“The Prime Minister will be delighted at what I have achieved,” the Earl said in a tone of satisfaction, “and now I shall have a chance of telling him about it tomorrow morning before he goes to the country for the weekend.”
“Yes – of course,” Pandia murmured.
“How is your brother,” the Earl asked Lord Silvester, “still in Egypt?”
Automatically while the Earl was talking, Pandia had poured out a cup of tea for Lord Silvester, but now without touching it he rose to his feet.
“As I have a great deal to do before I leave at the end of next week,” he said, “I am sure you will forgive me if I hurry to my next appointment.”
“I am glad you were able to be at the funeral, Silvester,” the Earl replied. “Come and see us when next you visit England. Will that be in five years or ten?”
He laughed, but it did not seem like a joke to Pandia. She only felt as if this was the end of everything that mattered to her.
It was as if for one moment she had held the bluebird of happiness in her hands and now it was flying away into the sky and in a few seconds it would be lost to her forever.
“As you are well aware,” Lord Silvester replied to the Earl, “when one is travelling in far-off places, time ceases to exist. A reluctant mule or a leaking dhow may make the difference of a month or a year in one’s plans and there is nothing one can do about it.”
“Better you than me!” the Earl retorted. “Even if our railway carriages are inadequately heated, they get there on time.”
Lord Silvester held out his hand to Pandia.
As she put hers into it, she had an almost uncontrollable impulse to hold onto him, to beg him to stay, to take her with him, anything he wished, but not to leave her.
Then, as she felt his vibrations so strongly that it was almost as if they hurt her, he had released her hand and turned to the Earl.
“Goodbye, Cousin George,” he said. “Don’t move. I forgot to tell you how much Cousin Anne missed you yesterday. She is growing very frail and I do not think she will live very long.”
“That is what they were saying the last time I saw her, but all our relatives, Silvester, seem to cling tenaciously to life and she may easily live as long as poor Rudolf did, if not longer.”
Lord Silvester walked towards the door.
Feeling that it was impossible to move, Pandia stood where he had left her watching him go.
As he turned the handle, he looked back. Their eyes met and she felt as if they touched each other across Eternity.
Then he was gone.
“Nice fellow, Silvester,” the Earl remarked, “but like so many young people today, always on the move, never ready to settle down and live a decent life.”
“He – writes very – successful books,” Pandia managed to say as if she must stand up for him.
“And I hear they make money,” the Earl remarked, “although Silvester does not need it. But between ourselves, I cannot understand a word he writes!”
He laughed before he added,
“It takes me all my time to live in the world today, without anybody rambling on about what happened in the past!”
Pandia did not answer. She was sipping her tea as if she hoped the warmth of it would somehow take away the feeling of isolation that was like an icicle round her heart.
The Earl finished his glass of whisky.
“I am going to the study,” he said. “I have a number of letters I have to write before dinner and I will tell you then all about Paris.”
“That will be very – interesting,” she stuttered.
The Earl rose from his chair, walked across the room and went out without looking back.
Only when she was alone did Pandia draw in her breath and realise how tense she had been with fear that the Earl would realise she was not his wife.
However, miraculously he had accepted her without question.
She thought that she must find Yvette and ask her what she should do.
She picked up the book which Lord Silvester had left on the sofa between them and ran across the room as if somehow she must escape from her own fears.
Only as she stepped into the hall did she with a superhuman effort manage to walk with dignity, aware that the two footmen in attendance would think it strange if she tore past them as she wanted to do.
When she reached her bedroom, she was not surprised to find that Yvette was there waiting for her.
As she entered the room, she closed the door behind her and resisted an impulse to lock it.
“His Lordship – is back!” she was able to gasp in a voice that did not sound like her own.
“Oui, m’mselle,” Yvette said. “C’est incroyable! Milord not guess you not Madame?”
“No, he was not in the least suspicious,” Pandia replied in a whisper, “but I am frightened – very frightened, Yvette. Can we not reach her Ladyship and tell her she must return at once?”
“Impossible, m’mselle! Madame totally certain Monsieur not return till tomorrow. She not in London!”
“N-not in – London?” Pandia exclaimed. “Do you mean that you – cannot arrange for her to return tonight?”
“Non, m’mselle.”
Then, as Yvette saw how pale Pandia had gone and the fear that was in her eyes, she said quickly,
“Not worry, m’mselle. Milord sleeps in own bedroom, and he tired after journey. Paris a long way and Monsieur not a young man.”
Pandia felt herself relax a little. At the same time she was still afraid.
It was one thing to impersonate her twin sister at a funeral, but quite another to play the part of a wife to her husband.
She moved further into the room and Yvette said, “Lie down, m’mselle. You have shock! Rest till dinner, you feel better.”
