September in Paris

by Andrea Blake

  “In English? Was she English?” Anne-Marie queried sharply.

  “I’m not sure.” There was a pause, then Luce said thoughtfully: “Now that you mention it, I believe she may have been. She certainly had the English type of coloring.”

  “Tall and slight, with a reddish tint in her hair?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Do you know her after all?”

  Anne-Marie’s knuckles showed white as she gripped the pale pink receiver, and her nostrils were quivering with annoyance. But her tone was coolly nonchalant as she said, “I expect she was one of Mark’s cousins. He mentioned something about his relatives coming over for a holiday this month.”

  “What a relief for you, cherie.” Luce spoke teasingly but not without a tinge of malice.

  “A relief?” Anne-Marie laughed. “My dear Luce I don’t know why you should think I concern myself. Mark is very attractive, but I don’t know that I could be too intense about him. If you must know, I’ve been trying to stave him off a little. The English are so madly possessive.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, and then Anne-Marie rang off and climbed out of the bath. As she reached for a thick rose-pink towel, her lower lip was clipped between her small, even teeth. She was almost certain that Mark’s companion at the theatre had been her sister’s English nanny. But for Luce’s reference to the elegant black lace dress she would have been sure of it.

  Wrapping the towel about her, she reached for a cigarette and snapped a shagreen lighter. Then, exhaling a stream of smoke, she remembered the basket of costly white roses which had come for the Webster girl some time ago. It was curiously coincidental that the roses should have come from a florist’s shop which she knew to be quite near to Mark’s flat.

  Suddenly she ground out the half-smoked cigarette and stared at herself in the mirror. Of course there was no question that Mark could be serious about that English chit. It was merely his nature to have these generous impulses. No doubt she had played on his sympathies and angled for an invitation. Yet the matter could not be too readily dismissed. If nothing worse, it showed that Mark was still not responding to her own lures.

  She let the towel fall and shrugged into a white nylon robe, pulling the bandeau from her hair. The thin nylon clung to her supple young body, and as she shook out her silky hair and fastened the sash close to her narrow waist her expression was serious and calculating. So far she had waited for Mark to take the initiative. But from now on the pace would have to be forced.

  While Anne-Marie was considering her future tactics, Noelle was wheeling the pram to the Parc Monceau. As she neared the park she saw Alain sitting in his car not far from the entrance.

  “Oh, Alain, I wish you wouldn’t come here,” she said worriedly, when he joined her. “The other nurses notice everything, and it’s extraordinary how far some nursery gossip can go.”

  “Where is the harm? I am only accompanying your walk,” he protested.

  “I know, but the grapevine has a way of distorting things. Life is complicated enough already,” she added, half to herself.

  “You say I mustn’t telephone or send notes—so how else am I to get in touch with you?” Alain said reasonably. “You are angry with me because for two weeks we do not have a rendezvous?” he asked, with an interested look.

  “No, of course not! I—I didn’t realize it was as long as that since we’d met,” Noelle answered quickly, and untruthfully.

  She had had a wretched night and felt jaded and edgy.

  “To me it has seemed much longer,” Alain said quietly. “When I saw you at the theatre last night—’ He broke off, frowning down at the path.

  They had reached the seat near where Robert liked to play. Fortunately it was empty. Noelle turned the pram away from the sun, gave Robert his ball and sat down.

  “I didn’t know you went about with that English fellow,” Alain said, when he had lit a Gauloise.

  “Last night was the first time,” she said, without expression. And doubtlessly the last, she thought with a pang. “Who was the ravishing creature in flame and diamonds?”

  “Are you jealous, petite?” For the first time since they had met, Alain looked amused and carefree.

  “Not at all—just curious,” Noelle said flatly.

  “I thought you would have recognized her from her photographs. It was Claudine Alexandras. We have begun the portrait. That is part of the reason why I have not seen you lately.”

  “Oh, is it going well?”

