An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  Lady Violet in contrast at thirty-six was in the full bloom of her good looks. She had never been a great beauty, but she had something of more value – charm and an attraction which drew men to her and made them lose both their heads and their hearts if she so much as smiled at them. She had always been fêted and courted from the moment she had made her début into Society, and it was entirely due to a disinterested and self-centred mother that she had been allowed to marry one of the first men who proposed to her, because she wished to escape the confining boredom of her home life.

  As a child Lady Violet had longed to live fully. Life for her in later years meant one continuous whirl of thrills, excitements and sensations.

  Brought up in the wilds of Lincolnshire, for the Duke and Duchess believed in keeping their family in the country while they enjoyed themselves in London, Violet rebelled against the monotony of dull governesses and even duller lessons and against the selfishness of her parents, who thought that children were fortunate if they had three good meals a day and a bed to sleep in and were entitled to no other consideration.

  But being a rebel was disconcertingly ineffective until at eighteen Violet was taken to London for her first Season and was presented at Court. Up till that date she had met few men, and in welcome contrast to the local Parson, who was nearly eighty, and the local M.F.H., who was married with six children, Eric Featherstone seemed a veritable Don Juan.

  Realising, too, that when her short season in London was ended she would be sent back to Lincolnshire and forgotten until the following year, Violet had accepted Eric, believing herself quite genuinely to be in love with him.

  How mistaken she was she learned shortly after her marriage, but as a young married woman with a quite considerable fortune at her disposal she took the social world by storm. She was so gay and amusing that she managed to make herself charming and acceptable to the women as well as captivating to the men. It was only after some years of social triumphs that Violet began to wish for new things to do, for fresh amusements and other fields to conquer.

  Unfortunately there were no children to draw her and her husband closer together, and she quickly found that he was pleasant and good-natured but very dull, and that he had few interests in life other than fishing, shooting and hunting, which he did conventionally year after year with the same friends and in the same places.

  Eric Featherstone hated change of any sort. To Violet it became the breath of life. She wanted something new to stimulate her, something fresh about which she could be enthusiastic, eager and excited, something novel over which she could argue and take sides.

  Anything that was ordinary and commonplace began to bore her, and it was not long before people came into the same category. She did not understand that her restlessness was in part due to the fact that she had an active and capable brain which was seldom exercised amongst the friends and acquaintances of her own particular world.

  In Society no woman was required to be clever, and even wit in a lady was slightly suspect, and though Violet managed by sheer personality to become a law unto herself, she could not create companions of her own sex with whom she could share her intelligence. Gradually her life began to be spent more and more amongst men.

  She found in love affairs the thrill she needed, the excitement she craved.

  It gave her a sense of power to know that a man was her abject slave, that men would follow wherever she might lead them.

  Clever and intelligent in other walks of life, they would become, when they were with her, as shy and awkward as schoolboys.

  She became more and more masterful, more and more autocratic. She made almost insatiable demands on those who loved her, merely to see if her wishes would be obeyed. But she found that even love could become wearisome, even lovers could be as boring as ordinary men, so still she craved new and fresh people, new and fresh sensations.

  A hundred times she thought herself in love, a hundred times she knew she had been mistaken.

  Then she met Robert Stanford.

  The attraction between them was magnetic and instantaneous, and even as Violet was aware that this tall, broad shouldered man was to mean something in her life, she was also aware that she had met her master.

  Here was a man who was not going to be so easy to lead or to drive, here was a man who was not to be conquered but would be a conqueror.

  So because for the first time Violet had met someone whom she could admire and look up to, she fell completely and abjectly in love. She was clever enough not to let Sir Robert know it. She realised that in some ways he was not unlike herself. He had had too much, things had fallen into his lap too easily. If he wanted anything, he had just to put out his hand and take it, and so she remained elusive and only she knew how hard at times it was to be that where Robert was concerned.

