Night School: Legacy

by C. J. Daugherty

  A wave of melancholy hit Allie as she studied herself. ‘I look like old me.’

  As if she knew what she was thinking, Jo’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘Old you is just as beautiful as new you.’

  Someone knocked at the door. ‘Whatever you’re selling …’ Jo said, yanking it open.

  Zoe and Rachel stood on the other side, their arms full of clothes.

  At Allie’s insistence they were all getting ready together. After everything that had happened to drive everyone apart, she wanted – this one night – everyone to be together. Where she could keep an eye on them.

  Zoe stared at Jo’s pink hair with her mouth open.

  ‘Oh my God, you look amazing.’ The fabric in her arm rustled as she jumped up and down in excitement.

  ‘Enter.’ Jo stepped back from the door. ‘And prepare to be fabulous.’

  ‘Leave my hair alone.’ Rachel’s eyes flickered to Allie’s head. ‘Vivid,’ was her only comment.

  Allie shrugged helplessly. ‘Something came over us.’

  ‘Can my hair be purple?’ Zoe dropped her dress on the bed.

  ‘Sadly, your very young hair will have to stay its natural colour as we used up all the dye I had,’ Jo said. ‘But you can hang out with us and bask in our reflected, many-coloured glory. And I’ll put makeup on you.’ She added the last sentence hastily when she saw Zoe’s face fall.

  Zoe looked up at them hopefully. ‘Lots of makeup?’

  ‘As much makeup as your heart desires.’ Holding up a golden tube of lipstick that sparkled in the light, Jo smiled.

  First, she styled Allie’s hair into glossy red curls. Next, she wound Zoe’s straight brown hair between ribbons, pulling it back off her face and brushing it smooth until it shone like a sheet of dark glass. Then she lined Zoe’s eyes with dark blue liner and applied a lavish coating of mascara. As she painted Zoe’s lips with strawberry pink gloss, Rachel glanced over at her doubtfully.

  ‘She looks like a midget prostitute.’

  ‘I like it.’ Zoe pouted at herself in the mirror. ‘I think I look older. More mature.’

  ‘It’s the Cimmeria Ball. She’ll be fine.’ Jo motioned for Rachel to sit in front of her. ‘It’s not like Gary Glitter will be here.’

  ‘Who’s Barry Glitter?’ Zoe asked.

  The others ignored the question.

  As Jo began working on Rachel’s mane of dark curls, Rachel watched her suspiciously. ‘I don’t really do anything with my hair.’

  ‘I won’t do much either.’ Jo waved curling tongs. ‘Just a bit of this and a little of that.’

  Rachel hunched her shoulders. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

  By now it was dark outside – the stars had disappeared behind a bank of cloud, and the air had that heavy, silent feeling that portends snow. For the last hour, Bentleys and limousines had pulled in steadily, crunching their way down the gravel lane. Now the drive was full, as far as they eye could see.

  As she finished with Rachel’s thick mane, Jo glanced at the clock on her desk, currently covered in sparkly gold tinsel. ‘It’s time, ladies.’

  After makeup touch-ups, they zipped each other’s dresses then stood in front of the full-length mirror to take it in.

  ‘We look like angels,’ Zoe breathed, staring at them.

  ‘More like fairies, I think.’ Jo’s pink hair glittered in the overhead light and her black velvet minidress showed off her long, slim legs. ‘Or film stars.’

  Zoe’s dark green taffeta dress had a high neckline and a circle skirt. Her heavy eye makeup gave her an oddly charming punk look. Rachel wore a matte red dress that left one arm and shoulder bare. Her thick dark hair had been pulled back from her face with a gold braided band that made her look like an exotic princess.

  But they were all staring at Allie.

  ‘Allie, darling,’ Jo said, ‘you really do look amazing.’

  ‘So amazing,’ Zoe agreed.

  ‘Even with that hair,’ Rachel conceded.

  Allie’s vintage blue silk dress clung to her waist and swung out into a full skirt ending at the knee. The sleeves hugged her arms to just below her elbows. Her henna-red hair contrasted with it perfectly, making her fair skin glow. She’d loved this dress since it first appeared in her closet during the summer term – one of Isabelle’s mysterious, well-chosen gifts.

  Allie blushed. ‘Well, all I can say is: who needs boys? I just want to snog us.’