  “So far I have merely made a few preliminary sketches.” He smiled at her. “Don’t you wish to know the other reason?”

  “I suppose you’ve been busy.”

  He moved closer and, ignoring the fact that people might be watching them, reached for her hand.

  “Noelle ... I am in love with you,” he said huskily.

  Noelle stared at him in astonishment. Then, remembering where they were, she pulled her hand away and said lamely, “Oh, Alain, don’t be so absurd.”

  “Why is it absurd? There is nothing absurd about love.” He attempted to recapture her hand, but Noelle thrust them both in her pockets.

  “You can’t possibly be in love with me,” she said hurriedly.

  “But I am! For two weeks I have tried to pretend that it is not so, but last night, when I saw you looking so charming for another man, then I realized the truth of it. Believe me, I know when I am in love, cherie.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she answered dryly.

  “You mind that, for me, this is not the first time?” he asked furiously.

  “Of course I don’t mind. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Sweet Noelle,” he said softly, “I think that is what I find so attractive about you—that unawakened look, the touch of shyness.” He touched the curve of her cheek, his eyes very tender.

  “Alain ... for heaven’s sake!” Noelle shot an alarmed look up and down the path.

  “No, you are right. This is not a suitable place in which to make love. So, when can I see you privately, darling?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not only our being in the park ... it’s this whole thing,” she began worriedly. “I—I don’t want to be made love to, Alain. Not here ... or anywhere.”

  Another man might have been subdued by such bluntness, but Alain only laughed.

  “Very well. We will meet—but without making love. You are free tonight?”

  Noelle shook her head. “I was off duty last night. I don’t think I should see you again at all, Alain—not if you really mean this.”

  “Certainly I mean it, and I will make you believe me, mignonne,” he said smilingly. “You know, I think it was foolish of me to tell you in these circumstances. We should have had moonlight and wine and a very romantic atmosphere. With women these things are a necessary part of the occasion. Very well, I will arrange it. As soon as you are free we will dine at the Pavilion du Lac, and afterwards we will stroll by the lake in the moonlight. And then, my little English rose, I think you will not be afraid of love any more.”

  “Alain ... will you please listen to me,” she said desperately. “I am not afraid of love. I—I’m just not in love.”

  “Then I will have to make you in love,” he said teasingly. “Cherie, I think you are taking this affair of the housekeeper too seriously. She cannot observe your activities at every moment of the day, and even if she does find out about us, what use can she make of it? Why should the Tregans mind that you have a love affair?”

  Noelle wondered if he was feeling deliberately obtuse, or if it was inconceivable to him that his, feelings should not be reciprocated.

  At this point a loud bellow from Robert made her swing round. The little boy had been running along the path and had tripped and fallen on the gravel. He was more frightened than hurt, but his knees and palms were bleeding, and as soon as she had comforted him Noelle hoisted him into the foot of the pram and folded her own clean handkerchief and a pad of tissues over his grazed knees.

&n
bsp; “I can’t stay, Alain. I must get these cuts washed and dressed,” she said hurriedly.

  “But Noelle—”

  “I’ll ring you up when I’m free,” she promised hastily.

  Robert was still tearful and distressed when they reached the house, and he made a great fuss about having his injuries bathed. Since he often had tumbles but was usually quickly cheered, Noelle wondered if he was not feeling well. Her suspicion was confirmed when she heard him coughing in the night and found him half uncovered, with a damp forehead and runny nose.

  By morning it was clear that he had picked up a bad cold, and she decided to keep him in bed. Forty-eight hours later, when he was beginning to run a temperature and had a troublesome dry cough, she went to find Lady Tregan. The Tregan’s doctor agreed with Noelle that the little boy looked very much as if he might be coming down with measles, and next day Robert had the first pink patches behind his ears.

  In the days that followed, Noelle was much too busy to have time for personal dilemmas. While the rash was coming out Robert was a very sick little boy, and attending to him, and taking special precautions to keep the infection from Victoire, occupied all her time.