  He was ridiculously good looking, she thought, looking at him now from under her eyelashes when, having ordered the dinner and turned over the pages of the big wine list, he chose the wines with care. There was to be a special Spanish sherry with the soup, a light German wine with the fish, claret from Bordeaux with the game and champagne to follow.

  The cellar at the Hôtel de Paris was as famous as was its cuisine. Françoise Blanc had not forgotten that a man who has dined and wined well makes a better gambler from the Casino’s viewpoint than one who is frugal and therefore inclined to be cautious.

  ‘And now,’ Sir Robert said, turning to his guests, ‘tell me all the local gossip. I drove over to Nice today and therefore I am out of touch with the latest excitements.

  ‘I don’t believe there are any,’ Lady Violet replied. ‘Have you heard anything, Arthur?’

  Lord Drayton shook his head.

  ‘I have entered myself for the pigeon shooting contest tomorrow afternoon, and find to my chagrin that they are offering 10 to 1 against my chances. It is very humiliating for a man who believed himself to be a good shot.’

  Lady Violet laughed.

  ‘Oh, poor Arthur! But I should feel furious, not humiliated, and should make up my mind to win just to spite all the popular favourites.’

  ‘It is those Austrian sportsmen,’ he grumbled. They are too good for most of us.’

  ‘Do you mean to say that nothing has happened while I have been away?’ Sir Robert enquired. ‘No new arrival to cause a sensation, no – ?’

  He stopped in the middle of the sentence. His eyes were turned towards the far end of the room. Because of the expression on his face both Lady Violet and Lord Drayton looked in the same direction. Other people were doing the same thing.

  Two women had come in and were at that moment being led by Alfonse across the room to a table in the far corner. Sir Robert had noticed that it was about the only table left empty in the whole dining room. It was a table for two by the window, the heavy satin curtains forming a background for the simple white flowers with which the table was decorated. It was the furthest table from the door and to reach it the two women must cross the full length of the room and endure the stares of everyone present,

  It was almost impossible not to stare, however well bred, however disinterested in strangers one might be, for the two women were a very arresting sight.

  The elder, obviously the chaperone of the one that followed, was tall and distinguished in appearance. She held herself superbly and moved as if she was alone in her own drawing room and no one else were present. In a dress of deep purple velvet with an almost regal appearance, she wore a cap of velvet ribbon and real lace over her grey hair.

  But no one wasted a second glance on the older women, it was the younger at whom everyone looked and continued to look until she had reached her table.

  Thin, slender and very young, there was something extraordinarily arresting in her exquisite oval face and huge dark eyes. But perhaps it was not her face which first attracted attention. Her golden hair seemed to catch the light from the gas lit chandeliers and hold it in the smooth waves which, falling from a centre parting, hid her ears and
was swept up into a graceful golden chignon at the back of her head. It almost appeared as if the golden brilliance of her head was too heavy for her graceful neck.

  There was something lovely, young and untouched about her as she walked through the centre of the room, her face very pale, indeed almost as white as the ivory of her shoulders which rose from her low cut dress. And her dress was surprising too, for it was all grey – grey gauze sweeping out over vast petticoats of frilled satin, the flounces and frills caught back into the slightest suspicions of a bustle, as was the latest fashion.

  All in grey, she seemed to move like a ghost across the room, and as she drew level with Sir Robert’s table, he could see that, wreathing her hair, where other woman would have worn flowers, were the softest grey velvet leaves almost like shadows among the dancing gold.

  She looked neither to right nor left, until she reached the table, where the older woman seated herself and waiters hurried to draw in their chairs.

  Lady Violet gave a little sigh.

  ‘Her pearls, Robert! Did you see her pearls?’

  Sir Robert felt as if Lady Violet’s voice brought him back from a great distance. He had been looking at Mistral’s face, remembering how, very early that morning, he had seen that same exquisite little nose silhouetted against the sunlight. He was remembering the expression in those dark eyes when he had sensed that she was praying.

