Finally Jeanette embraced Madeleine. “I don’t need to ask you to take good care of the children, my dear friend. I know you will.” And they stood for a moment looking at each other, remembering the not so distant past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE TRIP LASTED WELL over two days, and took them through the Swiss and Italian Alps. They changed trains once in Milan, then the train sped on across the Apennine Mountains. When the Milan-to-Rome express finally came to a halt in Rome, the Duprés were driven to the Excelsior Hotel, which would be their address for the next two weeks.
That night, amid the splendors of Rome, Etienne said, “Jeanette … do you have any idea what it means to me … that you love me?”
Somewhere in his voice, she thought, there seemed to be almost a plea, and she quickly said, “And do you know how much you mean to me …?” And meant it, at the same time knowing she would be … had been unfaithful to him. …Somehow she would, she had to, learn to live in two emotional worlds. She would be a good wife to Etienne … while still being the mistress of Jean-Paul … the father of her child. …And she would not only have Jean-Paul’s child, she’d also repay Etienne for his kindness and love and have children by him as well.
She fell in love with Rome. It seemed to have been there forever. She loved its cathedrals and museums, its fountains and its restaurants. All the glory of the Renaissance was reflected in its art. The only difficult moment came one day at the Spanish Steps. They were an agony for Etienne to walk down, but he was determined to do it. He attracted a great deal of attention, stepping down sideways in his slow, patient way. Jeanette, hating herself for it, nonetheless felt some embarrassment … and, again in spite of herself, felt herself becoming irritable their last night in Rome as they sat at a table in the magnificent dining room of the Excelsior Hotel, the champagne chilled to perfection, the dinner superb, and watched the other couples dancing, wishing that—
She pushed the dangerous thought from her mind, but it lingered—try as she might to eliminate it—just as it did during the next weeks in Florence and Venice, before, finally, returning home to Paris.
To Paris, and to …
On the second night of their return to Paris, the newly-weds were honored at dinner. Madame had invited only an intimate group of relatives and friends. Jean-Paul, naturally, was among them.
When they adjourned to the small salon for coffee and brandy, Etienne wanted to join the bridge players. Since Jeanette hadn’t yet learned to play, she walked across the hall to the large salon, sat down at the piano and started to play a Chopin waltz. Jean-Paul soon joined her.
“Did you miss me?” he said.
“Yes,” and did not look up from her playing.
“Very much?”
“Yes … please, not tonight, we can’t talk now …”
“I’ve taken an apartment, I know you’ll like it …” and he wrote down the address, tucking the slip of paper into the cleavage between her breasts (the owner asserting ownership). He described the balcony that looked out on the Eiffel Tower, and the magic of the lights that enhanced their city by night. …They would share it together. …There, in their hideaway, all of Paris would belong to them.
The next afternoon Jeanette took special pains with her appearance. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the thin straps on her satin slip. When she had finished, she put the sable coat over her slender shoulders and picked up a box containing a dress she wished to have altered.
She went to the library, where Etienne was hard at work on the estate accounts. He looked up from the desk.
“You look especially delicious, and where are you off to?”
“Only a few errands, darling … but this is Paris, after all, and one should try one’s best to match her beauty.” A too pretty speech, she thought, and hurried on with, “I’ll be back long before dinner.” She kissed him and left.
Getting into the limousine, she told André to drive her to Dior’s, and he needn’t wait, she’d either call to be picked up later or take a taxi home, she wasn’t yet certain which. Once inside the salon, she waited until André drove off, then immediately she walked out to the street and hailed a taxi that drove her to Jean-Paul.
He was waiting. She had hardly knocked when he opened the door, took her in his arms, kissed her and lifted her off the ground, kicking the door shut with his foot. It was the same for her … the nearly mindless, helpless frenzy she felt with him almost from the first … as he carried her to the bedroom, her coat falling from her shoulders to the floor in a heap. Their lips still together, he unbuttoned the back of her dress, released the shoulder straps of the slip and slid it from her body. He unbuttoned the fastening of the tiny lace bra as she hastily untied the sash of his dressing gown, under which he was naked. As they clung together, she felt his hardness touch her. He kissed her distended nipples, her abdomen, and beyond. Finally he spread his legs out and she lay beneath him. She wanted him as never before. As he entered her she moaned.
“Jean-Paul … oh God …” And then he was entering her, thrusting, turning, and in the final moment before the culmination, he whispered, his voice rasping, “Too long, away too long … belong here … with me … don’t forget it …”
Spent and exhilarated at the same time, she lay back now in his arms, content not to talk, only to luxuriate.
Not so Jean-Paul, whose “curiosity” about her time with Etienne was still very much alive. “Last night you didn’t want to talk. …Now tell me.”
