“Désirée had one child, her son Louis, with whom she was not on the best of terms. Although she was still in her early fifties I became a surrogate child to her in many ways, like the daughter she had never borne.
“There was a special bond between us, rather like the bond we share, Vivienne. She was not only my mentor in those days, but my inspiration. I aspired to be exactly like her and in some ways I believe I succeeded.
“A good woman, kind, loving, witty, amusing, and a wonderful companion, Désirée was part of that elite circle known as le gratin, the top crust. Yet despite this she was not in the least snobbish. I have observed in my long life that true aristocrats such as Désirée de Marmont and Édouard never are. In my experience it is the jumped-up no-accounts who tend to look down their noses at others.
“It was my dearest friend Désirée who introduced me to Monsieur le Comte, Édouard de Grenaille. The evening we met it was a coup de foudre as the French say, a thunderbolt. Or love at first sight, if you prefer. By this time I had already been living in France for five years. I was thirty-three and completely unattached. He was a widower with no children, also uninvolved, and fifty-eight years old. However, Édouard did not look his age, nor did he seem it.
“He was a good-looking man, debonair and dashing, and was imbued with continental charm. He swept me off my feet. Within the year we were married. I became Madame la Comtesse, the mistress of this house and a wonderful old château in Normandy.
“We were sublimely happy for the first two years. Then a problem developed in the marriage. I did not conceive. Childless and longing for an heir to carry on the line, Édouard began to change. He became depressed, bad tempered, and critical of me. Oh, not all of the time, Vivienne, there were moments when he behaved like his old self, the Édouard of our courtship, and was kind, considerate. We had always enjoyed a good sex life, an active one, and we loved one another. But love and sex are not always enough. A marriage must be sustained by so much else besides.
“By the time our third wedding anniversary came around there was a genuine breakdown in our relationship. Édouard had grown more and more introverted, preoccupied as he was with his lineage and lack of an heir to carry on the family name. Somewhat irrationally he blamed me. Even though he loved me he took it out on me. For almost two years I ran to doctors and specialists in infertility, following Désirée’s advice. The answer was always the same: There was nothing wrong with me.
“When I attempted to talk to Édouard about this, pass on the medical opinions I had received, he became angry and refused to listen. By now I was fully aware that he might not be able to face a simple fact: that he was sterile and unable to procreate.
“I feared for our marriage and I must admit I was profoundly relieved when he decided to go to Brazzaville in French Equatorial Africa. He had a longstanding invitation to visit with his uncle Jean-Pierre de Grenaille who owned vast estates there. I thought the break would do us both good. Édouard seemed to agree. He planned a long trip as he wanted to go on safari to hunt big game.
“It was the beginning of June in 1960 when he set off for Brazzaville. Before he left he expressed the hope that our three-month separation would have positive results. He said it might help to alleviate the strain between us.
“For the first two weeks Édouard was gone I spent my days undergoing further gynecological tests. Once more the results were exactly the same as before. Three new doctors confirmed to me that there was no reason why I could not have a baby.
“By the end of June I was feeling miserable, low in spirits, and overwhelmingly sad. I had had such a terrible childhood and youth. Suddenly it seemed to me that the past was repeating itself, albeit in a different way I began to think that I was doomed to be unhappy, that life was not going to go right for me after all. I was also fearful that when Édouard returned from Africa our marriage would finally crumble completely, that we would end up either leading separate lives apart or divorcing. I was not sure which I thought was the worst scenario.
“The weather in Paris that summer was gruelling hot and unbearable. Yet I had no wish to go to the château in Normandy by myself. Fitful, restless, anxiety-ridden, and constantly on the brink of tears, I went to see Désirée de Marmont, hoping that she might be able to both advise and console me. She knew why I had been troubled for so long and was also aware that Édouard had seen fit to blame me for depriving him of an heir.
“When I arrived at her country estate in Versailles to spend the weekend she took one look at me and threw up her hands in alarm. She told me I was too thin and exhausted, insisted that I must take a vacation immediately.
“Vivienne, even now I remember so well what she said to me all those years ago. ‘Take yourself off to the Cote d’Azur, ma petite. Sunbathe, swim, relax, go for long walks, eat delicious food, shop for pretty things, and indulge in a romantic interlude with a nice young man if the possibility arises.’ You can’t imagine how shocked I was about her last suggestion. I was speechless.
“Then somewhat indignantly I told Désirée that I loved Édouard. She smiled. ‘All the more reason to have a little lighthearted affair. It will make you feel more relaxed, instill confidence in you again, and when Édouard returns you will be in the right mood to work miracles. You can fuss over him, seduce him, make him feel virile, and believe me you will be able to put your marriage on a more even keel.’ Naturally I insisted that an affair was out of the question.
“But on the Sunday afternoon, just before I returned to Paris, Désirée took me to one side, told me again that I needed a change of scenery for my own good. ‘Go to Cannes, Zoë. Have some fun. And if there’s a chance for a little flirtation, take it. What harm can it do? None. Providing no one knows about it. Just remember to be discreet, careful. And take the advice of an experienced woman, stay at one of the smaller hotels and use an assumed name.’ On the way back to Paris I pondered her words.