  He knew the way her lips curved when she smiled, he knew the exquisite grace with which she lifted her chin and the way her eyelashes would suddenly appear long and dark against her cheeks. But he had not known that her hair was golden.

  Somehow he had thought it would be dark in keeping perhaps with the shadows of the grey hood which had hidden it from him when they talked together as the night slipped away.

  But it was golden – golden as the sun itself which had seemed to come at her bidding from behind the mountains to awaken the sea. And now, as he looked at her, he thought that she made every other woman in the room seem tarnished. There was something in her very simplicity, in the sombre colour of her dress, in the purity of her white shoulders which dimmed even the sparkle of jewels and the gilded splendour of the room itself.

  ‘Did you see them, Robert?’ Lady Violet insisted, and he realised that he had not answered her and she was waiting for his reply.

  With an effort he took his eyes from Mistral to look at the woman at his side. He had never realised before, he thought, how old Violet sometimes looked. He always thought of her as being so young – younger than himself – but now at this moment he could see that middle age was not far away.

  She was waiting for him to answer.

  ‘Her pearls,’ he replied.

  ‘No, was she wearing any?’

  ‘Oh, Robert, how like a man! Of course she was wearing pearls, and such pearls! I have never seen anything like them. They were grey.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Sir Robert said. ‘It must have been the reflection of her dress.’

  He looked across towards the end of the room, but though he could see Mistral’s golden hair, it was too far away for him to see either the details of her jewellery or the expression on her face.

  But they were, I tell you,’ Lady Violet insisted. ‘You saw them, Arthur, I am sure.’

  ‘She is a beauty if ever there was one,’ Lord Drayton replied. We will find out who she is. Here, waiter.’ He beckoned a waiter to his side.

  ‘Tell Alfonse I wish to speak to him.’

  ‘Oui, Monsieur.’

  The waiter hurried towards the Maitre d’ Hôtel, but it seemed as if other people had the same idea, for Alfonse, who knew everything and everybody, was very much in demand at other tables.

  It was some time before he was able to obey Lord Drayton’s request.

  ‘You wish to speak to me, My Lord?’ he said when at length he reached their table.

  ‘Who is she, Alfonse?’

  ‘The young lady in grey?’ Alfonse queried with the air of one who is not mistaken in what he assumes.

  ‘Of course! Is there any other woman of consequence in the room tonight?’

  ‘She is registered, My Lord, as Mademoiselle Fântóme, but I understand that her aunt, the lady who accompanies her, is travelling incognito.’

  ‘Incognito indeed! Then who is she? You know everyone, Alfonse,’ Lord Drayton said.

  ‘I regret, My Lord, that for once I am at a loss. I have never seen either Lady before in the whole of my life, I am certain of that.

  ‘Then they cannot have been to many places,’ Lady Violet said, ‘for Alfonse has been everywhere and seen everyone, haven’t you, Alfonse?’

  Alfonse bowed, delighted. It was the kind of flattery he most enjoyed.

  ‘You are very kind, My Lady. It is with the deepest regret that I cannot gratify your curiosity and, if I may say so, that of the majority of my patrons here this evening. The young lady has caused a sensation.’

  ‘She has indeed,’ Lady Violet said. That was just what you were asking for, Robert, wasn’t it? What a good thing you were here tonight, for if we had told you about it you would not have believed us! It is not often one can cause a sensation in Monte Carlo, isn’t that true, Alfonso?’

  ‘It is indeed true, My Lady. We have, if I may be permitted to say so, a profusion of beautiful women.’

  He bowed and would have made his apologies when another waiter appeared and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Go and tell them as little as you have told us,’ Lord Drayton said.

  ‘I am disappointed in you, Alfonso. I thought you were infallible.’

  ‘I am desolated to lose my reputation,’ Alfonso said and glided away towards the occupants of the other table who had requested his presence.

