An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  There were dozens of others which at first she liked because they were English, but which later became, as books should, real friends and often closer than the real people in her life.

  But even books could not compensate Mistral for her lack of parents and a home life, and when she learnt that she was to leave the Convent and go to Aunt Emilie, it had been a moment of sheer exaltation. At last she would be like other girls, at last she would be able to love someone and be loved in return.

  She knew now that nothing had happened in the way she had anticipated. The first night in Paris, when she had arrived at her Aunt’s house unannounced, she had gone to sleep confidently assured that this was to be her future home. But in the morning she had learned differently, and now it seemed she had only exchanged the confines of the Convent walls and the gentle affection of the Nuns for the impersonality of a hotel bedroom and the uncertain temper of Aunt Emilie.

  Aunt Emilie did not love her, Mistral was sure of that. She was not even certain if she loved her.

  At times it seemed as if there was a dark hostility in Emilie’s eyes, a hostility which seemed to take a delight in finding fault, in discovering some trivial misdemeanour for which she could utter a most stringent rebuke.

  Mistral crossed her bedroom and opened a drawer in the dressing table. In the blue leather box lived with velvet lay the pearls which had belonged to her mother. She took them out and held them in her hands. She stroked them a little and felt that they were warm beneath her touch.

  They had been her Mother’s!

  Mistral pressed them against her cheek. If only they could talk, if only they could tell her what her Mother had been like and if she would have loved her had she lived. Aunt Emilie would say so little and what she did say was often terribly disconcerting. Why, for instance, had her Mother christened her ‘Mistral’, and why had she been here at Monte Carlo shortly before her own birth?

  They were questions which continually presented themselves, but to which Mistral could find no answer, and Aunt Emilie would give none. She had always found that following in their train was the question – who was her father? Long, long ago, soon after she had first gone to the Convent, Mistral had realised that she used her mother’s name while other girls used their father’s. She had said nothing, but when Emilie next visited her she had asked her about it.

  ‘Is my father dead?’ she asked.

  ‘No!’

  Emilie’s voice was abrupt and harsh.

  ‘Does he not want to see me – ever?’ Mistral enquired a little wistfully.

  ‘No!’

  ‘He does not like me then?’

  ‘The question does not arise,’ Emilie said. ‘Your father has no part in your life. Forget him! You are your mother’s child. It is her name you bear.’

  But why am I different?’ Mistral had insisted. ‘Other girls use their father’s name.’

  ‘Your mother wished you to use hers,’ Emilie said. ‘It is a good name, the name of a fine English family. Is that not sufficient for you?’

  There was something so hostile in the question that frightened and intimidated, Mistral had agreed that it was, and probed no further. She was so anxious to do as Aunt Emilie wished that she tried not to think about her father, yet inevitably a consciousness of him remained. He existed and she was part of him, whatever Aunt Emilie might say, however much she might try to prevent every possible reference to him.

  He was somewhere in the world, but did he know that she was grown up and that sometimes she longed for him with an overwhelming longing?

  Home! That word had never meant anything to Mistral. The long hours, as she sat alone in her bedroom thinking of things which in the Convent had been forbidden subjects, depressed her and made her suddenly sad.

  Things were not improved when Jeanne finally came into the room.

  ‘I have come to put out your dress for the evening,’ she announced. ‘Your Aunt wishes you to wear the grey satin.’

  At the sound of Jeanne’s voice Mistral turned eagerly from the window where she had been watching the stars coming out in the sky one by one now that darkness had fallen. With difficulty she checked the exclamation which rose to her lips. Jeanne was looking ghastly, her face was as white as that of a corpse, and her lips were bloodless. Her hands were shaking too as she turned the gas jet a little higher and opened the door of the wardrobe.

  ‘Jeanne, what is the mutter?’ Mistral asked. ‘You look as if you might swoon. Sit down and rest. I will find my own dress.’

