'You appear to come from a very talented family, mademoiselle,' the countess said politely during a small gap in Wanda's discourse.
'Your mother an artist, your father a poet and your aunt a writer.
You are also talented?'
'I'm afraid not, madame,' Lucy said quietly. 'I don't seem to be gifted at all.' Veronique Chabrol looked as if she was greatly relieved to hear it but the count cut in in his ruthless way.
'Mademoiselle Balfour is a helper,' he murmured sardonically. 'She has ministered to her mother and father and now she does the same thing for her aunt. It is the normal function of the less talented when surrounded by gifted people is it not, mademoiselle?'
'I have no idea, monsieur,' Lucy said quietly, ignoring his insulting tone, and deciding to be prim. 'I've never lived close to anyone who did not profess some talent.'
'Lucinda wouldn't even know it if she had talent,' Wanda announced vigorously. 'She's always been willing to give her own life up for other people. It's the way she was brought up. She's such a mouse, aren't you, my dear?'
Wanda said it all with a smile, a steamroller as usual, her hand patting Lucy's cold fingers. Veronique Chabrol frowned quite alarmingly but the count simply regarded Lucy with ironic interest, not at all concerned that his remarks had led to this. In any case, she was too cold to blush. It was Veronique who took over firmly. A servant came in and handed a shawl to her and the countess promptly handed it on to the count.
'It takes no talent to freeze,' she said tartly. 'Pass this shawl to Mademoiselle Balfour, Guy. I assume you have not invited her here in order to watch her catch pneumonia in this draughty place?'
He didn't pass it on. Instead he got up and walked over to Lucy, carefully draping the shawl around her, his hands lingering on her slender shoulders.
'Je suis vraiment desole, mademoiselle,' he murmured. 'I had not noticed that you were so cold.'
'I'm quite all right, thank you,' Lucy said quickly, wanting him to go away. He was very alarming close up and as he bent over her she had the frightened feeling that she was merely some pawn in a plan she knew nothing about. If every evening was to be like this then she would have to invent some excuse to stay out of it. She would have gladly called herself a servant and eaten with them but she didn't appear to be very popular in that direction either.
She looked out of the window now, though, and had her first glimpse of the surrounding countryside in real daylight. It was certainly beautiful and there was no sign of any other building at all.
The Chateau de Rochaine gazed menacingly out across the softly wooded hills and, looking down at the surrounding water in the morning sunlight, Lucy could see that it was quite deep, probably the old moat, because there was no doubt at all that this had been a fortress and to her it seemed to be one now, a place of captivity.
There was a sharp knock on her door and, when she answered it, Lucy found herself facing Guy Chabrol. He was leaning elegantly against the deep frame of the door and his eyes captured hers instantly. He was wearing a sporty-looking jacket and tan trousers, a high-necked white sweater making him look darker than ever, and he seemed to be in a good mood.
'I have come to escort you to breakfast, mademoiselle.'
His eyes moved, slipping over her coolly, as he made this announcement. This morning she was not about to be caught out as
she had been last night. She was wearing a thick jumper and a tweedy skirt, another short one as she didn't possess a skirt that was both long and warm.
He just went on looking at her, summing her up, and she felt almost hypnotised. He was very annoying and her lips tightened crossly.
'Thank you,' she managed. 'I should go to my aunt though.'
'Why? Do you also dress her? Surely she can manage to find her own clothes?' He took her arm to lead her off, infuriatingly arrogant.
'I don't dress her, monsieur. 1 merely thought she would never find her way downstairs in this place.'
'And you would?' he enquired derisively, ignoring her sharp tone and leading her on with no relaxing of his grip. 'You would probably have ended up in one of the towers and stayed there for weeks. In any case, I have dispatched a servant to bring your aunt down to breakfast.'
'The servant could have collected me too,' Lucy snapped, forgetting to be polite to their host in her fury at his arrogance. The moment he appeared he made her blood boil. He was so imperious, so effortlessly haughty!
