“Do be sensible about this, Belle-mère,” she begged. “The Duke will very likely mention it to you and I have thought of what you must say.”
“What is it?” Lady Rothley asked indifferently.
“You must say that you know very little about me – that I was recommended by a friend as you had to engage a lady’s maid in a hurry. Be very casual and say you are not even certain you will keep me.”
“There is no doubt about that,” Lady Rothley replied. “If I told the truth I should say that I could not manage without you!”
“Please, Belle-mère, listen to what am saying,” Tempera pleaded. “The Duke is bound to be curious, for I suppose I do look different from the average lady’s maid.”
As she spoke she thought of the picture which her father had always thought she resembled hanging opposite the Duke’s desk in the room downstairs.
Would he too think there was some resemblance?
Then Tempera told herself that this was too far-fetched even to consider.
Was it likely that he had even looked at her closely enough to compare her with a picture by one of the greatest Masters of painting the world had ever known?
She gave a sudden smile which lit up her face.
“You are right, Belle-mère,” she said. “I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Treat anything the Duke says about me very indifferently and what I really wanted to tell you is – ”
“The Count paid me the most exquisite compliments,” Lady Rothley interrupted in a dreamy voice, and Tempera knew she had not been listening to anything she said.
“I have always thought that Italians have exquisite manners,” she went on, “but they also make even the slightest flattery sound as if it came from the very depths of their hearts.”
“Belle-mère, do listen to me! I want to tell you about a picture which you could talk about to the Duke. It is by Jan Van Eyck and I am sure you can remember his name. It is exquisite! Really exquisite!”
“That is the way the Count described me,” Lady Rothley replied. “‘You are exquisite,’ he said, ‘and the embodiment of sunlight!’”
Tempera tried again.
“You are not listening, Belle-mère.”
Lady Rothley rose from the stool in front of the dressing table.
“I do not want to listen, Tempera. I am tired and I have a headache. You can tell me about your picture another time.”
“But I want you to talk about it to the Duke this evening at dinner.”
“We are not dining here. We are going to Monte Carlo to dine with Princess Daisy of Pless. I understand from Lady Holcombe it will be a very, very smart party and I must wear my best gown.”
Tempera gave up the hopeless task of trying to talk to her stepmother.
‘Perhaps it will be easier tomorrow,’ she thought, and concentrated on helping Lady Rothley undress so that she could lie down for an hour before dinner.
As soon as Tempera’s own evening meal was finished she went to her bedroom and taking out her paints started to finish the picture she had begun in the garden.
The outline of all the flowers she had chosen was there while the lilies and the roses were finished. Fortunately she had found replicas of the rest in the big vases of flowers which had been placed in her stepmother’s bedroom.
She brought one vase to her own room, set it down on her dressing table, and sitting on the bed tried to transfer their texture and colour onto canvas.
She could understand why the Duke was surprised by the fact that she had not attempted to paint the view, but she had always loved flower pictures.
It was one of her teachers who encouraged her to specialise in flowers rather than attempt figures or landscapes.
She had an idea that he thought flowers were particularly feminine and therefore more appropriate for women, but she loved them for themselves.
Her mother had hung several of her first pictures in her bedroom.
“Surely those are saleable?” her stepmother had asked when they were taking the pictures from the walls after her father’s death.
“I am afraid not,” Tempera answered, “and in future they will be the only decoration we can afford.”
“Well, I think they are very pretty,” Lady Rothley said loyally, “far prettier than some of those pictures which belonged to your father.”
Tempera had laughed and kissed her, but she had not taken it as a compliment, rather a show of ignorance. Now she looked at her own painting and remembered that the Duke had admired it.
“He was just being polite,” she told herself.
But there was no reason why he should be polite to an unimportant and obscure female, even before he knew she was nothing but a servant staying in his Chateau.
‘Perhaps I can make a little money by painting when we get back to London,’ Tempera thought.
Then she realised she was already accepting defeat where her stepmother’s aspirations were concerned.
‘Belle-mère is beautiful enough for the Duke,’ her thoughts continued. ‘It is just that I am sure he is intelligent and would want a woman who could talk to him intelligently.’
Yet she thought she was being pessimistic. After all her father, who was an extremely clever man, had been happy enough with his second wife.
He treated her rather like a child – there was no doubt that he had delighted in her beauty, but when his eyes were watching her Tempera had the idea that he closed his ears to anything she might be saying.
It was midnight before Tempera finished painting, and then she went along the quiet passages to her stepmother’s room.
“I shall be waiting up for you, Belle-mère,” she had said. “After all, the other lady’s maids wait up for their mistresses and would be horrified if I did not do so.”
“I was quite prepared to come to your room and waken you so that you could undo my gown, as we have always done,” Lady Rothley said. “But what you had better do, Tempera, is to lie down and sleep on my bed until I return.”
“If anyone saw me committing such lèse-majesté they would have a fit!” Tempera replied.
“Lock the door,” Lady Rothley replied. “I will knock gently if you are asleep when I get back, but if I talk loudly on the stairs it will wake you up.”
