The Demon Lover

by Виктория Холт

  I thought he looked a little tired and I did notice once or twice that he blinked in the strong light of the room. I could see all sorts of obstacles about to rise before us. I could not quite picture how we were going to pretend he was painting the miniature when actually I was going to do it. It would certainly be a new and interesting way of working. I wondered how it would end.

  It would be dreadful to produce something below Collison standards on such an important occasion.

  When we had returned to our rooms I suggested that my father rest for a while. There was an hour or so before dejeuner and the journey and excitement of coming here had been a little too much for him.

  I persuaded him to lie down and then thought I would like to look at the chateau from outside. I put on a hat and found my way down to the hall. There was the door through which we had entered on the previous night. I went through into the courtyard.

  I did not want to leave the precincts of the castle so I did not cross the moat. I looked round and saw a door. I went through this anu was in a garden. I gathered I was at the back of the castle. Before me stretched out the undulating countryside with the woods in the distance. It was very beautiful. The gardens, which ran down to the water of the moat, had been carefully cultivated. Flowers grew in profusion with colours perfectly blended. Our Baron had a feeling for colour-unless of course he employed people to select them for him, which was most likely.

  I went down to the moat’s edge and sat down. What peace! I thought of Clare at home running the house and Evie far away in Africa. I was uneasy and kept assuring myself that there was nothing to be uneasy about. If the Baron discovered that my father could no longer paint, and if he wanted a Collison, his only alternative was to take mine. And if he refused?

  Well, then we should just return home.

  I heard footsteps and turning sharply saw Bertrand de Mortemer coming towards me.

  “Ah,” he said as though surprised.

  “Have you finished your preparations?”

  “There is not much to do until the … er … subject arrives.”

  “Of course not.” He sat down beside me.

  “Well, now you have seen the castle by the light of morning what do you think of it?”

  “Grand. Massive. Impressive. Overpowering. I can’t think of any more adjectives.”

  “Those already supplied are sufficient.”

  He was looking at me steadily and I noticed that his handsome appearance had not diminished with daylight. Rather, I thought, was it accentuated.

  “To think of one man owning all this … it’s rather staggering,” I said.

  “Not for the Baron. He was brought up to it. He’s a scion of his forefathers. Wait until you meet him, then you’ll understand.”

  “Is he. like you?”

  Bertrand seemed very amused.

  “I think you would have to look very hard to find a resemblance.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I am. If he were like you I should feel very relieved.”

  He put his hand over mine suddenly.

  “That is a very nice compliment,” he said.

  “It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement of fact.”

  He smiled at me. a little sadly, I thought. He said: “No, you will find him very different.”

  “Please prepare me.”

  He shook his head.

  “It is better for you to find out for yourself.

  People see others differently. You see him for yourself. “

  “That is what you said last night and yet you do give me certain hints. I have the impression that the Baron is not easy to please.”

  “He knows what is best and he will want the best.”

  “And his fiancee?”

  “Is the Princesse de Crespigny.”

  “A princess!”

  “Oh yes. The Baron is not only one of the wealthiest men in the country, he is also one of the most influential.”

  “And the Princesse?”

  “She comes from an old French family with royal connections. The family managed to survive the revolution.”

  “The Baron also?”

  “The Baron would always survive.”

  “So this is the marriage of two noble families. One very rich, the other not so rich but royal.”

  “The Princesse is connected with the royal families of France and Austria. She will be most suitable for the Baron. The Crespigny estates could be restored. If anyone can do that it is the Baron.”

  “With his immense wealth,” I murmured.

  “It is a useful asset.”

  “And the Baron is happy with his coming marriage?”

  “Believe me, if he were not, there would be no marriage.”

  “Be careful,” I said.

  “You are beginning to give me your picture of the Baron before I have met him.”

  “You are good to remind me. My lips are… what you say … sealed?”

  I nodded.

  “Now we will talk of other things,” he said.

  “Yourself?”

  “And yourself?”

  Then I found myself telling about life at Collison House-the gatherings at Farringdon Manor, the vicarage family and the Camborne twins, of my mother’s romantic marriage and the happiness she and my father had shared, of her. death, of our luck in having Evie who had now married her missionary and left the cosy predictability of our English village for the perils of darkest Africa.

  “But she left us Clare,” I added.

  “She saw to that before she went.

  Evie was one of the natural managers of those around her. She looked after us all. every one. “

  He looked at me steadily.

  “I think you are one of these … managers.”

  I laughed. The? Oh no. I am deeply involved in my own affairs. “

  “I know. Painting! For I gather that you paint too. It means much to you. Are you going to paint miniatures like your ancestors?”

  “That is what I should like to do more than anything.”

  “More than anything. Do you not want a lover … marriage … little children?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. But I want to paint.” He was smiling at me, and I thought: I am talking too much. I hardly know this man. What was it about him that won my confidence? That infinite kindness which I had sensed in him from the moment we met; that air of worldliness which probably was nothing more than a mode of dress and behaviour.

