arie-Ange started college the week after Labor Day, and she left the farm at six o’clock, driving the Chevy that Billy had rebuilt for her. Aunt Carole made no comment at all the night before, but as usual, Billy called and wished her good luck. She promised to stop on the way home, if she had time, to tell him all about it. But as it turned out, she left school so late, after buying her books, with money she had borrowed from Tom, that she had to rush home to cook dinner for Aunt Carole.

But she managed to stop by to see Billy on her way to class the next morning. She didn’t have to be at school till ten o’clock, and she dropped by around seven-thirty, after finishing her chores. And she spent time with him in the Parkers’ big, friendly kitchen. All their appliances were old, and the Formica counters were chipped. The linoleum floor was stained beyond repair, but his mother kept it immaculately clean, and there was always a warm, cozy atmosphere at their house. Marie-Ange felt at home there, as she had in the kitchen at Marmouton, and unlike her great-aunt, Billy’s parents were crazy about her. And Billy’s mother believed, because one of her daughters had told her so, that she and Billy would get married someday. But even if they never did, they always treated her like one of their daughters.

“So how was school yesterday?” Billy asked, as he walked into the kitchen with her, in his overalls, and poured them both a cup of coffee.

“It was terrific,” she beamed at him, “I love it. I wish you were there with me.” The classes he took were at Fort Dodge, and most of the work he did was on his own, and by correspondence.

“So do I,” he smiled back at her. He missed their school days, when he could see her every day, and have long serious talks in French at lunchtime. It was all different now. He had to work on the farm, and he knew that she would have a new life now, new friends, new ideas, professors, and students who had far different goals than he had. He knew he would be on the farm forever. It made him a little sad when he thought about it, but he was happy for her. And after the hard life she’d led on her great-aunt’s farm for the past seven years, he knew better than anyone how much it meant to her.

And finally, an hour after she arrived, she got up and had to leave for school, but she promised to come by the following morning.

They saw a lot of each other during her college days, far more than either of them had expected. The commute ate up her time, and she eventually got a job in town as a waitress in a local diner on the weekends, which helped her with expenses, and allowed her to repay the book money she’d borrowed from the foreman. Her Aunt Carole had always refused to give her any money, and told her that if she wanted it badly enough, she’d work for it. But in spite of that, and the chores she still had to do on the farm, she managed to stop and see Billy daily. He came to the diner for a meal occasionally, and now and then they even went to a movie.

During her sophomore year, Billy had a girlfriend, but he always made it clear to Marie-Ange that she was far more important to him than any other girl and always would be. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into a bond like no other, and she even liked his girlfriend, but by Christmas that year, Billy had tired of her. She didn’t have the spark or fire of Marie-Ange, the energy, the brains, the style, and bored him in comparison. Marie-Ange had spoiled him. He turned twenty-one as Marie-Ange started her junior year, and it was a hard year for her. Aunt Carole was sick much of the time, she seemed to be getting old and frail and slowly failing. She was seventy-nine years old by then, and in many ways, she seemed as tough as ever, but it was more bravado than real these days, and from time to time Marie-Ange felt sorry for her, although Billy said he didn’t. He had always hated the way she treated Marie-Ange, her hard heart, and mean spirit. Marie-Ange knew by then that her father had not been wrong in his assessment of her. But she was used to her, and grateful to her for taking her in, and she did her best to help her while she was sick. She would prepare food for her late at night, and leave it in the morning, so she would have something to eat all day, and she was far more generous with her portions than Carole had been with her throughout her childhood.

Carole wound up in the hospital at Christmas with a broken hip that year. She had fallen out of her wheelchair when she hit an icy patch on her way to the barn, and for the first time, Marie-Ange spent the entire holiday with Billy. It was the happiest Christmas she’d had in years, and she and his siblings had a grand time, decorating the tree, and making presents for each other, and singing. She brought Aunt Carole a turkey dinner in the hospital, and it saddened her to see that her great-aunt felt too ill to eat it. Her polio didn’t make her recovery any easier, and she seemed frailer than ever.

