by Susan Lewis
Afterwards, she had all but forgotten what the gypsy said, until six weeks ago her father returned from Rome, having stopped en route for a brief stay at the Château de Lorvoire. Then it had all come flooding back.
‘There is a man,’ the gypsy had said, ‘a very handsome man, much older than you. I think perhaps he is your father. He will come to you and tell you something you will find strange at first, but you must listen to him, because your future is in his words. Your future lies across the sea, in a foreign land, but I see it is not such a foreign land to you.’ The old woman had looked up from Claudine’s palm and searched her eyes. ‘Your father is English, I think,’ she said. ‘Your mother not.’
When Claudine nodded, the odd, foreign-looking face smiled, before it was lost in shadow again as the gypsy bent her head. ‘Tell me no more,’ she murmured. Then there was a long silence, and Claudine could hear the shouts and laughter outside and the sound of the fairground organ as it piped and whistled a medley of cheerful tunes only a few yards from the tiny domed tent in which she sat.
At last the old woman spoke again. ‘You will do what your father tells you, even though there will be many who warn you against it.’
‘But what is it?’ Claudine asked.
‘It is marriage. There is a man, again older than you.’ The woman stopped. ‘But wait!’ she said. ‘There are two men. Yes, I see two men. The man who will be your husband, and the other … There is a great love.’ She looked up, and there was an odd light in her eyes that made Claudine want to shiver. ‘And there is a greater danger,’ she rasped. ‘I cannot tell which of them …’
‘Danger?’ Claudine repeated, when the old woman did not go on.
She shook her head. ‘It is more than danger. There are many influences … influences that will be beyond your control. And always there are these two men. What is your name?’
‘Claudine.’
The gypsy smiled, revealing the gaps between her stained teeth. ‘I cannot say which of these men will bring you happiness, Claudine, all I can say is that there is a long road to travel before you find it, many mistakes to be made and lessons to be learned along the way. My advice is to listen to your heart, because it is a truer friend to you even than those who believe they know what is right for you. Your marriage will cause much trouble, but it will happen soon, sooner than you think, and it will change your life.’
Claudine found herself smiling as the gnarled old fingers closed protectively around hers. ‘It is not right that I should tell you more,’ she said. ‘The lines in your hand fork many times, you will decide which route to take as you approach them. But perhaps you can avoid the pain, perhaps you can overcome the fear and the danger if I tell you that there is love there for you, a love so great that few people find it in this life – but you will find it, and you will find it where you least expect it … But never forget, child, that things are not always as they seem.’
‘Not always as they seem …’ The words echoed through Claudine’s mind as she sat there on the banks of the Vienne, while the early evening breeze drifted through the trees of the Lorvoire forest.
So, absurd as it was, that was why she was here, on the brink of a new life, a life she could hardly begin to imagine – because an old woman had told her to trust her instincts. And since the day her father had first put the suggestion of this marriage to her, Claudine’s instinct had told her that it was right. Just as her instinct was telling her now that the ambiguity of the gypsy’s final words concerned François de Lorvoire.
But the other man, the second man, who was he? And was he the danger, or was he the great love? Again, as she had many times these past six weeks, Claudine searched her mind for the elusive words the gypsy had spoken. She had said something more, something about the other man that was important. But Claudine simply couldn’t remember what it was.
– 3 –
BREAKFAST ON SUNDAY morning was served on the garden roof of the château’s east wing, overlooking the orchard of dwarf-like fruit trees and the maize fields beyond. The breeze was no more than a whisper of warm air carrying the mingled scents of roses, cut grass and freshly ground coffee. The only sounds were the billing and cooing of the doves and the distant clatter of dishes in the kitchens below.
The previous day, Magaly had arrived from Paris bearing the dresses, suits, hats, shoes and lingerie Claudine had been fitted for during her stay. Even Céline, whose shopping sprees were legendary, had been amazed at how much Claudine had managed to purchase in such a short time, but she was even more impressed once the garments had been removed from their protective coverings.