  He invited confidences and I seemed to have given him far too many. I thought: I will be telling him about my father’s encroaching blindness next.

  “It is your turn to tell me something about yourself,” I said.

  “It has been the life of so many in my position.”

  “I gather you spent some part of your childhood here.”

  “Yes, I did. The Baron said he would have me here to learn something of life.”

  “What of life?”

  “Oh, how it is to be lived here in the country … at Court. That has become formal now with the Empress Eugenie setting the standards. The Baron regrets the disintegration of the monarchy but he is reconciled to the Second Empire and supports Napoleon the Third … not with real enthusiasm but as the only possible alternative to republicanism.”

  “Is the Baron often at Court?”

  “Quite often. But I think he is happiest here in Normandy.”

  “Is he a very complicated man… difficult to understand?”

  He smiled at me.

  “And therefore a good subject for a painter. We will see if your father probes those hidden depths of character.”

  “He would probably need a large canvas to do that. The miniature is to go to his lady-love. It should therefore be romantic.”

  “You mean … flattering.”

  “It is possible to be romantic without flattery.”

  “I fancy the Baron might not be flattered to be called romantic. He prides himself on
his astute approach to life.”

  “Romance is not necessarily a stranger to astuteness.”

  “Is it not? I thought in romance one saw everything through a rosy glow.”

  “That is how my father must make the Princesse see the Baron … through a rosy glow. I think it is time I returned to the house.”

  He sprang up and held out his hands. I gave him mine and he helped me up.

  He stood for a while holding my hands. It was only for a few seconds but it seemed longer. I thought how still everything was; the quiet water of the moat, the tall massive walls about us, and I felt myself tingling with excitement.

  I flushed a little and withdrew my hands.

  He said: “Perhaps this afternoon … if you are not busy …”

  “We shall not be busy until the Baron returns,” I said.

  “Do you ride?”

  “A great deal. I helped to exercise the Farringdon horses. The local big house I told you about … They pretended I was doing them a service when they were so obviously doing me one.”

  “That’s the way to do a service,” he said.

  “If it is given with a request for gratitude it is no service.”

  “You are right, of course. But why do you ask if I ride?”

  “Because if you say yes, you do, I suggest we ride this afternoon. I could show you the countryside which might interest you. Does that appeal?”

  “Very much.”

  “Have you a habit?”

  “I brought one with me … hoping … and not really believing in my hopes … that they might be realized so soon.”

  He touched my arm lightly.

  “I am glad you came,” he said earnestly.

  “It is very interesting … getting to know you.”

  Little quivers of excitement continued to come to me. I thought what a lovely morning it was here in the sunshine, close to the strong walls of the castle, the silver sparkle of the water and this interesting and most handsome young man looking at me with very thinly veiled admiration.

  Riding out through the beautiful country with Bertrand de Mortemer was an exciting experience. I loved to ride and was very interested to explore new terrain. I was about to embark on an adventure and I was adventurous by nature. I felt I was on the verge of discovering that life was exciting; it might be dangerous but perhaps I was of a nature to enjoy a spice of danger and therefore went to meet it instead of taking the cautious line and avoiding it.

  I could not really explain this exultation which I felt now. I could only say that I was enjoying this ride as I had never enjoyed a ride before.

  Of course it had its beginnings in this young man’s company. I was more drawn to him than I had ever been to anyone else on such short acquaintance. It was fascinating to talk to him and the little pitfalls of language into which now and then we fell amused us both.

  We talked and we laughed and the time flew by most pleasantly.

  I said to him: “We seem to have become friendly in a very short time.”

  “Time is always too short when good things happen,” he answered.

  “Life is too short. I tell myself that you have come here with your father who is to paint a picture and you will soon be gone. How am I to get to know you if I do not do so quickly? How long will it take to paint the miniature?”

  “I cannot say. So much depends on how the work progresses.”

  “Not long, I am sure.”

  “I imagine the Baron will want it done with the greatest speed.”

  The mention of the Baron brought a chill into the afternoon. I must have been enjoying it so much that I had forgotten him.

  I didn’t realize what was happening to me that afternoon, but it was an enchanted one. I began to believe afterwards that this was what people meant by falling in love something which had never happened to me before. I had met very few young men; I supposed I had lived a fairly sheltered life. I had certainly never met anyone in the least like Bertrand de Mortemer. His outstanding good looks, his elegant clothes, his determination to do everything he could to help, his gentleness which mingled with a certain worldliness enchanted me. And yet on the other hand I felt protective towards him, which was a strange way to feel. I didn’t know why-but then my emotions were so mixed and so strange to me. I was in the first place overcome with astonishment that I could feel so strongly about a man who was almost a stranger.

