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Back One Enchanted Evening Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. The Grand Masquerade Ball
  5. Five Months Earlier . . .
  6. Chapter One
  7. Chapter Two
  8. Chapter Three
  9. September 1936
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. October 1936
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-one
  29. November 1936
  30. Chapter Twenty-two
  31. December 1936
  32. Chapter Twenty-three
  33. Chapter Twenty-four
  34. Chapter Twenty-five
  35. Chapter Twenty-six
  36. Chapter Twenty-seven
  37. Chapter Twenty-eight
  38. Chapter Twenty-nine
  39. Chapter Thirty
  40. Chapter Thirty-one
  41. Chapter Thirty-two
  42. Chapter Thirty-three
  43. Chapter Thirty-four
  44. Chapter Thirty-five
  45. Epilogue
  46. A New Year
  47. Extract from Anton Du Beke’s next novel’
  48. Acknowledgements
  49. About the Author
  50. Letter from Author

Hélène took her baby in her arms and cradled her to her chest. Sybil shrieked and squirmed where Hélène held her against the snowmelt on her coat, but she held on to her all the same.

With her daughter in her arms, she marched back past Noelle and Maurice, into the living room where two glasses had been laid out, with a bottle of rum in anticipation of midnight.

‘Hélène, something’s happened,’ said Noelle, hurrying in their wake. ‘You’re supposed to be dancing. You’re supposed to be putting on a show. What changed?’

Hélène thought of the letter in her pocket. If Sybil really was well, it meant that somebody had connived against her tonight. Somebody had tricked her. Somebody else was spinning across the ballroom in her place.

Some time later the little carriage clock on the mantel began to toll midnight. Sybil’s head craned around to listen. Through the walls, Hélène could hear the sounds of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ being sung in a drunken baritone. In the ballroom now, a thousand voices would be joined in chorus. Up and down the Buckingham Hotel, princesses and queens would sing in concert with concierges and chambermaids. The dances would go on and on and on, into the deep, still hours of the night; there was still time to get back – but what did that matter to Hélène Marchmont? What did Nathaniel or the Edgertons, or even Maynard Charles matter to her? She carried Sybil to the window and showed her the snow falling down. Sybil gaped and cooed, reaching out a fist as if she might catch a snowflake through the glass.

‘Mama . . .’ Sybil gurgled, for the very first time. ‘Ma . . . ma . . .’

No, thought Hélène, none of it mattered. Not the elegance and the grandeur. Not the two-step or the quick. Not the joyful rhythm of the Archie Adams Band or the spectacle of the hotel dancers performing for the adoration of the crowd. You could keep all the riches and the intrigues in the Buckingham Hotel. You could keep all the kings and queens and crown princesses who came to grace its beautiful ballroom. All of that was just dust when compared to standing here, surrounded by family, with her child in her arms, while one year faded, and another, full of possibilities, began.

She leaned down and placed her lips gently on the top of Sybil’s head. On an enchanted evening like this, there was no other place she would rather be.

Epilogue

Epilogue

January 1937

A New Year

A New Year

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NANCY NETTLETON OPENED HER EYES.