Seeking Love

by Barbara Cartland

A blast of chilly air hit her as the carriage door opened. Simon jumped out of the carriage and waited to help her down the steps.

  Outside the theatre the thronging mass seemed highly excited. Everywhere people chatted noisily and with a great deal of animation.

  For the first time in ages, Marina began to feel alive. The atmosphere was electric as they walked into the foyer.

  Almost as soon as they arrived, people were coming up to the Solanges and greeting them. Marina was introduced to at least a dozen theatre-goers before they had taken their seats.

  “We have a box that the Boucheron du Barry allows us to use on the nights he does not come,” explained Monique. “Maman always forgets her lorgnettes and we have to tell her what is happening onstage.”

  “You will sit next to me, of course,” asked Simon, as he held the door to the box open for Marina.

  She smiled up at him, her heart fluttering wildly.

  “Are you familiar with this play?” enquired Simon, gazing at her as if she was the only girl in the world. “It is called Tartuffe.”

  “I know of the work, but I have not read it or seen it performed,” replied Marina, breathlessly.

  As he explained the plot to her, Marina could not stop looking at him. His tanned face that made his blue eyes stand out, his full lips that were the same shape as Monique’s and looked odd on a man – she took in each and every detail.

  At last, the lights dimmed and the play began, but still Marina was conscious of Simon leaning in towards her.

  By the time the interval came she could not have explained one line of the plot to anyone had her life depended upon it.

  “What do you think of it so far?” asked Monique, as Madame Solange busied herself with her lorgnettes.

  “It is very clever although I must confess that I have not understood very much of what the actors are saying.”

  “But you have an idea of what is going on?”

  “Simon has kindly explained it to me.”

  Marina looked round but Simon was no longer in the box.

  “Where is my brother? Off again on some mysterious errand.”

  Monique smiled to herself and Marina tried not to look too interested. The last thing she wanted was for sharp-eyed Monique to discover that she had taken a fancy to him!

  The lights began to dim before Simon reappeared.

  “Ou étais-vous?” whispered Monique urgently to her brother.

  His reply was rapid and in French, so that Marina could not understand it. He seemed different somehow – more distant, and he did not sit close to her as he had in the first half.

  But as the play wore on, his mood lightened.

  “Are you following it?” he murmured in Marina’s ear. His lips were so close that they almost brushed her ear lobe. She felt another shiver of delight as his warm breath disturbed her hair.

  “I – I think so.”

  “C’est bon,” he replied, his mouth still close to her ear.

  ‘Oh, I wish he would not sit so close to me,’ thought Marina, in a panic. ‘It does make me feel uncomfortable.’ She was almost relieved when the play ended and the lights came up. She passed her hand across her cheek to find that it was burning. Suddenly, she felt incredibly warm and almost in a swoon.

  She must have swayed in her seat because Madame Solange suddenly moved to her side.

  “Are you unwell, ma chèrie? Look, you are burning up.”

  “I think I need some air,” muttered Marina, hoping that Simon would not take her arm again.

  ‘What are these strange feelings he stirs within me?’ she thought, as Monique hurried her outside into the night air. ‘Why am I behaving like this? It is not right.’

  “Will you be well enough to dine with us, Marina?” asked Monique, who had stood fanning her friend for some ten minutes.

  “I will be fine now, thank you. I must have been overcome by the heat.”

  “Come, the carriage is waiting. We are dining at Monsieur Leonard’s and you are in for a treat!”

  Marina made certain that she was wedged in between Monsieur and Madame Solange on the short journey to the restaurant. Simon continued to smile at her constantly and seemed very attentive when she spoke.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Monique, as the carriage pulled up outside an ornate door in a Parisian side street. “It does not look much from the outside, but once inside, it is huge.”

  A crowd of glittering people brushed past as Marina was alighting from the carriage. Watching them enviously in their finery, Marina suddenly felt terribly dowdy in her mourning clothes.

