Alone In Paris

by Barbara Cartland

  “You shall be my Curator,” he said, “and, of course, we shall have to decide on the salary you will receive.”

  She did not speak and after a moment he asked,

  “Have you any idea? Have you something in mind?”

  He thought, as he spoke, that this would be a very good excuse for her either to ask for a preposterous salary or else to say modestly that a piece of jewellery, quite a small piece, of course, would be just as acceptable!

  He watched Una as she appeared to be thinking over his suggestion.

  Then she said,

  “That is rather a difficult question to answer, because I have not been living in France. But I know what the teachers who came to the Convent for special subjects received.”

  “And what was that?” the Duke enquired.

  “Translated into francs,” Una replied, “it would be about six hundred francs a year.”

  She thought that the Duke looked surprised and she added quickly,

  “Of course I would not expect to receive as much as that, but perhaps three hundred or four hundred would be fair.”

  This in English money was less than twenty pounds a year and, although the Duke thought this was about right for a young Nursery Governess, it was not anything like the sum a knowledgeable Curator would require from him.

  Aloud he said,

  “Perhaps we had better leave the question of your salary for the moment. I shall, of course, be delighted for you to catalogue anything you think of value.”

  Una gave a little sigh.

  “That means everything! I never knew that a room could hold so many beautiful objects and I so wish that Papa – could have seen your paintings.”

  “Do you think he would have appreciated them?”

  “Of course he painted in a different manner,” Una replied, “but he once said that art was like women, ‘every man found what appealed to his particular taste amongst the greatest paintings in the world’.”

  “Did your father ever paint you?” the Duke enquired.

  “When I was a very little girl,” Una answered, “but he was never satisfied with his portraits. I think he preferred painting landscapes, although sometimes he put Mama in the foreground to give it what he called ‘balance’.”

  She spoke reminiscently and then she thought that perhaps she was being rude to talk so much about herself.

  So she asked him,

  “Did you enjoy your ride?”

  “Very much,” the Duke answered, “and it was so delightful in the Bois de Boulogne that I thought we would drive there in my chaise and have luncheon at an outdoor restaurant.”

  Una clasped her hands together.

  “Do you – mean that?”

  “It is an invitation.”

  “Can we go now – at once?”

  “You must give me time to change from my riding clothes,” the Duke said with a smile, “and I think perhaps you will need a hat.”

  “Yes, of course,” Una said. “I will go and get ready right away.”

  Her eyes seemed almost to glitter as she added,

  “Thank you for asking me. It is the most exciting thing I could ever imagine to have luncheon in the Bois de Boulogne.”

  She went from the room without waiting to say anything more and the Duke looked after her in perplexity.

  Could she really be acting a part?

  Then he told himself that there were many things he had been in life, but never, as far as he could remember, except on one occasion, a greenhorn who would accept what his eyes and his ears heard, without using his mind.

  Nevertheless he was smiling as he went upstairs to his bedroom.

  His valet helped him to change his clothes, thinking as he did so that His Grace was certainly in a far better mood than he had been yesterday on the journey from England.

  Mr. Beaumont thought the same as he came from his office when the Duke descended the stairs.

  “I understand you require a chaise, Your Grace.”

  “I shall be out for luncheon,” the Duke replied.

  “And have you any plans for this evening?” Mr. Beaumont enquired.

  “Not at the moment,” the Duke answered. “When I have, I will let you know.”

  Mr. Beaumont thought with amusement that the Duke was determined not to be confidential and Mr. Beaumont was equally determined not to appear curious.

  They were, however, saved from further conversation as Una came hurrying down the stairs.

  On her head was a hat exactly the same as the one she had worn yesterday except that it was of plain white straw.

  She had in fact only two hats, the one in which she had travelled, which had blue ribbons round it to match her travelling gown and this one, which she had hurriedly ornamented with a piece of pink chiffon.

  She had also added a little pink silk rose that one of the girls at school had given to her as a present.

  Trimming her hat had delayed her, but she felt that she must emulate in some way what she knew would be the magnificence of the Duke’s appearance.

  She was not mistaken and in his hosepipe trousers, his well-cut morning coat and his elegant waistcoat, he looked so resplendent that she felt a little self-conscious about her own appearance.

  However, there was nothing else she could wear and she only hoped that perhaps he would not notice her particularly.

  The Duke in fact noticed every detail and thought once again how clever someone had been to dress Una so skilfully for the part.

  The simple flowered cotton gown had, he thought, been designed by a Master hand, and, with the turned-back white straw hat which haloed her far hair and childlike face, she might have stepped from a picture in the Academy.

  Una reached the hall.

  “I hope I have not kept Your Grace waiting,” she said breathlessly.

  “There is no hurry,” he replied, “but, as it is such a lovely day, it would be a pity to waste any of it.”

  “A lovely, lovely day!” Una cried. “And I can drive in the Bois be Boulogne!”