'I was passing.' He shrugged dismissively and then looked down at her with something close to amusement. 'This morning you are less of a mouse, mademoiselle. You are transformed into a shrew?'
'You have no right to insult me, monsieur!' Lucy stopped and looked up at him angrily but he continued to regard her steadily, his dark eyes narrowed at this display of temper.
'You reserve that right for your aunt, mademoiselle? She is accustomed to sharpening her rather spiteful wits on you?'
Lucy looked up at him with enormous blue eyes. 'She's not spiteful.
If you're talking about last night... She just doesn't think sometimes.'
'You mean, she opens her mouth and words fall out?'
'She gets very enthusiastic. If you have a bad opinion of her -'
'I keep my opinions to myself, mademoiselle.'
'Except when they're about me,' Lucy reminded him angrily. 'You despise me and you despise my aunt too. Why did you let her talk you into having us here?'
'I do not let anyone talk me into anything, mademoiselle,' he said quietly, staring down at her. 'Surely your aunt is famous? It is very good to have my family catalogued for the future by such a woman,
n'est-ce pas?'
'You know perfectly well that she's not famous,' Lucy accused.
'Your family are probably written into French history. Even if they weren't, you wouldn't have chosen my aunt. Someone like you would have chosen a really famous person who would have been honoured to do it.'
'Honoured? You flatter me, mademoiselle. I understand from your aunt that she has written about many families of the French nobility, some of whom I know. You are telling me that she is a fraud?'
'I'm not telling you anything,' Lucy fumed. 'I'm just suspicious.'
'Ah! You imagine that I am Bluebeard? I assure you that if I had been so inclined I would have gone about it in the usual way. Let us proceed.' His hand came back to her arm but Lucy sprang away.
'Please don't touch me!'
The amusement died from his eyes and Lucy felt colour flare under her skin.
'I am merely being polite,' he assured her quietly. 'Do not be afraid of me. I would not like that.'
'I'm not afraid of you,' Lucy lied gallantly, her head tossed back.
'Then control your trembling legs and we will proceed.' His hand came back to her arm and she didn't seem to have any alternative.
'You have read your aunt's books?' he enquired after a while when they seemed to be still nowhere near the lower rooms.
'One,' she informed him briefly, not prepared to give an inch.
'Yes, one would probably be enough,' he murmured scathingly, changing the subject then with ease. 'You slept well?'
'Hardly at all, monsieur. I was cold.'
'Once again, I am desolate, mademoiselle. Tonight I will arrange for you to be warm. I do not intend to punish you.'
'Punish me? Why should you do that?' Lucy swung round again to face him as they reached the vast, tiled hall and he looked down at her wryly, his well-delineated lips curved downwards in amusement.
'It was perhaps a lack of understanding of your language,' he said smoothly. 'I am wondering, mademoiselle, why I am at the receiving end of this temper of yours today. Perhaps it is because you have spent a cold and uncomfortable night? I must see that it does not happen again. You are much more acceptable as a mouse.'
He pushed open a door and she had no time to reply because both the countess and her aunt were already there and the sight of them seemed to bring her to her senses. How had she dared speak t
o Guy Chabrol like that? She shot him a worried look and then hastily got on with her breakfast. He was busy watching her intently, so intently that he didn't answer when her aunt spoke to him. Wanda had to say the same thing twice but that never bothered her; she had a certain expertise in that line.
Veronique Chabrol frowned on everyone and then an old butler came in and frowned too. The count kept on staring at her and she shrank into her easiest role. It was definitely safer to be a mouse.
She would have to try and remember that.
Breakfast over, the count seemed to be determined that work would begin at once.
'I will show you the old library,' he informed her aunt. "It is on the ground floor and quite close so you will have no trouble finding your way about. A few days and you will also be able to negotiate the passages to your rooms. I assume, madame, that this work will take some considerable time?'
