September in Paris

by Andrea Blake

  “How long is it since you last saw the patient, mademoiselle?”

  “Oh ... several weeks.”

  “And you parted on terms of some acrimony.”

  “Not exactly. I told Alain that ... that I didn’t feel as he did, and he accepted it.”

  “Ah, but there you are wrong, mademoiselle. It is clear to us that his affections are still deeply engaged. He may have wished to accept your decision, but he has not succeeded. In his delirium during the night he has repeatedly begged you to marry him.”

  “To marry him?” Noelle exclaimed. Then a rush of color swept up from her throat as she saw the doctor’s expression.

  “I see that surprises you,” he said, nodding. “I may assume perhaps that, before you parted from him, the question of marriage had not arisen.” Before she could answer he put his hand on her arm and said kindly, “One does not work in hospitals for many years without becoming something of a student of human nature, mademoiselle. As it happens, I am not entirely ignorant of my patient’s past history. He is an acquaintance of my son. Now, I have one more question. Do you also wish to marry this young man?”

  Noelle looked down at her hands. “No, doctor,” she answered in a low voice.

  The Frenchman took out his spectacles and began to polish the lenses with an immaculate linen handkerchief.

  “In the circumstances, that is unfortunate—most unfortunate,” he said slowly. “I will be quite frank with you, mademoiselle. De Bressac has been gravely injured, but he is a young man and—perhaps somewhat surprisingly—in remarkable good condition. Ordinarily, one would be inclined to an optimistic prognosis. However, as in most cases, the patient’s state of mind is a most important factor. If de Bressac’s mind can be put at rest, then I would expect him to be out of our hands in a matter of weeks. But if he continues in his present disturbed condition, recovery will be very much slower.”

  He finished buffing his glasses and slipped them on again. “Now, mademoiselle,” he said, with a penetrating look, “I want you to put your own feelings to one side for the moment. For the sake of whatever warmth you have felt for him in the past, I want you to do your utmost to restore the patient’s peace of mind.”

  It was a moment before the full implication registered. “You mean you want me to ... to agree to marry him?” she asked blankly.

  “Precisely, mademoiselle. Believe me, I would not ask this of you if I did not consider it essential.”

  “But I can’t!” she protested wildly. “What good will it do to lie to him? Oh, no—I couldn’t do it!”

  “It does not concern you that he is gravely ill?”

  “Of course it concerns me,” she said indignantly. “But to ask me to make a promise that I can never carry out—” She finished the sentence with a distracted gesture.

  “This whole matter has come as a shock to you. You need time to collect your thoughts,” Doctor Charvet said quietly. “Although, to be frank, mademoiselle, I find it difficult to understand your repugnance at my suggestion. Such a ... a subterfuge would be necessary only until de Bressac is ‘out of the woods’, as you say in England. Indeed, it is more than possible that he will remember nothing about it. It is the nature of his injuries to be partially conscious of what is going on around him, but later, when he recovers, he will have little recollection of this period.”

  “But if he does remember, I would have to tell him that it was all a pretence,” Noelle retorted. “I don’t think he’d thank you for that, doctor.”

  The Frenchman tugged at his beard for several moments. “Very well. If you are adamant in your refusal, I cannot force you to agree,” he said finally. “It is possible that merely seeing you may be of some value. At any rate, it is the best we can do for him, apparently. Come, I will take you up.”

  Mark rose from a bench as Noelle came into the hallway, but, if he had intended to speak to her, the doctor waved him back and led her towards the lifts. Alain had been put in a small room at the end of one of the wards, and as a nurse opened the door for them Noelle drew in a sharp breath. She had known him as someone gay and full of vitality. Now, lying in the narrow white bed, his forehead hidden under bandages, and the rest of his face very pale and drawn, he seemed a stranger.

  The doctor and nurse had a murmured consultation, and the few words which Noelle did catch were too technical for her to follow. Then the doctor indicated that she should sit on the chair by the bed.

