by Susan Lewis
Céline watched her niece move round the room and listened to her rich, honeyed voice. She had been to London only twice since Claudine’s return from New York, but on both occasions had found herself marvelling at the way her niece had changed. It wasn’t only that the child had become a woman; the woman had, over and above her extraordinary beauty, something so compelling about her that it almost took your breath away. She had a confidence, a sophistication Céline had believed it impossible to attain in a city like New York – and yet at the same time there was an impish naiveté about her, a freshness to her sophistication, that made Céline feel both old and young at the same time. And the happiness, together with the self-mocking humour that shone from those extraordinary wide and slanting eyes, was so infectious that it wasn’t any wonder Claudine drew a crowd around her wherever she went.
But the thing about Claudine that had most disturbed and delighted Céline when she was last in London was her incredible body. If ever there was a body made for love, it was Claudine’s. Those magnificent full breasts, the curvaceous hips, the endlessly long legs, were almost a miracle. And her skin, so soft, so honey-pale, and so inviting … Plenty of men Céline knew, had been crazy for Claudine. And on the occasions when she had seen her niece naked, she had invariably found herself wondering about the man who would bring that body to life, the man who would kiss and caress those achingly ripe breasts, who would introduce Claudine to the unsurpassable pleasures her own body could give.
Now, Céline closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of François de Rassey de Lorvoire and concentrate on what her niece was saying. But the image was persistent, it was as if de Lorvoire were there in the room, mocking her, taunting her with that dark, mysterious power that seemed to spill from his black eyes. What would a man like de Lorvoire do with such innocence as Claudine’s? It was an innocence not many would detect, but Céline was in no doubt that he would recognize it at a glance. He would destroy it. He would crush Claudine as ruthlessly as the presses of the Lorvoire vineyards crushed the cabernet grapes. Oh, that such a man should be the one to take the virginity that Claudine had protected so lovingly, the virginity she had always sworn would never be given before the night of her wedding. To think that she had saved herself for a man like François de Lorvoire! Céline thought it might almost break her heart.
She tried to pull herself together, to tell herself she was over-reacting. And certainly, when she came to speak of him to Claudine later, she must try hard not to let her prejudice show. The fact that de Lorvoire had remained so resolutely impervious to her own charms – resolutely impervious! an understatement worthy of the driest Englishman! – must not be allowed to have any bearing on the way she behaved now. Of course, she wasn’t the only one he had spurned, nor was she the only one to have suffered such humiliation in rejection. Even now she was unsure why she had tried to seduce him – except that once the rumour started that he was homosexual, she had been determined to find out if it was true. He had merely laughed in her face; she had hurled the accusation at him, screaming it at the top of her voice as she clutched the sheets about her body in a vain attempt to preserve the remaining shreds of her dignity.
How that loss of dignity had hurt! But it was her own fault. Where was the dignity in receiving a man lying naked on your bed and offering yourself to him in any way he might care to choose? In having him pick up your clothes, drop them into your lap and tell you he took great exception to being called to your home for tea and being offered something markedly less appetizing than cake … That was when she had thrown the accusation at him – but she should have known better. François de Lorvoire cared nothing for what society thought of him. The malice of those he had scorned could vent itself as it chose – it would not affect him. He was a man without emotion – a man without morals.
And he was a man, Céline now knew, with a mistress. A mistress who not only adored him, but satisfied him in a way only a great courtesan could – completely and unconditionally. She was Élise Pascale, arguably the most beautiful woman in all France; a woman who had come from nowhere and succeeded with de Lorvoire where all others had failed. For de Lorvoire she had thrown off every other lover and, if the rumours circulating in Paris were to be believed, he in turn had devoted himself to Élise. If that was true, where did it leave her precious Claudine? How could she even begin to compete with a woman so experienced in the art of love-making? A woman who knew exactly what it took to satisfy the sophisticated tastes of a man like François de Lorvoire.