“I never intended to go to Cannes, Vivienne. But during the course of the next week the idea of a holiday in the sun became more and more appealing. On the spur of the moment one morning I telephoned the Hôtel Gray d’Albion in Cannes and made a reservation under the invented name of Geneviève Brunot, booked myself a seat on the Blue Train, packed a few simple clothes, and left Paris for the south of France.
“Désirée had been correct about the change in scenery doing me good. After three days of sunbathing, swimming, long walks, and good food I was feeling much better and looking more like my old self.
“Cannes was busy that summer. The American Sixth Fleet stationed in the Mediterranean had just put into port. Hundreds of young ratings were on shore leave, mingling with the locals and the tourists. I managed to get lost in the crowds. There was a sense of jollity in the air, a feeling of festivity. Everyone seemed so young and gay and happy. I was infected with this spirit of joie de vivre. And of course I met a young man.”
I stopped speaking and looked across at Vivienne. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, facing me. Her eyes were glued to my face, and I knew she had been listening attentively.
I said, “I’m afraid this is becoming rather a long story, longer than I’d intended. Can I offer you some sort of refreshment, Vivienne? Tea? Coffee? Or would you like a drink perhaps?”
“If you’re going to have something, Countess Zoë,” she said with a small smile.
“I believe I will. I’m going to have a glass of champagne. Does that appeal to you, my dear?”
“That’d be lovely, thank you.”
“Would you mind ringing the bell for Hubert, please?”
“Of course not,” she answered getting up, crossing the room. After she’d done as I asked she glanced at the photograph on the console and said, “This one is of you, isn’t it, Countess Zoë? When you were in your thirties?”
I nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“How beautiful you were.”
I merely smiled and glanced at the door as Hubert knocked and entered. “Madame?”
> “Hubert, we would like to have some refreshment. Please bring us a bottle of Dom Pérignon and two glasses. Oh and perhaps you’d better retrieve the tea things from the garden.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Vivienne put down her flute of champagne, leaned forward and said, “Please don’t stop, Countess Zoë, please continue your story . . . you said you met a young man in Cannes . . .”
“I did, Vivienne. He was a nice young man, an American. For several mornings I had taken breakfast on the terrace of a small café not far from my hotel. He was usually there, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. He had always smiled at me or nodded politely, and on the fourth morning when I arrived he spoke to me. He said good morning in French. I responded with a smile.
“A short while later I paid my bill and left the café. I had not walked very far when the young man caught up with me. In rather halting French he asked me if I was going to the beach. When I said I was in English he grinned and asked if he could join me.
“I hesitated for a moment. But he was so clean-cut, genial, and polite I asked myself what harm there was in it. Also, I had only ever seen him alone at the café, never with any companions. It struck me that he seemed lonely, which was the way I was feeling at that moment in my life.
“He must have noticed my hesitation because he excused himself for being rude, stretched out his hand, and said, ‘Joe Anthony’ Taking hold of his hand I shook it. ‘Geneviève Brunot,’ I said, and added that he was welcome to accompany me to the beach.
“We spent the morning sunbathing, swimming, and talking in generalities. He was rather quiet and didn’t say very much about himself. But then neither did I. That day I was reserved, somewhat uncommunicative. He invited me to lunch at one of the small cafés on the beach, and I remember thinking how young, healthy, and uncomplicated he looked as he ate his beefsteak, French fries, and green salad with such gusto, savored every mouthful of red wine.
“After lunch he walked me back to the Hôtel Gray d’Albion. On the way there he asked me to have dinner with him that night. Again I hesitated momentarily, and when I finally agreed to meet him later he looked so relieved and happy I was touched.
“And that is how it began, our little affair. The following morning we met at the café for breakfast and once again we went down to the beach together. That evening he took me to Chez Felix for dinner, then dancing afterward at La Chunga, a popular nightclub on the Croisette.
“By this time I had learned that Joe was only twenty-two years old. I was startled when he told me this because he appeared to be older and in fact was quite sophisticated. I did not dare tell him my age, admit to being thirty-eight. When he asked me how old I was I lied. I took off ten years and said I was twenty-eight. Joe believed me. It was true, I did look much younger than I actually was, everyone said that. I was slim and lithesome, and my face was virtually unlined. However, I was forthright with Joe about my status, and from the very beginning he knew I was a married woman with obligations.
“That night at La Chunga, as he led me around the dance floor, holding me tightly in his arms, kissing my cheek and my hair, I realized I could not stop the inevitable from happening. I knew we were going to end up in bed together. Joe knew it too. There had been something special between us from the start of our friendship.
“We spent the next four days and nights together, and then unexpectedly I panicked. As much as I liked Joe, thought he was attractive and engaging, I realized that I was risking far too much by continuing the relationship. It struck me most forcibly that I had no alternative but to bring our brief romantic liaison to an end.
“When I explained to Joe that I had been called home because of a sudden emergency, he said he understood. Nevertheless, he looked disappointed when I said we could never meet again, was saddened when we took our leave of each other.
