The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  Interesting, he thought. Would she come out again the same way, or would she remain in the house? Either way, he would be able to report her arrival to the man who employed him. He settled down again to wait, as he had waited for several long weeks. Waiting was something he was good at, especially if he received solid coinage for doing so.

  Having found the garden gate locked, Hélène had to risk using the wider gates of the port cochère. The yard was empty, and with an anxious glance at the house, she slipped out of sight into the stable block. Pierre was grooming one of the carriage horses and he looked up in surprise.

  ‘Miss Hélène!’ he hissed. ‘What are you doing here? Why have you come? Is there something wrong? Annette…?’

  ‘It’s all right, Pierre,’ Hélène said softly, looking round to see if the stable lad was anywhere about. She had forgotten him.

  ‘What’s all right?’ demanded Pierre. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see my mother,’ Hélène said.

  ‘To see your mother?’ Pierre was incredulous. ‘Is she expecting you? Have you contacted her?’

  ‘No, not yet, but I thought if I came here, into the stables, you could fetch her out to see me.’ Seeing his shocked expression turning to one of anger, she hurried on, ‘I won’t go into the house. No one else will see me, and I shan’t stay long.’

  ‘Have you considered the risk you’re taking?’ Pierre snapped. ‘Not only for yourself, but for us who have been helping you? I can’t believe you’ve simply walked in here in broad daylight. Anyone could have seen you—’

  ‘I won’t tell her where we’re living,’ interrupted Hélène. ‘I just—’

  ‘You just didn’t think!’ retorted Pierre, his anger unabated. ‘You must go, now, before anyone sees you.’

  ‘But Maman—’

  ‘Your mother is out,’ Pierre told her, not knowing if that was the case or not, but determined that Hélène should make herself scarce and do it as soon as possible. ‘Go! Go now before you waste everything we’ve all done for you.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘Christ, Hélène. You had more sense when you were a kid!’

  Hélène could feel the tears pricking at the back of her eyes and turned away. Pierre had never spoken to her like that before, would not have dreamed of doing so, and it was clear that he was far too angry to help her. She lifted her chin and stepped back out into the yard. As she did so, the back door of the house opened and Alice, one of the housemaids, came out carrying a pail of slops, which she tipped down into the drain in the middle of the yard. Glancing up, she saw a young girl in a dark, drab coat and hat slipping out of the gate and disappearing into the lane. She saw Pierre watching her from the stable door and she grinned at him.

  ‘You’re a dark horse, Pierre,’ she chided. ‘A bit of skirt on the side, eh?’

  Pierre gave her a conspiratorial grin, raising a finger to his lips before turning back into the stables. He knew he should have gone out into the street to be sure the coast was clear before he let Hélène leave, but she had been too quick for him and now it would be too late. He could only hope that Alice was the only one who had seen her, and that only from behind. Thank goodness, Pierre thought, she hadn’t recognised her as Hélène St Clair, daughter of the house.

  Hélène strode out of the gate, along the lane. She was angry at Pierre’s reaction. How dare he speak to her like that! But she was also angry with herself. She knew in her heart that she should not have come here, that Pierre was right and she had risked everything they had all done for her. With tears in her eyes, she turned out of the lane into the street and headed back the way she had come, passing the church and crossing the park behind it.

  The man in the garden of the house opposite eased his way out from the bush that had concealed him. His mark was heading back into the city. All he had to do was follow her, discover where she was living and report back. It would be easy to stay far enough behind her that should she happen to look over her shoulder, he would be just another person among the press of people on the street.

  Hélène walked quickly, anxious to get as far away as possible from the Avenue Ste Anne, until she suddenly realised that she had strayed into unfamiliar streets and she didn’t know where she was. The street she was in didn’t look familiar at all. Had she taken a wrong turning? Going towards the Avenue Ste Anne she had recognised landmarks and had found her way easily enough, but now, coming back, she was lost. Where should she turn off? Which of the smaller, meaner streets led back to Batignolles? Had she passed that church? Was that where she must turn left? She paused on a corner and looked about her. Suddenly there was a voice beside her, making her start in fright.

  ‘All right, darlin’? Lost, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Hélène snapped. ‘Of course not. Go away!’

  ‘Just thought I might be goin’ the same way as you, darlin’. We could walk together!’ He reached for her arm and she shook him off, shouting, ‘Let me go!’

  ‘No need for that,’ grinned the man, gripping her arm more firmly. ‘Why don’t you let me look after you? Pretty girl like you needs looking after!’ He pulled her towards the entrance of a narrow alleyway that ran between two shops, but before they reached it and as if in an echo from her childhood, she heard Jeannot’s voice. ‘Bite, Hélène!’ She lowered her head and sank her teeth into the man’s hand. He gave a bellow of pain and let go, cradling his injured hand against himself. The moment she was free, Hélène took to her heels and ran. With no idea of where she was going she ran, pushing people out of the way, pulling loose from the hands that tried to stop her until she turned the corner into a narrow street with a bakery on the corner. Here she allowed herself to stop and catch her breath. She looked back over her shoulder, but could see no one trying to follow her. She was certainly lost now and needed directions. She knew if she got to St Eustache market she could find her way back to the apartment. But which way was it? She went into the bakery, and keeping an eye on the street outside for any sign of pursuit, she bought a loaf. It was still warm from the second batch of baking and the smell made her mouth water. As she paid for the bread she spoke to the woman behind the counter.