Céline’s only hope now was that Claudine’s dream would be shattered the instant she set eyes on him. This thought cheered her a little, for de Lorvoire could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be described as handsome, and she sensed that Claudine had an image of him that was as romantic as it was false. No, Céline told herself now, she refused to worry any more, she would leave it to Claudine. Claudine might be headstrong and impulsive, but she most certainly wasn’t stupid: she would understand soon enough that all that was required of her was to become a Lorvoire brood mare – and if she knew anything at all about her niece’s spirit, that would be the end of the whole business.
‘I don’t think Tante Céline is with us, Papa.’ Claudine’s voice cut into her thoughts, and Céline opened her eyes to find Beavis standing over her ready to pour the last of the champagne into her glass, and Claudine laughing softly at her aunt’s apparent lack of attention.
‘I am sorry, chérie,’ she said, ‘it is the heat. What were you saying?’
‘Only that Magaly will be arriving from Paris tomorrow with my new wardrobe,’ Claudine answered. ‘Nothing important.’
‘Magaly?’
‘My maid, Tante Céline,’ Claudine smiled.
‘Of course, Magaly.’ Then, seeming to collect her wits, Céline rose, stood on tip-toe and kissed Beavis on either cheek, saying, ‘Claudine and I are going to take a walk in the garden, dearest, so you may go off to the study and use the telephone. No, don’t look at me like that, I know you always have business to attend to – and Claudine and I want to have a nice woman-to-woman talk, is that not right, chérie?’
Knowing only too well what her aunt wished to discuss with her, the corner of Claudine’s mouth dropped in a wry smile, and sitting forward on the sofa, she treated her father to an extremely bawdy wink. Beavis choked on the last of his champagne, but the merriment in his eyes showed the delight he took in his daughter.
‘Come along, chérie,’ Céline chuckled, as she held out her hand to Claudine. ‘We’ll stroll through the trees down to the river, it shouldn’t be too hot if we keep in the shade, and there’s something I want to show you.’
They parted company with Beavis outside the library, then wandered arm in arm out of the front door, round the lake in the courtyard and through the stable blocks to the avenue of limes at the rear of the house, which led down to the banks of the River Vienne.
‘So tell me how you are feeling, now you are here,’ Céline said, as they ambled through the dappled shadows.
Letting her head fall back, Claudine gazed up at the sparkling archway of branches above them and let out a soft groan. ‘I don’t know, Tante Céline, truly I don’t. Perhaps I’m insane even to be contemplating this, but I know I’m going to go through with it.’
‘Meeting him or marrying him?’
‘Both. That is, of course, if he wants to marry me. Maybe when he meets me he’ll change his mind.’
Céline gave her beautiful niece a long, considering glance. ‘He won’t change his mind, chérie.’ She paused. ‘But what about love, Claudine?’ she said softly. ‘Have you given that no thought at all?’
Claudine chuckled. ‘I think about it all the time.’
‘And?’
‘Again, I don’t know. Maybe we will fall in love, who knows?’
It was on the tip of Céline’s tongue to tell her that that would never happen, but she stopped herself. Which of them could predict the future? Who could say that de Lorvo
ire wouldn’t fall in love with her? God knew, Claudine had turned into as captivating a woman as she’d ever seen, so maybe she would win his heart – if indeed he had one. But then she remembered Élise Pascale, and it was as if the ground beneath her was tilting, plummeting her into despair.
For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling Claudine about La Pascale, but again she kept silent. Claudine might be an innocent, but she knew enough about the French way of life to know that most French husbands had mistresses. And, of course, if Claudine were to marry de Lorvoire there was nothing to stop her taking a lover, too – after she had given birth to the heir, naturally. But Céline judged it better not to say any of that to Claudine just now – and besides, there was still the hope that Claudine would see how foolish she was being before things got as far as marriage. Though how successful she would be in defying her father, Céline wasn’t at all sure.
Suddenly Claudine laughed. ‘I know you’re longing to talk me out of this, Tante Céline.’
‘You’re right, I am,’ Céline said. ‘Maybe I should tell you why.’