  So naturally I was excited as we galloped across the meadow and the castle came into sight. The wind caught at my hair under my hard bowler hat and I loved the feel of it. I loved the sound of thudding hoofs; and he was beside me, laughing, enjoying it as much as I did.

  Excitement. Adventure, Daring. And Danger . oh, definitely danger.

  To come here under false pretences, to work out a devious plan for painting a picture which would be mistaken for my father’s work. that was surely courting danger.

  Oh, but it was exciting.

  Even as we rode into the stables I was aware of the change. One of the grooms came running to us.

  The Baron had returned.

  I felt my excitement immediately tempered by apprehension. I looked at Bertrand de Mortemer. He seemed to have shrunk.

  The testing time had come.

  I had not expected it quite so soon, for as we came into the great hall the Baron himself was there.

  There was a second or so of silence while he looked at us. I felt then that my greatest fears had some foundation.

  He was an overpowering man but I had expected that. He was very tall and broad, which gave an impression of bulk rather than height. He was dressed in dark riding clothes which accentuated the blonde ness of his hair, which was thick and glistened in the light which came through the narrow windows. His eyes were steely grey, his nose was rather prominent but straight, and he had a fresh colour which gave the impression that he was full of health and vigour. There was something about him which set the alarm bells ringing in my head. I suppose I was wondering how we were going to deceive such a man.

  He came towards us, his eyes on me. His brows were raised slightly ironically.

  “Bertrand,” he said, ‘why do you not present me to your friend? “

  “Oh,” replied Bertrand with a little laugh which could only indicate embarrassment, ‘this is Mademoiselle Collison. “

  “Mademoiselle Collison?” He paused and looked at me quizzically.

  I had always believed that when one was on the defensive one must go into the attack, so I answered quickly: “I came with my father. He is Kendal Collison who is to paint the miniature of the Baron de Centeville.”

  He bowed.

  I hurried on: “I travel with my father. I can be of some use to him.”

  “I trust they have looked after you,” he said.

  “I mean within the household. I can see that Monsieur de Mortemer has performed his duty as host in my absence.”

  “So,” I replied, ‘you are the Baron de Centeville. I am glad to meet you. “

  “You have been riding, I see.”

  “While we were waiting for your arrival I thought I would show Mademoiselle Collison the countryside,” Bertrand explained.

  “What do you think of our countryside, Mademoiselle Collison?” His English was good but his accent slightly more foreign than that of Bertrand.

  “Very beautiful.”

  “And the castle?”

  “What was your description,” Bertrand asked, turning to me.

  “Impressive. Impregnable. Majestic …”

  “I am delighted, Mademoiselle Collison. I confess I am gratified when people admire my castle. I wish to meet your father.”

  “I will bring him to you. He is resting at the moment.”

  He shook his head.

  “No matter. I shall meet him for dinner. Will you tell him that I wish to start on the portrait tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning. That’s rather early. My father likes to get to know his subject a little before he embarks.” />
  “He will quickly sum me up, I am sure. Arrogant, overbearing, impatient and self-willed.”

  I laughed.

  “You have a poor opinion of yourself, Baron.”

  “On the contrary, it is very high. Those are the qualities necessary I believe to enjoy life fully. Tell your father to be ready to start tomorrow morning. I do not wish to waste too much time sitting.”

  I lifted my shoulders and glanced at Bertrand. I said:

  “That is not really the way in which to approach the matter. It is not simply a process of putting paint on ivory or vellum or whatever the support is to be.”

  “Oh? Then what else is involved?”

  “Getting to know the sitter. Finding out what he or she is really like.”

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Collison, I should not wish anyone to know what I was really like, particularly the lady to whom I am affianced. There are some things in life which are better hidden.”

  He was studying me intently and I was aware of my untidy hair which was escaping from under my bowler hat. I felt the colour rise to my cheeks and I thought: He is laughing at me, while all the time he is putting me in my place, reminding me that we are employed here to carry out his wishes. I disliked him immediately and I thought: Is this the sort of treatment we are to expect from the wealthy? Do they regard artists as tradesmen?

  I felt defiant and did not care if I offended him. We could go home and he could find another miniaturist to paint the sort of picture he wanted for his fiancee. I was not going to let him treat me in this way.

  I said to him: “If you want a pretty, conventional picture, Baron de Centeville, it is not necessary to call in a great artist. If you will excuse me, I will go to my room and tell my father that you are here.

  He will see you at dinner and then plans can be made for tomorrow’s sitting. “

  I felt his eyes watching me as I turned away and went upstairs.

  Then he said something to Bertrand which I did not hear.

  I dressed myself in the green velvet for dinner and attended carefully to my hair, piling it high on my head. I looked slightly older than my years and the green velvet always gave me confidence. I knew I was going to need it.

  I had warned my father that the Baron might well prove difficult.

  “Of course, I only saw him briefly in the hall. He has a great opinion of himself and is inclined to patronize. A rather obnoxious character, I’m afraid … quite different from Monsieur de Mortemer.”