Lucy was interested. A similar question from herself to her aunt had brought forth a strange smile and a strange reply. This time, though, Wanda was quite straightforward.
'It will depend on the books, monsieur, and the papers. If everything necessary is there I will be able to read and take notes with some speed. Lucinda and I will not be in your way for very long. She is a good typist and -'
'You are not in my way, madame,' he said quietly. 'I am very happy to have you here. It is a great stroke of good fortune. As to your niece, I find Mademoiselle Balfour quite charming.'
Lucy didn't know which one of them looked at him with the greatest suspicion; her aunt, his stepmother or herself. The count, however, looked at Lucy, that certain indefinable something once again at the back of those stunning dark eyes, and she was very glad to follow her aunt as he led the way to the library.
It was situated on a long dark passage—a feature that seemed to dominate the chateau—but once inside the darkness disappeared.
The floor was covered in brilliantly coloured tiles, the walls hung with old tapestries which were still vivid despite their age. Sunlight streamed in at the windows, giving the old room a very airy appearance, and, although Wanda immediately turned to the books with an almost zealous speed, Lucy stood and looked round the room, admiring it, her eyes going to the long windows and then to the high ceiling, which was wooden and painted with the colours that predominated in the tapestries.
'You did not expect this, mademoiselle'!' Guy Chabrol asked quietly when he saw her smiling face.
'No,' she murmured truthfully. 'I expected darkness, dust and a certain amount of decay.'
'Mon Dieu!' He looked at her in amused surprise. 'The books are priceless. There is no decay, mademoiselle. I am a financier and not exactly given to neglecting things that are either valuable or works of art. You find the chateau dirty and dusty? I will dismiss the servants.'
'I don't find the chateau either dirty or dusty,' Lucy got out hastily.
He looked capable of carrying out any threat. Maybe that was why the servants looked so grim. 'It's very beautiful, though a little daunting. For me it's just too big and too cold.'
'The cold can be remedied, mademoiselle. The size, I am afraid, is a fact of life. You will become accustomed to it.'
'We'll be gone, monsieur, before that happens,' Lucy murmured hopefully, but he did not answer that remark, and when she looked up his eyes were keenly on her aunt, who was now completely silent, her glance riveted on the old leather-bound books that lined the room to the ceiling.
Halfway up the room a gallery with wrought-iron rails made the upper books more accessible but, even so, the room was so high and there were so many books that a short ladder was necessary to reach the top of the lower half.
'I will leave you to it, madame,' the count said quietly, and Lucy thought her aunt had not heard at all, for certainly she did not answer and Lucy answered for her.
'Thank you, monsieur.'
It gained her an ironic look. 'Ah! You are back in your role as professional shadow. You will not be disturbed here. Let me know if there is anything you need.'
Lucy turned to her aunt when the door had closed behind Guy Chabrol. By this time, Wanda was moving excitedly along the upper gallery, nothing on her mind but books.
'What do you want me to do, Aunt Wanda?' She had to speak twice before she gained her aunt's attention and then it was only vaguely given.
'Oh—er—nothing, Lucinda. I'll have to really look around before I know where to begin.' She stared down at Lucy as if she wasn't quite seeing her and then her eyes strayed to the sunlit windows. 'Er—
we'll need good photographs for the illustrations. I never have them
taken professionally. It's too expensive. You can make a start on that as we have such a sunny day. Yes, make a start on that, different angles of the chateau. There's a good camera in my room, top drawer by the bed.'
Wanda turned away and Lucy went on looking at her in surprise. It was quite clear that her aunt had forgotten that she was there at all.
She had never thought that her aunt would be so involved with her work. The books she had written, if the one that Lucy had read was a normal example, were very superficial and did not look particularly well researched. As to the photographs, her own irritation as she had read her aunt's book and seen the illustrations was now explained. She went out into the passage, her mind pondering on it, a little frustrated frown on her face when she realised she would have to find her aunt's bedroom all by herself.
