by Susan Lewis
He waited, with an unmistakable air of boredom, for her to pull herself together, then offered her a hand to help her to her feet.
‘Tell me,’ she said, as she tried not to notice the way his hand swallowed hers in its grip, ‘do you have a sense of humour? The stories they tell about you in Paris suggest you might.’
‘There are very few things that concern me, Claudine,’ he said, letting go of her and starting to walk on. ‘And society gossip is not one of them.’
‘Then, may I venture to ask what does concern you?’
‘No.’
When they had reached the water-garden again, Claudine stopped at the fountain and sat down. For one alarming moment she thought François was going to walk on, but he halted a few paces away, keeping his back to her.
‘May I ask how you received the scar on your face?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Am I allowed to ask anything at all?’
He turned slowly, but made no move towards her as he said, ‘Inquisitiveness is not a quality I find attractive.’
‘Do you intend ever to be anything but rude to me?’
‘That depends very much on you.’
Not knowing quite how to answer that, she sat quietly, hoping he might say more. At last, to break the silence she asked, ‘Do you know my father well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like him?’
‘I have a great admiration for him.’
‘Well, couldn’t you at least be civil to his daughter, then? Especially if she is going to marry you.’
‘If there is to be a marriage between us, Claudine, then it will be one of convenience only. Beavis is fully aware of that.’
‘Must it preclude friendship?’
He looked away, but she could tell that her question had annoyed him. ‘Why does it have to be you who marries, then,’ she went on angrily, ‘if you hate the idea so much? You have a brother, couldn’t he have rescued you from this obviously repugnant state of affairs?’
At that he gave a shout of mirthless laughter, and his eyes gleamed balefully as he turned to look at her. ‘From the moment you meet my brother,’ he said, ‘it will be one of the greatest regrets of your life that he won the toss of the coin.’
She frowned. ‘The toss of the coin?’
He merely smiled, but this time there was something so pernicious in the smile that though he was standing several feet away, she felt herself shrink back.
‘Earlier,’ she said, ‘I thought you hated me. But I was wrong. You despise me, don’t you?’
‘Does it matter what my feelings are for you?’
‘If I’m to marry you, then of course it does!’ she cried.
His eyes were suddenly harder than ever as the thick brows pulled together and the wide nostrils of his beaked nose flared. ‘If you care about such trivialities, perhaps you should return to England before your disappointment becomes an embarrassment to us both,’ he said, and sliding his hands into his pockets, he turned and walked back to the house.
Claudine was still sitting at the fountain when Céline came to find her half an hour later. In that time she had managed to overcome the worst of her fury, but her sense of outrage was still so strong that she had not yet dared to go back into the house. She was stunned by the effect he had on her – was still having. It was almost as if he had molested her, as if his monstrous presence had actually invaded her – though their only physical contact had been when he touched her hand. She was confused and hurt, she wanted to repay him for the way he had insulted her. But she wanted more than that; much more.
She started as her aunt’s shadow fell across the water; for one dreadful moment she thought he had returned. But when she saw Céline’s anxious face looking down at her, she got to her feet, smiling brightly and holding out her hands.
‘Sitting here all alone, chérie?’ Céline asked uncertainly as she took her hands. ‘Where is François?’
‘Didn’t he rejoin the party?’
Céline shook her head, and Claudine smiled as she remembered that of course he would have had to change his clothes.
‘How was your …? How did …? Céline laughed, ‘I don’t know how to put it,’ she said.
‘How was our first meeting?’ Claudine suggested, helpfully. ‘It was … eventful.’
‘But what do you think of him?’
‘I imagine, the same as he thinks of me.’
Céline’s face brightened as she let go of Claudine’s hands and embraced her. ‘Oh, thank heavens, chérie. So you will put all this nonsense behind you now and return to London?’
‘Oh, Tante Céline,’ Claudine laughed, ‘to think that you have such little faith in my charms!’ She pushed her aunt away, but keeping her hands on her shoulders, she said, ‘You are presuming, are you not, that he found me … how shall I put it? Not to his taste?’