Claudine’s knowledge of what suited her had always been exceptional, but on this occasion she had managed to excel herself. With amusement, Céline noted that virtually every designer in Paris was represented in the garments that spilled from the endless number of tissue-strewn boxes scattered around her niece’s bedchamber, from Schiaparelli’s startling pinks and circus prints, to Piguet’s sumptuously risqué evening gowns, to Mainbocher’s sophisticated day-time elegance.
Now, with so many things to choose from and with such an important day ahead, the conversation over breakfast was quite naturally about what Claudine should wear. Beavis, with his head buried in the newspaper and a plate of untouched kedgeree in front of him, paid scant attention to Céline’s deliberations on what would be correct for an afternoon party in the country. Though the news from Germany and Japan came as no surprise to him, it was nonetheless disturbing, and he was beginning to wonder just how long he would be able to stay in Touraine. Long enough, he hoped, to see his daughter’s wedding.
Finally, heaving a weary sigh, he put the newspaper down just as Céline, looking utterly charming in her peach satin peignoir, signalled to Jean for more coffee. ‘I have quite run out of suggestions, chérie,’ she declared to Claudine, ‘but I have a suspicion that you have already made up your mind.’
‘Do you know, Tante Céline,’ Claudine responded in a conspiratorial tone, ‘I do believe I have.’
‘Beavis!’ Céline cried. ‘She is impossible. Quite, quite impossible. Thank you, Jean,’ she added, as he refilled her cup.
Chuckling, Beavis picked up his fork. ‘What time are they expecting us?’ he asked.
‘Around three. After lunch – which, knowing you two, you will be able to eat. As for me, I am simply too nervous even for breakfast. Claudine, are you really going to eat all that?’ she said, as Claudine returned from the hot-plate with another helping of kedgeree.
Claudine looked down at her plate. And it was then, quite unexpectedly, that the first pang of apprehension wrenched at her stomach, completely obliterating her appetite. ‘I was going to,’ she said uncertainly. She sat down, and started to look anxiously around the table.
‘They’re under the newspaper,’ Beavis said, and watched Céline’s bewildered expression as Claudine located the cigarette packet and took one out.
‘You have an uncanny knack of doing that,’ Céline remarked, smiling despite herself at the way Beavis had read his daughter’s mind. ‘Perhaps, as an encore, you can enlighten me as to what she is intending to wear today.’
‘Now that,’ Beavis answered, ‘is beyond even me.’
Claudine, still clad in black jodhpurs, riding boots and a white silk shirt after her early morning canter across the fields, got up from the table, wandered to the edge of the terrace and leaned against the ornate railings. Her sudden attack of nerves had disturbed her deeply; part of her was so happy that she wanted to throw out her arms and embrace the world, and part of her longed to flee back to London. It was the first time since she’d arrived in France that she had experienced anything approaching fear, and now that it had begun, she was finding it difficult to overcome.
She drew on her cigarette and turned to gaze out at the shimmering horizon. Then, tossing her hair back over her shoulders, she perched one leg on the railing, and ran through in her mind the recent imaginary conversations she’d had with Franço
is, How silly they seemed now! She wondered if he had thought about her at all. But of course, he must have done; no matter what everyone said, he couldn’t be completely lacking in sensibility. She rather doubted that he was suffering from sudden attacks of nerves, though. How naive of her not to have foreseen that she would.
Throughout the remainder of the morning she roamed the towers and stairways of the château. She went to the library and sat at the bureau de dame, trying to write a letter to Dissy in London, but got no further than ‘Dearest Dissy’. Thinking she would prefer it, Beavis and Céline left her alone, but there were moments when Claudine longed to speak to them about the way she was feeling. As she bathed, then dressed herself for the afternoon ahead, she was torn by a bewildering paradox of emotions –anticipation and apprehension, excitement and dread. And to make matters worse, the instincts she had relied upon to guide her through seemed to be completely lost in the confusion.