  ‘For the first time this evening, I wish I was not wearing them,’ she considered, as Monique rushed ahead.

  ‘Everyone looks so glamorous in Paris that I feel as if I have just come up from the country. No one would think I was from London.’

  “Don’t look so sad,” said Simon, as if he could read her thoughts. “Let’s go inside.”

  Marina gingerly took his proffered arm and made sure that she did not hold on too tightly.

  Once at their table, she looked at the menu and suddenly felt overwhelmed.

  There was not one dish on the menu that she cared to eat. Everything seemed to be in some sauce or other and she did not want to overload her stomach.

  Meanwhile, the Solanges were chatting amongst themselves excitedly, poring over the menu and crying out loud with delight at what they found.

  “What will you have?” asked Simon, as the waiter appeared at their table.

  “Just a little grilled sole for me,” she answered, nervously.

  But when the sole came, it was swimming in a rich sauce that she could not eat. She suddenly felt tired and wanted to go home. However, the Solanges were so enjoying themselves that she did not feel that she could ask if she could leave.

  It was nearly midnight by the time Monsieur Solange called for the bill.

  “You have been very quiet,” remarked Simon.

  “I am sorry. I do not mean to be unsociable, it is just that I am still very tired from the journey.”

  “Of course. We shall go home at once,” suggested Monsieur Solange.

  Within minutes Marina found herself in the carriage speeding back to the house.

  On arrival, Monique took her arm as they walked back upstairs.

  “I do believe that my brother has taken quite a shine to you,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

  “Oh, I did not come to Paris in search of romance,” answered Marina, almost too tired to make the effort of a reply.

  “Even so, you must watch him. He is a terrible flirt. Goodnight, cherie. I think you will sleep very well.”

  Marina kissed Monique on both cheeks, as was the French fashion, and closed her bedroom door behind her.

  Much to her surprise, Ellen emerged from the interconnecting door with a big smile on her face.

  “Miss Marina. You look exhausted.”

  “I am, Ellen, I am.”

  “Now, you must tell me all about it.”

  Marina sighed as Ellen helped her with her dress. “Would you mind if we left it till the morning? I am almost asleep on my feet.”

  “Very well, miss.”

  Ellen gave her Mistress a searching look. She did not appear to her to have had a good time.

  But once the oil lamp had been extinguished, sleep did not come for Marina.

  She felt wide awake.

  As she stared into the unfamiliar darkness, all she could see was Simon’s face, his blue eyes and his strong hands –.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Marie came in with a tray of tea at eight o’clock, Marina did not want to get out of bed in the least.

  “Goodness. I am so tired,” she said, stretching and yawning.

  “Good morning, miss,” came Ellen’s cheery voice. “Are you feeling rested?”

  “No, I am not. I feel as if I have been awake half the night. I am not accustomed to keeping such late hours and as for eating a heavy meal so late –”


  Ellen wrinkled her nose and Marina realised that her breath must smell of the rich food she had eaten.

  “I do not care for the food here at all,” stated Ellen, bustling around the room. “Oh, for some simple toast and butter.”

  “If you ask the chef, I am certain that he will give you some.”

  “He did, but it wasn’t the bread we have at home, miss, it was hard and hurt my mouth.”

  Marina smiled to herself for Ellen was a woman of simple tastes who was not about to embrace French cuisine eagerly.

  “Are you feeling better this morning, miss?”

  “Thank you, Ellen, I am. I am sorry if I appeared rude last night. I did not anticipate that we would have such a late night after our long journey. It has quite exhausted me. At home, we would not be dining at midnight!”

  Marina fell silent and began to recall the events of the previous evening. She wondered if she had dreamt that Simon had been so attentive, as it all seemed so unreal now.

  ‘He is so handsome,’ she thought, as Marie took her gown away to be laundered closely followed by Ellen issuing a stream of instructions.

  ‘And so attentive. I think that English gentlemen could learn a lot from him.’