Céline’s eyes rounded. ‘You mean, I am wrong? You mean that he has …?’ She blinked. ‘Has he asked you to marry him?’
‘Not yet, but he will.’
‘And you are going to accept?’
‘Of course.’
Céline took a step back from her niece, and stared at her. ‘Claudine,’ she said, ‘what has happened to you? You are not yourself. Your eyes, they are so cold. What has he done to you? Oh to think that I could have allowed this to happen, what would your poor mother say if she could see you now?’
‘Please don’t distress yourself,’ Claudine smiled. ‘François has done nothing to me, except perhaps to open my eyes to the reality of what our marriage will be like. And maybe it would help you to know that I want this marriage now with all my heart.’
‘Your heart? Mon Dieu! You have fallen in love with him!’
Laughing, Claudine slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulders and started to lead her back to the house. ‘You are jumping to conclusions, Tante Céline,’ she said. ‘I mentioned nothing about love.’
And after that she refused to discuss him any further, for in truth she had no idea why she was still so determined to marry François when she found him so utterly abhorrent, and when every shred of common sense she possessed was screaming at her to leave Touraine and never return.
– 4 –
IN THE DAYS that followed her first encounter with François, Claudine became aware that the boundaries of her world were beginning to draw in. It was as though anywhere beyond Lorvoire and Montvisse had become so far distant as no longer to matter: the focus of her life was here, these few acres of French countryside – and the man she was unshakably determined to marry.
It surprised her a little to find that she harboured no desire to return to the glamorous, carefree life she had pursued in London, and there were moments, as she roamed about the gardens of Montvisse, or gazed at herself in the mirror while Magaly fought with her wilful hair, when she found herself as intimidated and perplexed by her determination to marry him as she was by François himself. The emotion she experienced every time she thought of him was always enough to restore the unparalleled sense of purpose he had left her with – and yet, whenever she thought seriously about her future she felt as though she was being sucked into an ever-changing mirage, in which that saturnine, almost sinister presence dominated and eclipsed her. But despite the confusion, she was determined to see the marriage through, and there was nothing in her outward manner to indicate either the resentment she bore François, or the self-loathing she felt whenever she recalled her behaviour that day in the water-garden. On the contrary, she gave every appearance of being happier than Céline could remember, which, given Claudine’s intrinsic joy in life, was quite something to witness.
In the middle of the week Claudine’s Lagonda arrived from England. To see her niece hover round Pierre for a full two hours while he checked the car over, to see her take a cloth herself to make sure every inch of the chrome glistened like new, Céline found fatiguing enough, but when, with a whoop of delight, Claudine dragged her into the car and zoomed off down t
he drive, her hair flying in the wind and a cloud of dust billowing behind them, she was so agitated by fear that she thought she might never recover.
It was the first and last time Céline ever graced the Lagonda with her presence, but fortunately Magaly, who had not a faint-hearted bone in her body, enjoyed nothing more than an afternoon spin in the country with her mistress – especially when that country was her own beloved France – so Claudine was not deprived of company during the frequent excursions she took to distract herself from contemplating her future with François de Lorvoire.
Solange and Monique visited the Château de Montvisse on several occasions. Monique’s hostility remained as obdurate as ever, and the fact that Claudine was so obviously entertained by the way Monique disagreed with everything she said, only succeeded in making matters worse. The Comtesse chose not to notice her daughter’s attitude; her way of dealing with anything unpleasant, as Claudine had come to realize, was simply to pretend it didn’t exist. Already Claudine had become inordinately fond of Solange, delighting in her dotty little ways and outrageous comments –which were mostly directed at Céline.