  ‘Not again,’ Zoe muttered, heading for the door.

  ‘Seriously, Allie,’ Rachel said, ‘this kissing girls thing seems to be becoming a habit.’

  ‘I’m convinced if I were a lesbian dating would be easier.’ Allie followed them out. ‘Boys are the problem.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jo said mildly. ‘Sometimes boys can be the answer too.’

  ‘I don’t know what either of you is talking about,’ Zoe said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Rachel.

  By the time they reached the top of the main staircase they were all laughing. Down below the wide, oak-panelled hallway had been draped in velvet ribbon and filled with bouquets of red and gold flowers. The ban on candles had clearly been lifted, because they glowed in sconces and on every table and windowsill.

  Classical music filtered out of the great hall and down the corridor, accompanied by a low roar of voices. The hallway was packed with people – most of them adults; their glossy hair glittered in the light. The men were all in tuxedoes while the women wore designer dresses and clutched tiny bags.

  ‘I don’t remember inviting all these people,’ Jo murmured dryly as they walked down the stairs side by side.

  ‘Oh my God. Is that President Abingdon?’ Zoe zipped ahead of them and threaded her way through the people, soon disappearing into the crowd.

  ‘Our little girl,’ Jo sighed.

  ‘All grown up,’ Allie said. ‘Or at least her face is. Jo …’

  ‘I know,’ Jo laughed. ‘But she wanted it.’

  Spying Lucas looking dapper in a tuxedo, Rachel slipped away. Allie watched as his face lit up when he saw her. He bent low over her hand and kissed her fingertips.

  She loved how happy they were together. But seeing them like that reminded her of all she’d lost.

  Inside, the great hall was even more crowded. Tables draped in red linens spiralled out around an empty dance floor. Each table was topped with a centrepiece of dark green ivy. The room was warm and smelled of candle wax, hothouse lilies and expensive perfume. In one corner an orchestra played a waltz. Throughout the ballroom, staff in white tie carried trays of champagne and mulled wine.

  At the edge of the dance floor, Isabelle stood in a flowing black dress, snug at the waist and threaded through with gold. Her hair was pulled back in a loose chignon and she was laughing, surrounded by well-wishers.

  Allie turned a slow circle, looking for a woman with a distinctive head of white hair.

  ‘Blimey,’ Jo said, standing on her toes to look for a seat. ‘Bit crowded.’

  ‘Much worse than the summer ball.’ Allie’s voice was distracted but Jo didn’t notice.

  ‘It always is. Because the board’s here and all the influential parents … I think I see a couple of seats over there.’ Jo pointed at the far corner of the room, and they began making their way over.

  Lucinda Meldrum would stand out in a crowd, even one as thick as this. Allie knew if she were here she’d see her. Since she didn’t, she began to relax a little.

  She must not be here yet.

  But whenever she tried to imagine how she was going to get close enough to her grandmother to speak with her she couldn’t think of what she might say. ‘Hi, Grandmother, why haven’t we ever met?’ seemed a bit of a weak start.

  ‘Why aren’t your parents here?’ Allie raised her voice to be heard above the crowd as they seated themselves with their backs to the wall and a wide view of the room. ‘Aren’t they rich and important?’

  ‘Very,’ Jo said without a hint of embarrass
ment. ‘But they’re busy and they don’t like to come back here often. Dad always says, “Next year, darling. Next year.”’ She affected a deep dismissive tone. ‘And Mum is busy with Olivier, her toy boy du jour.’

  ‘Gross.’ A waiter appeared at their table, and Allie and Jo ordered Diet Coke.

  ‘Exactly.’ Jo crossed her legs, revealing the red soles of her stilettos. ‘Oh, look, Sylvain’s parents are here.’

  She nodded in the direction of an elegant couple who stood chatting with Isabelle near the dance floor. Leaning forward, Allie studied them with hungry curiosity. The man had fair skin and greying sandy-blond hair. He looked suave in his perfectly tailored tuxedo. The woman had tawny skin and a mane of dark hair that fell in waves and curls down her back. She wore a bronze silk gown that clung to her trim hips. A necklace heavy with diamonds encircled her throat.

  Nearby, Katie Gilmore stood with an older couple who must have been her parents. She was stunning in a dark green dress – the colour made her skin shimmer like milk. With a touch of bitterness, Allie wondered if it was a coincidence she was standing so close to Sylvain’s family.

