The Wings of Ecstacy

by Barbara Cartland

  “Perhaps I should leave you guessing,” Zena said. “A puzzle is no longer interesting once one has finished it.”

  She thought as she spoke that it was a rather clever remark, but her companion leaned forward in his seat to say,

  “This puzzle will not be finished when you tell me where you were born. There is so much more I want to know, so much about you I find intriguing and, if I am honest, very exciting.”

  There was a note in his voice which again made her feel shy and she told herself this was exactly the way she thought gentlemen would talk to the beautiful ladies she had heard about and whom she had seen tonight at the Café Anglais.

  It was as if she was taking part in a performance on the stage and she thought she would be very naïve and gauche if she missed her lines and behaved like an inexperienced and rather stupid schoolgirl.

  “I think, as you spoke to me first, monsieur,” she said, “ you should introduce yourself, as there is nobody to do it for you.”

  “Very well,” he replied. “My name is Jean and, if I am to present myself formally, I am the Comte de Graumont.”

  “ I am delighted to meet you, monsieur,” Zena said formally, “and I am Zena Bellefleur.”

  “Enchanté, mademoiselle, and what name could be more appropriate?”

  He took her hand in his as he spoke and lifted it to his lips.

  She had taken off her gloves as she was watching the dancers and, when he kissed her hand, she thought he would do it perfunctorily in the manner in which gentlemen bowed over her mother’s and occasionally hers.

  Instead the Comte actually kissed her skin and she thought this a strange thing to do. At the same time, it was a rather exciting one.

  Because she felt a little embarrassed, she took her hand away from him and looked again at the dancers below them.

  “Well, I am waiting,” he said after a moment.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For you to tell me where you come from, unless of course you have stepped down from Venus or one of those other planets that I suspect are inhabited by Goddesses as lovely as you.”

  Zena chuckled.

  “I wish I could answer truthfully that I have just flown here on wings from the Milky Way. It would sound so much more alluring than coming from a mere European State.”

  “Whichever one it may be, it is exceptional if it is yours,” the Comte said.

  Once again Zena felt they were speaking the lines of the leading characters in a play.

  They had their own theatre in the Palace and, although the Arch-Duchess arranged that plays produced there were all classical dramas and anything that was not exceedingly proper was forbidden, Zena still found the world of imagination behind the footlights a joy of which she never tired.

  “Why are you smiling?” the Comte asked.

  Zena told him the truth.

  “I was thinking that we are behaving as if we were performing a drama on the stage,” she said, “and tonight because it is so exciting to be here, I feel as if I am a leading lady.”

  “Of course and a very beautiful one,” the Comte said, “and I am very honoured that I should be playing opposite you or, should I say, with you.”

  Again there was a note in his voice that made Zena feel he was being intimate. Perhaps it was also the expression in his eyes, or that as he talked to her he seemed to be very close.

  Finally, because it seemed stupid to prevaricate, she said,

  “I come from Wiedenstein.”

  The Comte raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am sure. I must know where I belong.”

  “I am only surprised,” he said, “because I thought that the Citizens of Wiedenstein would be very French. Frenchwomen are usually dark and somewhat sallow-skinned and although they are exceedingly vivacious and entertaining, they do not look like you.”

  “Not everybody in Wiedenstein looks like me,” Zena smiled.

  “I can well believe that,” the Comte replied, “otherwise every man I know would be visiting Wiedenstein and the place would be overrun with eager Don Juans.”

  Zena laughed.

  “What a lovely idea!”

  “But I am afraid,” the Comte went on, “you are unique, in which case, although my whole idea of Wiedenstein has changed, I cannot expect there to be thousands of Wiedenstein women looking like you.”

  His voice dropped, then became deeper as he added,

  “As a thousand men or more must have told you already you are very very lovely!”

  The compliment took Zena by surprise, and, because the way the Comte spoke seemed to vibrate through her, she forgot for a moment who she was meant to be.

  She looked into his eyes, then looked quickly away again.

  “I do not – think,” she said in a very small voice, “ that you should speak to me – like – that.”

  “Why not, when it is true?” he asked.

  She did not answer him and after a moment he said,

  “What you are really saying is that your friend with whom you came here would resent it and perhaps call me out.”

  “No!” Zena said quickly. “Of course he would not do that!”

  “What I do not understand” the Comte went on, “is why he has left you alone. He must realise that if a man leaves treasure of great value unguarded he runs the risk of somebody stealing it from him.”

  Zena smiled.

  “I don’t think Kendric will worry about that, although I like to think I am a treasure of great value.”

  “There are so many other ways in which I could describe you,” the Comte said, “but this is not a place in which I find it easy to do so.”

  As he spoke, there was a sudden noise of voices and laughter in the box beside Zena and she looked over the partition to see that Kendric had come back with the girl he had been dancing with.

  There were also the other gentlemen accompanied by women and several men whom she had not seen before.

