Parc of Hotel Matignon
Friday evening. Dexter and Marcelle stood together in a small reception room in the Matignon that overlooked the spacious lawns and columns of trees marching away into the sunset. They were sipping champagne from crystal glasses. He wore a dark gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and a soft red tie, giving him something of a festive air, different from the dour diplomatic dress of everyday duty. Marcelle stood, poised, heels together, in a dark blue suit, the skirt coming just two inches below the knee, dark stockings, and black high-heeled shoes. She wore a dark maroon silk blouse and a pearl brooch just below her left collar tip. Fashionable and subdued. Her hair was down, but beautifully coiffed.
Suzanne Bardoux tugged at Étienne’s sleeve and whispered in his ear, “And you were worried that she had lost her wiles. She is radiant tonight,” and gave a small laugh.
Then Suzanne looked over at the new secretary-general and whispered again to Étienne, “There’s Jules Moch. He’s Léon Blum’s new secretary-general. I hear he has a charter to completely reorganize the staff services. The Popular Front has a big agenda.”
Étienne whispered back, “And he is looking at Marcelle. He seems to like what he sees.”
Suzanne laughed. “What man wouldn’t!”
Étienne laughed. “Yes, but I think his admiration is professional.”
Suzanne looked at him with consternation. “Yes, you would think that.” She took a sip from her champagne glass.
The secrétaire général stepped forward, cleared his throat to get the guests’ attention, and said, “We, le gouvernment, are pleased this evening to announce Madame Lambert’s permanent promotion to chef de bureau. Both the new administration,” and the secrétaire général nodded at Jules Moch, “and the ministry of labor have approved this long-merited promotion.” The secrétaire général turned towards Marcelle and raised his glass, “Madame Lambert.”
The other guests raised their glasses in turn and called out in turn, “À votre santé.”
Dexter leaned over and kissed Marcelle on the cheek, “See dear. You were not forgotten.”
Marcelle beamed and looked at the secrétaire général and graciously said, “Thank you.” She turned to the wife of the secrétaire général and beamed. “Thank you so much for your encouragement and support, Madame.”
The wife smiled pleasingly at Marcelle and said with great sincerity, “Your efforts have contributed greatly to my husband’s promotion to the Élysée Palace. We are of course grateful,” and she hugged her husband’s arm. There would be the state visits, the dinners, no more of this drudgery about budgets.
The secrétaire général stepped forward and said, “The new secretary-general to the premier, Monsieur Jules Moch, would like to say a few words,” and he stepped back.
Moch stepped forward, “We congratulate Madame Lambert on her promotion,” and he smiled warmly at Marcelle and then looked at her very directly, “and I think we have some good news and possibly some not-so-good news.” He looked around at the guests and let the words settle in.
Moch looked at Dexter and said, “I, of course, discussed some of this with her fiancé,” and he let the words trail off.
Suzanne gave Étienne a very concerned look; this was not the way to start off with Marcelle.
Marcelle quickly turned and gave Dexter a sharp, hard glance. He smiled at her encouragingly and mouthed silently that all was OK. Suzanne watched and her concerns ebbed. Dexter pointed to Marcelle to listen to the new secretary-general. Marcelle turned her attention back to Moch.
Moch looked at Marcelle and said, “We are not really looking at a transition. We have spoken with the ministry of labor. They have reluctantly, very reluctantly I might say,” and the secretary-general looked around at the guests to drive home the point, “given their consent to Madame Lambert’s continued appointment to the premier’s office here at the Matignon.”
Marcelle looked at Moch with interest, then turned and looked inquiringly at Dexter, who nodded to her to keep looking at Moch. More was to come.
Moch smiled, warmly for the first time the secrétaire général noticed, and said, “We have another temporary appointment for you, Madame Lambert. We are appointing you directrix de administration of the administration centrale here at the Matignon.
Suzanne Bardoux gleefully clapped her hands and looked triumphantly at Étienne.
A very pleased look came over Marcelle’s face but her quick mind wondered about the not-so-good news; another shoe was to drop.
Moch said, “We would really like you to take up your new duties a week from Monday. Your fiancé said that this would most likely meet with your approval.”
Marcelle looked at Dexter and smiled at him. He really did know her.
Marcelle turned back and graciously said to Moch, “It would be my greatest pleasure. This is a wonderful appointment.”
The secrétaire général now stepped forward again. “We have used our influence with the administration of the Seventh Arrondisement, modest as it is,” and he chuckled at the laughter, “to have your marriage ceremony moved up to tomorrow afternoon.”
Then the secrétaire général turned to Dexter. “We have heard that your diplomatic tour has been extended to 1939?”
“Yes, it has,” replied Dexter.
The secrétaire général thought for a moment and looked at Dexter and said, “Possibly when you come up for reassignment, the French government will be able to find a suitable posting for Madame Lambert. And she can accompany you.”
“That would be quite generous,” replied Dexter.
Moch’s face clouded over with minor annoyance, he cleared his throat, “Yes, of course,” and he stopped and fumbled for words, “however, in the future,” and he paused as he let the uncertainty of a troubled future settle into the guests’ minds, “reasons of state could possibly intervene. In that case, senior officials would have to stay at their posts.”
Marcelle looked at him and nodded her thoughtful approval at what he had said. She said, “Yes. I completely understand. I would not expect less.”
Undaunted, the secrétaire général continued, looking at Dexter, “In that case, why since the French government gets along so well with the American State Department, I am sure we could arrange a posting for you as, say,” and he paused and thought, “a visitor at the École de Guerre or as a lecturer at one of the grandes écoles.”
Dexter beamed and smiled at Étienne while vigorously tapping his chest with school boyish pride and said, “We’ll be colleagues.”
Étienne laughed and raised his champagne glass in playful salute.
The secrétaire général basked in the glow of warm cheer that his suggestion set off.
Marcelle stepped forward, nodded politely at the secrétaire général, then turned and stood in front of Dexter. She looked over her shoulder at the guests and pronounced, “I think not.”
Dexter looked down at her, his expression turning inquisitive.
She looked up at him, warmly and affectionately. Then she turned and stood halfway facing the guests and said, “I think that by 1939 even the Americans,” and she paused and let the words sink in. Then she repeated, “Even the Americans will be advancing the ablest men to the front rank.”
Suzanne and Étienne laughed in agreement. The others nodded as understanding dawned. Moch stroked his chin in thoughtful consideration and thought: a wise insight. He liked her insouciance, often the companion of high intelligence, he mused.
She turned back and stood in front of Dexter and reached up and played with the knot of his tie. She looked up at him with the deepest love he had ever seen in her eyes. With her back turned to the guests, she said for all to hear, “I love you.”
Then she turned her head around and looked over her shoulder and said, “And I am going to support him wherever he is, wherever he goes.”
She turned and again looked up at him, the adoration in her eyes staying constant as the expression on her face changed to one of stee
ly, even determination, the look he had come to see as the mirror to her inner self.
“Even if I can’t be there with him.”
End
Paris 1935: Destiny's Crossroads Page 47