September in Paris

by Andrea Blake

  Slipping into her shoes, she went to the window and drew aside the curtain. Yes, there was a car coming, its headlamps probing the almost torrential deluge. Wondering who it could be, and if she ought to call the Perigots, Noelle saw the car swing into the yard and the lights go out. As far as she knew, the only local person who had a car was the doctor in the next village. Perhaps the telephone wires had been torn down by the storm and he wanted to send a message from the farm. Or perhaps it was a stranger who had lost his way—although it was very late in the year for visitors to be driving through the remoter parts of Normandy.

  A rapping at the door roused her to action and, slipping hack the bolts, she turned the handle. The man in the streaming raincoat stepped quickly inside and helped her to heave it shut against the force of the wind. It was not until he had shot the top bolt, and raked back his wet dark hair, that she recognized him.

  “Mark!” she exclaimed in astonishment.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Whew! What a night!”

  He stripped off the drenched mackintosh and wiped the rain from his face with a handkerchief.

  “I would have arrived earlier, but I had to stop to give a hand with a breakdown. The Perigots are in bed, I suppose?”

  “Yes, they went up nearly an hour ago. I was listening to the radio,” she explained.

  “Lucky for me! It’s not the night for throwing stones at bedroom windows.”

  “I’ll make you some coffee,” Noelle said quickly. Then, taking in the state of his trouser legs: “Your shoes look soaked. Have you got any others with you?”

  “Some slippers.” He bent to open the grip which he had tossed into the kitchen before putting his shoulder to the door.

  Noelle filled the kettle at the sink. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d spend the week-end in the country. I didn’t bargain for this deluge.”

  “Madame Perigot didn’t mention that you were coming.”

  “I didn’t phone her. It wasn’t until this afternoon that I decided to come, and she’s used to me dropping over when I feel like it.”

  “I see. Would you like something to eat?” Noelle’s tone was no more than politely solicitous, but inwardly she was glowing. The troubled mood which had persisted since her parting with Alain was suddenly swept away by an upsurge of unreasonable happiness.

  “I could manage some bread and cheese if you know where it’s kept,” Mark said. “There’s no point in disturbing the Perigots. If they heard the car, they’ll know you’ve let me in.”

  Noelle fetched a loaf, a crock of butter, and some Pont l’Eveque, and attended to the coffee. She poured out two steaming mugfuls, then remembered to switch off the radio.

  “How have you been getting on since the weather broke?” Mark asked, cutting the loaf.

  “Oh, fine. Robert’s been learning to make pastry, and I’ve been catching up with some sewing. I don’t think Ginette is too happy. She isn’t used to the country.”

  “Are you?” he asked.

  “No, not really—although my training college was in semi-country. Perhaps, I’m more adaptable. Were you brought up in the country?”

  He nodded. “In Somerset. My mother’s people have a place near Glastonbury. We lived there during the war while my father was at sea. I suppose that’s why this part of France appeals to me. It’s like the West Country in many ways.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought the day you drove us here. I once had a holiday in South Devon, and I was reminded of it at once. Oh ... more coffee?”

  “Please.” He leaned back in his chair.

  Noelle realized suddenly that tonight, for the first time, she was not on the defensive with him. Perhaps it was because his arrival had been too unexpected for her to mentally arm herself against him. Or perhaps the snugness and intimacy of the homely kitchen induced a feeling of ease. She refilled her own cup and cradled it between her palms, listening to the wind and the rain. Mark lit a cigarette and let the cat leap neatly on to his lap and knead its paws on his sweater.

  “If it’s fine tomorrow, we might take Robert over to Deauville,” he suggested. “These autumn storms generally blow themselves out pretty quick.”

  “It sounds like the beginning of the Flood,” Noelle said wryly, as another blast of wind made the window frames creak. She went to the sink to rinse out their cups. “Where will you sleep?”

  “In my usual room. There are blankets in the cupboard, and I can do without sheets for one night.” He lit a candle and turned out the paraffin lamp.