Tempera kissed her.
“You are very kind and considerate, Belle-mère.”
“Why should I not be?” Lady Rothley had answered.
“You are extremely kind to me, Tempera, and you have just told me that I look beautiful tonight. I know it is because you have done my hair so skilfully.”
There was no doubt that Tempera had not been exaggerating.
Lady Rothley did in fact look breathtakingly beautiful, and more than ever like a Titian goddess.
“Have a lovely time,” Tempera said, “and do not forget to concentrate on the Duke.”
“If the Count is there I shall find it terribly hard not to listen to his compliments,” Lady Rothley teased.
Then as she saw the expression on Tempera’s face she added quickly,
“Do not worry, I am very conscious that I am the bait and the Duke is the fish we are after. He will not escape if I can help it!”
She laughed lightly and picking up her satin bag in which Tempera had put no money she went down the stairs. Because she was uneasy – in fact, as she admitted to herself, very anxious – Tempera did lie down on the big double bed in her stepmother’s bedroom, but she found it impossible to sleep.
Instead she rose to pull back the satin curtains from the window and look out at the night.
There was a half-moon climbing up the sky and the stars were reflected in the smooth sea.
It was so lovely and she wondered why there were not a thousand painters trying to convey the scene on canvas. Down below there were lights in the little village of Beaulieu and an occasional light amongst the green trees on the promontory of St. Hospice.
Far away to the right in Villefranche there were the lights of the yachts
and ships anchored in the port.
‘It is all so beautiful, so peaceful and so quiet,’ Tempera thought. ‘It is a part of God and why should my silly little problems matter? Doubtless they will solve themselves.’
She stood looking out at the sea for a long time.
When she went back to lie on the bed it was as if calming hands had been placed on her forehead and she instantly fell asleep.
In the morning when Tempera breakfasted with the two older maids they were both grumbling disagreeably about the late hour at which their Ladies had returned.
“It’s always the same when we come to the South,” Miss Briggs said snappily. “I’m thinking of saying to her Ladyship if this continues I’ll have to make a change.”
Both Miss Smith and Tempera knew this was unlikely as she had been with Lady Holcombe for twelve years and was undoubtedly set in her ways.
At the same time Tempera could sympathise with them. She was quite certain that neither Miss Smith nor Miss Briggs would outrage convention by lying on their employers’ beds as she had done.
As her stepmother had anticipated she had awakened immediately at the sound of voices coming up the stairs and had been waiting to open the door before Lady Rothley reached the landing.
As her stepmother turned to say goodnight to Lady Barnard and Lady Holcombe Tempera had a glimpse of the gentlemen in the hall below.
There was no mistaking the Duke, she thought, who was taller than his friends, and he seemed to carry himself with an assurance which they lacked.
Then Lady Rothley entered the bedroom and Tempera could see him no longer.
When she called her stepmother it was late in the morning. Lady Rothley was sleepy but still elated with the success she had created the night before.
“Dozens of people complimented me,” she said. “I do not mind telling you, Tempera, that I was a sensation – I know I was!”
“I am so glad, dearest, but do eat your breakfast while it is hot. The Chef was scandalised that any of the ladies should require an English breakfast, although he is used to cooking it for the gentlemen.”
“I have just remembered something else,” Lady Rothley said. “I won quite a lot of money last night.”
“I will count it and see exactly how much you did gain,” Tempera replied.
She knew her stepmother was very vague about the French currency and because they were the same size had a way of believing that a franc equalled a sovereign.
“It is all in my satin bag,” Lady Rothley said. Tempera looked round the room.
“It is very remiss of me, but I cannot remember your having it with you last night. I suppose I should have noticed.”
“Then if it is not here, I must have left it downstairs,” Lady Rothley said. “I know I had it with me in the carriage because I felt it to make quite certain.”
“Did you go into the Sitting Room when you returned?” Tempera asked.
“Yes, the men drank champagne and I had a glass of lemonade.”
“Then that is where you must have left it.”
“Go and get it quickly,” Lady Rothley cried. “It would be disastrous if one of the servants stole it.”
“I think that is unlikely,” Tempera answered. “I gather the French staff have been here for years and Colonel Anstruther trusts them completely.”
She was sure there would be no petty thieving in a house that was filled with treasures worth thousands of pounds. But because her stepmother looked worried she went downstairs to the Sitting Room hoping she would not encounter the Duke.
There was nobody about and she thought that the guests who had already risen would be out on the terrace which was built on one side of the Chateau and not directly in front of the main windows.
Then as she found her stepmother’s bag lying on a small Sheraton table beside the sofa she heard someone come into the room behind her.
She turned round, somehow expecting to see the Duke, but saw instead another gentleman who was also good-looking, but very different from the man she had expected to see.
He looked at her and smiled, and it made him seem attractive.
“Who are you?” he asked. “I do not seem to have seen you before.”
Tempera dropped him a respectful curtsey.
“I am lady’s maid to Lady Rothley, my Lord.”
As she spoke she realised that this must be Lord Eustace Yate.