“Later that day I boarded the Blue Train for Paris and my real life there. Almost immediately I began to regret the affair and wished it had not happened. The more I thought about it the more I believed I had been foolish and irresponsible. Constantly I chastised myself. On the other hand, there was no way I could turn back the clock. Nor could I eradicate my adultery. I kept telling myself I was not the first person to have had an extramarital affair. Hundreds of millions of people did it every day, and it was part of being human. But this knowledge did not make me feel any better.
“I tried hard not to dwell on those few illicit days I had spent with Joe in Cannes and to some extent I succeeded. But there were awful moments when those guilty feelings returned, usually in the middle of the night when I tossed and turned and wrestled with my demons.
“And then at the end of July I had something else to occupy my mind, rather serious worries in fact. I had missed my period. As the days passed I grew more and more convinced I was pregnant with Joe Anthony’s child. In August my body started to undergo certain changes, in particular my breasts were tender and enlarged. I missed my second period at the end of August. By my calculations I was about five or six weeks into my pregnancy.
“I was panic-stricken, floundering, and did not know which way to turn. I thought of confiding in Désirée and then changed my mind, although I’ve never been sure why I did so. She was my dearest friend, I trusted her, and I knew she would never betray my confidence. And yet I could not bring myself to speak to her of my affair with Joe.
“Perhaps I was a little self-conscious, even a trifle ashamed of myself, although I knew that Désirée de Marmont was a wise woman of the world. She would never presume to pass judgment on me or anyone else. There was even one awful moment when I toyed with the idea of an abortion, but I dismissed this at once. It was far too repugnant to me.
“I am not a religious person. God was beaten out of me when I was young. When one suffers all kinds of abuse at the hands of adults it is hard for a child to keep her faith in God. As a young girl I used to ask myself why God was allowing such terrible things to happen to me, why God allowed such evil to thrive in this world. But I had no answers. I felt He had abandoned me. And I ceased to believe in God’s existence.
“When I married Édouard I naturally had to give lip service to the idea of God because the de Grenailles were a devout Catholic family. However, it was only lip service. Imagine my surprise then, Vivienne, when one day at the end of August, when I was out walking, I found myself going into a church in the Latin Quarter. It was St. Etienne du Mont, a place of worship I had not frequented before.
“To this very day I don’t know why I went into that particular church on that particular afternoon. I did not go inside to pray. I simply sat there letting the silence envelope me. The interior was very beautiful with its vaulted ceiling, soaring pillars, and stained glass windows. But it was the quiet, the absolute peace that made the greatest impression.
“I sat there for a long time. A kind of lassitude settled over me. My thoughts had been on the baby the entire morning, and I had been worrying, wondering what to do. But now I closed my eyes, let go of those worries, finally relaxing. Then without warning I experienced a rush of the most intense emotion, a feeling of such enormous love for the child growing inside me I was startled.
“Almost at once everything became crystal clear. With great clarity I saw right into the heart of things. I knew what I was going to do. When the baby was born it would be a de Grenaille. It would bring joy and happiness back into my marriage, and Édouard would love the baby as much as I already did. The baby was the solution to everything.
“A short while later I rose and walked slowly down the aisle, confident at last that everything was going to be all right. Just before leaving the church I paused to put money in the collection box. It was then that I discovered the church contained the reliquary of Saint Geneviève. I could not help thinking what a curious coincidence that was.
“Almost overnight my feelings of guilt and remorse disappeared and that wonderful sense of rightness remained with me. Édouard returned home from Brazzaville on the firs
t day of September. From the moment he walked in I was convinced everything would work out. He was in such a wonderful frame of mind, Vivienne, my heart lifted even more than it had in church. He looked tan and fit, and he was full of good humor, gave the impression of being glad to be home. One of the first things he did was to apologize to me for his churlish behavior over those many, many months before.
“That weekend we drove to the château in Normandy, and in the tranquility of our lovely old bedroom we made passionate love. It was as if Édouard were trying to exonerate himself for his unfairness and unkindness to me during the past few years. His passion did not lessen that weekend and he kept avowing his love for me.
“Édouard made me radiantly happy that weekend, and my feelings for him were reinforced. I understood how deeply I loved my husband and how much he meant to me. A month later I was able to tell Édouard I was pregnant. Of course he was overjoyed. And for my entire pregnancy he was loving, tender, devoted, and considerate, and he could not do enough for me. I was completely content and happy as I carried the child to full term.
“Of course there were days when I had sudden misgivings, Vivienne. I am not devious by nature and occasionally my deception troubled me. But whenever I experienced a slight twinge of guilt, I focused all my thoughts on Édouard. I reminded myself I was about to give him the child he had wanted throughout his adult life.
“His first wife had failed him. I had not. I was going to present him with the heir he craved. I had ensured the family name and title. The de Grenaille line would continue. Édouard would never know that the child was not his. In any case he would be a good father, and thus would make the child his through his love, there was no doubt in my mind about that.
Her Own Rules Page 49