  A week later, when the fever had subsided and Noelle was no longer waking in the night to ease the cough with syrup, Lady Tregan sent for her. She had not been up to the nursery while her son was ill. Sir Robert, who had looked in every evening, had explained that his wife had never had the complaint, but Noelle could not help thinking, this a lame excuse for her absence.

  “Good morning, Nurse. How is Robert today?” her employer asked when she entered the drawing room.

  “Much better, madam. The doctor says he may go out tomorrow,” Noelle said coolly. She was thinking that it was better to be an orphan than to have a mother who lived in the same house but was virtually a stranger.

  “Yes, so I understand. Doctor Jouvet tells me you have been most efficient, although it would have been better if the illness could have been avoided.”

  “He must have caught it from one of the children in the park. He’s bound to have most of the childish complaints eventually,” Noelle said flatly.

  “Now that he is convalescent, Mr. Fielding has suggested—and I think it is an excellent idea—that a holiday in the country would be good for him,” Lady Tregan said. “Mr. Fielding knows a farm near Laigle where they have suitable accommodation, and he has very kindly offered to drive you there on Sunday. You may take the nurserymaid with you, and the people are on the telephone, so you can report to me each evening.”

  “I see. How long shall we be there, madam?”

  “Oh, two or three weeks—unless the weather becomes severe. You have no objections to the plan, have you?”

  “Oh ... no. No, I think it will do Robert good,” Noelle said quickly. She had been on the point of saying that three weeks of pottering round a farmyard and being able to get enjoyably grubby and dishevelled was just what the little boy needed. Then she had realized that Lady Tregan was unlikely to second such a view.

  It wasn’t until she got back to the nursery that Noelle began to consider Mark’s part in the scheme. She wondered how far Laigle was from Paris, and how long the journey would take.

  She was looking through Robert’s wardrobe, and thinking that he would need several pairs of dungarees and some gum boots, when Ginette came running into the nursery in great excitement.

  “This is for you, mademoiselle.” She thrust an envelope into Noelle’s hand. “It is a secret message from a gentleman in the street. He gave me five francs and told me it was very important, but no one must know about it.”

  Noelle bit her lip. She had realized at once that the note must come from Alain. The idiot! She had warned him of the need for discretion, but this cloak-and-dagger approach was worse than direct communication. Supposing he had stopped Michel instead of Ginette? The story would have been all over the household within half an hour.

  “You want me to take a reply?” Ginette asked eagerly, as Noelle slip open the envelope.

  Noelle shook her head and unfolded the single sheet of expensive grey paper and began to decipher Alain’s sprawling hand.

  Cherie, (he had written)

  I must see you at once. Surely you can slip out for an hour this evening. It is very important. I will wait for you at the corner at eight o’clock. Alain.

  “He is very handsome, your friend,” Ginette said, with interest. “And such a nice car! He is rich?”

  Noelle managed a laugh. “You can’t judge people by their cars, Ginette. He’s probably paying instalments on it.”

  She wondered if the girl would be able to keep the matter to herself, or if her delight at the idea of some romantic intrigue in progress would cause her to drop hints to the other servants.

  Deciding that she could only hope for the best in this respect, Noelle considered the problem of dealing with Alain. She certainly wasn’t going to slip out as he had suggested. On the other hand, she couldn’t just leave him in the air. To use the telephone meant asking Madame Duvet’s permission and probably having her listening in. Suddenly she remembered the pneumatique system by which messages could be sent all over the city from post office to post office, shooting, through tubes by compressed air propulsion.

  After lunch, when she took Victoire for her airing, she went to the nearest office and wrote to Alain explaining about Robert’s illness and the recuperative visit to the country. She hoped, she added, to see him when they returned. Knowing that his grandmother had recently gone south for the winter, she addressed the letter to his studio and handed it over to be weighed. Pneumatiques were delivered by express messenger as soon as they reached the office nearest their address, and the clerk behind the counter assured Noelle that hers should reach Alain within half an hour. The only snag was that he might not be at home to receive it.

