‘No. I take things as they come.’
‘And you have given no thought to your future?’
‘Not really.’
‘Don’t you think you should? After all, you are no longer a child. Surely you don’t intend to spend the rest of your life drifting around with a set of tramps and good-for-nothings.’
Raoul broke in again: ‘Don’t you think we could leave this discussion to a later date? There is no need for haste. Let her take things easy for a while. Make it a holiday.’
‘I should have thought,’ Madame du Gard said, ‘that she has been having nothing else but one long holiday. However, no doubt you know best. I bow to your superior wisdom.’
She turned abruptly away and left them.
‘Somehow,’ Adelaide said, ‘I get the impression that my mother doesn’t really want me here. Perhaps it was a mistake to come.’
‘Nonsense,’ Raoul said. ‘It’s been far too long since we had a sight of you. Your mother is a little put out because you arrived so unexpectedly. She likes to arrange everything herself, and this is not quite according to her arrangement.’
She saw that he was doing his best to put a gloss on his wife’s somewhat abrasive manner; but it was not totally convincing.
‘And you?’ she asked.
‘I?’
‘Do you wish to have me here?’
‘Why, certainly. You are like a ray of morning sunlight penetrating the gloom.’
It seemed an odd thing to say. Was he suggesting that life at the château was not all that could be desired?
But she made no remark on this. She merely said with a laugh: ‘Even in my present dusty state?’
‘It would take more than a sprinkling of dust,’ he said, ‘to dull your brilliance. Be assured of that, dear girl.’
She looked at him and knew that he had spoken in all seriousness; that he meant precisely what he had said. It gave her a slight feeling of uneasiness, and yet at the same time of pleasurable excitement. Suddenly she remembered that time when he had kissed her in the wine store, and she wondered whether he was remembering it too.
Perhaps.
*
Relaxing in the scented foam of a warm bath, she reflected that there was much to be said for the kind of luxuries that one rather missed when leading the gipsy sort of life. Scented foamy baths were not easily to be found on the open road, and a bed of dry leaves under the stars, though undoubtedly romantic, lacked some of the comfort of a softly sprung mattress in a nicely furnished bedroom.
Food also at the château, prepared by a first-class cook and served on a gleaming mahogany table of magnificent proportions beneath a glittering chandelier, was in a different class from the often coarse and sometimes meagre fare on which she had been subsisting in recent months. All things considered, she came to the conclusion that there was no reason why she should make an early departure from her present quarters. She would at least stay for the grape harvest when her help might be appreciated in the vineyards.
And after that? Who could tell? Just wait and see.
*
She took up riding again. The horse she had had before was still there, and she rode with Raoul and enjoyed it as much as she had in the past. She was an adaptable girl and had the chameleon-like quality of being able to suit herself to whatever company and environment she happened to find herself in. So she was as much at ease with the rich and aristocratic Raoul du Gard as she had been with the Spanish waif and scamp, Guido.
It was not difficult for her to see that Raoul was still greatly attracted to her; perhaps even more so than he had been during her previous stay at the château. Nor could she be blind to the fact that all was not well with relations between the du Gards, man and wife. A certain coolness appeared to have crept into their attitude one to the other. There were no longer any of those little expressions of endearment and fond caresses that had apparently come naturally in former times. Now they seemed to avoid contact with each other as much as possible and to converse only when it was necessary to do so.
Adelaide was conscious of something almost like tension in the air; and it was into this situation that she had inadvertently forced her way, perhaps to have an effect that could have been foreseen by none of them.
Yet, though Raoul’s admiration for her could be detected in his eyes whenever he gazed at her, he had made no attempt to repeat that embrace which she so vividly remembered. Indeed, if his feelings for her were in fact anything more than those of a stepfather and very good friend, he was certainly keeping them perfectly under control and giving no sign that he contemplated any move to put their relationship on quite a different footing.
Oddly enough, she could not avoid a certain feeling of disappointment that this should be so. It was ridiculous of course, but if she were to be completely honest with herself she knew that she could not deny it. In fact it might have been said that she felt almost slighted by this lack of anything more on his part. It was a blow to her self-esteem.
This state of affairs endured for five days. It was ended in the most emphatic manner possible: on the sixth night of her stay Raoul came to her room.
It was a warm night and the windows of the bedroom were open to the balcony outside. She had been asleep and had not heard him enter the room. She awoke to see him standing in the pale moonlight that was coming through the open windows; a tall shadowy figure in a dressing-gown, motionless, his back to the light so that his features were obscured as he gazed at her.
She must have made a sound of some kind, a gasp perhaps; for he said:
‘Ah, so you are awake.’
She said nothing. He advanced to the bed and stood for a few moments looking down at her.
‘You are not going to scream, are you?’ he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘Nothing foolish like that?’
Still she said nothing.
‘Of course if you wish I will go away. You have only to say the word.’
He paused, as if waiting for her to say the word, but she remained silent.