  Half-way up the stairs a sudden draught extinguished the wavering flame. In the darkness Mark reached for Noelle and touched her shoulder. His hand slid down to hers, and he led her up to the landing before lighting the candle again with his cigarette lighter.

  There was a nightlight burning in a saucer of water just inside her room. Both children were still sleeping soundly.

  “I’ll fix the lamp in the bathroom for you. Don’t hurry. I’ve got to fix up my bed and unpack,” Mark said softly. He smiled at her in a way that made her heart lurch. “Goodnight.”

  Later, as she blew out the nightlight and climbed into bed, she could still feel the pressure of his fingers on hers, and the knowledge that he was only a few doors away, and that tomorrow they would probably have breakfast together, was, as exciting as an unexpected present.

  As Mark had forecast, by morning the storm had passed. But the sky was still grey and there was a sharp easterly wind. It was not a day for the seaside, Noelle thought regretfully as she looked from her window.

  Robert woke up while she was giving the baby her seven o’clock fruit juice, and as soon as he heard who was visiting them he scrambled out of bed and hurtled out on to the landing before she could stop him. She heard him rapping excitedly on the door at the end of the landing, and hoped Mark wouldn’t be annoyed at being roused so early.

  Noelle had not worn her uniform since they arrived at the farm, but today she slipped a new apricot sweater from its polythene bag and climbed into a pleated cream tweed skirt instead of her linen slacks. Looking in her trinket box for some leaf-shaped silver ear clips, she saw the twist of tissue paper containing Alain’s gold charm bracelet, and her face was momentarily shadowed.

  Presently Ginette came in. She must have heard Mark’s voice or seen him, as she said eagerly, “Monsieur Fielding is taking us back to Paris?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s here for the weekend,” Noelle explained.

  “Oh.” The French girl’s face fell. “We are staying here another week?”

  Noelle smiled at her. “Cheer up We shan’t be here for ever.”

  Ginette sighed, her shoulders sagging with depression. “It is so cold and dull. There is nothing to do.” She examined the contents of the jewellery box, her mouth down-curving and mutinous.”

  “If you like that brooch you can have it,” Noelle offered, hoping to cheer her up.

  Ginette brightened, and Noelle left her pinning the brooch to her blouse and went to fetch Robert.

  Tapping on Mark’s door, she called, “It’s time to get dressed, Robert.”

  The door was opened by Mark, already dressed.

  “I’m sorry if he woke you up. I was coping with Victoire and couldn’t grab him.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His glance took in her carefully brushed hair, the silver clips, sheer nylons and russet suede slippers.

  She wondered suddenly if it was obvious that she was dressed with particular care, and her color rose.

  At breakfast it began to rain again, although only slightly.

  “I think we’ll have to rule out my suggestion of last night,” Mark said quietly to Noelle. “It’ll be a bit bleak on the coast.”

  “I suppose if the weather stays chilly there’s not much point in our staying here,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Will you be glad to bet back to Paris.”

  Was it only her fancy, or was he watching her more closely?

&nbs
p; “I shan’t, but Ginette will. I wouldn’t mind staying here indefinitely.”

  “The country suits you,” he remarked. “You’ve lost some of that tautness.”

  “I suppose I’ve settled down. It always takes some weeks to get used to a new post,” she said casually.

  “Do you plan to stay in this one for long?”

  “I can’t say. It depends on whether I’m satisfactory, doesn’t it?”

  “I shouldn’t think that’s in much doubt.”

  It was still drizzling by the time Noelle had bathed the baby, and they had to spend the morning in the parlor playing Happy Families. But just before lunch Madame Perigot called Robert into the yard to see a rainbow. She and her husband were going to visit relations in the afternoon and since another little boy would be there, she offered to take Robert with her.

  “A good idea. Then we can go for a tramp,” Mark said to Noelle.