  Mr. Beaumont thought that she looked the Spirit of Youth. He also thought that any other woman of the Duke’s acquaintance would have said that it was a lovely day because she was driving with him.

  He wondered if His Grace had noticed the difference.

  As a matter of fact the Duke did and, as they drove away side by side in his very elegant chaise with a groom sitting out of earshot behind them, he said,

  “Have you never been to the Bois before?”

  “Not for a very long time,” Una replied. “I came once with Mama to see the aquarium and once in the winter when there were skaters on the ice.”

  Her voice seemed to change as she added,

  “I cannot tell you how beautiful it was. There were sleighs with beautiful women in them and fine gentlemen to push them. There was frost on the trees and snow on the ground and it all made a picture that made me – long to be an artist.”

  “You should express what you feel in prose,” the Duke suggested.

  “Are you saying that I should write a book?” Una asked.

  “Why not?”

  “It would be an exciting thing to do,” Una answered, “and perhaps it would make me a little money.”

  The Duke’s lips curved at the corners.

  ‘Now we are getting down to it,’ he thought.

  But to his surprise, Una changed the subject, pointing out with delight the balloon men standing beneath the chestnut trees as they drove up the Champs-Élysées.

  It was not until they were sitting at luncheon in one of the crowded but fashionable restaurants in the Bois de Boulogne that he had a chance to test her.

  He had a feeling that he was not at all accustomed to that he was barely holding her attention for she was so interested in everything that was happening round her.

  The tables were set in the garden of the restaurant, there was a small lake in front of them and trees covered in blossom overhead.

  The food was superla
tive and Una kept hoping that she would remember the dishes so that she could try to prepare them herself.

  Then she remembered a little wistfully that she had no one to prepare them for. She was sure that, if she suggested cooking a meal for the Duke, his chef would be horrified.

  He might even give notice, she told herself, and that would annoy the Duke more than anything else.

  “There is something I want to ask you,” the Duke said, as he saw that Una’s eyes were on the white swans moving majestically over the smooth water of the lake.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I was wondering,” he said, “what you thought last night when you saw La Goulue dance. Surely her performance somewhat surprised you?”

  Una did not answer for a moment and the Duke thought that he had embarrassed her.

  ‘I was right,’ he thought to himself. ‘Neither Dubucheron nor this girl thought that I would notice that she was not shocked and did not even make a pretence of looking away from such an exhibition.’

  He wondered how she would get out of the impasse he had thrown her into by one simple question.

  With his eyes on her face, he waited, thinking again, because he could not help it, that she certainly looked the part she wished to convey.

  “Papa always told me,” Una said after a moment, “that there was nothing wrong in nakedness. ‘It is natural,’ he said, ‘and only people with vulgar minds would find anything that was not beautiful in the paintings of Aphrodite or the statues of Venus’.”

  “I agree,” the Duke said, “but I want to know what you thought about La Goulue.”

  “I felt a little – embarrassed at first by the – manner in which she danced,” Una replied. “Then I thought it was like pictures made by primitive people, which seem crude and rough to us, but which were in fact drawn by artists striving towards some ideal of beauty – as was achieved by Michaelangelo and Botticelli.”

  The Duke was listening attentively.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  “The primitives did their best and those very early murals on caves and catacombs were the efforts of men – who could only draw what they were capable of depicting.”

  “Are you saying that La Goulue’s dancing is primitive and yet the best of which she was capable?” the Duke enquired.

  “Perhaps I am explaining myself badly,” Una said a little helplessly, “but while I, and I expect you, would rather watch a beautiful ballet like Les Sylphides, that woman last night was dancing – striving perhaps towards something she could never attain but which she knows would be the perfection of her art.”

  The Duke was astounded.

  He had never imagined that anyone could put that type of interpretation on the deliberate voluptuousness of La Goulue’s performance.

  Then he asked sharply,

  “Who told you to say that? Was it Dubucheron?”

  Una looked at him in astonishment.

  “No – of course not! You know I did not have a chance to talk to Monsieur Dubucheron because we left so early. Anyway it is just what I feel myself. Is it – wrong?”

  There was anxiety in the last question and Una’s eyes searched the Duke’s face as if she was afraid that she would see an expression of disapproval.

  “No, not wrong,” the Duke said slowly, “but I was frankly surprised that you were not more shocked by what you saw.”

  “If I had been – if it was meant to be – shocking,” Una said, “would – you have taken – me there?”

  This, the Duke thought, was certainly putting the ball right back in his court and he said quickly,

  “I had decided to go to the Moulin Rouge before I met you.”

  “I am glad I have been there,” Una remarked, “but I would not wish – to go again.”

  “Why not?”

  “I knew even when I went there that Mama would not have – approved. I had always understood that it was a place for gentlemen to enjoy by themselves.”

  “I am afraid there are a lot of places like that in Paris,” the Duke said, “and I hope you do not intend to say that you will not visit them with me.”

  “I should be – glad to go with you– anywhere you suggest,” Una answered, “but you did not really – like La Goulue’s dancing, did you?”