  “He is only semi-conscious, mademoiselle, but if you speak to him he may know you.”

  Noelle sat on the edge of the chair and leaned towards the bed. “Alain,” she said softly. “Alain, this is Noelle.”

  There was no response, until she gently touched the lax hand on the sheet, when the man in the bed stirred slightly and his eyelids flickered.

  At last, when she had repeated his name several times, his lips began to move and, bending closer, she caught some whispered words, too faint to be intelligible.

  Then, quite suddenly, his eyes were wide open and he was staring at her with a look that made her heart contract.

  “Noelle! I knew you would come,” he said huskily.

  “Of course I came.” She put both her hands round his, appalled at the coldness of the long sensitive fingers and their lack of strength.

  He made a feeble attempt to raise himself, but the nurse stepped quickly forward and restrained him.

  “You must rest, monsieur. Please lie still.”

  Alain gave her an irritated glance, caught sight of the doctor and glared. “Get them out of here, Noelle. I must talk to you,” he said weakly.

  “You may have a few moments, but see that he remains perfectly still and does not become excited,” Doctor Charvet said quietly to Noelle.

  “How do you feel?” Noelle asked gently, when they had withdrawn.

  The flicker of a grin touched Alain’s pale lips. “It will take more than a bus to finish me off, cherie.” For some moments he seemed content just to watch her, then his fingers tightened a fraction. “Noelle ... that day I came to see you ... in the country ... do you remember what we said?”

  “I remember.”

  He closed his eyes and his mouth twisted in a grimace. “I was a fool that day. I didn’t know then how much you meant to me. Can you forgive me for so much stupidity?”

  “Oh, Alain, there’s nothing to forgive. You musn’t worry about all that. You must rest and get well again.”

  “I am well—now that you’re here, darling.” He managed to lift his other hand until the fingers touched her cheek. “How soft your skin is, and so warm,” he said tenderly.

  She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears of compassion for him.

  “Don’t cry, ma mie. You will make me think I am dying,” he said, with an attempt at a laugh. “Oh, Noelle, mon amour, you are going to marry me, aren’t you? I can live—but not without you. Tell me, mignonne—you must tell me you will.”

  Noelle knew then that she had no choice. Already the effort of talking had exhausted him, and he looked desperately ill again. To make a promise which she knew she could never fulfil might be morally wrong, but in the face of such circumstances as these what else could she do?

  “Please, cherie ... please ...” He was trying to struggle up again and his eyes had a febrile brilliance that alarmed her.

  “Yes, Alain, yes, I will—but you must lie quiet,” she said swiftly.

  He sank back on the pillow with a sigh, his eyes closing. “Then everything is all right,” he said in a low voice.

  It seemed to Noelle that he must have lapsed into a coma again, he lay so still. As she placed his slack hand on the covers, the doctor re-entered and came quickly to the bedside.

  “Ah, he is sleeping now,” he said, with a satisfied nod. “The mind is at rest, and so the body can relax and restore itself. You have done well, mademoiselle.”

  Noelle rose wearily to her feet and followed him outside. The cumulative strains of the past eighteen hours were beginning to
tell on her, and she longed to go back to bed.

  “You told him what he wished to hear?” Doctor Charvet enquired, with a shrewd glance at her troubled face.

  She nodded. “I’m still not sure it was right.” He escorted her into the lift. “One must act according to circumstances, mademoiselle. Our most immediate concern is that he should be free from emotional stress. I may call you again if there is any further disturbance of the same nature?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said wearily.

  Mark was pacing the hall outside the lift, and Noelle had an almost overwhelming longing to throw herself into his arms and burst into tears. As the doctor said goodbye and Mark took her arm, her throat was tight, but she forced herself to walk out of the building with apparent composure.

  Mark said nothing until they were driving out of the gateway. “How was he?” he asked.

  “I—I couldn’t really tell. He looked ghastly, but the doctor seems to think he will be all right.” Mark swung the car into a narrow side street which led to a cobbled square. He pulled up outside a small cafe, walked round the bonnet and helped her out.