Because there was nothing else she could do, Pandia let Yvette take off her gown she had chosen so carefully for Lord Silvester and then put on her nightgown.
She got into bed and, when Yvette had tidied the room, she lowered the lights and left Pandia alone.
“I wake you seven o’clock, m’mselle,” she said. “Not worry. Everything all right. Madame return tomorrow morning.”
The way she spoke sounded reassuring, but when she was alone Pandia felt herself still tense with fear.
Now in retrospect the awful moment when the Earl had come into the drawing room made her feel as if she had stood on the very edge of a precipice and nothing could save her from falling over.
He had, however, not realised that she was not Selene. But why should he when they were so alike and he had no idea even of her existence?
She was indeed convinced that, if she was married to a man and the situation was reversed, the instant he touched her he would know that Selene was not his wife.
But the Earl was not the man of her dreams and what mattered now was that she must be clever enough to continue to impersonate Selene until she returned.
She felt, now that she had met the Earl, that, distinguished as he might be, he was much too old a husband for her sister.
At the same time he was a man and she was sure that he was proud and would be extremely jealous if he thought his wife was being unfaithful to him.
He would be ruthless, perhaps cruel, in defence of his honour.
Pandia’s instinct, which invariably told her the truth about people, convinced her that the Earl was the type of man who would never forgive his wife for humiliating him.
‘I must protect Selene, I must save her whatever happens to me,’ Pandia thought.
Because she was so frightened, she prayed frantically that the Earl would continue to accept her as his wife and that it would never cross his mind that she could be anything else.
Pandia lay thinking of the predicament she was in and, when she did think of herself, of how she had lost Lord Silvester.
She had known that tomorrow she would never see him again.
But somehow she had been sure they would have been able to say farewell t
o each other in a way that would leave them both with a memory of happiness which nothing could destroy.
Instead he had left her abruptly and all that she had to comfort her was the book he had given her.
She had put it down on the bed beside her and now, almost as if she was afraid to do so in case she was disappointed, she opened it.
It was then that she saw the inscription inside, which read,
“I searched the world, the sky, the sea, The mountain peaks and tried to find the light that other men have tried to see.
Alone I climbed, alone I sought
The moonlight which a Goddess brought to me.”
He had not signed it, but she knew he had written it for her and, while anybody else reading it would not understand, she did.
For a moment Pandia felt as if his arms were around her and his lips were on hers.
Then, as she turned to the next page, the print blurred in front of her eyes and her tears made it impossible to read.
He had gone out of her life as swiftly as he had come into it and she would never see him again.
Even if he tried, and she thought it unlikely, to see her by calling again when he thought the Earl would not be there, she would not be aware of it.
‘I must warn Selene that we met at the funeral,’ she told herself.
But tears, slow and painful, as if each one was a drop of blood, were pouring down her face.
Then her whole body was yearning with an inexpressible agony she had never felt before for the man she loved.
She pushed the book away from her and turning over buried her face in her pillow.
*
“Paris was really quite enjoyable,” the Earl was saying at dinner, as the servants offered them dish after dish of superbly prepared food.
“I was thinking,” he went on, “that I must take you there next time I go. The Ambassador is anxious to give a special dinner party for us at the Embassy, and a number of distinguished Statesmen have said how much they would like to meet you!”
The Earl smiled as he helped himself to another ortolan and said,
“The Prince of Wales is such a success in Paris, not only with French Society, which he found somewhat dull, but with the demi-mondaines and the actresses who were all asking when he will be joining them again.”
“Did you have time to go to the theatre or the opera?” Pandia asked.
She had been trying to remember everything she had heard about Paris.
Actually it was very much easier than she had expected to dine with the Earl for the simple reason that he liked to talk and all she really had to do was to listen.
“Not on this visit,” he replied, “because it was too short.”
He then went into a long description of the times he had been in Paris before their marriage and the gaieties to which his French friends had taken him.
If she had not been so nervous, Pandia thought, she would have enjoyed hearing about what was yet another world she was completely ignorant about.
The Earl’s stories of the leading actresses in Paris, whom he described as being covered with ospreys and pearls and the extravagance of the parties that were given for them made Pandia listen wide eyed.
“I suppose I should not be telling you this, my dear,” he said, “but men make fools of themselves over these women.”
“Are they very beautiful?” Pandia asked.
The Earl chuckled.
“Not compared to you, but they have a gamin attractiveness which is very French and undoubtedly very alluring.”
He sounded almost as if he was enjoying a mouthful of pâté de foie gras. Pandia wondered if Lord Silvester admired women like that and if there were women like her not only in Paris but in all the countries he visited.
She had read that Arab women were alluring, especially the dancers, and she felt a sudden knife-like pain which she knew was one of jealousy.
Because she was suddenly aware that the Earl had said something she had not replied to, she said quickly, “Do tell me more. I find it fascinating.”