  ‘Her pearls are grey, I tell you,’ Lady Violet said when he had gone.

  Lord Drayton put his eyeglass into his eye, looked towards Mistral, then let it drop.

  ‘I don’t believe there are such things.’

  ‘Will you bet on it?’ Lady Violet enquired.

  He shook his head.

  Where jewellery is concerned, you are betting on a certainty. I shan’t give you the satisfaction of winning any money. Besides, the Casino has first call on it. I did rather well last night and it’s only fair they should get a chance to take it off me tonight.’

  ‘Are you going to the Concert?’ Violet asked.

  Lord Drayton shook his head.

  ‘I hate music.’

  ‘Well, Robert and I will go for a short while,’ Lady Violet said, ‘and then, if it proves boring, we will join you in the gambling rooms. I doubt if we shall stay long. Sopranos invariably give me a headache, they are so noisy.’

  ‘I find trente-et-quarante much more soothing,’ Lord Drayton replied.

  If they were blasé about the Italian singer, to Mistral it was a moment of entrancement when her voice soared out high and clear under the painted ceiling of the Concert Room, and even the fashionable audience seemed to hold their breath as they listened.

  It was like being transported to a new world, she thought, a world of colour and sound, a world she had never known existed, although she had loved to listen to the Nuns singing in the Chapel at the Convent.

  But how different this was! The distinguished company glittering and sparkling with jewels, the uncurtained windows opening out into the scented darkness, the large orchestra playing as Mistral had never heard music played before, and then the magic of a voice rising and falling, seeming in its very loveliness to draw the hearts of those who listened.

  When the concert ended, Mistral sat for a moment in silence as the applause broke out around her, and the face she turned to Emilie was alive with emotion.

  ‘It was so lovely, Aunt Emilie,’ she said, ‘I feel as if I could cry and laugh both at the same time. I never knew that music could make one feel like this.’

  Emilie glanced at her sharply. She had not expected that Mistral would be so temperamental. There was no doubt from her shining eyes and part
ed lips that the music had excited her. She had thought that Mistral would be subdued and passionless after the long years in the Convent, but it seemed that her feelings were easily aroused. In that way lay danger.

  Deliberately Emilie stifled a yawn.

  ‘Concerts are usually somewhat fatiguing,’ she said, ‘as you will doubtless find out in time. You have a lot to learn, dear child.’

  Her tone was crushing, and a little of the ecstasy died from Mistral’s face.

  The audience were leaving their seats. Emilie rose, but deliberately took a long time to arrange her lace scarf around her shoulders so that she and Mistral were almost the last to leave the Concert Hall.

  ‘I think we will look in at the gaming rooms,’ she said as they came out into the wide corridor.

  ‘Oh, Aunt Emilie, I did hope you would suggest it. For a moment I was terribly afraid that we were going back to the Hotel.’

  ‘We will not stay long,’ Emilie said crushingly.

  She led the way to where an attendant in uniform was admitting people through a glass door.

  Almost on tiptoe with excitement Mistral followed her and then at last they were in the gambling rooms. She had a first impression of hundreds of lighted chandeliers, of massive pillars with capitals of gold, of paintings which upon a golden background depicted enormous groups of Goddesses and Cupids, of mosaics and carvings, statues and palms. It was all so overwhelming that she was dazzled and bewildered.

  There was little noise – only the low murmur of voices, the clink of gold and silver, the click clack of a small hall whizzing round a huge wheel of polished brass. There were seven gaming tables, Mistral saw, covered in green cloth. Those for roulette were quite flat, their edges protected with leather. At these the Croupiers with their long rakes spoke in level, unemotional tones,

  ‘Messieurs et Mesdames, faites vos jeux’

  ‘Rien ne va plus!’

  Each table had attracted a little crowd, the majority of the players watching the play with immobile faces so that it was difficult to tell whether they were winning or losing, or whether indeed they were playing at all.