  “You look a bit wan yourself. We’ll have some coffee,” he said firmly.

  The generous measure of cognac which he made her drink with her cafe au lait, the peaceful atmosphere of the unfrequented square tucked away behind the main thoroughfare, and his own silent companionship soon restored Noelle to a calmer mood. She was surprised when a church clock began to strike and she found it was only nine.

  “We’d better get back and sort out your other problems,” Mark said, rising.

  Back in the car, Noelle said, “You have been so kind about all this. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Forget it.” They had stopped at some traffic lights and he gave her a quizzical smile. “There seems to be something about you that rouses my protective instincts.”

  As they reached the Tregan’s house she said, “Please don’t feel you have to come in with me. I’ve been enough of a nuisance already.”

  “I have to see Sir Robert in any case.”

  As they entered the house by way of the main door Anne-Marie was coming down the staircase. She was dressed for riding, in superbly cut cream twill jodhpurs, with a crimson silk scarf tucked into the neck of a shirt. A short crop dangled from one slender wrist, and she carried a cream cashmere jacket over her other arm.

  “Why, Mark—you’re not dressed,” she exclaimed, casting a sharp glance at Noelle. “Have you forgotten our rendezvous in the Boise?”

  “I’m sorry, Anne-Marie. I can’t make it this morning. Do you know where Sir Robert is?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’m only just up.” It was clear that the French girl was furious at his cursory dismissal of their arrangement.

  “We’ll try the study,” Mark said, steering Noelle towards it.

  He tapped on the panel and looked in. “Ah, here you are, Mark,” Noelle heard her employer say, a moment before Mark propelled her gently into the room.

  Sir Robert listened to Noelle’s stumbling account of the previous day’s events without interruption, his expression giving no clue to his reactions.

  “I see,” he said slowly, when she had come to the end. “I take it you don’t wish to prosecute?”

  Noelle looked startled. “Oh, no ... it never occurred to me!”

  “You would certainly be entitled to do so,” Sir Robert said seriously. “However, I can assure you that even if he escapes official jurisdiction, the fellow certainly won’t get away with this shocking behaviour. If it had happened to anyone less resourceful than yourself the consequences might have been most grave ... most grave. Even so, it must have been an extremely alarming and distasteful experience for you. I am more than sorry that you should have been put through such an ordeal while you are with us—particularly by another member of the staff whom you would naturally expect to be above such despicable conduct.”

  “I think Miss Webster could do with some more sleep, sir. I doubt if she got much last night, and the visit to the hospital was rather upsetting,” Mark put in quietly.

  “Of course—by all means,” Sir Robert agreed at once. “Now please don’t worry about this any more, Miss Webster. Naturally we were alarmed when we discovered you were missing, but I’m very glad that Mr. Fielding was able to help you, and there is absolutely no need for you to regard yourself as being in any way to blame for this most distressing episode. You go upstairs and rest and try to put it out of your mind.”

  Noelle stammered her thanks, and Mark rose, as she thought to open the door for her. But he followed her into the hall, closing the door behind them. “Well, that’s that straightened out,” he said quietly. “Now the best thing you can do is to take Sir Robert’s advice and forget the whole thing. Will you have to go back to the hospital later on?”

  “I don’t know. They said they’d call me if I was needed.” She hesitated. “Mr. Fielding ... there’s something—”

  His eyebrows went up and there was a quizzical twist to his mouth as he said swiftly, “Why not Mark? After you’ve spent the night in my bed—and my pyjamas—it seems a little late to revive the formalities.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and he laughed and said, “Sorry: perhaps that wasn’t fair of me. Look, Noelle, some time when you are not so tired and have less on your mind, I’d like to have a talk with you.”

  “A talk? What about?”

  He smiled, and something in his eyes made her tense. In spite of her fatigue her pulse quickened.

  “Don’t look so alarmed—just a talk,” he said quietly. “Now off you go, and take things easy for awhile.”

