Chateau Despair

by Red Rose Publishig

  Because of the shadows, the house looked much as it might have done centuries earlier, and Christine almost thought she could hear whispers from the past.

  The whispers and husky laughter coming from inside Simon’s door as she was about to knock were real enough.

  “You know I’m crazy about you…”

  “Silly boy! You must not be jealous. I care for Jack but I’m not in love with him.”

  “You can’t marry him, Helene. Has he had you? Have you lain with him? Tell me the truth, damn you!”

  “What would you do if I had?”

  “I think I might kill you.”

  Helene’s laughter rang out. “My poor Simon, how foolish you are. No, I have not been with him that way, any more than I have with you. Come here and kiss me – and stop glaring at me like that. I might let you make love to me one day, but I haven’t made up my mind. I certainly shan’t if you behave like a silly boy.”

  Christine backed away from the door, her cheeks on fire. If Simon and Helene were not exactly lovers they were close to it!

  She had known in her heart that Simon felt strong emotions towards Helene; it had been apparent in the smouldering looks, in the way he could not tear his eyes from her – and in his jealous outburst that evening.

  Christine felt sick and miserable as she ran to her own room and locked herself in. What a naïve fool she had been, thinking there was nothing serious between them and that Simon would turn to her when Helene left Penhallows. No wonder he thought of her as a child! She was a stupid fool!

  Flinging herself on the bed, she wept unreservedly. Her body was wracked by bitter sobs as she realized her dream was finally over. Simon had never loved her. She was just the silly, rather plain cousin he had found amusing when they were children.

  It hurt so much that she could hardly stand the pain. How could she bear to look at either of them again? She certainly couldn’t go back down that evening, knowing what she knew now.

  Simon was taking Helene out the next day, and the day after Christine was going to a meeting in London with her mother. They would be away for a couple of days, longer if Christine chose to stay on with Caro for a while.

  She felt empty and drained after her storm of emotion. She got up and went to wash her face. Glancing in the mirror she thought that she looked red-eyed and ugly. It was no wonder Simon preferred Helene. Any man would!

  She wandered over to the bedroom window and gazed out. A crescent moon had appeared from behind the clouds, casting a path of silver across the lawns, catching the man and woman in a beam of light as they ran hand in hand towards the rose arbour.

  Simon and Helene sneaking off to be alone perhaps? A quiver of pain ran through her but she had cried all her tears and there were none left. It was strange how empty she felt now, as if the hurt had taken the very heart out of her.

  From somewhere within the house she could hear the faint strains of music on the wireless; it sounded like Vera Lynn singing one of the songs she had made so popular with the troops she entertained. She was the forces’ sweetheart.

  As Christine continued to stand at the window, she noticed a man move from the shadows and stand looking in the direction the pair had taken. He drew on his cigarette and she saw the tip of it glow; she had no need to look at his face. It was Jack and he too had seen Helene and Simon slipping into the seclusion of the rose arbour.

  He seemed to hesitate, as though tempted to follow, then turned back towards the house. Was Jack suffering as she was? Christine knew he must be and his pain made hers worse, because she loved him.

  “What fools we are…”

  Her head had begun to ache. As she undressed and got into bed, she had begun to realise that her life had no meaning for her. For years her dreams had centred on becoming Simon’s wife one day. What was there to hope for now that her dream was gone?

  Christine apologised to Jack before he left the next morning. Having seen him alone in the moonlight the previous evening she felt a special sympathy towards him, and it made her task easier when he smiled and kissed her with more affection than he’d shown her for a while.

  “You were right to rebuke me, Christine. It was stupid of me to upset your mother.” His eyes were thoughtful as he took in the dark shadows in her face. “You’ve been upset too. I’m sorry – sorry that you’ve been hurt by all this.”

  “I expect it’s a part of growing up. And it isn’t your fault.”

  Jack nodded, his face set in harsh lines. At that moment he reminded her strongly of her grandfather. Henry could look stern and unforgiving sometimes, and something in Jack’s face made her almost afraid for Helene. Then all at once the look had gone and he was the Jack she knew so well.

  “So – Beth is bringing you up to town for a meeting? You must both have dinner with me at the Savoy. I’ll treat you to something special for being so grouchy last night. The Savoy still manages to produce some wonderful meals – they bring hampers of game down from Scotland and get round the rules somehow, but if you’re one of their regulars they sometimes have a little sweet surprise. I’ll telephone and make a reservation, shall I?”

  He was trying to make his peace with her. Any lingering resentment melted away as she rushed to hug him, feeling surprised at the urgency of his response.

  “Yes, I'd like that very much. And I wouldn’t mind a visit to the workshops if you have time. I want to buy a present for Mummy. I thought perhaps a silver photograph frame…something a bit different.”

  “I’m sure we can manage that. Come whenever you want.”

  “Thank you. I shall.”

  “You’re still my favourite girl, Christine,” he whispered. “Don’t forget that.”