  So, after a formidable meal which had made her feel more like sleeping than going for a walk, Noelle took Robert upstairs to be spruced up. It was after three when the Perigots left in their van, and Mark and Noelle waved them goodbye from the yard. Noelle had changed into walking shoes and put on a raincoat, but the sky was clear now and the wind less sharp. They went through the orchard to a lane at the back of the farm. The wet grass shimmered in the sun, and there was a pleasant smell of damp earth.

  “I suppose this will be the last time I shall stay here—at least for several years,” Mark said suddenly.

  “You’re going away?” Noelle asked, startled.

  “I’m leaving for Rio next month.”

  For a moment she felt nothing; then a queer sense of emptiness.

  “Oh, really?” Strangely, her voice was quite normal. “I could have gone to Rio instead of coming here.” She told him about the Langleys.

  “So we might have met there instead,” he said, looking down at her. When she was in flat heels, the top of her head barely reached the level of his chin.

  “Perhaps. Are ... are you pleased about it?”

  “I shall be sorry to leave Sir Robert, but it’s a step up, and I’m told Brazil is a fascinating country.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure it is,” she said brightly. But the numbness was wearing off now and, in its place, came a sickly feeling of panic. Next month, he had said. A few more weeks in Paris, and then a plane or a ship to Rio ... half across the world. What happened when you fell in love with a man and he went away—five thousand miles away?

  “Robert will miss you terribly,” she said quickly, afraid that her face might be giving her away.

  “For a while, perhaps. Children forget pretty quickly. The next time, I see him he’ll probably be in long trousers.”

  And Victoire will be at school, or in charge of a governess, Noelle thought dully. I shall have left the Tregans and be with another family.

  They walked some way in silence until Noelle could bear it no longer.

  “You’ll miss all the worst of the winter,” she said abruptly. “It must be marvellous to live in a country of perpetual summer. I hate this time of year. It seems so long to the spring.”

  “Spring comes early in Paris,” he said cheerfully. The lane forked, one track leading to a gravel pit, the other narrowing and rising towards a small copse. They took the incline and skirted the trees. “Like to sit down? It seems fairly sheltered here,” Mark suggested.

  Noelle sat on a broad stump, and Mark dropped his worn Burberry on the ground and used the stump as a back rest. His shoulder was close to her knees, his crisp dark hair within inches of her hand.

  “See the farm over there?” He indicated the distant roofs among the orchards and lit a cigarette.

  “Yes, I see it,” Noelle said flatly. She had a feeling that, for a very long time to come, the scene before them would be indelibly printed on her memory—that, from now on, the autumn countryside would always bring painful reminders of the man at her side.

  “Come down on the mac. You’ll be more comfortable with something to lean on.” He reached up a hand to draw her down beside him.

  “No!” Instinctively, she snatched her arm away and almost jumped up. “I—I’m quite comfortable here ... thank you,” she stammered hurriedly.

  Mark’s eyebrows lifted and his stare was sardonic. “Getting edgy again?”

  Noelle flushed. “I was thinking and ... and you startled me.”

  “You seem to startle pretty easily.” He had settled himself again, and she could not see his face. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to face up to the facts?”

  “What facts?” she asked blankly.

  He gave her the cool keen look that always made her feel as if she were on trial and facing a cross-examination. Then he shrugged and turned away. “Let’s leave it, shall we?” He got to his feet.

  “But ... leave what?” she persisted. “I’m sorry, but I seem to have missed a point.”

  “We’ll get to it another time.” Without looking at her again he began to move off.

  They walked back to the farm in a silence that effectually destroyed all remnants of their earlier harmony. As soon as they reached the house, Noelle murmured something about attending to the baby and escaped upstairs. She felt like flinging herself on the bed and indulging in an orgy of defeated tears, but before she had taken off her raincoat Ginette appeared.

  The Perigots were back before dark. After she had put Robert to bed Noelle went downstairs for supper. She heard the farmer’s wife talking to Mark in the parlor, and thought Madame Perigot looked startled and slightly embarrassed as she turned through the doorway.

