by Susan Lewis
She rode back to the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi, feeling very happy – almost as if she must try to keep her spirits from soaring too high. She was missing Armand dreadfully, of course, but it was so wonderful to be in Paris, away from the prying eyes that followed her about Lorvoire. And she could hardly wait to get home to see if her ball gown had been delivered yet … Again she sighed as she pictured the yards and yards of black rayon satin, the strapless cross-over bodice and daringly low back. Monique and Solange had shrieked with laughter during her final fitting, for when she stooped to pick up the hem, her breasts had broken free of the bodice.
‘It is no matter,’ Coco had assured her, ‘we shall merely stiffen the whalebone and tighten the cross-over.’
‘But will I be able to breathe?’
‘I doubt it, but which do you wish to secure, your modesty or your life?’
‘My life, I think. Even if I remain covered, this gown leaves very little to the imagination!’
‘Then we shall do our best,’ Coco laughed. ‘And perhaps, before you return to Lorvoire, you will do me the honour of being photographed in the dress. I am very proud of this creation.’
When she arrived home Claudine ran straight up the stairs to the nursery, but only to find that Louis was asleep. She stood over him for several minutes, looking at his adorable little face, the tousled mop of black hair, the long dark lashes curled over the silky smoothness of his cheeks. She loved him so much she ached with it.
‘He has worn himself out playing with all the new toys Madame la Comtesse has purchased,’ Corinne said, coming into the room and standing beside her at the cot.
‘She spoils him,’ Claudine said softly. ‘We all do.’ She turned back to the nanny. ‘Corinne, if anything were to happen to him …’
‘There now, madame,’ Corinne soothed. ‘Nothing is going to happen to him. Has your husband not given you his word?’
It was clear from Claudine’s expression that she needed more reassurance than that. Corinne pressed her hand. ‘Why don’t you go down to the sitting-room? The Comtesse is about to take tea with her visitors and I believe your aunt is amongst them.’
Immediately Claudine’s face brightened. ‘Tante Céline!’ she cried. ‘I had no idea she was in Paris.’ And after casting another lingering look at her son, she ran off down the stairs.
The following morning she was standing at the mirror in the hall, arranging her hat before joining Corinne and Louis for their walk, when she was drawn to the sound of voices coming from the study.
‘… so I am afraid, Monsieur le Comte, that I am unable to tell you any more than that.’
She frowned. It was a voice she recognized, but for the moment she couldn’t place it.
‘Have you sent anyone to Brest?’ Louis enquired.
‘Of course, monsieur. But it is over fourteen days now since the Royal Navy landed him, he is unlikely still to be there.’
‘But someone there must have seen him?’
‘There is a garage mechanic who was holding François’ car. François collected it, as arranged, and the mechanic has every reason to believe he then drove out of Brest.’
Claudine edged closer to the door.
‘You’re taking the word of a garage mechanic?’
‘We have no choice, monsieur. No one else has seen him, no one has heard from him.’
‘Have you tried Élise Pascale?’
‘Naturally. She is as baffled as we are.’
‘This isn’t good enough, Paillole,’ Louis said. ‘I don’t need to remind you what a dangerous game my son is playing and it is one of which I strongly disapprove. I want him found, and I want him found alive’
‘Of course, monsieur. We all want that. But the reason I have come here today is to prepare you for the worst.’
Claudine’s heart stood still.
‘So you think he is already dead?’ Louis snapped
‘No. That is not what we think at all. What we think is what we have always feared.’
There was a long silence, then Louis spoke again. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Captain Paillole?’
‘We have no confirmation, monsieur, but I’m afraid, yes, that is what we suspect.’
‘Get out of here!’ Louis roared. ‘Get out and don’t come into my house again!’
Claudine fled across the hall to the sitting-room. Thankfully no one was inside. She heard the front door slam, then Captain Paillole’s footsteps in the drive. She crossed quickly to the window and watched as he drove out of the gates.
She could make nothing of what she had heard, nothing except that François had vanished – and somewhere inside her a knot of fear started to tighten. If she asked Louis to explain, it would mean admitting to eavesdropping. But did that matter? It was her husband they had been discussing – she had a right to know what Captain Paillole suspected him of.
Louis was still in his study when she knocked, but as she pushed the door open Monique came flying down the stairs crying, ‘Papa! Papa! Is he there, Claudine? Oh Papa! You are the most generous man in the world,’ she gushed, sailing into the room. ‘Did you see what he has given me, Claudine? Look here,’ and she passed Claudine a small leather case. Inside was an emerald necklace, earrings and bracelet. ‘Won’t they match my dress perfectly this evening? Oh Papa, you are so clever.’
To Claudine’s amazement there was nothing in Louis’ manner to suggest that only a few moments ago he had lost his temper; as he accepted his daughter’s gratitude his face was a picture of pleasure.
‘It’s stunning, Louis,’ Claudine said. ‘Absolutely …’
‘Just a minute,’ he interrupted. ‘Have you not found your own? I instructed Magaly to leave it on your dressing table.’
Claudine shook her head, bewildered.