  They were all intent on pouring out the champagne, and, as she looked at them, Kendric saw her in the corner of the other box and. came towards her.

  “Are you all right, Zena?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Zena replied. “Shall I come back?”

  As if Kendric suddenly realised that she was not where he had left her, he looked surprised, but before he could speak the Comte said,

  “May I introduce myself? I am Jean de Graumont, and I invited mademoiselle to join me as she was alone.”

  Kendric looked slightly shame-faced as he turned to Zena,

  “I thought there was somebody with you.”

  “There was,” she agreed, “but he felt ill and went to get some fresh air.”

  “I thought I could take good care of mademoiselle in your absence,” the Comte said.

  “That was very kind of you,” Kendric replied. “My name is de Villerny.”

  The Comte gave an exclamation.

  “Do you mean the Vicomte? I heard that your father was dead.”

  “You knew him?” Kendric asked and Zena knew he was nervous.

  “My father was extremely interested in shells,” the Comte replied, “and he talked so much of the de Villerny collection that I almost feel as if I have seen it, although actually I have never been to Wiedenstein.”

  “Then I hope one day I may show it to you,” Kendric answered and Zena thought how clever he was to speak so calmly.

  “Thank you,” the Comte said. “Perhaps one day I shall have the opportunity of accepting your invitation.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Kendric said as if he felt he ought to do so,

  “Would you like to dance with me, Zena?”

  “I think really I would rather watch from here,” she replied. “It looks a little rough down there.”

  “It is,” Kendric agreed ruefully.

  He was just about to say more when the girl with whom he had been dancing came to his side and put her arms
around him.

  “You’re neglecting me,” she said, “and I think it’s unkind of you. Fetch me a glass of champagne, then we must watch the show which is just starting, after which we can go on somewhere else.”

  “No, I cannot do that,” Kendric replied. “I have my friend with me.”

  “Then you’ll have to bring her too, although three is a crowd,” the woman said.

  Kendric looked uncomfortable and the Comte, almost without a pause as if he came in on clue, chipped in,

  “Perhaps you would permit me as I am alone to make up the party.”

  Before Kendric could speak, the girl who by now had her arm round his neck answered,

  “That’s perfect! You come along, then we can all enjoy ourselves. I want to dance where it is not so crowded and with you, mon cher.”

  She kissed Kendric’s cheek holding on to him in a way which made it impossible for the moment for him to release himself.

  Zena realised that she was staring and because she had no wish to embarrass her brother she looked away.

  She realised that the Comte was watching her and, because there was an expression in his eyes which she also found embarrassing, she deliberately looked over the edge of the box down at the dance-floor.

  “The show is going to start,” she said, and knew that, despite everything that was so strange and making her feel shy, it was very exciting.

  At the same time it flashed through her mind that, if her mother knew what she was doing, the Arch-Duchess would undoubtedly have a heart attack.

  Chapter Three

  ‘It must be very late, or rather very early in the morning,’ Zena thought to herself.

  Strangely enough she was not tired, but still excited and exhilarated by the whole evening.

  The show, which the students put on at the ball, had taken a long time, but had been extremely amusing.

  They brought in strange creations that they had made in their various studios and when a prehistoric animal collapsed with dozens of students on top of it, everybody in the ballroom screamed and shouted their applause and Zena had found it very funny.

  She was laughing at the chaos on the floor below when she realised that the Comte was watching her rather than the spectacle.

  “Do look!” she cried. “You have never seen such a mess!”

  “ I would rather look at you,” he said in a low voice and she hoped that nobody had overheard him.

  Actually there was no danger of that for the party which had returned to the box had not only increased in number but the women who joined it had drunk as much as the men and were being very noisy about it.

  Kendric did not seem surprised to find her with the Comte instead of the ill young man who had not returned at all and, as he was completely engrossed with Nanette, as Zena found the effusive young woman was called, she was extremely grateful that she had somebody to talk to.

  Because she thought it was right when Kendric returned, she had moved back into the box with his friends, but she soon began to regret she had done so.

  Everybody was jostling and trying to get to the front of the box to watch what was happening on the dance floor, but in doing so they seemed at times in danger of falling over the edge and Zena looked at them apprehensively.

  She was glad when Kendric decided they should leave, but, although she expected them to be a party of four as he had originally said, by the time they reached the Chat Noir in Montmartre the party had an addition of several strangers who were friends of Philippe’s friends.

  The Chat Noir was interesting but very noisy and they did not stay long since they found it was too crowded to dance.

  The next place they went to had more room for dancing and there were women who appeared to behave in quite an outrageous fashion, dancing alone and showing an unseemly amount of leg and frilly petticoats.

  “I have a feeling,” the Comte said, “that you are shocked by all you are seeing.”

  Zena was just about to say that was true when she remembered that as a Chère Amie and a demi-mondaine she should accept such behaviour.