She hesitated. “Jean-Paul, you know what I feel for you, but please, I ask you to also make it possible for me to have this life with you. And for that …well, I ask you not to question me about my life with Etienne. …”
He looked at her, trying to camouflage the anger he felt. …However, he had to concede, unreasonable though it might be. “It’s merely that I am concerned about your feelings, how you are managing in a difficult situation—”
“I realize that, darling, but when we’re together like this, here in this lovely place, I don’t want to talk about anything but us, to think about anybody but us. This is a special world that belongs to us, and when we’re here, there isn’t any world outside. …”
All his diplomatic training did little to modify his feeling of distinct unease. It seemed, he suspected, that the lady wanted to share his body but her life belonged to his precious little brother … except wasn’t that precisely the arrangement he’d wanted …? He wasn’t being too consistent, he told himself, for a gentleman whose career was one of opportunistic reason. And, telling himself that, it did no good at all.
“Please understand,” she was saying, “I do have to leave you and go back to … him. At least while we’re together let’s please pretend that only you and I exist,” (not adding that otherwise they might not be able to exist at all).
He smiled. “I surrender, as a good diplomat should when in a cul-de-sac. But I surely am permitted to ask how you are feeling … the morning sickness, have you had any?”
“Yes, but thank God I’ve been able to get to the bathroom before it became too bad—”
“And when will you tell Etienne?”
“Tomorrow, I think. After I see the doctor. …”
He felt immensely pleased, concentrating once again on the original guiding purpose behind this whole arrangement that he had so skillfully arranged. And, almost to himself, he said, “A son, soon I will have a son and—”
She laughed. “And how are you so certain it will be a son? Maybe it will be a lovely baby girl—”
“No. My first child will be a son.”
“Very well, sir, if you say so, and now I really must …”
“You really must stop talking,” he said, drawing her close to him, “and only think of how you are going to be my son’s mother, and always are going to belong to me. …” And he made love to her once more, as though to prove his argument.
Afterward, when it was nearly past the time to go, she felt a slight dizziness as she dressed
to return to Etienne, looking as well groomed as when she had left him. And later, at dinner, she could honestly say—indeed she welcomed it as an escape—that she did not feel well and would she be forgiven if she went to bed early? Madame expressed concern and hoped she would feel better. Etienne took her upstairs, leaving Jean-Paul alone in the salon with his mother.
“How is Marie Jacqueline?” Madame said. “It’s a pity she can’t be with us—”
“I know, Mother, but as you realize, she really isn’t well at all … I’m afraid her allergies are even worse. Mother, I’ve done everything I can think of … doctors, everything …”
“Jean-Paul, I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but can’t you somehow persuade her to get out of the house? She’s become so withdrawn. I noticed it in Provence this summer. She scarcely left her room. Can’t something be done?”
“No, Mother, I’m afraid not …”
Madame sighed. “Such a pity …”
The next morning Jeanette knocked on her mother-in-law’s door.
“Come in, my dear. How are you this morning?”
“I’m not sure, Mother. I didn’t feel or sleep well last night, and I feel slightly ill this morning.”
Madame’s face lit up. “What do you mean by ill? Please give me the symptoms.”
“Well … I feel a slight nausea—”
“Oh, my dear … I do think we must make an appointment for you to see our doctor.”
“But why—”
“To see if you are pregnant, of course. You are, after all, a bride, a married woman … and married women eventually become mothers.”
Jeanette, feeling almost like another person, outside of herself, watching herself perform, looked properly surprised. “But we’ve been married so short a time.”
Madame laughed happily at her new daughter’s charming naiveté. It can happen, I assure you, very quickly, my dear.” She immediately reached for the telephone and called Dr. Bernier’s number, which she knew well from memory. She had called him often enough through the years. An appointment was made for two o’clock that afternoon. “I’ll go with you,” she added.
Jeanette very much preferred to go alone, but quickly, eagerly, answered, “Would you? That would be a great comfort But, Mother, let’s not say anything to Etienne until we’re completely sure. He might be so disappointed if—”
“You’re absolutely right. We won’t say a thing. But imagine his joy if it’s true.”
“Oh yes. I pray he will be …”
Madame waited in the reception room, hoping against hope that her Etienne would now have what she had always most wanted for him … and for herself. …
After the examination Jeanette sat across from Dr. Bernier.
“Well, my dear,” he said, “I believe you are going to be a mother.”
“Are you sure?”
“Almost certain. Of course we will run tests to be on the safe side, but you seem to be at least two months along—”
Jeanette clenched the arms of the chair. “That’s impossible. We were married less than a month ago.”
He looked at her, frowned slightly and said, “Oh … well, your uterus appears to be somewhat large for so short a time—”
“I don’t see how it can be that far along.” The color had drained from her face.
He sat back, took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. He knew very well that she was more than a month into her pregnancy. He’d been practicing too long not to realize what the situation was. Either the child had not been conceived by Etienne, or the couple had had premarital relations. In any case, he’d been a trusted friend and doctor to the Duprés for a very long time. What he wrote in his records would be discreetly worded.
He put on his glasses again and smiled at the young woman sitting across from him, knowing how she must feel at being discovered. “Perhaps I’m mistaken about the time … this soon, it’s difficult to make a categorical statement about that. But I must tell you there’s little question that you are pregnant.”