  Christine stood back to wave as he got into his car, her throat tight with emotion. She watched as he drove off, the tyres screeching over the gravel. The noise sent a flock of startled rooks winging into the air and Christine felt a shiver down her spine as she turned to watch them. The sun had hidden itself behind some clouds and there was a heaviness in the air, as though a storm threatened. The wind had begun to rise. She watched as it caught some fallen debris, swirling it round and round in little whirlpools.

  “Christine…” Hearing the tapping of high heels on the flagstones behind her, she turned to find Helene staring at her. “Has Jack left already? What a nuisance! I wanted to speak to him.”

  “He must have thought you were still in bed,” Christine said. “He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb you.”

  Helene nodded but looked unconvinced, even anxious. “I think he is angry with me.”

  “Does he have reason to be?”

  Helene gave her a long hard stare. “That’s my business,” she said and walked past Christine and down the drive.

  Christine watched her go, thinking how unsuitable her shoes were for walking. It was odd for a girl who had lived in the country most of her life not to have brought sensible shoes with her. But perhaps she wore high heels all the time because they made her legs look so good.

  Christine went back into the house. She heard Simon’s voice inquiring for Helene and made a hasty detour to the study, not wanting to see him. Her heartbeat went mad for a few moments but he did not come to look for her and after a while she was calm enough to go in search of her mother.

  Beth was in the drawing room, her attention focused on the bronze group Henry had commissioned for her birthday.

  “What do you think, darling?” she asked. “Does it look right on that table by the window – or would it be better in the alcove?”

  “Why don’t you have it on your desk so that you can see it every day?”

  “I considered that option, but something as beautiful as this deserves to be seen by everyone.”

  “But Henry had it made for you. He wanted it to give you pleasure, not other people.”

  “You are quite right and it would be wonderful on my desk. I was trying to be generous.”

  “You always are, but you should think of yourself more
. You work too hard, Mummy.”

  Beth looked at her thoughtfully. “Has Jack gone?”

  “A few moments ago. He wants to take us to dinner when we’re in town – to the Savoy. I said yes without asking because I know he’s trying to make up for last night.”

  “Poor Jack. He is very much in love with Helene, you know.”

  “Yes – but she doesn’t love him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s just a feeling,” Christine lied and went over to a vase of flowers to pick up some petals that had fallen on to the polished surface of the sideboard. “I think she likes Simon…”

  “Yes, I had thought…Oh, dear, what a mess it all is. Why did she have to come here? She might have gone anywhere…”

  “I think she wanted to come here for some reason of her own.”

  “Henry said something similar the other day. He thinks she is a scheming hussy and that it will be a good thing when she goes, but he doesn’t want to upset Jack – and neither do I. I can’t ask her to leave, Christine. I feel guilty about her, though I don’t know why I should. Besides, we have to consider Jack’s feelings…”

  “I know what you mean. She makes me feel guilty and inadequate and yet…” Christine shook her head. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t like her and I don’t trust her. I think she tells lies…that’s horrible of me, isn’t it?”

  “Neither of us can help what we feel. You can’t help it if you don’t like her, darling. Just be nice to her for Jack’s sake. Besides, you won’t have to see her for a couple of days. It will be just you and me in London. The house has been closed for ages so I thought we would go to a hotel – much easier than opening it up just for us, don’t you think?”

  Christine knew that her mother couldn’t bear to visit the house where she had lived for much of her married life with her husband. Henry had urged her to sell it, but the war had made that virtually impossible since property was too vulnerable in the heart of the city.

  “We could stay with Caro…”

  “Not this time. I want it to be just us. I’ve had so little time for you recently, Christine – but now I’m going to make it up to you.”

  Christine felt the warmth of her mother’s love surround her and realized she must have revealed more of her hurt than she realized.

  “You don’t have to make anything up to me. I’ve always known you love me, Mummy, even when you don’t have time to show it and – and if I read more into Simon’s kindness to me in the past than he meant, then I have only myself to blame.”

  “That’s not altogether true. Both Caro and I thought – when you were older…” She stopped as Christine flinched. “Well, you are young, darling, and time helps. You’ll find someone else. I was hurt once, but then I fell in love with Alexander…”

  “You were lucky to find Daddy. Please can we not talk about any of this? It hurts a bit…”

  “It’s best not to keep things inside. I’ve done that too much, Christine. You are very like me, you know. You may not think it, but I see it more and more all the time. One day you will find yourself, and then quite a few people will be in for a surprise.”

  “Thank you.” Christine went to kiss her cheek, a little overcome by her mother’s words. “I think I’ll take the dogs for a good walk, and then I”ll pack a few things.”

  She walked quickly from the room before she could shame herself by crying. Her mother was surely right, she would get over this – and she would find someone else she could love.

  Christine hadn’t expected to be asked to help with the church bring and buy sale. Her mother seldom attended village functions because she was always busy, but did what she could to support them. She asked Christine to take some odds and ends she had sorted out to the Vicarage, and Mrs. Pickering asked if she would mind helping.