  “Why do you ask me that?” the Duke enquired.

  “Because I feel that you really like the beautiful things round you. No one could live with the Fragonards and the Bouchers on your walls and the pictures in your dining room without comparing them to the posters outside the Moulin Rouge.”

  “You noticed them?” the Duke asked.

  “Yes – while we were waiting for the carriage.”

  “And you realised who drew them?”

  She nodded.

  “Toulouse Lautrec and, when I saw him, I understood – how he could draw only those crude but very very clever posters.”

  “You think a man expresses himself in what he paints?”

  As he spoke, Una envisioned the painting that had stood on the easel in her father’s studio.

  That had been himself – that had been what he was like before he died.

  She shrank away from the thought of it, as if from something foul and evil.

  The Duke saw the expression on her face and did not understand it.

  ‘I am worrying her,’ he said to himself and thought again that she had an unusual intelligence for a woman, let alone one so young.

  Then he was sure that Dubucheron was behind it. He had trained her and taught her. He would be a fool to think for a moment that a girl of nineteen, or whatever she said she was, could talk as they were talking now.

  And yet, at the same time, he wondered if in fact such a luncheon conversation was likely to take place with any man except himself.

  He knew that nearly all his contemporaries who came to Paris for a little fun would by this time be making love to her.

  They would expect her to amuse them with witty double entendres and the light frothy laughter that was characteristic of a young demi-mondaine.

  It seemed to the Duke that the Chinese puzzle he was attempting to unravel was not as easy as he had first thought and he decided to try another tactic.

  “What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Could we go on – driving in your – chaise?” she asked. “It is so exciting to be behind such magnificent horses and to see Paris in a way – I never expected I could do.”

  “You have omitted something rather important,” the Duke said.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “You have not mentioned the person who will be driving.”

  She looked puzzled and then she exclaimed,

  “Do you mean – you?”

  “I am feeling somewhat neglected.”

  She laughed.

  “What does Your Grace want me to say? That you drive better than any man I have ever seen? You are so kind to me that I feel – as if I am in a dream. I am just praying that you will not find me a bore too quickly.”

  “I was rather afraid you had forgotten my existence,” the Duke pointed out.

  She laughed again.

  “How could I possibly do that? I keep thinking that it is all so wonderful that suddenly I shall wake up to find that I am – back in the Convent.”

  The Duke’s eyes twinkled.

  “I am rather suspicious of that Convent.”

  “Suspicious?” Una asked.

  “I always imagined that girls who came straight from school were too shy to speak and fat and dumpy from all the good wholesome food they had been eating.”

  “I was shy when I first saw you,” Una said impulsively.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I am never shy as a rule. Perhaps it was because I have not met many distinguished people – but I don’t think it was that.”

  “Then what was it?” he prompted.

  “Perhaps because you seemed so – magnificent,” Una sai
d slowly, “but I think that it was something else as well.”

  “Tell me,” the Duke said.

  “Everyone gives out a certain – vibration,” Una explained, “and I can feel at once if they are nice – and pleasant, but sometimes they are rather nondescript – and one is not – interested.”

  “And my vibrations?” the Duke questioned.

  “I felt they were – different from – anyone else’s.”

  She looked up into his eyes and said with a little cry,

  “I know you will think I am talking a lot of nonsense! Why do you make me talk about myself – when I want to talk about you and Paris?”

  “Which comes first?” the Duke asked.

  “It would be very impolite to say – Paris!”

  He laughed.

  “I cannot make up my mind about you,” he said. “I keep feeling that you are too good to be true.”

  He saw that she did not understand and, because he did not wish to alert her in any way to what his real feelings were, he said,

  “Come, I will show you Paris, and to tell the truth, I rather enjoy driving these horses, which I borrowed from a friend. My own will be arriving tomorrow or the next day.”

  “You are bringing your horses to Paris?”

  “I seldom go anywhere without them.”

  “How wonderful!” Una exclaimed. Then she added, “I suppose that is being really – rich.”

  She thought for a moment and then she went on,

  “Having so many possessions must be in some ways extremely thrilling, but supposing they are not enough?”

  “What do you mean by that?” the Duke asked.

  “I think I am very – ignorant in many of the things I say,” Una answered, “but I have read a lot and – it has always appeared to me that men feel the need of a challenge.”

  The Duke’s eyes showed his surprise, but he did not speak.

  “Men want to do things to achieve things – to be victors and conquerors. Then they become heroes whom other men want to emulate.”

  Una spoke almost as if she was speaking to herself and, when the Duke replied, he thought in a cynical manner that he had asked the same question of Mr. Beaumont.

  “What are you suggesting I do?”

  “I don’t know you well enough to answer that question,” Una answered, “but because you are so strong and have such vital vibrations, I feel that you could be like Jason, who sought the Golden Fleece, Hercules wrestling with his labours or perhaps Sir Galahad in search of the Holy Grail.”