  As she watched, though, Sylvain walked by Katie without seeing her and up to his father. Allie willed herself to feel nothing, but her heart beat faster nonetheless; his perfectly tailored tuxedo emphasised his leanly muscled shoulders. His father turned to greet him and, even from across the room, she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes.

  ‘So that’s where he gets it from,’ she murmured.

  ‘Hmm?’ Jo, who had been looking elsewhere, turned to follow Allie’s gaze.

  ‘His dad,’ Allie said absently. ‘Sylvain has his eyes.’

  The waiter returned with a tray of drinks; Jo looked thoughtful as he set them down, waiting until he was out of earshot. Then she leaned forward tapping a glossy silver nail against the tabletop. ‘OK, out with it, Allie. What’s going on with you and Sylvain? I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. Frankly, a blind person could see there’s something happening between you two.’

  Flushing, Allie tore her gaze away from Sylvain’s family. ‘No. I mean … What?’

  ‘Come on, Allie.’ Jo’s cornflower blue eyes studied her knowingly. ‘This is me. I can see it in your face. You fancy him.’

  Panic made it hard to think. She’d tried so hard not to like Sylvain. So hard. And she’d failed.

  ‘I can’t like him, Jo.’ Allie’s eyes pleaded with her.

  But Jo seemed confused. ‘Why not? He’s sex on legs. And he sure likes you.’

  ‘It’s just, Carter …’ Allie fumbled her words, trying to think of a way to explain this that didn’t sound absurd. ‘He hates Sylvain and we haven’t … I don’t want to hurt him.’

  Resting one hand on Allie’s arm, Jo pointed across the room; her narrow diamond bracelet caught the light, fracturing it into a million bright sparks. Allie followed the line of her slender arm to … Carter and Jules. He looked tall in his tuxedo, and she wore a tight black dress that suited her perfectly. They were kissing.

  ‘What?’ Staring, Allie ordered herself to close her mouth.

  ‘This is the thing.’ Jo leaned forward to catch her eyes. ‘Don’t ever let your ex-boyfriend decide who you date. OK?’

  ‘How long have they …?’

  ‘Does it matter?

  I’ve been so worried for so long about hurting Carter and he just … What? Got over it and forgot to mention it? Let me keep on feeling guilty while he made out with Jules?

  Anger flared in her chest as she glanced over at the dance floor again. They’d been slow-dancing, but now the band switched to a different tune – an Eastern song Allie remembered from the summer ball – and Carter swirled Jules out on to the dance floor. They were both laughing.

  As she stared at them, a boy walked up to Jo and bowed from the waist. ‘Miss Arringford, might I have the honour of this dance?’

  He had a Spanish accent and a courtly manner; Allie wondered why she hadn’t seen him around before.

  ‘Hello, Guillermo.’ Jo fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I think so. Let me just check with my date.’ She turned to Allie. ‘Do you mind, darling?’

  Guillermo was tall and lanky, with brown hair in irrepressible curls. He looked like a Spanish prince. Jo’s eyes were aglow.

  How could Allie say no? ‘Have fun, kids.’ She smiled as they walked away.

  Guillermo was so tall he had to lean over to hear Jo talk. Jo’s cheeks were pink. They looked adorable together.

  As Allie watched the others dance and laugh, an overwhelming sense of loneliness threatened to subsume her. She wanted to sit at the table and cry, but that wouldn’t do anybody any good.

  I’ll go and look for Lucinda.

  She threaded her way through the crowd, snippets of mysterious and uninteresting adult conversations floating around her like flotsam riding on waves of noise.

  ‘He’s with a hedge fund now, of course …’

  ‘Five under par! At St Andrews!’

  ‘I told her that dress was unacceptable but she won’t listen. She never listens …’

  ‘We’re thinking of selling the house in Saint-Tropez, actually …’

  When somebody rested a hand on her arm she flinched. But when she looked up Sylvain was smiling at her. ‘Allie. My parents would like to meet you.’ Taking in her bright red hair, his eyebrows winged upwards. She responded with an apologetic shrug as he led her over to where his parents waited expectantly.

  ‘Madame and Monsieur Cassel, may I introduce Mademoiselle Allie Sheridan,’ Sylvain said.

  Shaking her hand, they studied her with frank interest.