‘Good.’ he said. ‘I see I was not mistaken.’
He slipped the dressing-gown from his shoulders and was naked. She was wearing nothing herself, and a moment later they were in each other’s arms. It was as if in the end it had been for both of them the most natural thing in the world. And inevitable.
*
She had never had a lover as old as Raoul. It was a new experience and an enjoyable one. But of course she did not regard him as old; rather as mature. It was this maturity that had its own particular attraction. He had a hard lean body, but his touch was gentle; there was nothing rough about him. He did not pretend that he was in love with her; it was quite a different thing from that affair with Guido. She did not believe there would ever be for her anything quite like that again.
It lasted three weeks. It was surprising, she thought, that it should have gone on for so long. Raoul would come to her room some time after midnight and would leave before the château became awake in the morning. It became a ritual, a secret ritual known only to themselves. At other times they behaved towards each other as if there had been no more intimacy between them than that which was plain for all to see.
He had not, she knew, been sleeping with her mother for quite some time. They had different rooms, and that was why he was able to come and go during the night with perfect freedom from observation. He did not imagine she suspected anything. Why should she?
Why should she? Well, only because when two people are having an affair under your very nose it is difficult for them to give no sign of it, however careful they may be to disguise the fact. Madame du Gard was not a simpleton and she was not unobservant. The surprising thing was that she should have chosen to ignore for such a length of time what must have been evident to her much sooner. But in the end she decided to act, to bring matters to a head.
At three o’clock one morning she opened the door of her daughter’s bedroom, which neither Raoul or Adelaide had bothered t
o lock, walked in and switched on the light.
She did not in the event discover them flagrante delicto, as she might have wished; they were in fact aseep. She stayed where she was by the door, not approaching the bed, a kind of distaste for what the light had revealed somehow inhibiting her. They were still fast asleep, the opening of the door and the switching on of the light both having failed to awaken them.
She called their names: ‘Raoul! Adelaide!’
Still there was no response. She could imagine that their earlier activities had tired them. It was a galling thought. She might have rushed to the bed and in an access of rage have wrenched the covering from them to reveal their nudity; but she did not; she maintained control of herself. Instead, she raised her voice and called more loudly:
‘Raoul! Adelaide!’
They woke then, simultaneously, sleepy-eyed and only slowly becoming aware of the woman standing by the door. She was wearing a blue silk dressing-gown reaching almost to the floor, and it made her look taller than she was. The fury that was in her was betrayed only by the hardness of her features, the clenching of her hands and a kind of icy glitter in her eyes. Beyond that there was no revelation of any emotion whatsoever.
‘So,’ she said, ‘this is what it has come to. I suppose I ought not to be surprised; but one expects better of people, especially one’s own daughter and husband.’ Her gaze fixed itself on Adelaide. ‘I will talk with you, my lady, later.’
She stopped speaking and seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. There was none, the two in the bed merely gazed back at her in silence.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘As you have nothing to say I will leave you.’
She made a move to go, and Raoul spoke, his tone faintly mocking: ‘Pray close the door behind you.’
She appeared to shudder, as though the remark had touched a nerve and she was finding it difficult to restrain an impulse to commit some act of violence that she might regret later. Her lips were compressed in a thin hard line and her cheeks took on a sudden flush of colour. She looked at him and seemed about to speak; but that impulse too she overcame and said nothing. She turned and went out of the room and did indeed close the door behind her. And she did not slam it as she might have felt inclined to do, but closed it very softly, making no sound, maintaining her iron self-control to the end.
*
Adelaide was summoned to a meeting with her mother in one of the grand rooms of the château. No one else was present, but she gathered that Madame Du Gard had already talked with her husband.
‘You cannot, of course, remain in this house any longer. You understand that, don’t you?’
Adelaide understood it very well. If she were to stay the situation would be an impossible one. Even if the liaison between her and Raoul were terminated, her very presence in the château would be a constant provocation to her mother. One of them would have to go, and she, of course, had to be that one.
It did not greatly bother her. She had never been in love with Raoul; nor, she imagined, had he been in love with her. He had desired her and she had been willing; that was all there was to it. Neither of them was likely to be broken-hearted at the termination of the affair.
‘You wish me to leave today?’
‘Certainly. There is no point in prolonging your stay.’
‘What does Raoul say?’
‘My husband,’ Madame du Gard replied with icy precision, ‘agrees with me.’
Adelaide wondered whether there had been any argument about the matter. She doubted it. Raoul would have recognised that it would have served no useful purpose. Indeed, he had spoken to her on the subject after her mother had left the bedroom in the night. He had told her bluntly that the affair was over and that there would be no struggle on his part to avoid losing her. He did not say as much, but she suspected that he was thinking of the possibility of a scandal if the story should leak out. He had a position to maintain, and it would be advisable not to goad Madame into making any revelation which, though it might bring ridicule on herself, would be a means of hitting back at her errant husband.