  “Will you be taking breakfast in the dining room, miss?” asked Ellen, who had returned from bossing Marie about.

  “Yes, thank you. Is my black taffeta dress pressed?” Marina wanted to look attractive for Simon. She had noticed that French women were very well groomed compared to the English.

  “I’d like you to do my hair in the French fashion this morning –”

  Ellen raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “That will make a change – I may have to enlist Marie’s help, miss.”

  Marina pretended not to notice Ellen’s distinctly surprised expression. Normally, she would not have commented upon any request she might have made and it made Marina feel as if she had to offer an explanation.

  “I feel that whilst I am in Paris, I should adopt their ways, at least when it comes to dress.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Ellen left Marina to wash and went to fetch Marie.

  As she sat and brushed her hair in the mirror, Marina thought once more about Simon.

  ‘I have never seen such startling blue eyes,’ she mused, ‘and with that dark hair, it is quite an enchanting combination.’

  She thought that he must be the most handsome young man she had ever seen. So different to the pale English gentlemen she knew back home.

  ‘And he seems so sophisticated compared to Albert,’ she thought, as she watched Ellen trying to explain to Marie how she wanted her hair. ‘It is hard to believe that Albert is the elder of the two as he still behaves as if he was in the nursery and all girls are to be ignored.’

  All of a sudden, she was overcome by guilt. Was her dear Mama not six weeks in her grave and already, she was thinking frivolous thoughts.

  ‘I should not dwell on stupid, romantic ideas – it is not appropriate to one in mourning,’ she chastised herself sternly. ‘Papa would be horrified if he knew that I had been out so late, let alone was allowing my thoughts to stray from Mama. I must stop this foolishness at once.’

  Little did Ellen and Marie know the tumult of emotions that wracked Marina’s body as she sat patiently while they wound her hair into an elegant chignon.

  It took Ellen a long time to get Marina’s hair just right and the gong for breakfast had long since sounded by the time she finally made her way downstairs.

  As she walked into the dining room, everyone turned to greet her.

  “Ah, you look so charming this morning,” said Simon, coming over to take her hand.

  “You have done your hair in the French style,”

  commented Monique appreciatively, “and it becomes you.” Marina tingled at the touch of Simon’s hand. She could see by the way he was looking at her that she had not imagined the previous evening’s attentions. She cast her eyes downwards as he led her to the buffet.

  ‘I must not forget I am in mourning,’ she reminded herself sternly.

  “Will you have brioche or perhaps you would care for a pain au chocolat?”

  Simon was standing so close to her that she could feel his warmth. She moved away and kept her eyes firmly on the delicious buffet laid out in front of her.

  “I will try a pain au chocolat, please,” she mumbled, not daring to meet his ardent gaze.

  He handed her a plate with two pains on it. Marina took it quickly and then moved towards the table. Fortunately, the chair next to Monique was empty.

  “Cherie,” she began, “you must tell me what you would like to see today for there is so much to occupy you in Paris. We have the carriage to ourselves this morning and I am certain that you would like us to show you our lovely city.”

  “Thank you, that would be wonderful,” replied Marina, removing a crumb of pastry from her lips. “I would very much like to see the Louvre, especially the painting of the Mona Lisa.”

  “Yes, it is very famous,” added Simon. “Such a smile. It makes you wonder what she was thinking of when da Vinci painted it.”

  “Chocolate, of course!” exclaimed Monique, biting into her second pastry.

  Marina laughed as she was enjoying the pain au chocolat very much indeed.

  “Could we also visit the Arc de Triomphe?” she asked, trying hard not to meet Simon’s eyes.

  “Of course, it would be a pleasure,” said Simon unexpectedly.

  ‘Heavens. He seems to think he is coming with us,’ thought Marina, panicking slightly. She had believed that it would just be Monique and herself driving out for the day.

  “There is this wonderful little restaurant where we can enjoy le dejeuner, continued Simon, staring intently at her. Once again, she could feel the colour rising to her cheeks.

