Sidney Sheldon - The sands of time

My God, he thought. Those looks and that voice! She's perfect. She's going to be an enormous star.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you," Raimu said.

Monique smiled warmly. "I'm very happy to meet you. I'm a big admirer of yours, Monsieur Raimu."

"Good. Then we'll work well together. I brought a script with me. It's a beautiful love story, and I think—"

At that moment Teresa walked into the room. She was wearing a new dress, but she looked awkward in it. She stopped as she saw Jacques Raimu.

"Oh—hello. I didn't know you were here. I mean— you're early."

He looked at Monique inquiringly.

"This is my sister," Monique said. "Teresa."

They both watched the expression on his face change. It went from shock to disappointment to disgust.

"You're the singer?"

"Yes."

He turned to Monique. "And you're—"

Monique smiled innocently. "I'm Teresa's sister."

Raimu turned to examine Teresa again, then shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said to Teresa. "You're too—" He fumbled for a word. "You're too—young. If you'll excuse me, I must get back to Paris."

And they stood there watching him walk out the door.

It worked, Monique thought jubilantly. It worked.

Teresa never made another broadcast. Louis Bonnet pleaded with her to come back, but the hurt was too deep.

After looking at my sister, Teresa thought, how could anyone want me? I'm so ugly.

As long as she lived, she would never forget the look on

Jacques Raimu's face.

It's my fault for having silly dreams, Teresa told herself. It's God's way of punishing me.

After that, Teresa would sing only in church, and she became more of a recluse than ever.

During the next ten years the beautiful Monique turned down more than a dozen marriage proposals. She was proposed to by the sons of the mayor, the banker, the doctor, the merchants in the village. Her suitors ranged from young men fresh out of school to established and successful men in their forties and fifties. They were rich and poor, handsome and ugly, educated and uneducated. And to all of them Monique said non.

"What are you looking for?" her father asked, baffled.

"Papa, everyone here is boring. Иze is such an unsophisticated place. My dream prince is in Paris."

And so her father dutifully sent her to Paris. As an afterthought, he sent Teresa with her. The two girls stayed at a small hotel on the Bois de Boulogne.

Each sister saw a different Paris. Monique attended charity balls and glamorous dinner parties and had tea with titled young men. Teresa visited Les Invalides and the

Louvre. Monique went to the races at Longchamp and to galas at Malmaison. Teresa went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to pray, and walked along the tree-shaded path of the Canal St.

Martin. Monique went to Maxim's and the Moulin Rouge, while

Teresa strolled along the quays, browsing among the book stalls and the flower vendors and stopping at the Basilica of

St. Denis. Teresa enjoyed Paris, but as far as Monique was concerned, the trip was a failure.

When they returned home, Monique said, "I can't find any man I want to marry."

"You met no one who interested you?" her father asked.

"Not really. There was a young man who took me to dinner at Maxim's. His father owns coal mines."

"What was he like?" her mother asked eagerly.

"Oh, he was rich, handsome, polite, and he adored me."

"Did he ask you to marry him?"

"Every ten minutes. Finally I simply refused to see him again."

Her mother stared at Monique in amazement. "Why?"

"Because all he could talk about was coal: bituminous coal, lump coal, black coal, gray coal. Boring, boring,

boring."

The following year Monique decided she wanted to return to

Paris again.

"I'll pack my things," Teresa said.

Monique shook her head. "No. This time I think I'll go alone."

So while Monique went to Paris, Teresa stayed home and went to church every morning and prayed that her sister would find a handsome prince. And one day the miracle occurred. A miracle because it was to Teresa that it happened. His name was Raoul Giradot.

He had gone to Teresa's church one Sunday and heard her sing. He had never heard anything like it before. I must meet her, he vowed.

Early Monday morning, Teresa stopped in at the village general store to buy fabric for a dress she was making. Raoul

Giradot was working behind the counter.

He looked up as Teresa walked in, and his face lit up.

"The voice!"

She stared at him, flustered. "I—I beg your pardon?"

"I heard you sing in church yesterday. You are magnificent."

He was handsome and tall, with intelligent, flashing dark eyes and lovely, sensual lips. He was in his early thirties,

a year or two older than Teresa.

Teresa was so taken aback by his appearance that she could only stammer. She stared at him, her heart pounding.

"Th—thank you," Teresa said."I—I—I would like three yards of muslin, please."

Raoul smiled. "It will be my pleasure. This way."

It was suddenly difficult for Teresa to concentrate on her errand. She was overpoweringly aware of the young man's presence, his good looks and charm, the masculine aura surrounding him.

When Teresa had decided on her purchase and Raoul was wrapping it for her, she dared to say, "You're— you're new here, aren't you?"

He looked at her and smiled, and it sent shivers through her.

"Oui. I arrived in Иze a few days ago. My aunt owns this shop and she needed help, so I thought I would work here for a while."

How long is a while? Teresa found herself wondering.

"You should be singing professionally," Raoul told her.

She remembered the expression on Raimu's face when he had seen her. No, she would never risk exposing herself publicly again. "Thank you," Teresa mumbled.

He was touched by her embarrassment and shyness, and tried to draw her into conversation.

"I haven't been to Иze before. It's a beautiful little town."

"Yes," Teresa mumbled.

"Were you born here?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

Teresa picked up her package and fled.

The following day she found an excuse to go back to the shop again. She had stayed up half the night preparing what she was going to say to Raoul.

I'm glad you like Иze…

The monastery was built in the fourteenth century, you know…

Have you ever visited Saint-Paul-de-Vence? There's a lovely chapel there…

I enjoy Monte Carlo, don't you? It's wonderful to have it so close to here. Sometimes my sister and I drive down the

Grande Corniche and go to the Fort Antoine Theatre. Do you know it? It's the big open-air theater…

Did you know that Nice was once called Nikaia? Oh, you didn't? Yes, it was. The Greeks were there a long time ago.

There's a museum in Nice with the remains of cavemen who lived there thousands of years ago. Isn't that interesting?

Teresa was prepared with dozens of such verbal gambits.

Unfortunately, the moment she walked into the shop and saw

Raoul, everything flew out of her head. She simply stared at him, unable to speak.

"Bonjour," Raoul said cheerfully. "It's nice to see you again, Mademoiselle De Fosse."

"M—merci." She felt like an idiot. I'm thirty years old,

she told herself, and I'm acting like a silly schoolgirl.

Stop it.

But she could not stop it.

"And what may I do for you today?"

"I—I need more muslin."

Which was the last thing she needed.

She watched Raoul as he went to get the bolt of fabric. He set it on the counter and started to measure it out.

"How many yards would you like?"

She started to say two, but what came out was, "Are you married?"