  Robert was delighted at the prospect of a farm holiday. He had not yet regained his appetite and was pale and easily tired, but he bubbled with questions about the animals they would see and the things he would be allowed to do. However, Ginette did not share his enthusiasm. She had just acquired a new boy friend and was afraid that, if she was away for two or three weeks, some other girl would appropriate him. Rural life at this season did not appeal to her, and Noelle’s suggestion that there might be some nice youths on the farm was received with a toss of the head. Ginette considered herself a cut above country boys. Her Maurice was a garage mechanic, earning good money and with a high-powered motor cycle.

  On Sunday afternoon the little party made their departure by way of the front hall, where Sir Robert and his wife saw them off. It was the first time that Noelle had seen Mark since their evening at the theatre, but she managed to reply to his greeting without betraying any confusion. A few moments before they were ready to leave, Anne-Marie came running down the stairs. She was dressed in a tweed skirt and cream silk shirt, with an expensive suede jacket over her arm and suede moccasins.

  “I’m coming with you, Mark. I want to see this farm you like so much,” she said brightly.

  Mark rubbed his chin. “There won’t be too much room with four adults in the car,” he said doubtfully.

  “Oh, I don’t mind.” She folded a pale green scarf over her glossy dark hair and put on a pair of dark glasses.

  As Noelle had foreseen, it was not Anne-Marie who suffered from her addition to the party. She took the front seat with Mark, while Noelle and Ginette sat on either side of the Moses basket and Robert perched on Noelle’s lap.

  They had left the city behind them, and were on the main road to Chartres, when the baby woke up and began crying.

  “I think she’s thirsty. Could we stop for a moment, Mr. Fielding?” Noelle asked.

  “Of course.” He pulled the car on to a lay-by. Noelle gave Victoire some fruit juice and changed her nappy. Five minutes after they had started again, Robert began to wriggle.

  “At this rate we’ll never get there,” his aunt said shortly when Mark had bro
ught him back from behind a convenient hedge.

  “You come in front for a spell, Rob,” Mark said easily. “Noelle will get cramp if you sit on her all the way.”

  Noelle saw Anne-Marie glance sharply at him, and Ginette, too, looked surprised at his use of the Christian name.

  Robert was a tractable little boy, but he could not refrain from bouncing with excitement and asking innumerable, questions, and Noelle saw his aunt give him several irritated glances, although she did not say anything until he accidentally kicked her leg.

  “Now look what you have done, you naughty boy. My stocking is torn. Why can’t you sit still and behave?” she exclaimed crossly.

  Robert, alarmed by her tone and the menacing appearance of the sun-glasses above an angry mouth, began to cry.

  “Oh, mon dieu! What a child!”

  “He’d better come back here with me. I’ll put the basket on the floor, and Ginette can nurse Victoire to make more room,” Noelle said hastily.

  There was another halt while these rearrangements were made and peace restored. But it was not the last disturbance. A few kilometres further on Ginette suddenly announced that she was going to be sick.

  “Why didn’t she say she was car-sick? She could have travelled by train,” said Anne-Marie as they waited for the girl to reappear.

  Mark grinned at her. “Cheer up. We haven’t much further to go.”

  Since Anne-Marie was present from her own choice, and had probably contributed to Ginette’s nausea by smoking several Turkish cigarettes, Noelle felt that her petulant attitude deserved more censure than indulgence.

  “Would you mind holding Victoire, mademoiselle? I’d better go and see if Ginette is all right,” she said briskly.

  “I’ll take her.” Mark reached for the drowsy baby and settled her on his lap.

  They finally reached the farm a little after five o’clock. It was on the outskirts of a thatched and timbered village that reminded Noelle of Devonshire.

  “Now for some good Norman cooking,” Mark said cheerfully, as they drove into the yard.