‘There’s no need. I’ve heard enough about François de Lorvoire in these past weeks to know that he’s the most unsavoury character you could wish to meet.’
‘But you don’t believe what you hear?’
Claudine shrugged.
Céline looked at her. ‘So, would you like me to tell you about him?’
‘Do you know, I don’t think I would,’ Claudine answered, after a moment or two. ‘What I’d like now is to meet him for myself.’ Then, after another pause: ‘However, there is one thing you could tell me.’
‘Yes?’ Céline prompted when Claudine didn’t continue.
Claudine’s eyes were wandering dreamily about her, taking in the glorious spectacle of nature left to tend itself – the trees that rose on either side of them, the carpets of green and yellow that spread as far as the eye could see. Then her lips curved in a secret smile as she decided that, no, she wouldn’t ask about Hortense after all. She would save that question for François. Instead she turned to her aunt, gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, and as they approached the steps in the tall grass which led down to the river, she skipped on ahead, lifting her dress to stop it catching on the thistles and revealing the dark bands at the top of her stockings as she tripped down to the water’s edge.
Watching her go, so unselfconscious, so natural, Céline felt a jolt of painful love shoot through her heart. Claudine reached the roughened sandy beach, kicked off her shoes, rolled down her stockings and splashed into the river. ‘This is heavenly, Tante Céline,’ she cried, throwing out her arms and spinning round and round. ‘It’s so beautiful here. Just look at the sunlight on the water, look at the poppies, look at the trees and the sky. I love it here, Tante Céline, I love it so much I want to hold it in my arms.’
And how, Céline thought, could François de Lorvoire, were he here to see her, not want to do the same to her? Surely even he could not remain impervious to such charm, such guileless joy, such unsullied beauty. And again that brief flicker of hope ignited in her breast. Perhaps he would love her; perhaps beneath that implacable exterior there was a heart.
‘Is there a rowing boat here?’ Claudine called. ‘It would be wonderful to row across to that forest over there, don’t you think? To sail about under the branches hanging over the water.’
She had stopped spinning, and her head was on one side as she contemplated the opposite bank where the trees crowded one upon the other, the river lapping at their roots and the sun scorching their topmost leaves where they rose high, high into the sky. There was something mystical about that forest, she felt; she wanted to go closer, to find out what it was.
‘That is what I wanted to show you,’ Céline answered. ‘It’s the de Lorvoire forest. It spreads all over the hillside, much further than you can see, and the château is in amongst it, hidden from view.’
‘The Lorvoire château is surrounded by those trees?’
‘Yes. But there’s a steep meadow in front of the château, and lawns on either side – like a kind of oasis in the middle of the forest.’
Claudine gazed in wonder. Then she turned to face her aunt, who had come to stand at the edge of the river. ‘I’m going to be happy here, Tante Céline,’ she said softly.
Céline smiled, and wondered if Claudine had ever known what it was to be anything other than happy. But of course – her mother had died when she was sixteen years old, and Céline knew that still, even now, Claudine missed her terribly. And that was another thing she admired so much in her niece, her indomitable courage, her understanding and selflessness that had helped to hold Beavis together when Antoinette fell to her death on that fateful Italian holiday. Her own grief Claudine had nursed privately, confiding in no one but Céline.
Claudine was looking down at the grey-brown water lapping about her ankles. Then, lifting her head, she said in a voice of quiet but unmistakable passion, ‘I am going to marry him, Tante Céline.’
‘But why?’ Céline asked gently. ‘Why, when …’
‘Because I have to.’
‘No, chérie, you don’t have to. I will speak with your father …’
‘I have to,’ Claudine repeated.
Céline’s confusion showed, and smiling, Claudine waded out of the water to put an arm around her aunt. ‘I have to,’ she said, ‘because all of Paris knows that I’m here, and why.’
The colour started to drain from Céline’s face and her pale eyes widened in horror as she took in the full meaning of what Claudine had said. ‘What!’ she gasped.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Claudine answered, with mock gravity. ‘You see, I told Henriette, and you know how hopeless she is at keeping a secret, especially one like this.’