Marie-Ange spent New Year’s eve with Billy too, and she and his brothers and sisters laughed and danced and sang and teased each other until long after midnight. One of his sisters got a little drunk on white wine and asked Marie-Ange when she was finally going to marry Billy. She said that Marie-Ange had ruined him for everyone else anyway, and what was he going to do with all that French he’d learned? Unless he married her, it was useless. And something about the way she said it, though all in good fun and well meant, made Marie-Ange feel guilty.

“Don’t be silly,” Billy said, later that night, when she said something to him about it. They were both sober, and sitting on the porch, talking, after everyone else had gone to bed. It was freezing, but they were wrapped up and warm, as they looked up at a starry sky and chatted. “My sister doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You haven’t ‘ruined’ me, Marie-Ange, you’ve helped me. Besides, our cows love it when I speak French to them. I was going to write a paper about it for school, I swear they produce more milk if I speak French to them when I milk them.” He was smiling at her, and teasing, and they were holding hands as they did sometimes. There was always something warm and comforting about it, although they both insisted it meant nothing.

“You have to marry someone eventually,” Marie-Ange said practically, but there was a tinge of sadness in her voice as she said it. They both knew that one day their lives would move on, but neither of them was ready for that yet.

“Maybe I’ll never marry,” Billy said simply. “I’m not sure I want to.” She knew he wanted to marry her, they both knew that, but if he couldn’t, he wasn’t willing to settle for less than he shared with her. Their friendship was too honest and too deep to make either of them want to settle for less from other partners. And Marie-Ange wanted no one at all at the moment. She liked the life she led, going to school, and sharing all her thoughts and dreams and secrets with Billy. But she was still determined never to confuse or spoil their friendship with romance.

“Don’t you want to have children?” Marie-Ange asked, surprised by what he’d said, although she understood the reason for it.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. I’m going to have a lot of nieces and nephews. They’ll drive me crazy enough, maybe I don’t need kids of my own.” He looked at her quietly as he said it. All he really wanted was to be with her, and he didn’t like the thought of anyone interfering with that. “You’ll have kids one day. I’m sure of that. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“I can’t even imagine it,” she said honestly. She could barely even remember what it was like living in a real family, as she had when her parents and brother were alive. Her only taste of it was when she visited Billy. She loved being there with him, and sharing the love and laughter in his family, but it was no longer part of her life now. In many ways, she felt like a very solitary person.

They talked late into the night, and she spent the night at his house, sharing a bedroom with two of his sisters. And she went back to visit her aunt at the hospital again the next morning. Her recovery was long and slow. And it was nearly a month before she left the hospital, and another two months before she left her bedroom. She didn’t seem quite as daunting anymore. Her frailty was growing more visible, and even her meanness seemed to have less force behind it. In a way, she seemed to be shrinking. Marie-Ange did what she had to for her, but the two rarely spoke, and the things Marie-Ange did were more mechanical than driven by any feeling for her.

Carole turned eighty at the beginning of summer, shortly before Marie-Ange turned twenty-one, and it was a major blow to her when her foreman Tom announced that he was retiring and moving to Arizona to be near his wife’s parents. His wife had been commuting to see them and care for them all year, and it had just gotten too hard for her.

“Old people like that should be put in a home,” Carole growled at Marie-Ange after Tom had broken the news to her. She was obviously upset, although she had hardly said anything to him, and told Marie-Ange that foremen were a dime a dozen. He had recommended his nephew to her for the job, but Marie-Ange knew that Carole didn’t like him. And Marie-Ange was sorry to see Tom go. He had always been kind to her, and she liked him.

Marie-Ange worked full time again that summer to make money to pay for her expenses at school, and she nonetheless managed to spend a fair amount of time with Billy, who had yet another new girlfriend. And this time, Marie-Ange thought it might turn serious if he let it. She was sweet and devoted to him, and very pretty. She had been one grade earlier than they in school, and their families had known each other for years. They could have a very nice life together. And at twenty-two, Marie-Ange thought he was ready. He had been out of high school for three years, finished his extension classes the year before, and worked hard on his father’s farm. And like many boys who had worked on farms since his early teens, with all its responsibilities and hardships, he had matured early.