  ‘Uh … Hi … Or bonsoir.’ She’d never felt less sophisticated.

  They exchanged pleasantries and she responded in her schoolgirl French. Then his father spoke in English.

  ‘What is it like,’ he asked, ‘to grow up as the granddaughter of Lucinda Meldrum?’

  ‘Papa, that’s personal,’ Sylvain protested, looking horrified.

  But Allie was getting used to this; she decided to answer. ‘It’s strange,’ she said leaning forward confidentially. ‘But we’re not close.’ This seemed to intrigue them, so she added, ‘She’s very busy you know. Travels all the time.’

  Looking down, Sylvain hid a smile. His parents seemed fascinated.

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Cassel said. ‘We don’t see Sylvain as much as we would like because we’re busy, too, so we understand completely.’

  Syvlain’s mother placed her arm across her son’s shoulders with obvious affection. ‘We are always trying to convince him to come home to us more often.’ Her voice was throaty, her accent as smooth as the silk dress she wore. ‘But he always says, “No, Maman, I have work to do.”’ She gave a resigned smile. ‘He is like his father.’

  Her perfume was heady – she had the insouciant elegance of a model. Allie was dazzled.

  ‘Well, they work us very hard here.’ She glanced up to find Sylvain watching her with open affection. A smile flickered across her lips and a flock of butterflies swirled in her stomach. She lost her train of thought.

  ‘You must come and visit us.’ Mrs Cassel stepped into the silence smoothly. ‘We would love to host you.’ She turned to Sylvain. ‘Invite her to Antibes in the summer, darling. Wouldn’t Henri and Hélène adore her? She is adorable.’

  Adorable? Allie looked at Sylvain desperately.

  ‘That’s my aunt and uncle.’ He apologised with his eyes. ‘And, please consider yourself officially invited.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said in her most polite voice. ‘That’s very kind of you. I would love to see your home.’

  ‘Allie must go and see her other friends now,’ Sylvain said to her relief. ‘We can’t keep her here all night.’

  ‘Oh but she is so charming!’ they chorused, as she hurried to say her goodbyes, smiling politely until her cheeks hurt.

  The party spilled over into the dining room, which had been set up much like
the great hall with tables and candles. There was no sign of Lucinda there, but a delicious smell distracted her and she followed her nose to a buffet table in one corner where she liberated a mini crab cake.

  Popping it in her mouth, she turned and nearly collided with Carter.

  ‘I’m sorr—’ he started, and then he saw her. She saw the surprise on his face. ‘Allie.’

  Tensing, she waited for the icy rage that seemed to accompany him these days like a frozen cloud. But instead he looked stunned. His eyes swept her body, taking in her hair, the dress, the high heels she’d borrowed from Jo.

  More than anything at that moment she regretted the crab cake, which she was now trying to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. She turned away quickly to grab a glass of water from a nearby table and took a quick swallow – if she didn’t she feared she might throw up all over her pretty dress.

  When she turned back around he was gone.

  Baffled, she looked at the space where he had stood. If only she knew what she was supposed to feel. The confusing signals he sent were torturous.

  I’m over you. I’m not over you. I want you. I hate you …

  Maybe Jo was right. Maybe she should stop letting Carter decide who she dated.

  Setting the glass back down, she made her way through the crowd. There must have been hundreds of people there. They filled the main hallway, the grand stairwell and even the entrance hall. Their conversations and laughter echoed off the high ceilings and reverberated in Allie’s head. Despite the cold night, the building felt stuffy, as if the guests were using up all the oxygen.

  So when Allie found herself standing by the front door, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to turn the handle and slip outside, into the dark night.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  After the heat inside, the icy air felt good as it chilled the perspiration on her skin. Shivering pleasantly, Allie shook her head so the cold air could reach under her heavy hair and cool her neck.

  On the curved driveway in front of her, rows of parked cars were neatly aligned. She could see chauffeurs gathered by the west wing with newspapers and cigarettes. They didn’t seem to notice her as she headed around the end of the building, wobbling a bit as Jo’s delicate shoes rocked on the uneven ground. Camouflaged in the darkness, she followed the unlighted footpath towards the walled garden. In the air she could smell a faint ashy tang of cigarette smoke and hear occasional bursts of muffled laughter from smokers gathered outside the school’s back door, but she was nearly at the folly now and hidden by the trees.