  “Oh, mademoiselle—I did not hear you coming down. Did you have a pleasant walk?” the Frenchwoman enquired cordially.

  “Delightful,” Noelle said tonelessly, not looking at Mark. “Can I do anything to help you, madame?”

  “No, no, you talk to Monsieur Fielding. I can manage.” She turned to go back to her kitchen, but Mark stopped her.

  “I think I had better get back to Paris after supper, madame,” he said briskly.

  “Tonight? But you usually stay until Monday.”

  “Yes, but I have a heavy day tomorrow, so I’d have to start out before six. It will be better to go tonight.”

  Madame Perigot spread her hands. “Whatever you wish, Monsieur Fielding. We are at your convenience.”

  Noelle thought she looked rather puzzled, and wondered what they had been talking about before she interrupted them. She was not left in doubt for long.

  As soon as his hostess was out of earshot Mark said coolly, “Madame tells me you had another visitor this week.”

  So that was it! Noelle wondered what exactly Madame had told him.

  “Yes, we did,” she agreed woodenly.

  “I gather it wasn’t too successful. Madame seems to have scented a lovers’ tiff,” he said silkily.

  Noelle let that pass. There seemed nothing to say, and she was suddenly inexpressibly tired. She braced herself to take another acid comment, but Mark let the subject drop, although several times during supper she found him watching her with a kind of cold derision in his eyes.

  He left immediately after the meal, shaking hands with the Perigots and giving Noelle a casual nod and a cool, “See you in Paris.”

  Two days later Noelle came back from a walk with Robert to find Ginette packing. To the nurserymaid’s relief, they had been summoned back to the city and Michel was coming to fetch them soon after lunch.

  He arrived early, before Noelle had changed her slacks and sweater for uniform, and his lips pursed in a soundless whistle as she came downstairs with a suitcase.

  “That is too heavy for you, mademoiselle.” As he took it from her, his fingers lingered over hers.

  “Good afternoon. We shan’t keep you waiting long,” she said coolly.

  “For you I do not mind waiting,” he said softly, grinning at her heightened color and hurried retreat.

  After the freedom of the country it took several days to adjust back t
o city life, and poor Robert found the Parc Monceau very tame fun after his adventures on the farm. Even Victoire was fretful, and gave Noelle several broken nights while she cut her first tooth.

  About ten days after their return, during which time there had been no sign of Mark in the nursery wing, Noelle had a whole day free. She decided to spend it on a visit to Chartres. It was a bright, mild day, and she put on a light jersey, suit but took her raincoat.

  The train was not crowded, and Noelle had a corner seat from which to admire the wooded scenery of the first part of the journey. But at this season the vast wheat-growing plain of the Beauce had a bleak and depressing aspect, and she was glad to reach her destination.

  After wandering round the streets for a while, she had an early lunch at the Hotel de la Poste and then strolled to the cathedral. It was a magnificent Gothic structure with unequal spires soaring into the sky, and the interior was equally impressive, the medieval stained-glass windows casting glowing pools of crimson and deep blue light on the worn flagstones. For a time as she sat in the nave and took it all in, she forgot her personal worries and was soothed and refreshed by the quiet and serenity of the atmosphere. Outside, the world went on and people worked and, worried and were sad or happy, but within these ancient walls time seemed to stand still for a while, and one could shelve one’s problems and lose all sense of haste.

  About an hour before she needed to walk to the station Noelle was sitting outside a cafe, sipping a glass of Cinzano, when someone said, “Good evening, mademoiselle.” Looking up, she found the chauffeur, Michel, standing beside her.

  It was the first time she had seen him without his spruce grey livery, and, partly because of this and because he was the last person she would have expected to encounter, it was a moment before she recognized him.

  “May I join you?” Before she could give her assent he had pulled out a chair, and was snapping his fingers at the waiter. “A pastis and another Cinzano for mademoiselle,” he ordered.