  ‘No, I will do it,’ Jeanne said gruffly, then, as she went to the wardrobe, Mistral heard her mutter, ‘From all sin, Jesus, deliver us!’

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked, half believing that her ears had deceived her.

  ‘Nothing, I said nothing,’ Jeanne replied, but Mistral heard her add beneath her breath, ‘From the snares of the devil, Jesus, deliver us.’

  What was the matter? What had happened? Why was Jeanne repeating a Penitential Litany? What had upset her? What had made her seem to age twenty years since they had come in from their walk in the gardens?

  Impulsively she crossed the room and put her arms round the old woman.

  ‘You are tired, Jeanne, or ill. Go and lie down on your bed I can dress myself and Aunt Emilie tonight’

  ‘No, Mademoiselle.’ Jeanne’s voice was shrill. ‘Madame does not wish to be disturbed, not until dinner time. You are not to go near her.’

  ‘Very well,’ Mistral said. But sit down, Jeanne, please sit down.’

  To her surprise the maid shook herself free of the embracing arms.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, ‘and let me go about my business, Mademoiselle. I have things to do – O Lamb of God who takest away the sins of the world spare us –’

  She laid out the dress that Mistral was to wear that night and went from the room, still praying, a terrified look in her eyes.

  Mistral had not understood it and it was a relief to find that Aunt Emilie seemed unperturbed when they met in the sitting room before dinner. Indeed, if anything, Emilie looked more regal and imperious than usual in a dress of sapphire blue brocade with an overskirt of draped net.

  If Mistral had been afraid that her aunt would be affected in the same strange way as Jeanne, she was mistaken. Emilie’s head was held high and there was a faint smile on her lips. It even seemed to Mistral that her eyes were unusually bright and that her voice had a ring of triumph in it. Whatever had shattered Jeanne had apparently had the reverse effect on her aunt.

  ‘Tidy the sitting room, Jeanne,’ Emilie said, ‘and leave me some wine to drink when I return. Remember to mend the tear in the dress I wore this afternoon. It must have been caught by a bramble or a prickly bush. It is only a small mark near the hem, but it should be attended to at once.’

  It appeared to Mistral that Jeanne almost crumpled up and she trembled all over. But she only muttered,

  ‘Yes, Madame – I will do it at once, Madame.’

  But when her voice had died away, her lips continued to move and Mistral knew that she was still praying.

  Aunt Emilie led the way downstairs to dinner and they made their usual late and impressive entrance into the dining room.

  People stopped eating and talking to look up at them. Mistral wished, as she did every night, that the earth would open and swallow her up rather than that she should encounter the scrutiny of hundreds of curious eyes and be humiliated by the knowledge that her every movement was being criticised and commented upon.

  At school the Mistress who taught deportment had always impressed on her pupils that self-consciousness was both vulgar and conceited.

  ‘Do not think of yourself at all on such occasions,’ she commanded.

  Every evening at dinner time Mistral tried to obey her. She forced herself to think of other things, to repeat some lines of poetry as she threaded her way in Aunt Emilie’s wake between the tables of the crowded dining room.

  Tonight some lines of Lord Byron’s came
to her mind,

  She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

  And all that’s best of dark and light

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

  ‘How lovely to be like that,’ Mistral thought, and had no idea that the lines might have been written of her.

  They reached the sanctuary of their table. Mistral, seating herself, thankful that the nightly ordeal she dreaded was over, was aware that she was hungry and agreed almost eagerly to the dishes that the waiter suggested for their delectation.

  Unfortunately it seemed that Emilie could eat little. She took only a spoonful of soup, a mere mouthful of fish, and then she sent away the other dishes untouched. But she talked vivaciously, commenting on the people around them so unfavourably and in such a loud voice that Mistral was afraid her venom would be overheard.

  She was thankful when the meal was finished and they could go to the Casino. Tonight it seemed that Emilie was in an extravagant mood. She changed four large bank notes for gold pieces, then had difficulty in carrying so much money. Mistral helped her.