It was a sweltering hot day, and Marie-Ange was just pulling out of the driveway in her beloved Chevy to visit him, when she saw a strange car arrive, driven by an older man in a cowboy hat and a business suit, and she wondered if he was a candidate for the job of foreman. She didn’t think about it much, and was surprised to find him still there when she returned from Billy’s farm three hours later. It never dawned on her that the man had come to see her, but he was just coming out of the kitchen with her great-aunt, when she got out of the car, with some groceries she had bought to make their dinner. And he looked at her expectantly, as Aunt Carole nodded at her.

Carole introduced the man to her, but his name meant nothing to Marie-Ange. It was Andrew McDermott, and he had driven all the way from Des Moines to see them. He smiled when Marie-Ange asked innocently if he had come to talk to Carole about becoming foreman.

“No, I came to see you,” he said pleasantly. “I had some business to discuss with your aunt. Perhaps we could sit down for a little while,” but Marie-Ange knew she had to get dinner on the table, and wondered why he wanted to sit down with her.

“Is something wrong?” Marie-Ange asked her aunt, and the old woman frowned and shook her head. She disapproved of almost everything the man had said, but what he had told her hadn’t surprised her. She had known most of it from the beginning.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” the visitor said pleasantly. “I’ve come to see you about a trust your father left you. Your aunt and I spoke of it some time ago, and the trust’s investments have done well over the years. But now that you have reached your majority, I need to inform you of it.” She had no idea what he was talking about, and she could see that Aunt Carole looked anything but pleased. She wondered if her father had done something wrong, or cost her some money. She had no understanding of what he was saying. And she thought that trust was something that happened between two people, like her and Billy. “Can we sit down while I explain it to you?” They were still standing on the porch, and Marie-Ange left them for a minute to set the groceries down on the kitchen table.

“I won’t be long,” she promised Aunt Carole, as the wheelchair disappeared into the house. She had already heard it, and had no interest in staying with them.

“Miss Hawkins,” Andy McDermott began, “has your aunt explained everything to you about what your father left you?”

Marie-Ange shook her head, looking puzzled. “No, I didn’t think he had left anything. I always thought he had left debts,” she said simply, without artifice or pretension.

“On the contrary,” he looked surprised that she knew nothing about it, “he left an extremely successful business that was sold some months after he died. One of his partners bought him out, at a fair price, and all the real estate he had was unencumbered. He had some savings, and of course a few debts, but nothing of any magnitude. He left a will, in favor of you and your brother, but on your brother’s death, his share passed to you.” It was the first she had heard of any of it, and she was surprised by what he was saying to her. “You are to inherit a third of what your father left when you turn twenty-one, as you just did, which is why I’m here. And the trust will maintain the rest, and disburse the second third to you at twenty-five, and the balance of it when you turn thirty. He left you a very handsome amount,” he said solemnly, as he looked at Marie-Ange, and realized that she was completely unspoiled and was expecting nothing. Perhaps her aunt had been right not to tell her, he wondered.

“How much did he leave?” Marie-Ange asked, feeling embarrassed. “Is it a lot?” She didn’t think so.

“I’d say it is,” he smiled at her. “It has been invested well over the years, and at present, before any disbursement to you, the trust is holding just over ten million dollars.” There was a long, long silence, as she stared at him, unable to absorb what he had just said, and unwilling to believe him. This was a joke, it had to be, and it wasn’t even funny to her.

“What?” was the only word she could muster.

“The trust is holding just over ten million dollars for you,” he repeated. “A third of that will be put into an account for you next week, and I suggest that you reinvest the bulk of it as soon as you are prepared to. We can in fact handle that for you.” He was the attorney for the bank who handled her trust account, he explained. The holdings had originally been in France, but had eventually been transferred to Iowa at Carole’s suggestion. She didn’t think that Marie-Ange would ever go back there. “I should probably tell you as well,” he said confidentially, “that we have offered your aunt a sum of money for your support periodically, and she very kindly said there was no need for it. She has provided for you herself for the past ten years, without ever taking advantage of the trust your father left you. I thought you’d like to know that.” But even that piece of information was confusing. Aunt Carole had nearly starved her to death, had bought her clothes at the Goodwill, had forced her to do chores for every penny she’d ever given her, and had refused to help her with college. So while she had shouldered the responsibilities herself, without taking advantage of the trust, she had deprived Marie-Ange of everything possible over the years, and would even have denied her an education, if Billy hadn’t given her the car she used to attend college.