  ‘Please can you tell me the way to St Eustache?’

  The woman looked at her curiously and then said, ‘Out of here and turn left. Follow the street to the end and then turn right, then ask again.’

  Hélène thanked her and went back outside. As she turned the corner she heard someone speak her name and, spinning round, found herself face to face with Jeannot.

  ‘Bread smells good,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go back to your apartment and have something to eat.’

  ‘Jeannot!’ Hélène could hardly believe her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘What’s it look like? Looking after you, of course. But what you thought you was doing, going back to your house when you know everyone’s on the lookout for you, I don’t know!’

  ‘How do you know that’s where I’ve been?’ demanded Hélène, a little of her usual spirit returning now that she had him with her.

  ‘Because,’ he said, ‘I followed you there. Saw you come out of the apartment and wondered where you was off.’

  ‘You’ve been following me?’ Hélène stared at him. ‘All the way?’

  ‘Yeah. Didn’t want you running into no trouble, did I?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t, did I?’ Hélène rounded on him. ‘I got away from that man without your help, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, when you heard me shout,’ Jeannot concurred with a grin. ‘But he weren’t important, he was only after a bit of fun. No, Hélène, it was the one what was following you back from your house. Wanted to find out where you was hiding, I guess. Work for your fiancé, does he?’

  ‘No one saw me,’ Hélène asserted hotly. ‘And no one’s following me.’

  ‘Well, they aren’t now,’ Jeannot agreed as they began to walk down the street. ‘When you ran, he was after you. He ran, but I was faster. A kick in the righ
t place sorted him. ’Spect he’ll be waddling for a few days to come yet.’

  ‘Someone really was following me?’ Hélène glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘He ain’t there now,’ Jeannot assured her. ‘And he still don’t know where you live. Doubt if he has any idea, cos you was walking round in circles. Now, are we going to get back to your place before that bread’s gone cold?’

  He set off through a myriad of back lanes and very soon Hélène found herself walking down the narrow street that led to Agathe’s apartment building.

  She led the way upstairs and opened the front door. Jeannot followed her in and looked round.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all. Not quite like your house, though, is it? That why you went back?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Hélène went into the small kitchen and put some broth on to heat. Within ten minutes they were sitting at the table with the broth, the fresh bread and a hunk of cheese.

  ‘Now then,’ Jeannot said as he broke a piece from the baguette and dipped it in the broth. ‘Tell me what on earth’s going on.’

  ‘It’s a long story…’ Hélène began.

  ‘Well, give me the short version.’

  She did not mention Rupert – well, only in passing as someone she had wondered if she might marry. She told him about Simon, how she’d been encouraged to accept him by her parents, and then how he had threatened her. She explained that she was afraid of him and didn’t dare go home.

  ‘But you went today,’ Jeannot said. ‘I followed you all the way there.’

  ‘I wanted to see my mother,’ Hélène said. ‘She must be frantic with worry.’ She paused and added, ‘It’s the second time she’s lost me.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back, then?’ asked Jeannot. ‘Because of this Barnier bloke? Does he still want to marry you? After you’ve run off an’ that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but my father is so ashamed of me, Pierre says he won’t let them mention my name at Belair. I might not be allowed back.’

  ‘Did you see Pierre while you was at the house today?’ asked Jeannot.

  ‘Yes, I did, and he wasn’t at all pleased to see me. He told me I was risking everything.’

  ‘He was right,’ Jeannot said firmly. ‘If I hadn’t been watching your back, you’d have led your fiancé’s snout straight here.’

  ‘He’s not my fiancé,’ snapped Hélène.

  ‘Well, whoever set that watch on the house wants to know where you are. And whoever it is has been very patient, and today his patience almost paid off.’

  ‘I know it was stupid,’ admitted Hélène with a sigh, ‘but I can’t stay in this apartment all day on my own while Annette is working in the market. I’m going mad.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Jeannot said, ‘one of my lads has been keeping tabs on you. It was only luck that I sent him somewhere else this morning and came to watch for myself. He’ll be back tomorrow. From now on, when you need to go out, he’ll go with you. Make sure you don’t run into any more trouble.’ He grinned. ‘You always was one for gettin’ into trouble, wasn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ returned Hélène ruefully. ‘When I had anything to do with you.’

  Chapter 45

  Two days after Hélène’s visit to the Avenue Ste Anne, Emile St Clair arrived at the Paris house.

  ‘I shall be staying a week or so,’ he told Rosalie. ‘I’ve been sadly neglecting my work with everything that has happened. But when I return to Belair after next weekend, I shall expect you and Louise to return with me. It is time that we get on with our lives and stop skulking in Paris.’

  ‘I have not been skulking,’ retorted Rosalie. ‘Louise and I have been living perfectly normal lives here. It won’t be long before Louise will have to be introduced to society and we have been refurbishing her wardrobe.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Emile insisted. ‘We shall all be going back to Belair as soon as I have seen to my business affairs here in Paris.’ He paused at his study door and, looking back, said, ‘Tell Pierre I want him.’