“I am surprised!” he remarked.
“You are usually not very interested in what I have to tell you.”
“That is not true,” Pandia parried quickly, “but sometimes I have a lot I want to tell you.”
“You have not yet told me,” he replied, “what happened at the funeral, not that I suspect it was anything but exceedingly gloomy and I am sure The Castle was cold and even more draughty than usual!”
“Let’s talk about more cheerful things,” Pandia said. “Tell me more about Paris and the party you attended last night.”
It was a bold venture because he had not actually said he went to a party, and she thought he hesitated before he replied,
“I am not certain it is something I should tell you, but after dinner was over I and a few friends went off, as you might say, ‘on the town’.”
“Where did you go? And are the places you visit in Paris very different from those in London?”
Because she encouraged him and he was also enjoying his dinner and the wine he was drinking, the Earl became more eloquent.
She was sure that like most old men he wanted to talk and have an appreciative audience to encourage him.
In fact they sat for so long over dinner that Pandia was sure that the servants were waiting impatiently for them to retire to the drawing room.
She did suggest that she should leave him to his port, but the Earl said,
“No, you stay, my dear. It is not often we are alone and I am quite sure without looking at my engagement book that either we are giving a dinner party here tomorrow night or we have to go out to one.”
Because Pandia had not the slightest idea of what they were doing, she did not reply and he went on,
“I have often thought that I see far too little of you, but I suppose that is the penalty of success! You, because you are so beautiful and, as for me, when the Prince of Wales does not want me, the Prime Minister does!”
“I am sure you are a – great help to them both,” Pandia managed to say.
“Where the Prince is concerned, I am able to amuse him,” the Earl replied, “and he finds me useful because I have made him quite a lot of money in the last six months.”
Pandia looked at him questioningly and he said as if she had asked the question,
“I am not pretending that I know everything, like the Rothschilds and Cassel when it comes to investments, but I am delighted to say my tips have ‘turned up trumps’!”
Pandia remembered having heard that the Prince was always in debt and had often needed helping out of difficulty by his friends.
She had somehow not expected Selene’s husband to be rich enough to be a leading figure in the financial world and she remarked,
“You must be very clever to do better than the wealthy gentlemen you have just mentioned.”
“I am glad you appreciate the fact,” the Earl said a little drily, “and that reminds me, Selene, I thought the Prince was being far too attentive towards you the last time we dined at Marlborough House.”
His voice sharpened as he added,
“I know his reputation where beautiful women are concerned! So let me make it quite clear that, if I have the slightest suspicion that he is being too familiar, I shall take you to the country and leave you there!”
The way he spoke made Pandia draw in her breath. Then with an effort she managed to exclaim,
“How can you think such things! His Royal Highness is not really interested in me! After all, he has other ladies.”
Again she was speaking without very much knowledge of what she was saying, but apparently it was the right answer, for the Earl replied,
“That is true! But as you well know, I am very jealous where you are concerned and I am not having anybody poaching on my preserves!”
Pandia thought as he spoke that the Earl would be furious if he had the slightest idea of what her sister was actually doing and would punish her in a man
ner she could not bear to think about.
For Selene to be incarcerated in the country or ostracised by the Social world would be a punishment tantamount to being sent to the gallows.
She knew that she must warn her sister that the way she was behaving might prove disastrous.
The Earl pushed back his chair.
“We might as well go into the drawing room,” he said, “and I expect you are tired, so we had better go to bed early, especially as I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”
“A – long day?” Pandia questioned.
“I told you before I left for Paris that I would have to be back early to see the Prime Minister,” he replied, “and there is a reception of some sort in the afternoon, but I have forgotten what it is.”
“Oh, yes – of course,” Pandia agreed.
She hoped that he would not question her and fortunately, as they walked towards the drawing room, he began to talk about something else.
“I think the Fragonard has been returned from being cleaned,” he said. “Are you pleased with it? You always told me it was one of your favourite pictures.”
“I am delighted!” Pandia exclaimed. “It certainly looks very much better than it did before.”
She had no idea which picture he was referring to and, because she thought he might question her further, she enquired,
“Did you see any pictures you thought of buying while you were in Paris?”
The Earl was immediately diverted.
“Not this time, but everyone was laughing about a group of painters who are even greater charlatans than the original impressionists. Personally, I would not give sixpence for any of their work!”
“What do they look like?” Pandia asked.
Now the Earl was off on one of his pet subjects, the crime that was called ‘Modern Art’ and was the work of lunatics and drug addicts.
Pandia then deflected him to carry on from there to the pictures that he did like and which he would wish to own and add to the large collection he already had in the country.
Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece without appearing to do so, she realised it was nearly eleven and she heaved a little sigh of relief.
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