‘Then I suggest you return to your room and inspect my choice. If it is not suitable we shall need to change it before tonight. And you, Monique, why don’t you go with her while I make a telephone call?’
The rest of the day was so taken up with last-minute house guests arriving and then their own preparations for the ball, that it wasn’t until late afternoon that Claudine had an opportunity to speak to Louis again. However, when she knocked on the study door there was no reply, and when she turned the handle she found that it was locked. Puzzled, she went back upstairs, and had got as far as the first landing when she heard the study door open, and saw Louis cross to the front door and open it. He spoke briefly to a man she couldn’t see, closed the door again and returned to the study.
There was obviously something strange going on, and as the evening went on Claudine found herself increasingly unnerved by it. Uppermost in her mind was the fact that François had disappeared. What he had done, or what Captain Paillole suspected him of, had for the moment ceased to matter: she just wanted to know where he was. Then it occurred to her that Corinne might know.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do know where he is,’ Corinne said. ‘But I’m afraid he has instructed me to tell no one. The only reason I know is so that I can reach him if I feel Louis is in any danger.’
‘But what about François? Is he in any danger?’
Corinne smiled. ‘Not now, madame.’
‘Meaning he was?’
‘I think a little, yes.’
Claudine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Corinne! I want to know where he is!’
‘Madame, monsieur gives his orders for his own safety as well as yours, and I should be in breach of my duty to you both if I went against his wishes.’
‘I want to know, Corinne!’
But just then, to Corinne’s evident relief, the door opened and Solange came in with Louis.
Claudine had no choice but to accept her defeat and several minutes later took Louis off to her own room so he could join her in the bath. And after all, she thought as she lay back in the scented water while Magaly handed her a glass of champagne and Louis sailed his toy boats around her, if Corinne believed François to be safe then
he probably was. And she had no intention of spoiling this evening by worrying about a husband she detested.
The ball was in full swing by the time the Polish Ambassador led his staff, bare-footed, in a polonaise across the Embassy lawn. The watching crowd gasped in admiration as the macabre glow of red Bengal lights illuminated the dancers, bejewelled women glittered in the darkness and coloured smoke entwined itself around them. It was as though they were dancing on fire.
Guy de Maulevrier, a family friend who was Claudine’s escort for the evening, ushered her to the front of the audience, and seeing her, Monsieur Lukasiewicz, the Polish Ambassador, took her by the hand and drew her into the dance. Others were joining in too, and as the music swelled to a deafening pitch and the rhythm quickened to a polka, beautiful women frolicked about the gardens in the arms of their dashing young courtiers – while inside the statesmen talked soberly of war.
At the end of the dance, breathless and laughing, Claudine fell back into the arms of Guy de Maulevrier, who whisked a glass of champagne from a passing tray for her, then stooped to kiss her shoulders. She was enjoying herself, surrounded by friends. There was singing; only the Poles knew the words, but everyone joined in, making as much noise as they could so that the surrounding streets rang with their merriment. Guy’s hands were again on Claudine’s shoulders, making her feel reckless and carefree and happy. Then suddenly there was someone tugging at her wrist, and looking round she saw Tante Céline.
‘It’s Monique,’ Céline shouted above the din. ‘You’d better come.’
She hurried through the embassy after her aunt until they reached the Ambassador’s outer office, where Monique was sitting alone. She looked up when they walked in, and as her black bobbed hair fell back from her face, Claudine almost gasped aloud.
‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Karol,’ Céline answered. ‘He hasn’t arrived. I sent my chauffeur round to his apartment, and he’s just returned. There’s no sign of Karol, and it’s past midnight.’
Claudine sat down beside Monique and took her hand. ‘There will be an explanation, chérie.’
‘That’s what Céline keeps saying,’ Monique wailed, ‘but what explanation can there be? He knew how important tonight was to me. He was to meet Maman and Papa. Oh, Claudine, you don’t think he’s changed his mind about me, do you?’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ Claudine assured her. ‘He’s in love with you. He …’
‘But I’ve thought men were in love with me before,’ Monique cried, wrenching her hands away and burying her face in them. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening to me again. Why does it have to be like this for me? I can’t have him, he can never be mine, that’s why I try so hard to fall in love with other men. And I thought Karol was the man, I thought that this time …’
‘Monique, what are you saying?’ Claudine interrupted. ‘Who can never be yours?’
Quickly Monique shook her head. ‘No one, nothing. I didn’t mean anything. Oh, Claudine, what have I done to deserve this?’
Claudine looked at her aunt for help, but Céline only shrugged. ‘All right,’ Claudine said decisively. ‘Tell me who Karol’s friends are, Monique, and I’ll go and ask them if they know where he is.’
‘Here,’ Céline said, taking a pad and pen from the desk behind her, ‘write them down, Claudine.’
Monique knew only three of Karol’s friends, and they had a good deal of trouble over the spellings, but Claudine took the list back to the party and began to ask about Karol. No one knew where he was. She stopped for a word with Monsieur Reynaud, the French Finance Minister, and was just turning away from him when she became uncomfortably aware that someone was watching her. Fear shot through her: the man in the Lorvoire forest had followed her here to Paris … And then, as her body began to tingle in that horribly disturbing way it often did when under his scrutiny she turned round, and found herself staring straight into François’ eyes.