  “No, of course not,” she said, “but it is very noisy here.”

  The Comte had suggested they should go elsewhere and whether it was because she wished it or that several men asked her to dance, Zena could not decide.

  She had no desire to dance with any of the rest of the party because they were not only unsteady on their feet, but they shouted to each other on the dance floor or tried to change partners with their friends, often when such an overture was unwelcome.

  When one man asked her to dance and she refused, he had insisted, and the Comte had said,

  “Mademoiselle is my partner,” in a meaningful manner.

  “Pardon,” the man said immediately, “ I did not realise she was your petite poulet.”

  He walked away and Zena tried to remember what petite poulet meant.

  It was not a phrase that had entered her vocabulary so far.

  It was obviously effective, for after that the men in the party left her alone and she noticed they danced with other women in the room.

  When finally they left this place, Zena saw with surprise that Kendric was no longer with Nanette, but with another much more attractive French girl whose name was Yvonne.

  He obviously found her very alluring and, as they talked to each other in low intimate whispers, she realised that Kendric was holding Yvonne’s hand.

  This time, perhaps on the Comte’s suggestion, they went to a dance-hall in the Champs Elysées where the band was playing a spirited polka in a garden and the dancers were very mixed.

  There were not only gentlemen in evening dress like the Comte and their new friends, but there were also men in velvet coats and flowing ties who looked like artists, clerks in neat suits, and pretty midinettes in flower-decorated hats and with full skirts that swung round and round as they danced.

  It was all very gay and the music was infectious.

  For the first time in the evening the Comte said to Zena,

  “Shall we dance?”

  She was aware that he had not asked her before because everywhere else they had been was so overcrowded that she felt it would be a case of barging around the room.

  Now as she smiled her acceptance, he drew her on to the floor and the polka having come to an end, the band started to play one of Offenbach’s dreamy romantic waltzes.

  Zena knew she could dance well, but dancing in the Palace Ballroom with courtiers whose duty it was to partner her was very different from dancing with the Comte.

  When he put his arm around her waist, she thought he held her rather too closely and proprietorially, but again she told herself she must not complain.

  As they started to move, she realised that he danced extremely well and was easy to follow.

  They danced without speaking and Zena thought that the stars overhead and the glow of the gas lamps made the dance hall the enchanted Paris she had wanted to find.

  ‘I must enjoy every moment of it,’ she told herself, ‘so that I can remember it when everything is stiff, formal and pompous either at home or in England.’

  She gave an involuntary shiver as she thought of what she would find in that cold repressed country.

  And the Comte asked,

  “What is troubling you? I want you to be happy this evening.”

  “I am happy.”

  “But just now you were thinking about something unpleasant.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “Shall I say that your eyes are very revealing or, perhaps more surprising, I can read your thoughts.”

  “But you must – not do – that.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because it is an intrusion and I have no wish for anybody to know what I am thinking.”

  “Then tell me what I am thinking,” the Comte suggested.

  She looked up at him, saw the expression in his eyes and felt that, if she put it into words, it would sound very immodest and fast.


  As if she had spoken, the Comte exclaimed,

  “Exactly! And there is no need for us to speak of what we both already know.”

  Because she was so surprised by what he was saying, Zena stumbled and missed a step.

  “You are upsetting me!” she said accusingly.

  “I have no wish to do that,” the Comte replied. “Actually I am being very restrained, but needless to say every moment we are together I am growing more and more curious about you.”

  “That is ridiculous! This is supposed to be a light-hearted evening when you just have to enjoy yourself.”

  “I am enjoying myself,” the Comte insisted, “more than I thought possible and far more than I expected to do.”

  He smiled as he added,

  “I arrived in Paris tonight feeling bored and thinking that, although I had time to make contact with my friends, I should be wise to go to bed early and start the Social round of old acquaintances tomorrow.”

  His arms seemed to tighten for a moment around Zena’s waist as he said,

  “On an impulse I went to the Artists’ Ball and from that moment everything changed.”

  There was no need for her to ask what he meant, but because she felt she must say something she remarked,

  “I am glad you have found it amusing and tomorrow you can start being Social.”

  “Tomorrow I am going to see you,” the Comte replied. “Can we have luncheon together?”

  It flashed through Zena’s mind that it would be very thrilling to do so, but aloud she replied,

  “I must ask Kendric what our plans are. I really have no idea.”

  “Perhaps the Vicomte’s plans will not include you,” the Comte suggested.

  As he spoke, Zena followed the direction of his eyes and saw with a little sense of shock that, sitting at the end of the long table they had just left, Kendric had his arms around Yvonne and was kissing her passionately.

  It was in fact exactly what the rest of the party had been doing all the evening, but Zena had felt it was a very strange way of behaving in a public place and had not expected it of her brother.

  She looked away quickly and the Comte said,

  “I am making plans to show you Paris because I am quite certain there is a lot we can see together that you would enjoy.”