It was hard to decide now if Aunt Carole had been a monster or a hero, but perhaps she had done what she thought best. But she had in no way warned Marie-Ange of what was coming to her. It came as a complete surprise, and a huge shock, as Andrew McDermott handed her a manila envelope filled with documents and suggested she review them. He needed only one signature to open an account for her, and as he left, he congratulated her on her good fortune, and even then she wasn’t sure if that was how she viewed it. She would far rather have had her parents and brother alive, and grown up with them at Marmouton, than have spent the past ten years in Iowa with Aunt Carole, enduring endless loneliness and hardship. No matter how rich she was now, Marie-Ange still couldn’t understand what had just happened to her, or what it would mean to her, as she stood and watched him drive away, as she continued to clutch the envelope he had left her.

“When are we having dinner?” Aunt Carole barked at her through the screen door, and she rushed inside, and put the envelope on the counter as she hurried to prepare dinner. And for the entire meal, Aunt Carole said nothing to her, until Marie-Ange broke the silence.

“Did you know?” Her eyes searched her great-aunt’s face and saw nothing, not affection or warmth or regret or tenderness or joy for her. She looked as she always had, bitter and tired and old and as cold as ice in winter.

“Not all of it. I still don’t. It’s none of my business. I know your father left you a lot of money. I’m glad for you. It’ll make things easier for you when I’m gone,” and then she stunned Marie-Ange further. “I’m selling the farm next month. I’ve had a good offer, and you’re all right now. I’m tired. I’m going to move into the home in Boone.” She said it without apology or regret, or any concern about what would happen to Marie-Ange, but admittedly she had no reason to worry about her, except that she was a girl of twenty-one, and for the second time in her life, she was about to become homeless.

“How much longer will you stay here?” Marie-Ange asked, looking concerned about her, and seeking some trace of emotion that had never been there.

“If I sell next month, it’ll be in escrow for thirty days. I should be in the home by the end of October. Tom said he would wait till then.” But it was only six weeks away, and Marie-Ange realized that she was going to have to make some decisions. She was about to start her senior year, and wondered if she should move closer to school, or take the year off to go home to France and at least see it. And for an instant, she had a brief dream about buying Marmouton back. She had no idea who owned it now, or what had happened to it, and wondered if that information would be included in the papers the lawyer from the bank had left her.

“I’ll have to move out when you do,” Marie-Ange said pensively, wondering if she had ever known this woman. But she already knew the answer to that question. “Will you be happy in the home, Aunt Carole?” She felt as though she owed her something, however disagreeable she had been, or cold. She had still taken care of her for ten years, and Marie-Ange was grateful for it.

“I’m not happy here. What difference does it make? And I’m too old to run a farm now. You’ll go back to France, I expect, or get a job somewhere, after you finish college. You have no reason to stay here, unless you marry that boy you say you don’t want to marry. And you probably shouldn’t now. You can catch yourself a real big fish with all that money.” She made it sound like an ugly thing, and the way she said it made Marie-Ange shudder. The idea of loving someone never entered into it for her, and Marie-Ange couldn’t help wondering, as she had before, what her life had been like with her husband, and if she had ever loved him, if she was even capable of it. It was impossible to imagine her young or loving or happy.

Marie-Ange cleaned up the kitchen after their meal, and her aunt said she was going to bed early, and wheeled herself silently down the dark hallway. But when Billy called a short time afterward, Marie-Ange said she had to see him.

“Is something wrong?” He sounded worried.

“No … yes … no … I don’t know. I’m confused. Something happened today I have to talk to you about.” She needed to talk to him very badly. There was no one else for her to talk to, although she knew he was as unsophisticated as she was about financial matters. But he was sensible and intelligent, and he wanted nothing but the best for her. It never occurred to her for an instant that he’d be jealous of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she hesitated.

“I think so. Yes.” She didn’t want to worry him. “It’s a good thing. I just don’t understand it.”

“Come over whenever you want,” he said comfortably. His new girlfriend was there, but she lived on a nearby farm, and he offered to run her home before Marie-Ange came over, and she didn’t seem to mind it.

Marie-Ange was on his front porch twenty minutes later, and she had brought the manila envelope with her. “What’s that?” He noticed it instantly, and wondered if it was a transcript from college. He wondered suddenly if she had won another scholarship, but the look on her face told him it was something more important.