Until that moment she had not understood just how afraid she had been for his safety, or how badly she had missed him. Now seeing him, all she wanted was to run to him, hear him tell her that he was all right. But she remained where she was, strangely unable to move.
He made his way through the crowd towards her, and as though she was drifting somewhere apart from herself, she watched him come, feeling his black eyes sink deep into hers and hearing her breath whisper from her lips.
‘What a fortunate man I am to have such a beautiful wife,’ he murmured as he reached her, bringing her hand to his lips. ‘These are the diamonds my father gave you today?’ He fingered the bracelet on her wrist. ‘He always has had a remarkable eye for quality.’
There was an ambiguity to his remark that Claudine thought she understood, but she said, ‘When did you arrive in Paris?’
‘Earlier today. I’m afraid I had business to attend to before …’
‘What business?’
‘Business.’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool, François!’ she snapped, suddenly angry. ‘I want to know what’s going on. I have a right to know. If you have put my son in any more danger.’ She broke off as he tilted her face up to his.
‘Our son,’ he reminded her.
For a moment her eyes were locked on his, and she felt her lips parting as though waiting for his kiss; but then, slapping his hand away, she said, ‘If you’ve put him in any more danger François …’
‘He is in no more danger than he was before.’
‘Then where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you …’
‘Ah, so you did overhear the conversation in my father’s study today. He thought you did.’
‘Then would you mind explaining …?’
‘I’m not explaining anything in the middle of a crowd like this. Now, I rather feel the desire to dance with my wife.’ And taking her by the elbow, he led her into the garden.
She could hardly believe what was happening to her. With one hand he held the small of her back, and with the other he twined his fingers through hers. Her body’s response to him was so strong that she could barely move.
‘You don’t appear to dance as well with me as you do with others,’ he remarked. ‘But that is hardly surprising.’
She looked up into his face, but as he started to smile at her she turned quickly away.
‘How is the situation at Lorvoire?’ he asked, after a minute or two.
‘To be truthful, I’m not sure,’ she said, mentally shaking herself out of her trance. ‘I still have the feeling of being watched – but Armand doesn’t seem to feel it at all. He thinks whoever it is has gone away. Has he?’ she asked, when François didn’t answer.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, chérie.’
She faltered at the endearment, and anything she might have been about to say was snatched from her mind.
‘Have you come across any strangers at Lorvoire?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she answered. But then, thinking about it, ‘Actually, there is someone. His name is Claude Villiers. He’s been organizing boules tournaments.’
François nodded thoughtfully, then returning his attention to her, he pulled her closer and said, ‘I shall have him checked out. I can’t have anything happen to my beautiful wife, now can I?’ His white teeth flashed a smile. ‘Armand is taking good care of you?’
‘Yes,’ she breathed, feeling hopelessly dizzy at the way his body was pressing against hers. She blinked, trying to bring herself bade to reality. This couldn’t be desire she was feeling, not now, after all this time, when she had fought so hard to conquer it and when Armand had shown her what it was to be truly loved. Yet the feel of his legs moving against hers was quickening her heartbeat and locking the breath in her lungs. She looked up at him, and her heart turned over at the harsh, disfigured face that tonight seemed so strangely alluring.
He was looking down the length of his nose at her, his thick black brows ironically raised. ‘If you continue to lo
ok at me that way, ma chére, I shall feel obliged to do something about it.’
It was as if all the blood in her body had suddenly rushed to her loins, and she found herself clinging to him as though trying to stay on her feet.
‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘since our home is filled with guests I shall indeed have to come to your bed tonight. However, I’m not sure I feel inclined to make love to a woman who whores like a peasant with my own vigneron.’
He grabbed her as she made to break away. ‘Does Armand know that you lust after your husband?’ he said, laughing.
‘You’re insane if you think that!’ she spat. ‘I loathe and detest you, and I don’t care who knows it!’
‘Evidently,’ he remarked, looking around to see who had heard, but as she made to wrench herself away again, he pulled her back. ‘I haven’t finished.’
‘Let go of me!’ she seethed. ‘Let go or I’ll scream!’
‘Scream by all means, if you want everyone present to witness your face being slapped.’
She was silent, staring stonily past him as she waited for him to continue.
‘Where is Monique?’ he said, after a while.
‘Inside.’
‘Then I want you to go to her and tell her that Kalinowski will not be coming tonight.’
Claudine’s eyes shot to his. ‘How do you know? Where is he?’
‘There will be no engagement,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Kalinowski has returned to Poland and I have no reason to believe that he will set foot in France again.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I have seen to it that he will not,’ he answered. ‘Break the news gently to my sister. I believe she thought herself in love with him.’
‘What have you done?’ she hissed. ‘Why have you interfered when he’s asked her to marry him?’
‘He was in no position to ask her. He already has a wife.’
‘Oh no!’ Claudine groaned. ‘But if he already has a wife, why did he ask Monique to marry him?’
‘Did he?’