A very daunting-looking woman materialised out of the shadows and Lucy pounced on her, searching quickly for her few words of French.
'Er —la chambre de Madame Balfour, s'il vous plait,' she managed with a firmness that came mostly from anxiety at the idea of being lost in this great place and ending up in one of the towers that Guy Chabrol had spoken of.
All she got for a moment was a haughty look.
'I am Madame Gatien, the housekeeper, mademoiselle. I speak English. I will get a servant to escort you and bring you back down should you wish it.'
Lucy wondered what the difference was in this haughty woman's mind between being a servant and being a housekeeper. She just nodded her thanks, though, and followed a very tight-faced girl upstairs to her aunt's room. Why were they all so angry-looking?
They probably took their cue from the count. The chateau wasn't the only thing here that was cold!
It wasn't cold outside. With the camera over her shoulder Lucy made her way to the front of the chateau and walked across the wide, gravelled drive. She leaned over the balustrade and looked down at the water, shivering a little when she saw how still it was, how deep- looking, and she was glad to move away.
She began to look around for possible shots, the sun warm on her arms through the sweater she wore. It was much better out here than in the chateau and it would be a good idea to make the most of it.
She wandered round the side of the building, still stunned at its size, but her enthusiasm for her new occupation growing by the minute.
It was not easy to take shots so close to such a mighty structure and she wandered well away from it, intrigued when her eyes fell on a square block of buildings some small distance from the chateau itself. A few photographs from there would be useful; perhaps if she climbed one of the walls by the stone steps she would see it from a better angle. Besides, she was now in an exploring mood and it was a good excuse.
A walk across a cobbled courtyard and a narrow field brought her to the foot of the white walls and she began to climb carefully up the stone steps cut into the side. It was a bit tricky and she had to cling to the wall. They were not now as secure as they had been centuries ago— many were crumbling—but she managed quite well and stopped halfway up to survey the scene. Shots from here would be reasonably good. She was determined to produce something more professional than her aunt seemed to achieve.
Before she had time to get the camera out of its case, however, a noise had her almost freezing into stillness, her heart beginning to pound frantically as Guy Chabrol came out of
the building leading a
horse, his earlier outfit discarded for riding gear, only the white high-necked sweater the same.
Lucy flattened herself against the wall, hoping he wouldn't notice her. It now seemed to be a very odd thing to do, to climb this wall and cling there, and she could imagine what he would say in that sardonic voice if he saw her. She felt guilty and foolish, irritated beyond words that she had landed herself in this situation and she pressed against the wall more tightly, almost hovering over him, hardly daring to breathe.
It was not her lucky day. He glanced up as he was preparing to mount and stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw her suspended halfway up the wall, so very obviously hiding. She couldn't think of a thing to say and he just went on staring up at her, saying nothing whatever until her face flushed painfully and she started to come back down, to explain her odd behaviour. But the shock of seeing him and her very precarious footing combined to make her slip, panic on her face as she felt herself falling.
He moved fast, catching her as she slid from the wall, her impetus knocking them both to the ground rather alarmingly near to the irritated horse. Lucy felt unable to move, all the breath knocked from her even though his arms had caught her and he had taken the full impact of the fall.
He made no attempt to move. For a second he just lay there staring up at the sky and then he turned his head to stare at her as she rested uneasily half across his body. It was a very powerful body, packed with taut muscle, and breathing became more difficult still as she looked into his narrowed eyes. She was sure he was trying not to laugh and it made things much worse. It was a great relief when he decided to speak.
'I ask myself what is wrong with you, mademoiselle? I give consideration to the idea that there is insanity in your family,' he murmured, his dark brows raised quizzically. 'Your behaviour is often strange but, now, you surpass yourself. You think that like the mouse you can run up a wall, eh?'
The Gift of Loving Page 3