“A lawyer came to see me today,” she said in an undervoice, so the rest of the family couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, and she trusted him completely. Her faith in him had never been unfounded, and she knew it wouldn’t be this time.

“What about?”

“Some money my father left me when he died,”she said simply, and his mind went swiftly, as hers had, to amounts in the thousands, if she was lucky. At least it would help her finish her education, and he was happy for her. “A lot of money,” she tried to adjust his thinking for him. But what had happened to her was inconceivable, and she knew Billy wouldn’t understand it any better than she did.

“Like how much?” And then he corrected himself quickly, “Or would you rather not tell me? You don’t have to, you know. It’s none of my business,” he said discreetly.

“I guess I shouldn’t say anything,” she said, looking at him, terrified that it would change something between them. “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

“Don’t be stupid. Did he kill someone for it, or steal it?” he teased her.

“Of course not,” she smiled nervously at him, “it’s from the house and his business, and some investments. What he left has grown a lot in the last ten years. Billy,” she hesitated for a long moment, “it’s a lot of money.” She suddenly wanted to apologize for it. It seemed sinful to have that much. But she did. And now she had to deal with it.

“You’re driving me crazy, Marie-Ange. Are you going to tell me or not? And did your Aunt Carole know, by the way?” He was curious about it.

“Apparently, she did, more or less. And she never let them give her anything to support me. I guess that’s nice in a way, but it sure would have made life easier if she had. Anyway, it’s all mine now.” Their eyes met and held as he waited, and she took a breath and whispered the words to him that even she didn’t understand, and wondered if she ever would. It was beyond thinking. “Ten million dollars,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, laughing at her, and sitting back in his chair on the porch, amused by the joke. He had been leaning forward waiting to hear, and now he just guffawed at her. “And I’m Mickey Mantle.”

“No, I’m serious. That’s what it is.” She looked as though she was sharing something terrible with him, and suddenly he stopped laughing and stared at her.

“You’re not kidding?” She shook her head in answer, and he closed his eyes as though she had hit him, and then opened them to look at her in disbelief. “Oh, my God, Marie-Ange … what are you going to do with it? What are you going to do now?” In a way, it scared him for her. It was an overwhelming amount of money. Beyond either of their imaginations.

“I don’t know. Aunt Carole told me tonight she’s selling the farm next month and going into the home in Boone. I’m not going to have anyplace to live six weeks from now. She already has someone who wants to buy the farm, and she’s decided to sell it to them.”

“You can live here,” he said generously, but she knew there was no room for her, and she knew that wasn’t right either.

“I could get an apartment at school, I guess, or live in the dorm. I don’t know what you do when something like this happens.”

“Neither do I,” he grinned shyly at her. “Your father must have been one hell of a rich guy when you were a kid. I guess I never understood that. That château you talk about must have been the size of Buckingham Palace.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was beautiful, and I loved it, I guess there was a lot of land, and his business must have been pretty successful. He had money saved too, and … God, Billy, I don’t know … what’ll I do now?” She had come to him for advice, but they were both young, and what they were talking about was inconceivable to either of them, particularly given the life they both led. Their lives in Iowa were very simple.

“What do you want to do?” he asked her thoughtfully. “Do you want to go home, and start over there, or finish school here? You can do anything you want now. Hell, Marie-Ange, you can go to Harvard if you want to.” To him, at least, it represented an unlimited amount of freedom, and he was happy for her.

“I think I’d like to go home for a while, and at least see Marmouton again. Maybe I could even buy it.” And never come back here, he could hear the reality of it echo in his head as he listened to her, but he didn’t voice his fears to her. He was suddenly afraid he’d never see her again when she left. But she knew what he was thinking.

“I’ll come back. I just want to see what it looks like. Maybe I’ll take a semester off, and come back here for Christmas.”

“That would be nice,” and then he decided to put his own feelings aside and think of her. He loved her enough to do that. “But you might be happier there.” She was French, after all, and she had no relatives in the States except Aunt Carole. And although she had spent nearly half her life here, in her heart of hearts, she was still French, and always would be.