Well, there’s only one thing for it, she told herself, as at three o’clock precisely Céline’s chauffeur turned the car from the forest road into the steep, winding drive which approached the west wing of the Lorvoire château; that is, to remember that when I had my wits about me, I had no doubts at all. Just because I feel now as though I’m journeying beyond the borders of reality doesn’t mean I’m not doing the right thing. And with that decided, she settled herself back against the leather upholstery of Céline’s Armstrong Siddeley to await the first glimpse of her future home.
When it came, it was as though someone had caught hold of her heart and stopped it beating for a moment. Her eyes dilated and her lips parted as she sat forward in her seat. Never could she have envisaged such mesmerizing splendour: the fairy-tale magic of the soaring towers, the massive creamy-white façade, the magnificent Renaissance windows. And then there were the gardens, which fanned gently out from the château towards the surrounding forest, whose impenetrable green foliage was like a bastion, protecting the Château de Lorvoire from everything but the elements.
‘Well, chérie,’ her father said, as the car pulled slowly to a stop in front of the château, ‘a charming little place, wouldn’t you say?’
But as Claudine turned to look at him, Beavis felt himself almost choked with a welter of emotion. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her so lovely. Her bright blue eyes were blazing with such passion it almost dazzled him, and his heart melted as a breeze from the car’s open window caught the fiery black curls, and blew them across her lips.
‘I know what I say,’ Céline said. ‘I say that if François de Lorvoire can bring the same light to Claudine’s eyes as his home has, then I will bless this marriage with all my heart.’
Claudine stared at her aunt as a sudden bolt of nervousness soared inside her. This was his home. This was where she would live with François de Lorvoire. How strange it suddenly seemed. She looked around, and for one perplexing moment felt detached from herself, as though her thoughts had scattered like the pearls of a broken necklace.
Then, seeing the puzzled faces of her aunt and her father, an impish light flared in her eyes and she began to get out of the car, saying, ‘Come along, you two, this lamb has waited long enough to be led to the slaughter,’ and she was still smiling as she led them up the steps, and the liveried butler ushered them through the hall and into a magnificent walnut-panelled drawing-room.
Claudine had not been sure quite what to expect when she first arrived at the Lorvoire château, but one thing she had certainly not anticipated was that she would find herself confronted by a room so filled with people. The noise was deafening, the air heavy with a mixture of scent and cigarette smoke. Several people turned as the door opened, and for one horrifying moment, as Claudine stood on the threshold in the clinging black woollen dress by Charles Creed, with the red, navy and white striped piqué that matched the crown of her little black straw hat, it occurred to her that they might all be de Rassey de Lorvoire relatives. Seeing her stricken face, and reading the situation perfectly, Beavis leaned towards her and whispered, ‘The Comtesse thought it might be easier if there were people here, friends and acquaintances, so that you could be introduced to François as naturally as possible.’
Claudine’s relief was evident, but then Beavis ruined everything by adding: ‘Of course, now that you’ve let the cat out of the bag and informed the whole world why you are in Touraine …’ He broke off, wincing, as Claudine’s heel found his toe.
Assuming her most radiant smile, Claudine held out her hands towards Solange de Lorvoire, a tall, rangy woman with startlingly wide amber eyes and oddly cropped grey hair, who had that moment finished beating a path through the crowd and was clearly intent upon taking Claudine in her arms.
‘Ma chérie!’ she cried, kissing Claudine on both cheeks. ‘Ah, ma chérie! Let me look at you. Oh, but you are so like your mother it almost breaks my heart. How is it that we have never met when I have heard so much about you? And you are even more beautiful than they say. But look at me, I am going to cry, I am so happy. Ah, Louis,’ she said, as the distinguished-looking man beside her passed her his handkerchief, ‘do you see Antoinette’s daughter? Is she not the loveliest creature? Beavis, why have you been hiding her from us? Why have you never brought her to Lorvoire before?’