  ‘You are going to play higher than usual, Aunt Emilie?’ she asked.

  Having spoken, she was half afraid her Aunt would resent her remark, but Emilie only smiled and replied,

  ‘I can afford it! Yes, I can afford it tonight.’

  As usual Mistral stood behind her Aunt’s chair and watched her play. At first she had found both the game and the playing interesting and often amusing, but lately she had grown weary of her role of spectator. The piles of money placed on the numbers, the croupiers’ level, expressionless voices, the claw-like hands of those who had won going out to grasp the gold, were now all too familiar and monotonous to hold Mistral’s attention for long and tonight her eyes wandered round the room not once but continually – watching the newcomers as they entered and the crowds moving from table to table.

  She pretended to herself for a time that she was not looking for anyone special, but she knew in her heart that she was waiting for the moment when she would see Sir Robert again. He had not dined at the Hôtel de Paris tonight, and she had a sudden terrible fear that he might have gone away, that his holiday had come to an end.

  Suppose that was the truth? Suppose she never saw him again? As she asked herself the questions Mistral felt a loneliness and a sense of desolation such as she had never experienced before. The glittering sense vanished from before her eyes and she thought she was alone in a vast and dreadful darkness without a friend or companion.

  She did not understand her own fear, she only knew she was afraid.

  Then with a feeling of relief so violent, so overwhelming that she felt as if her very knees were too weak to hold her, she saw Sir Robert enter the room.

  He was with Lady Violet, and it seemed to Mistral that they both looked cross as if they had been quarrelling.

  Sir Robert went straight to the nearest table and started to play. Mistral watched him. She half hoped he would look up and see her and then, as often happened, there would be a flicker of recognition in his eyes and a faint smile on his lips. But tonight he was concentrating too intensely on his gaming, she thought, to think of anything else. Yet she minded nothing save that he was there, that she could watch him from under her eyelashes.

  ‘Mistral, what are you thinking about?’ Emilie’s voice recalled her wandering thoughts. ‘I have spoken to you twice and you have not answered.’

  ‘I am sorry, Aunt Emilie,’ Mistral said quietly.

  Take my cloak and put it in the Cloakroom. It is too hot in here.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Emilie.’

  ‘Numéro Quinze. Rouge et impair,’ the croupier called.

  ‘There, I have won again,’ Emilie remarked with satisfaction. ‘I always win in the end. Do you realise that, Mistral? I always win in the end.’

  Emilie gave a little chuckle. It was a strange sound, and because she so seldom laughed, Mistral felt as if there was something almost sinister about the sound coming from between her lips.

  Hastily she took her Aunt’s cloak. The Ladies’ Cloakroom was at the far end of the passage from the Main Entrance and to reach it she passed several other rooms. As she hurried along past the Card Room, a man came out. She drew a little to one side to let him pass, but found him barring the way.

  ‘Mademoiselle Fântóme!’ he exclaimed. This is indeed fortunate for I wish to speak with you.’

  Mistral recognised the Rajah of Jehangar. She knew him by sight and she had noticed during dinner that he was continually looking in their direction. Aunt Emilie had noticed it too.

  ‘That is the Rajah of Jehangar staring at us so impertinently,’ she snorted. ‘A poisonous little man but fantastically rich. He spends seven months of the year in Europe, then goes back to India to collect more money to squander.’

  ‘I think the lady with him is very pretty,’ Mistral said.

  ‘Lady!’ Aunt Emilie had ejaculated in a scornful, sarcastic manner.

  Mistral had not understood either her remark or the tone in which it was made, but she had not liked to ask Aunt Emilie for an explanation.

  Now, looking at the Rajah’s dark secretive face in which his teeth seemed strangely white, she thought her aunt’s description of him might well be justified. Hastily she moved as if to pass him, saying,

  ‘You will excuse me, Your Highness, but I have been sent on an errand for my aunt.’