For a moment Céline was lost for words. ‘Oh no!’ she moaned at last, covering her face with her hands. ‘Don’t you realize, Claudine, that if you decide to refuse him now, all of Paris will assume that he has refused you. You will be yet another in the long line of François de Lorvoire’s rejected women!’ Her voice rose in anguish as she contemplated the derision that not only Claudine, but she too, would have to suffer as a result of her niece’s thoughtlessness.
‘But if I marry him,’ Claudine said, very softly, ‘there won’t be any scandal, now will there, Tante Céline?’
Once again Céline found herself bereft of speech. She stared straight into Claudine’s piercing blue eyes as the realization hit her. ‘You did it on purpose, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘You made sure that the marriage arrangement would be common knowledge, so that fear of scandal would force me to withdraw my opposition to it.’ Suddenly her anger gave way to distress. ‘But why are you so set on this marriage, Claudine? Tell me why, I beg you.’
‘It isn’t only I who want it, Tante Céline,’ Claudine said mildly. ‘When the proposal was put to François, he didn’t object, he’s told his family, and Papa, that he will marry me. And just as he has promised Papa to marry me, I promise you I’ll marry him.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I am twenty-two years old and in danger of becoming an old maid?’
‘Claudine, you are mocking me. I know you; there’s something behind all this that you’re not telling me or your Papa.’
‘If there is,’ Claudine countered, ‘then maybe it’s a secret I want to keep.’
Céline fell silent. After what Claudine had done, the marriage was now almost a fait accompli – and yet how could she stand by and watch her niece ruin her life? ‘I promised your father I would do nothing to interfere,’ she said slowly, ‘but I am going to break that promise. I am going to stop this marriage, Claudine. I am going to stop it for your own sake, and one day you will thank me for it.’
‘No!’ Claudine’s eyes held a dangerous gleam, and her aunt stepped back, almost as if she had been struck. ‘This is my life, Tante Céline, and I will do with it as I see fit. I have made the decision to marry François de Lorvoire, and if you do anything to
jeopardize that, then so help me, Tante Céline, I’ll … I’ll …’
‘Claudine!’ her aunt gasped. ‘Are you threatening me?’
Suddenly Claudine’s eyes were alive with laughter. ‘Do you know,’ she grinned, ‘I rather think I am. But I am serious, Tante Céline. I am no longer a child. My life, my destiny, are in my hands now. And the reasons I have for going through with this marriage are mine, and mine alone.’
Céline closed her eyes as her anger deflated. ‘Oh, this is all such a mess,’ she sighed, gazing out across the river to the Lorvoire forest. ‘How has it happened? I know your Papa loves you …’ Her eyes moved back to Claudine’s and she gave her a weak smile as she said, ‘I can’t give up, Claudine. I will go and speak to your Papa again now. All is not lost yet.’ And turning, she began to walk slowly back to the château.
With the brown water of the River Vienne lapping her toes, Claudine stood and watched her aunt disappear along the avenue of limes. How hard Tante Céline had tried to make her divulge the reason behind her determination to marry François! But how could she tell her when the truth was so ridiculous? Heaven knows, she would laugh herself if she was told such a story, but when something like that happened to you, when it touched your own life, it was a different matter altogether. Somehow, you couldn’t shrug it off, no matter how hard you tried. And when life was unfolding in precisely the manner the old woman had described …
She picked up her shoes and wandered over to the long grass where she sat down, resting her elbows on her knees, propping her chin on her hands, and staring sightlessly at the river as it flowed past.
That was why she was here, that was why she was going to marry François de Lorvoire. Because of an old gypsy, who had sent the village children to tell her she must come and see her. She hadn’t sought the gypsy out herself; she had just returned to her Hertfordshire home from New York, and hadn’t even known the fair was nearby until the children told her. But the gypsy woman had known about her; so she had gone, not out of vanity, not even out of curiosity, but out of a desire to please the children.