‘Solange,’ Beavis answered, the twinkle in his grey eyes belying the formal tone of his voice, ‘may I present my daughter, Claudine. Claudine, the Comtesse de Rassey de Lorvoire and her long-suffering husband, Louis.’
‘Oh, but it is I who do the suffering, Claudine,’ the Comtesse assured her. ‘It is always we women who do the suffering, don’t you agree?’
Laughing as she looked from one to the other, Claudine said: ‘I am so pleased to meet you at last, madame.’
‘Oh no, I won’t hear of “madame”, you must call me Solange. Ah, Céline!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t see you standing there, chérie. But you look so divine. Is that Molyneux you are wearing? He has done you proud, my dear. I wish I could wear a hat like that, but … You know, I think I shall! If you don’t mind what people say, then why should I? Louis, do you hear me, I’m going to buy a hat like Céline’s. Now tell me, Céline, how do you manage to keep yourself looking so young when I know for certain that you must be at least fifty?’
Claudine, both amused and bewildered, suddenly found herself looking into the aristocratic face of the Comte. He gave her the smallest of winks, then, removing the round spectacles perched on the end of his large Roman nose, held out his arms to welcome her. There was such warmth in his tired, shadowy eyes that for a moment she was almost overwhelmed – then found herself spluttering with laughter as he whispered in English, ‘Never mind Solange, she’s batty. Harmless, but batty.’ Then, letting her go, he turned to Beavis. ‘Now, my friend, there is someone over here I’ve been wanting you to meet …’ and Claudine blinked several times as she recognized the name of the French Prime Minister.
‘Is that really Léon Blum?’ she whispered to Céline.
‘Of course, chérie.’
‘But what on earth is he doing here? He’s a communist.’
‘Odd isn’t it?’ Céline responded, casting her eyes about the room to see whom she recognized. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘who shall we introduce you to first?’
For the next half-hour a sea of faces passed before Claudine’s eyes, most of them unknown to her. She was aware that her presence was exciting a great deal of comment amongst the guests, who seemed to include politicians, aristocrats, soldiers, writers, musicians and even a couple of actors. But there was only one person who could hold any interest for Claudine, though, as thoroughly as she searched the room with her eyes, she couldn’t see anyone who might conceivably be him.
At last she managed to get a moment alone with Céline. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she whispered, ‘which one is he?’
‘Now, chérie, you’re not to be angry,’ Céline whispered back, ‘but he hasn’t come.’
Claudine’s face paled as the excitement that had charged
her veins ever since she first walked into the room, evaporated so abruptly it was as though someone had landed a blow to her stomach. Then seeing the gleam of I told you so in Céline’s eyes, she turned sharply away.
So he hadn’t come. She didn’t know why she should feel so crushed; after all, with everything she had heard about him she should have expected something like this. And yet, could he really be so ungallant as to humiliate her in front of all these people? It was true that if she had learned anything at all about François de Lorvoire, it was that he cared nothing for social graces. Yet she had hoped, believed, that with her he would be different … Now his absence made more than a mockery of that, it showed her how utterly naive and foolish she was.
The next ten minutes were some of the longest she had ever known, as she flirted and joked with guests while all the time anger welled inside her. It was directed at herself as well as at François, for didn’t she have only herself to blame that many of the de Lorvoire guests would know the reason for her presence here? She was certain she could already see the delight on their faces as they witnessed François’ humiliation of her – and suddenly she hated him with an overpowering intensity that threatened to drive her out of this room, out of the château, out of the de Lorvoires’ lives for ever.
‘Steady,’ her father murmured beside her, his hand on her arm. ‘Be patient.’
‘Be patient!’ she hissed. ‘Do you think I’ve come here to be humiliated like this?’
Beavis smiled. ‘Would it calm you if I told you that he’s arrived?’
Her answer was snatched by the sickening lurch of her heart, and unable to stop herself, she looked desperately round the room.
Beavis shook his head. ‘He’s upstairs, changing. He was delayed in Paris, he …’
‘There you are, Claudine!’