  ‘It can wait for a few moments,’ the Rajah answered. ‘What I have to say to you is of vast importance to you personally.’

  ‘To me?’ Mistral said in surprise. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come with me,’ the Rajah said authoritatively. ‘We cannot talk here.’

  He led the way into the deserted Concert Room. The high windows were open on to the terrace and the Rajah followed by Mistral passed through one of them so that they stood outside, the light from the moon illuminating the stone balustrade and the great stone urns planted with cascading geraniums and blue heliotrope.

  ‘My aunt will be waiting for my return,’ Mistral said nervously, holding Aunt Emilie’s velvet and fur-trimmed cloak in front of her as if it were a shield. There was something about the Rajah which revolted her. She had often wondered why the pretty, fair haired woman who invariably accompanied him to the Casino could not find a more attractive escort.

  ‘I will not keep you many minutes,’ the Rajah said.

  ‘What do you wish to speak to me about?’ Mistral enquired.

  ‘You are very direct, you come straight to the point,’ the Rajah answered, and Mistral thought that she disliked his face more when he smiled than when he was serious.

  ‘I cannot linger here, Your Highness, or my aunt will be displeased with me.’

  ‘And no one must ever be displeased with anyone as lovely as you, Mademoiselle,’ the Rajah replied.

  Mistral’s chin went up as if she resented his compliment and he added quickly,

  ‘But I must speak bluntly in European fashion. In my country we are not so crude. Very well, I would talk to you about your pearls.’

  ‘My pearls!’

  ‘Yes, I see you wear them again tonight. They are very beautiful, but perhaps too sombre, a little dull for someone so young and gay like yourself. If you will permit me, I will exchange them for diamonds or for any other precious stones that you admire.’

  ‘Exchange them?’

  For a moment Mistral was completely bewildered as she echoed his words, then an explanation of what he was saying came to her.

  ‘You mean that you wish to own my pearls, to buy them from me?’

  ‘Exactly! How lucky that we can express ourselves in so friendly a fashion! Yes, Mademoiselle, I would buy your pearls from you for any sum that you wish to name, any reasonable sum, of course, or, as I have said, if you prefer it, I will replace them with a necklace of diamonds, sapphires or rubies. Most women seem to prefer diamonds.’

  Mistral drew herself up proudly.

 
; ‘I am afraid Your Highness must have been misinformed. The pearls that I wear are not for sale or for exchange.’

  ‘Now, Mademoiselle, do not make such a hasty decision.’ The Rajah took a step forward.

  ‘Your pearls, as I have already said, fine though they are, are not entirely a suitable ornament for anyone so young and so beautiful as you. But however rich one is, money is always useful. You may never have another offer like this in the whole of your life. I have set my heart on obtaining the pearls, therefore you can blackmail me a trifle. Does the idea not amuse you?’

  ‘I am sorry, Your Highness, but I would never consent to part with my pearls. And now if you will excuse me – ’

  Mistral turned towards the window, but the Rajah was in front of her. Now he was standing on the step so that she must look up at him.

  ‘How can I convince you that I always get what I want?’ he asked. ‘It would be much wiser of you, Mademoiselle, to agree to let me have the pearls now and at your own price.’

  There was no mistaking the threat in his tones. Mistral was suddenly angry at his impertinence.

  ‘Kindly stand aside,’ she said frigidly. ‘Your Highness has no right to keep me here. I have answered your question and refused your offer. There is no more to be said.’

  ‘On the contrary, I have a great deal more to say,’ the Rajah replied. ‘You are very young, Mademoiselle, and the young are usually both impetuous and intolerant. I shall obtain the pearls, but it would have been so much more pleasant if we could do it amicably – you and I.’

  Mistral was suddenly aware that his voice had taken on an almost hypnotic quality. His eyes were looking down deep, deep into hers, and she felt as if some dark mist were rising within her. Even as she sensed this, she saw that the Rajah’s hand had gone out towards her neck and she knew that he meant to touch the pearls.