  “We need someone to help with the White Elephant stall, Christine,” she said. “There’s a pile of stuff waiting in my back parlour to be sorted out. I wondered if you could give me a hand? We’re holding it next Wednesday evening.”

  “I’m going away next week for a couple of days,” Christine replied, “but I’ll be glad to do what I can this weekend towards getting things ready.”

  “It would be so much better if the village had a proper hall,” Mrs. Pickering said. “We have to make do with our old barn, and it isn’t fit for much these days.”

  “Mummy agrees with you that we need a hall,” Christine replied. “Perhaps we shall get something soon.”

  She stayed to help sort and price several boxes of bric-a-brac that people had given for the sale, and when she left Mrs. Pickering it was quite late in the afternoon. She had just begun her walk home when a car tooted and drew to a halt at the side of the road.

  “Are you going home, Christine?”

  “Yes. I’ve been helping Mrs. Pickering sort out the stuff for their White Elephant stall. It took longer than I expected.”

  “These things usually do,” Paul said. “We shall be taking up all your time with good works if you’re not careful.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. I’ve enjoyed all the things I’ve done for the sports day.”

  “Can I give you a lift?”

  “Are you sure it’s no trouble?”

  “Of course not,” he replied and smiled. “Hop in.”

  Christine did as she was bid, tucking her skirt in before shutting the door. “This is very kind of you.”

  “You’ve saved me a lot of bother. I was thinking you deserve something for all your hard work – would you like to take a run down to the sea one day?” He glanced at her as he started the engine. “Perhaps this weekend?”

  “I should have loved that,” she said and looked rueful. “But I’ve just promised Mrs. Pickering I’ll help her to get things ready on Saturday and Mummy has a little luncheon party on Sunday…”

  “Oh…well, not to worry. Perhaps another time.”

  “Yes, I should like to go with you some other time, Paul.”

  “Would you?” He shot her a quizzing glance and then smiled. “We’ll arrange it then.”

  It took no more than a few minutes to reach the house in Paul’s comfortable but elderly car. Christine was conscious of feeling a slight disappointment as she got out.

  “I’m sorry about this weekend,” she said. “But I’ll be seeing you soon, at the sports day. Perhaps we can arrange something then.”

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  Christine watched as he drove away, her cheeks pink. Perhaps she ought not to have said that? He might think she was pushing herself on him, and yet he had seemed a bit distant after she’d turned down his invitation for the weekend.

  Perhaps Paul was offended because he thought she hadn’t wanted to go with him? Christine sighed as she went into the house. Why were relationships always so difficult for her?

  Chapter Ten

  Paris 1937 – 38

  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Paris would be like this! Grandmere’s stories had always been a little vague when speaking of the city itself, though vivid when it came to descriptions of the life she had led here in her youth. Grandmere’s time had been spent either shopping in the exclusive stores, with which the city abounded, or in socialising with other privileged young people.

  To be here on the Champs Elysees! Grandmere had spoken of it so often and Clothilde could hear Madame Sanclere’s voice echoing in her head as she looked around her, taking in the sights and scents of the city. There was so much to see – flower sellers, artists, people hurrying everywhere like ants, and all about her the noise of the city.

  Were Grandmere’s stories true? She had seen faded photographs and much treasured theatre programmes so perhaps they were, though in her first bitter anger she had been inclined to think everything she had ever been told was a lie.

  She had been in Paris for two days now, and she was beginning to find the roar of the traffic a little less intimidating. Her immediate reaction on arrival had been bewil
derment and anxiety – the city was so big and there were so many streets to get lost in, so many people hurrying by. For a while she had felt lost and alone, frightened by the sheer size of the city. Until she’d left the chateau, she’d had no idea that all these people could live in one place.

  Grandmere had neglected to tell her about the noise and the smell. The stench of the city took her breath away at the start but she was beginning to accustom herself to it now, no longer as nervous of the cars and lorries as they belched out their noxious fumes and clattered by her.

  She was beginning to be able to find her way around the Montmartre area, with its busy cafés, shops and the evidence that it was still popular with the artists who had made it famous, even though the artistic and literary centre of Paris was now in the Latin quarter. There were pictures for sale everywhere, small ones in the windows of shops, postcards of the more famous artists like Renoir and Manet who had once haunted these streets, and large canvases displayed against stalls on the pavements or hanging on the walls of obliging café owners.

  It was a pleasant place to walk resting as it did on a hill rising north of the river and the Ile de la Cite, its skyline crowned by the Sacre Coeur. Trees gave it shade from the heat of the midday sun, and the glistening white paint of many of the buildings, the open spaces, such a contrast from winding lanes leading from the squares, made it seem bright and airy. Here the enticing smell of coffee mingled with the scent of flowers and a faint whiff of linseed oil and canvas.

  Clothilde had found her way here the first day, remembering Grandmere’s tales of the artists who had frequented it when she was a girl, and she found it enchanting, both during the day and at night when it came alive in another way. She had walked passed the nightclubs and the Cafés Concerts, listening to the music and watching the people coming and going, but remaining on the outside, afraid to go in.