  Pierre knocked on the door and, when summoned inside, waited for instructions.

  ‘I shall be going to my office tomorrow morning,’ Emile said. ‘Please bring the chaise round at half past nine.’

  ‘Yes, monsieur.’ Pierre spoke with great respect, wondering as he did so whether his employer had any idea of his part in Hélène’s escape. But when Emile spoke again, it was evident that he had no suspicions as he said, ‘We shall all be returning to Belair after the weekend. We shall take the train, but I want you to bring the chaise down to the country. I may have to come up to town now and then, but Madame will not be returning to Paris in the foreseeable future.’ He looked up at his coachman and added, ‘When we are back at Belair, life will revert to how it was. I want no speculation about my daughter or her whereabouts among the servants. I shall rely on you, Didier and Madame Sauze to ensure this is so. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ There was no other answer Pierre could give. He turned to leave the room but was called back by Emile.

  ‘I nearly forgot,’ he said, opening the attaché case that lay on his desk. ‘A letter came for you at Belair.’ He handed Pierre an envelope, remarking, ‘From England, I see.’ He raised an eyebrow as if in query. Thinking fast, Pierre said, ‘Thank you, monsieur. It’ll be from my cousin who has a position in London.’

  Emile gave a vague nod, and taking this as his dismissal, Pierre quickly left the room before any further questions could be asked. He did not know who the letter was from – he had no cousin in London – but he had once written to Rupert Chalfont and it was just possible that this could be a long-delayed reply to that letter. He went to his quarters above the stables and tore it open, only to find that the letter was not written to him at all. It began Dear Annette and was signed Rupert Chalfont.

  Unable to contain his curiosity he read it through quickly, only immediately to reread it more slowly, almost not believing what it said. He stuffed the letter back into its envelope and tucked it under his pillow. He must show it to Annette as soon as he could.

  Since she had begun working in the market they had been able to see each other as often as Pierre’s work allowed. He would go and give her the letter tomorrow. He was certain that she needed to read it without Hélène’s knowledge, and if he gave it to her in the market they could discuss its implications without Hélène even hearing about it while they decided what to do. Then he remembered he had to drive Monsieur St Clair to his office in the morning. Emile had said that they were returning to the country after the weekend; he just had to hope that his master didn’t keep him fully employed until they left.

  Next morning he put the letter in his pocket just in case there was an opportunity to give it to Annette. He had the chaise at the door punctually at nine thirty and it wasn’t long before Emile came out, attaché case in hand. They drove across the city through the morning traffic, and when they reached the architect’s office Emile went in, leaving Pierre to wait in the street. In the office, his secretary, Forquet, had a pile of mail and plenty of questions that needed answers.

  ‘I’ll just go up to the drawing office first,’ Emile told him, ‘and then I’ll come back and deal with whatever you’ve got.’

  The drawing office was busy with the draughtsmen carefully copying plans ready for the builders to take on site. It was several weeks since Emile had taken his design for a house off the Rue St Honoré to show Monsieur Balfour, the man who had commissioned it. Having eventually approved of what he had seen, Monsieur Balfour had decided to proceed and wanted the plans drawn up immediately so the work could begin as soon as the site was cleared. It was a good commission and Emile knew that if it went well it could attract similar design jobs. It would mean that he had to spend some time in Paris, but that did not worry him. Though he insisted that Rosalie and Louise should return to life at Belair, he knew that he himself would be happier away from the village for the foreseeable future.

  When he had in
spected the work, encouraging the draughtsmen to take exceptional care, he went back down to his office, where Forquet was waiting for him.

  ‘I see your chaise is waiting in the street,’ he said as Emile came back into the room. ‘Your groom is walking the horse.’

  ‘Send down to him,’ Emile said. ‘Tell him to come back for me this afternoon. It’s not good for the horse to stand all day. Tell him I shan’t be ready for him until at least three o’clock. I will eat at Le Coutelas. He may find me there.’

  Forquet sent an office boy down to Pierre with the message, and Emile saw him drive away before he gave his attention to Forquet and his questions.

  Pierre couldn’t believe his good fortune. He had been told earlier that they would be driving round the various sites where Emile had work in progress, and he had relinquished any hope of delivering Rupert’s letter to Annette that day; nor, he’d thought, would there be a chance to discuss its contents. But now Monsieur St Clair was held up in the office and did not want him to return until the afternoon, he had plenty of time. He drove the chaise to Le Coutelas in the next street, where he normally waited for Emile to send for him. He turned in under the sign of the cutlass that hung over the gate and left the horse with its nosebag and the chaise in the care of one of the ostlers. He would be back well before three to drive Emile home after he had eaten.

  Telling the ostler there would be a franc for him if he had the horse ready to be put to just before three, he set off on foot for the market. Annette was working with Benny at the stall and was delighted to see him.

  ‘What’s this then?’ demanded Benny. ‘Love’s young dream? Go on, off with the pair of you, but be back within the hour. Got some business to see to, right?’