During these visits François was never mentioned; it was as if all concerned – with the exception of Claudine – were embarrassed by his abrupt return to Paris. Claudine knew he was there because her father had told her so during one of the frequent telephone calls he had made since his own departure for the capital. From François himself there had been no communication at all, a fact that both annoyed and pleased her. On balance, she thought she was probably more pleased than annoyed, for she had a great many decisions to make before she saw him again. For one thing, she had no intention of being thrown like the last time – or of allowing him the final word. Next time they met, she would be the one to take control of the situation, and she would make certain he understood that under no circumstances would she tolerate his appalling manners once they were married.
The other problem Claudine felt she must sort out before much longer was Monique’s dislike. She knew now that Monique was two years older than her, that she was devoted to her two brothers, and that she had had a very poor time of it romantically. When Céline told her this last fact, Claudine was surprised, for Monique’s wealth and position obviously made her an excellent match, and she was also remarkably attractive. Still, if Monique’s character was as like her elder brother’s as Claudine suspected, it was hardly surprising she was still unmarried. Nevertheless, she was determined to win Monique’s friendship, though it wasn’t going to be easy, she mused now, eyeing Monique as she sat beside her mother on one of the Japanese sofas in Céline’s favourite drawing-room. Monique was balancing a cup and saucer in her hands, and looking haughtier than ever in a pastel-rose flannel suit, silk stockings and short-veiled hat.
‘I’m so delighted that you have fallen in love with our countryside, chérie,’ Solange was saying. ‘I must say, I don’t think there’s a place on earth to beat it. Have you been for many walks?’
Claudine turned her eyes from Monique to smile affectionately at the Comtesse. ‘Yes, lots,’ she answered, ‘but I have to confess I try to avoid the long grass as I have a mortal dread of snakes.’
‘Oh, but I love snakes,’ Monique cried theatrically. ‘They are such graceful creatures, so beautiful.’
‘Perhaps, then,’ Claudine said smoothly, ‘you would care to come for a walk with me, Monique, help me to conquer my fear.’
Monique’s small nostrils flared. ‘But I am so busy at the château,’ she answered, tossing her head in a way that made her sleek black hair bob gently on her shoulders. ‘I really don’t have time for walks. However, I’m sure Maman would be only too happy to oblige.’
‘What?’ Solange cried, turning her head rapidly between Claudine and Monique. ‘Oblige? Of course, anything, chérie. Absolutely anything.’
‘Then that is settled,’ Claudine said, with an impish grin. ‘And perhaps,’ she added, avoiding Céline’s eyes, ‘while we are walking Solange, you might care to tell me about your son Lucien. He’s the only member of your family I haven’t yet met.’
Céline sighed inwardly. Wasn’t that just like Claudine? She obviously hadn’t missed the silence that had so far surrounded Lucien’s name.
‘Ah, Lucien!’ Solange trilled. ‘My boy. My baby. He is coming home tomorrow.’
‘Maman, he came home yesterday,’ Monique reminded her gently.
‘And where has he been?’ asked Claudine.
Monique’s lips puckered with annoyance. ‘He’s been in Spain, fighting with the International Brigade. Lucien is a born soldier, he has no time for frivolities.’
That was on odd thing to say, Claudine thought. ‘What kind of frivolities do you mean, Monique?’ she asked mildly.
‘I mean romance,’ Monique responded, not in the least fazed.
Claudine smiled. ‘Then he is like his brother.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And does he look like his brother?’
There was an awkward pause. ‘Lucien,’ Céline answered at last, ‘is an exceptionally handsome young man, Claudine.’
Claudine turned back to Monique, and not even attempting to suppress the laughter in her voice, said, ‘A handsome young man, and wedded to the army. What a tragedy for French womanhood!’
Again there was a long, uncomfortable silence. It was Solange who broke it, announcing suddenly: ‘Hitler’s coming!’
Céline’s cup hit her saucer with a clatter, and swallowing hard to stop herself from choking, she said, ‘He is?’ Her eyes were dancing. ‘When, chérie?’
‘I’m not certain, but I heard François telling Louis just the other day. I can’t quite decide which room to put him in.’
‘Maman,’ Monique said patiently, ‘I don’t think François meant that he was coming to stay – at least not at Lorvoire.’