She looked away, on the edge of tears. What if Dr. Bernier confided in the family? Oh please, God, I beg you, even though I’m not deserving, please … help me …
God, or his equivalent at the moment, answered sooner than expected, as Dr. Bernier said, “In any event, you need not worry, Madame Dupré. Premature, seven-month babies do very well.”
She looked up at him gratefully, even though she knew he was protecting her to protect the sensibilities of the Duprés. Whatever, he had her undying thanks. Next he discussed the necessity of prenatal care, and set up appointments for monthly visits. Then, his arm around her shoulders, he walked her back to the reception room, where he greeted Madame. “Well, my dear Madame Dupré, it seems you’re going to be blessed with another grandchild. My congratulations to you and to Etienne. I’m sure our young mother will come through splendidly. …”
Madame was delighted … Etienne would be a father, and nothing would be spared in Jeanette’s behalf. …
Madame left it for Jeanette, of course, to break the news to Etienne, and Jeanette waited until they retired to their bedroom for the night. “Etienne …? I have some news … good news to tell you.”
“Yes?”
She swallowed hard, moistened her lips and began, “Maman and I paid a visit to Dr. Bernier today.”
“The obstetrician?”
“Yes, Etienne …”
He seemed unable—or unwilling?—to grasp the logical inference. Her heart was pounding. Did he suspect? But how could he? No, she chastised herself, she was allowing her mind to play games, born out of her own guilt. More likely it was the suddenness of the reality of impending fatherhood so soon after their marriage. …
“Etienne, we’re going to have a child.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then he frowned and shook his head, as though he couldn’t possibly have heard right Then he looked at her again. “A child?” he said.
“Yes. A child. We’re going to have a child.”
He was incredulous. A deep blush colored his face at the same time his eyes brightened with joy. He grinned. Jeanette believed that she’d never before seen him look so happy. He knelt down in front of her and put his head in her lap. “You’ve brought us so much happiness, and now this …”
She cried softly from the release of her own anxiety. “I hope I can always make you happy.”
“Have no fears on that, my dearest. You have already given me more than any man has the right to dare hope for.”
And when they retired that evening, he held her in his arms with a special mixture of tenderness and strength … lover and proud possessor.
Life, by its own invention, tended to settle into a pattern of schedules and routines. Both Etienne and Jeanette were early risers. Most mornings she put on a casual dressing gown and the two of them had breakfast alone, leisurely, since it was Madame’s habit to sleep late and have breakfast served to her. They took that meal in the morning room. Jeanette loved this room best of all. It was filled with plants and ferns of all sizes. The double doors opened onto a garden that even in winter was enchanting. She adored the green dining table and the chairbacks on which had been carved baskets of flowers, painted in colors. Here, it always seemed like spring. The pictures on the walls were of flowers, most of them painted by Etienne. The floors were parquet squares, high polished, in the center of which lay an oval Brussels rug. The border was wide, and the design an exact replica of the chair-backs.
When they finished eating, Etienne usually went to the library and read the morning paper. Jeanette went to the children’s room, making sure to see Lucien before he went off to school. Then Madeleine attended to her chores, as Jeanette sat with Nicole, going over her lessons, while Desirée played house with her dolls.
Many mornings Etienne would come in later, sitting quietly and with pride as Jeanette bent over the table, intent on the girls’ instruction. Desirée was beginning to read simple books with pictures. S
he was very bright and so keen that after reading a story once or twice she could recite it by heart. It was all Jeanette could do to restrain from squeezing Desirée affectionately as the cadence of her gentle, sweet voice rose and fell. And for a half hour each day the little girls had their piano lessons. Both children showed promise of becoming accomplished, but of the two, Desirée displayed the more exceptional talent, her pudgy fingers playing back and forth over the gleaming, responsive keys.
At noon, Jeanette would go to her room and dress for the day, then lunch with Etienne and Madame. She ate very sparingly now. In fact, she dieted strenuously. Of course, she took her vitamins and calcium tablets, plus milk, which the doctor had stressed to her, but she wanted to gain very little weight during the pregnancy, making sure the unborn child would not be too large for a babe supposedly born in the seventh month.
Madame objected heartily, insisting that Jeanette was not eating enough for two. Madame believed that expectant mothers should indulge, it was their duty. But Jeanette was ready with the excuse that since her pregnancy, food tended rather easily to upset her. It was sheer torture, though … always being famished, and at bedtime she reluctantly indulged herself with a glass of hot milk and crackers in order to sleep.
On the appointed afternoon she dressed as usual, eliminating the satin slip under the wool dress … Jean-Paul was always so anxious at their rendezvous, she accommodated him—and, to be honest, herself—by wearing as little as possible. Putting the key in the lock, she felt the by now too familiar rush of undeniable excitement, anticipating his taking her in his arms, making her feel what she both craved and hated … except this time it was tinged with a sense of fear as she stepped across the threshold. Usually Jean-Paul met her at the door. Something was -wrong today, she knew it. After pouring herself a brandy, she looked out at the bleak winter day, at the Eiffel Tower just beyond, shivering as she pulled her coat more snugly around her. After waiting a half hour, she went to the telephone and called his home.
Days of Winter Page 33