  ‘I wish he would not regard me so,’ she thought, as she tried to engage Monique in pleasant conversation, ‘and I wish he was not coming with us today. It makes things so difficult.’

  “Then it is settled,” said Monique, clapping her hands in delight. “I will have the carriage made ready for us at once.”

  Twenty minutes later, Marina found herself in the carriage alongside Monique. Simon had seated himself opposite with his back facing the coachman so that the ladies could have the best view.

  “Where are your parents?” enquired Marina, as they sped along the elegant boulevards.

  “Oh, out seeing some dull friends of theirs. We are very lucky not to have to go with them. The Lormes are so boring – si vieux,” confided Monique.

  “I am sorry?” asked Marina, who was still struggling with the language.

  “So old,” explained Simon. “The Lormes are at least seventy and all they do is sit and drink coffee and moan about the weather. They are just like the English.”

  “Don’t be rude about our guest’s country,” snapped Monique, giving Simon a warning glance.

  “Forgive me,” apologised Simon at once, bowing his head.

  “I did not take offence,” protested Marina. “You are quite right the English are obsessed with the weather, but that is because we live in a country where it often rains and ruins our plans.”

  “It is no better in Paris,” added Monique, “but at our house in Biarritz, the weather is always beautiful. We will be going there for a long break in a few weeks time and I hope you will be coming with us. Maman and Papa always insist that we accompany them whenever they travel.”

  Marina suddenly fell quiet. Inadvertently, Monique had reminded her of the reason why she was in Paris in the first place – her father had sent her packing.

  The sun was warm and pleasing, but Marina was in a dark mood.

  Monique chattered gaily to her brother in French and she did not even mind that she could not follow them. She was too busy thinking of home and her dear Mama.

  She was still feeling a little miserable when they entered the gallery. Monique and Simon took her immediately to see the Rodin stat
ues.

  “They are marvellous, are they not? So alive,” breathed Monique, as they circled a sculpture of a man thinking.

  “Breathtaking,” agreed Marina, who marvelled at the marble form in front of her. It was not long before she forgot her sad frame of mind and became lost in the wonders she was encountering.

  Eventually, they stopped at the edge of the crowd who were busy admiring the highlight of the gallery – the famous portrait of the Mona Lisa.

  “I think she looks grumpy,” whispered Simon, hissing in Marina’s ear. “She is not beautiful at all.”

  “Well, I disagree,” replied Marina, “she has a stillness in the same way that the Virgin Mary has and that is highly attractive. Everyone says that she is a great beauty and it is a shame that you cannot see it.”

  Simon paused before replying and stared deep into Marina’s eyes.

  “Then perhaps it is because I have been dazzled by someone far lovelier!”

  Marina coloured deeply and looked away, expecting to find Monique at her side. But, in that short moment, Monique had disappeared. Search as she might, Marina could not see her friend anywhere.

  “You are looking for someone?” asked Simon, a slightly hurt tone creeping into his voice.

  “I was wondering where Monique has gone.”

  “Oh, I would not worry about her. She knows these galleries so well, she will not be far. She has probably seen a friend. Come, I will show you more great works of art.”

  Simon offered her his arm and reluctantly Marina took it. She did not like the way being so close to him made her feel. Her heart was racing and her mind a-whirl.

  ‘Oh, Mama, I wish you were here. And not just to see these lovely paintings,’ she thought, as they walked around the galleries.

  But in spite of herself as the morning wore on, she felt swept up by his charm.

  ‘He is so attentive,’ she muttered to herself. “Look, there is Monique,” said Simon, suddenly.

  And sure enough, through the crowds came the familiar figure of his sister.

  “Oh, je suis desolée,” she puffed, as she drew to a halt by them.

  “It was just that I saw Marianne and Arnaud and I have not seen them for ages. But I can tell that you two have had a wonderful time without me,” she added, mischievously.