‘What a relief!’ Solange cried. ‘I find it so difficult to refuse anyone hospitality, but I’ve heard such dreadful things about the man, haven’t you, Céline? What he did to all those poor people in Gibraltar a few weeks ago! It’s quite beyond me why the British put up with that, you know.’
‘You mean Guernica, Maman,’ Monique told her. ‘And Guernica is in Spain, it has nothing to do with the British.’
‘Oh. Well, the point is, the man is German, which doesn’t do much to commend him to anyone, does it?’
‘I think François is mistaken about him coming here,’ said Céline. ‘Paris is full of scaremongers, but I’m surprised at François. He doesn’t normally go in for that sort of gossip.’
‘Well, all I know is that François and his charming friend Charles told Louis that Hitler was coming. I know, because I was listening outside the door.’
‘Solange!’ Céline laughed. ‘You are the only person alive who could describe Colonel Charles de Gaulle as charming! But I can assure you, chérie, France is perfectly safe now that we have the Maginot Line. There can’t be any question of Hitler coming.’
‘Unless of course François has invited him to Lorvoire,’ Claudine remarked to no one in particular.
‘I consider that remark in very poor taste,’ Monique said acidly. ‘To suggest that François even knows Adolf Hitler –’
‘But François knows everyone!’ Solange declared. ‘He meets them when he is taking our wine for them to taste. Why, he’s even met the King of England, that lovely Edward.’
‘Edward is no longer the King of England, Maman. He abdicated at the end of last year.’
‘So he did. Tell me, did you ever meet the Simpson woman, Claudine?’
‘Only once,’ Claudine answered. ‘We were introduced at a charity ball. She was rather pleasant, I thought, but it’ll be a long time before the English forgive her for stealing their king.’
‘In my opinion,’ said Solange, ‘the English should count themselves lucky that they have one at all. France has never been the same since the Revolution.’
As Céline and Claudine struggled to choke back their laugh
ter, Monique rose from the sofa. ‘I think,’ she said stiffly, ‘that it is time Maman and I were leaving.’
‘Must we, chérie?’ Solange protested.
‘Yes, Maman, we must.’
‘And we were having such fun,’ Solange grumbled as she pulled her reedy frame up from the sofa.
‘If you like,’ Claudine said, ‘I could drive you back to the château in my car, Monique, and your mother could stay a little longer.’
‘Your car, Claudine!’ Solange interrupted. ‘Oh, I’d just love to have a ride in your car!’
‘Oh no,’ Céline muttered under her breath.
‘And I’d love to take you,’ Claudine said, giving up on Monique. ‘Shall we race them Solange? See who gets to the château first? – Monique and your chauffeur, or you and me in the Lagonda?’
‘How splendid!’ And Solange, flushed with excitement, made for the door, Claudine following after her.
For several moments after they had gone, Monique stood still in the middle of the room, her face pinched with resentment. Céline walked over to her and slipped an arm round her shoulders. ‘What is the matter, chérie?’ she said kindly. ‘You are not normally unfriendly, but you have hardly uttered a civil word to Claudine since she arrived. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?’
Suddenly it was as though something inside Monique had snapped. ‘If you must know, then I don’t want her to charm my family or to make friends with people in the area,’ she cried. ‘I don’t want her to like them or them to like her. If they do, she’ll never leave. And she can’t stay, she can’t!’ She tried to pull away from Céline, but Céline, gently lifting her chin, forced Monique’s tear-filled eyes to meet her own.
‘It’s Lucien, isn’t it?’ she said.
Monique’s lovely face was suddenly tortured by anguish. ‘Come along, chérie,’ Céline said, ‘come and sit down.’
‘But Maman. Is she safe with Claudine in that car?’
‘I can assure you that they will arrive at the château in one piece.’ Céline led Monique to the sofa, then sat down beside her. ‘Claudine may be a little wild at times, but she is not completely lacking in sense.’