  And before she could question him again, he gave her a gentle push towards the stairs and returned to the study.

  Madame Duvet was in the day nursery when Noelle got upstairs. She took one look at the English girl’s weary face and said triumphantly, “So you have returned, miss. But not for very long I imagine. Or is it possible that you have some convincing excuse for being out of the house all night?”

  Noelle gave her a long level stare. “I had no excuse, madame. But Sir Robert has accepted my explanation,” she said calmly, before walking into her bedroom.

  Presently there was a tap at the door and Ginette peeped in. She was very relieved when Noelle explained most of what had happened, although not the part involving Mark.

  “That Michel—I always thought he was a bad one,” the girl said sagely. “I have trouble with him myself, you understand, but I slap his face and he does not try it a second time. It will serve him right to get sacked.” Her expression brightened. “Ah, but the best of it is that old Duvet has been disappointed. She was so certain that you would have to leave, mademoiselle. When I can no longer conceal that you are missing, she goes running down to madame like a cat with a mouse.”

  “I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position, Ginette. It was good of you to try to protect me when you couldn’t be sure what had happened. Where’s Robert? Does he know about this?”

  “Oh, no, mademoiselle. It all happened before he was awake, and I told him you had had to visit a friend this morning. He has gone to the park with Colette.”

  The rest of the day passed without event. Noelle had expected that Lady Tregan would want to see her, but she was not summoned, so presumably Sir Robert had satisfied his wife’s curiosity. After tea Noelle found herself listening for Mark’s footsteps on the landing, but he did not come. Strangely, the rigours of the previous day seemed to have lost their reality now. Her ordeal with Michel seemed no more than an unpleasant nightmare, frightening at the time, but soon losing its impact in the light of another day. It was the false promise to Alain which lay on her heart and conscience so uneasily.

  When Noelle saw Alain the next day—she had been down to ask Lady Tregan’s permission to go to the hospital each afternoon while his condition was still serious—he was in a kind of restless doze. He seemed to recognize her when she first sat down beside him, and even when he was mutt
ering an incoherent jumble of words he held fast to her hand. The nurse explained that his drowsiness, interspersed with sudden fits, of rambling, were the expected effects of the drug he had been given and were no cause for alarm.

  It was almost a week before Noelle saw Mark again. It was about five o’clock on her free afternoon, and she was standing at a bus stop in the Champs Elysees, when his car slid up to the kerb.

  “Have you time for a drink?” he asked, as she got in beside him.

  He took her to the Cafe Monaco, but it was too chilly to sit in the payment section and they went into the bar at the rear.

  “I’ve been trying to get a chance to talk to you all week, but I’ve been tied up with preparations for a conference,” he said, when he had ordered two Cinzanos. “How is de Bressac now?”

  “A little better, thank you.”

  “Good. And you?”

  It was, she realized, the first time he had spoken of Alain without an edge in his voice.

  “Oh, I’m fine again.”

  “You weren’t looking too bright when I picked you up just now. Something on your mind?”

  Before she could answer, a shabby old woman came hobbling up to their table and handed Noelle a small envelope. Mark must have seen her coming, for he gave her some money and she moved off again.

  “What is it?” Noelle asked bewilderedly, staring after her.

  “Haven’t you seen one before?”

  He turned the envelope over and indicated the printed inscription. “Je suis soured-muette.”

  “She’s a deaf mute—or supposed to be. She scrapes a living by selling horoscopes, mainly to gullible tourists.”

  “If you think it’s a racket why did you give her a hundred francs. It says on this ‘Prix 20 francs.’ ”

  He smiled at her. “A franc or two won’t break me, and she could be genuine. Anyway, it isn’t much of a life touting those slips around the cafes and being chased off by waiters.”

  Noelle took out the paper inside the envelope and read that she was gay, volatile and acted on impulse. She was also assured of a long and happy life.

  “Is it accurate?” Mark enquired, glancing at it over her shoulder.