Oh yes, he would certainly go along with any suggestion that Madame might make.
‘Raoul will drive you to Bordeaux. From there you may catch a train to take you where you wish. Does that appear satisfactory to you?’
‘Perfectly satisfactory, Mother.’
She seemed to wince at the sound of that last word, as though the reminder of their relationship were unwelcome to her. Then she said with bitter scorn:
‘You have disappointed me, Adelaide. I must confess I have never expected much good from you. You were always too self-willed, too impatient of authority. I knew that you were bound to get into trouble and be a disgrace to me. Nevertheless, I could not have imagined that my own daughter would play the whore with my husband under my own roof.’
Adelaide flushed. It was the word ‘whore’ that struck home. It was the first time anyone had ever called her that.
It was not to be the last.
*
She decided to go to Paris.
Raoul drove her to Bordeaux in the Ferrari and saw her on to the train. He kissed her for the last time, but there was no passion in it; it was merely fatherly. He said little. What was there left to say? But he slipped an envelope into her hand just as the train was leaving. When she opened it later she found that it contained the sum of ten thousand francs.
It was twice the amount he had given her the last time he had said goodbye to her. But perhaps he figured that he had received much more in return. She gave a wry smile. It appeared that the wages of sin was not always death.
Chapter Eight – Another Crossroads
A year later she was living in Paris with an American named Wilbur Manning, who had a rented apartment in an old building in the district of Montparnasse on the left bank.
Manning was an angular young man with something of the look of a youthful Abraham Lincoln. He moved awkwardly and had a slow manner of speaking. Adelaide was not in love with him, but she liked him well enough; and as long as she was with him she had no need to wonder where the next meal was coming from.
Wilbur came from the Midwest and had been brought up on a farm. He had shown an early talent for drawing, and at the age of fifteen had stated his intention of becoming a famous artist.
As far as anyone could remember, there had never been an artist in the Manning family, and since there were two older brothers to work on the farm, Wilbur’s father thought there could be no harm in giving the boy his head and seeing what came of it.
So Wilbur had eventually floated up on to the left bank of the Seine in Paris, because that was where hopeful young artists were expected to study. And there he began to study, though not with such intensity that he did not have ample time for the good things of life. With a regular flow of cash coming to him from the other side of the Atlantic, he was able to indulge in pursuits that might not have been approved of by the parents in far-off USA. But since they were far off, and since Wilbur did not see fit to give them a report of all his activities in Paris, they remained in blissful ignorance of how their son occupied much of his time when not engaged in the pursuit of painting.
Adelaide met Wilbur at a rather wild party. He was in a kind of limbo after a girl named Fifi had walked out on him and gone off with a professional footballer who had more money than sense. So it might have been said that Adelaide caught him on the rebound. Somebody introduced her to him and she thought he seemed to be an amusing character, with that massive black beard and hair down to his shoulders. She could tell that he was attracted by her, but he was such a bear that she could not imagine herself ever having much to do with a man like that. It was simply too laughable.
Yet, as things turned out, she was to live with him for more than three years.
*
Her mother and Raoul had split up soon after her departure from the château. It came as no great surprise to her when she heard the news from her father; it had be
en inevitable even before that business which had brought her last visit to an abrupt end. She had observed the signs of an imminent breakdown even earlier and had known that the marriage was heading for the rocks.
It occurred to her that now there would be nothing to prevent her from paying another visit to the château. She thought about it and rejected the idea. Raoul might be pleased to see her, and again he might not. Time had moved on; things had changed; and it might be wiser not to take the risk of a rebuff. No; she would never see the château again; she felt sure of that.
*
Life with Wilbur was fun. He had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and there always seemed to be some party or other event to go to, so that she was never bored. Even when his conscience goaded him into putting in some work with brush and canvas she found plenty to occupy her time. In Paris there was so much to do; one could never tire of it.
She had taken to smoking cannabis and indulging in the occasional snort of cocaine. Most of the people she and Wilbur consorted with did the same. Many of them were on heroin and designer drugs and suchlike; but Wilbur advised her to stay away from that kind of stuff.
‘You stick to pot and coke and you’ll be okay. That other junk, it gets you hooked and you’re a gone goose. You never wanna go down that road. No sirree.’
He followed his own advice, sticking mainly to cannabis and snorting cocaine only now and then for a lift. He drank wine in moderation but she had never seen him drunk. He had once remarked that alcohol killed more people than all the drugs put together.
‘If it hadn’t been used by man from time immemorial it would be banned as a dangerous substance.’
‘They tried that in your country, didn’t they?’ she said. ‘Wasn’t it called Prohibition?’
‘Sure. You couldn’t get booze legally, so people made their own in bathtubs. Gangsters sold bootleg hooch and fought wars between themselves over territories. It was the time of the mobsters like Al Capone and Dutch Schultz and Legs Diamond and Machine-gun Kelly. It was all hell let loose.’
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