She had seen both the other gentlemen in the party when they were at Victoria Station, and again when they left the train at Villefranche.
Miss Briggs and Miss Smith had told her the truth about Lord Eustace. He was good-looking, and yet there was something raffish about his appearance that undoubtedly revealed his character.
“A lady’s maid – and a very pretty one!” he said in a manner which Tempera immediately resented.
Holding her stepmother’s bag in her hand she walked towards the door but although he seemed hardly to move Lord Eustace blocked her way.
“No hurry,” he said. “I would like you to tell me something about yourself. How many young men have you and do you enjoy the warmth of the Mediterranean?”
“Very much, thank you, my Lord,” Tempera said coldly. “And now, if you will excuse me, Her Ladyship is waiting.”
“Her Ladyship can wait!” Lord Eustace retorted. “I find you as delectable to look at as your mistress. Does that surprise you?”
Tempera thought he moved a little nearer to her and now she straightened herself until her eyes were almost level with his. Then she said slowly,
“It does not surprise me, my Lord. It is entirely in keeping with what I have already heard about your Lordship.”
She saw the astonishment in his face and quickly, before he could prevent her, she moved round him and reached the door.
As she hurried upstairs she heard him laugh.
“Here is your bag,” she said as she entered her stepmother’s bedroom, “but I met Lord Eustace in the Sitting Room. You will do well to avoid him, Belle-mère. He is a bad lot, as the other maids have told me he is.”
“Of course, everybody knows that,” Lady Rothley said. “At the same time he is witty and amusing, and Sir William, for all his money, is a dead bore!”
Tempera smiled.
“One cannot have everything in life.”
“No,” Lady Rothley agreed. “But I do not mind telling you, Tempera, I find the Duke rather difficult to talk to.”
Tempera sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Belle-mère, I want you to listen to me about this picture.”
Lady Rothley gave a little cry and put her hands over her ears.
“I do not want to hear about pictures,” she said peevishly, almost like a spoilt child. “I want to tell you about myself and the compliments that were paid to me last night. Do you know what the Count said?”
Tempera got down from the bed.
“I do not want to hear about the Count,” she replied, “nor about any other man you may meet in Monte Carlo. You came here for one reason, and one reason only, Belle-mère, and you know we have spent all our money.”
“Now you are being unkind to me,” Lady Rothley pouted. “See how many francs I won. At one time it was much more, but the Duke would go on playing.”
It was no use being cross, Tempera thought, and whatever she might say her stepmother would still be herself and because she was so beautiful, she could only hope she would get away with it.
The francs which filled her small satin bag came to about fifteen pounds. Although it was not an astronomical sum, it was at least a useful contribution to their diminished funds, Tempera thought, as she put it away carefully in a safe place.
“What are you doing today?” she asked, having prepared her Stepmother’s bath.
“We are lunching at the Rothschild Villa – ” Lady Rothley began to say, but was interrupted by Tempera giving a cry of delight.
“Oh, Belle-mère, I am so thrilled that you are going there! Please, for my sak
e, look at everything so that you can tell me about it. Papa could talk of nothing else when he returned home and he even showed me reproductions of some of their pictures and marvellous French furniture.”
She gave a little sigh.
“He told me too about Waddesdon, the house which the Rothschilds built in Buckinghamshire. There is a magnificent – ”
She stopped.
There was no point in going on because she knew that her stepmother was not listening. Then she said,
“I will tell you a story that will amuse you, Belle-mère. It will remind you to compliment Miss Alice Rothschild on her garden.”
Lady Rothley looked slightly bored, but Tempera continued,
“It was when Queen Victoria visited the Villa. As a surprise Miss Alice Rothschild ordered a mountain road to be levelled and widened! Can you believe it? It was done in three days! It meant building up walls, picking up huge stones, covering the small ones with macadam, and diverting a stream!”
She thought she had her stepmother’s attention and continued,
“But when Queen Victoria was admiring the garden she walked on a newly-planted flower-bed. Miss Rothschild was outraged. ‘Come off at once!’ she exploded.”
“Was the Queen angry?” Lady Rothley enquired.
“No,” Tempera replied. “She did as she was told, but afterwards the Queen always referred to Alice Rothschild as ‘The All-Powerful!’”
“I think that is a funny story,” said Lady Rothley, who was always intrigued by social anecdotes. “I wonder if the Duke knows it?”
“I expect so,” Tempera said, “but if he tells you, pretend you have not heard it before.”
By the time her stepmother was dressed and a footman had knocked on the door to say the carriage was waiting, it was well after twelve o’clock when Tempera was expected to have luncheon with the other maids.
When she joined them they had nearly finished and were in a hurry to get to their own rooms to lie down. Thankfully she finished her own meal in peace and quiet, enjoying the ripe cheese, which Miss Briggs thought ‘disgusting’, and the salad which neither she nor Miss Smith would touch.
‘There is no-one in the world more set in their ways or more prejudiced than British servants,’ Tempera thought with a smile and wished she could have laughed about it with her father.
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