“Maybe. I just don’t know what to do now.” She didn’t feel as though either place was home anymore. And with options open to her, it was all the more confusing. “If I stayed, would you come to visit me? You could use your French finally. I’d send you a ticket.” She knew him well enough to know he would never accept it, and it would be a hardship for him to take the time to visit her even if he had the money to buy the ticket. “You have to promise me you’d come over if I stay there.”

“Do you think you’ll finish school?” he asked, concerned about her again, and she nodded.

“I want to. I think I probably will come back here. Maybe I’ll just take this semester off and see what happens.”

“It would be a shame not to finish school,” he said, sounding like an older brother, as she nodded.

She took the contents of the envelope out then, and they pored over them together. But neither of them understood them. It was the portfolio of the trust’s investments.

“I just can’t believe it,” he said, looking at her again before she left. “Marie-Ange, this is amazing,” and then he grinned at her and gave her a hug. “Hell, who knew you’d turn out to be a rich girl.”

“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered.

“Just make sure you don’t run off with a handsome prince in the next ten minutes.” He knew this meant that there was no hope for them, but according to Marie-Ange, there never had been. And now there was no way he could ever ask her. She was an heiress, but she was also his best friend, and she made him swear it would never make any difference between them.

“I’ll be back for Christmas,” she promised faithfully, and meant it as she said it. But he wondered if that would be true, if she really would come back, or even want to, after the miserable years she’d spent here. It seemed right to him that she should go home now.

He walked her out to the car when she left, and gave her another hug. The car he had given her seemed foolish to him now in light of everything that had just happened. “Drive carefully,” he smiled at her, still in awe of what she had told him. They both needed time to absorb it.

“I love you, Billy,” she said, and meant it in the very best of ways, and he knew that.

“I love you too. You know that.” And with that, she waved and drove away. She had a lot to think about on the drive home, and she drove to Des Moines the next morning. There was something she knew she had to do there. She had thought of it the night before, and she didn’t want to wait another day. She called Andy McDermott and explained it to him, and he sounded a little startled at first, but she was only twenty-one, after all. It was an interesting first step, but she was very determined when he questioned her about it.

She completed the transaction in under an hour, and they agreed to deliver it to the farm for her that morning. They were stunned by the speed with which she had made the purchase. And when it arrived, it caused endless comment amongst the farmhands, and Aunt Carole was livid when she saw it.

“That is just the kind of stupid thing I thought you would do. What are you going to do with that thing?” she asked accusingly, but there was nothing she could do to stop her.

“I’m giving it to Billy,” Marie-Ange said calmly, as she slid behind the wheel of the bright red, brand-new Porsche she had bought for him that morning. Three years before he had made it possible for her to go to school and get an education, and now she was going to do something for him, something he could never do for himself in a lifetime. She had paid the insurance on it for him for two years, and she knew he was going to love it.

She drove it up in front of his house, just as he came in on the tractor with one of his brothers, and he stared at her in amazement.

“Did you trade the Chevy in for that? I hope they gave you back some money!” He laughed and hopped off the tractor to look more closely at the remarkable machine she was driving. “How are you going to tell people you bought it?” he asked, looking concerned. He knew she didn’t want everyone talking about her, or knowing what she’d inherited from her father.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” she grinned at him, “maybe I’ll just have to tell them I stole it. But at least I won’t be driving it.”

“Why not?” He looked confused, as she quietly handed him the keys and kissed him on both cheeks, French style.

“Because it’s yours, Billy!” she said softly. “Because you’re the best friend I have in the world, and you’re my brother.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn’t know what to say to her, and when he could finally speak again, he insisted that he couldn’t accept it from her, no matter how much money her father had left her. But she refused to discuss it with him, or to be swayed. The pink slip was already in his name, and she slid into the passenger seat, waiting for him to drive her in it.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” he said in a choked voice as he slid behind the wheel. It was hard to resist, and everyone on his father’s farm was staring at them. They knew something unbelievable had just happened.

“Does this mean you’re marrying him?” his mother shouted from the kitchen window, wondering if she had won it in a contest for him. Maybe she had won the lottery or something.

“No, it means he has a new car,” Marie-Ange shouted back at her with a grin, as Billy turned the key in the ignition and the little sports car roared into gear. They took off at full speed, as Billy gave a wild whoop of glee, and Marie-Ange’s long blond hair flew out in the wind behind her.