She is the daughter of one of Madame Theriot's oldest friends. A lovely young woman, if I may say so. One always sees the same faces at these things, you know; anyone new is a welcome change."
Ronsard was a man. He was always interested in a lovely young woman, provided she wasn't too young.
He had no interest in giggly adolescents. "Point her out to me," he said idly
Eduard looked around. "There," he finally said. "By the windows. Brunette, dressed in white. She has the loveliest eyes."
Ronsard located the woman in question. She was not, he saw, an adolescent. She was standing beside Madame Theriot, a smile that managed to be both polite and warm on her face as she tilted her head, listening to a minister of finance who was probably expounding on his favorite subject, horse racing.