Chapter 13: The Podium

Margaux took the envelope from the lawyer's hand and held it up where the cameras could see it.

She did not open it.

"Divorce papers," she said, clearly.

Flashbulbs went off along the whole barrier.

"Monsieur Marceau," she said, "I was never married to you, so there is nothing for me to end."

Thibault's smile froze on his face.

"Margaux, not here," he said through his teeth.

"You picked here. You hired the cameras."

The lawyer stepped back a pace.

Hortense's hand closed on her pearls.

Margaux tucked the envelope under her arm and turned to Julien.

"Shall we go in?"

"After you," Julien said.

They walked past the Marceaus without another word.

Behind her, she heard Manon whisper, "Why isn't she crying?"

The grand hall held four hundred guests under three chandeliers.

Margaux took her seat at the end of the second row, among the board.

The deputy director of research was already there, and he squeezed her hand once under the program.

Julien sat beside her, upright and calm, and said nothing.

She could feel the heat of his shoulder through the blue silk.

The lights dimmed, and Thibault went up on stage alone.

He spoke for ten minutes about his father, and about forty years of the family name.

Some of the guests clapped in the right places.

"Tonight," he said, "I want to introduce the woman who will carry that name forward."

He held out his hand.

Manon came up the steps in the emerald dress, with the shawl across her back.

The zip had been left open under it, and she moved with small careful steps.

"My wife," Thibault said. "Madame Manon Marceau."

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