Days of Winter (28 page)

“Oh yes, monsieur. How kind you’ve been to me. I don’t know how to thank you—”

“There are no thanks needed, my dear. Paris and ourselves will be better for having you amongst us. I mean that.”

Looking at him, she knew he did. It was the end of a rare and beautiful day.

The next weeks passed swiftly. Jeanette, taking Monsieur Dryfus’ advice, did everything that tourists do. She went to the top of the Eiffel Tower … she wandered through the Left Bank … she took a boat ride on the Seine … she ate
escargots
… she loved the onion soup with the thick crust of cheese on top. …She fell hopelessly in love with Paris, every worn cobblestone … every crooked street. …At last she was home. Oh, Papa, if only we could have shared this together. …Everywhere I go I wonder if maybe you and Mama have been here before.

But no one, it seemed, wanted to hire her. No one answered her ads. None of the agencies sent her out on interviews. She didn’t want to go deeper in debt to Uncle Leon than she was already. Surely
someone
would need her soon. But in the midst of a world-wide depression, there seemed no call for an English tutor or practical young lady pianist. …

One morning when Madeleine brought her breakfast, Jeanette was still in bed, the blinds drawn. “Good morning, mademoiselle.”

“Good morning, Madeleine,” Jeanette answered dully.

“Are you feeling ill, mademoiselle?”

“No, Madeleine, I’m only discouraged. I can’t find a job.”

Madeleine placed the tray in front of Jeanette. “Please forgive me for being so bold,” she said, “but I’ve liked you from the day you arrived. Not because you’ve been generous with your tips, but because you’re so courteous to me. I think you need a friend, a person to talk with … yes?”

“You’re right, Madeleine. I do need a friend, and I need a job.”

“Where have you looked?” said Madeleine.

Jeanette told her. “At this point I’m willing to take anything. I’d be grateful … I don’t care what it is or how hard to do. …”

“All right,” said Madeleine. “If you really mean you’ll take anything … I’ll see what I can do. Now drink your coffee and eat your rolls. Tomorrow could always be worse, remember that. Also remember better to worry on a full stomach than an empty one.” They smiled at each other, and each knew she had found a new friend.

Madeleine had a relative, Uncle Jacques, who owned a laundry, where most of the family worked except for herself. She made more money, she told them, in service, although there was another reason for her preference, which she now used on her new friend’s behalf. At first he refused to hire Jeanette, but when Madeleine pinched his cheek and sat in his lap … knowing his feelings about her that he’d more than once tried to indulge … he finally relented. Jeanette went to work for him from seven in the morning to seven in the evening—and sometimes to eight. She started with the hand laundry, stirring the cauldrons of boiling water. One day when one of the relatives became ill, she was asked to do the ironing. To Uncle Jacques’ surprise, she did it with finesse. She remained in that job, but for all the praise she received, she earned barely enough to pay her rent.

Each morning at five-thirty Jeanette dragged herself out of bed. She dressed as though she was going to a position of distinction. She took the metro across town, and got to work a little before seven. Then she changed into a white uniform and stood on her feet all day. By closing time she was ready to drop, and had to force herself to wash her face, comb her hair, and get back into her street clothes before she went home, where only Madeleine knew the demeaning work that she did during the day.

One evening when she returned home there was a message from Monsieur Dryfus asking her to call him the next morning.

“Oh, Jeanette,” he said when she got through to him, “if you’re free this afternoon, I believe I might have a situation for you. Can you meet me at three o’clock?”

She was almost hysterical with relief as she assured him she would. She quickly told Jacques she was ill, went home, changed and arrived at Monsieur Dryfus’ office promptly at three o’clock.

“I believe, Jeanette, there may be a position for you with the Dupré family. Poor Madame Dupré has recently suffered a very great loss. Her only daughter and son-in-law were killed in an automobile crash on their way to Cannes. They left three small children, who are now in the custody of their maternal grandmother.”

He sighed deeply, remembering all too well the loss of his own first wife. …“Does the name Dupré mean anything to you?”

Jeanette shook her head.

“No? Then let me tell you something about the family.” And he told her that both Madame and Marshal Dupré’s ancestors had come from the aristocracy of the Bourbon dynasty, and that if it hadn’t been for a diminutive Corsican who helped spread a revolution, well, very possibly Madame Dupré might now be at court in the service of France. At any rate, after the revolution many in the aristocracy were permitted to retain their estates as well as their titles. Among them were the Dupré and Duval families. When the two great families were joined by marriage, it was a symbol to the Parisiens that the aristocracy still lived and would be perpetuated. But for Antoinette Duval and Henri Dupré, their marriage was more than an alliance of two illustrious houses; it was a bond of love and devotion that would last over twenty years. They were passionately in love. Antoinette was considered one of the great beauties of her day. Raven-haired, with dark, liquid eyes and the skin of a cameo, her waist was eighteen inches when cinched in. Henri would never need to think of taking a mistress. Antoinette would become both his wife and his mistress.

The announcement of their marriage had Paris in a whirl. The parties honoring the engaged couple, and the planning and shopping for the wedding were so extensive the lovers had little time to be alone. By the time the marriage day arrived, both of them could hardly wait to slip away. …They spent their honeymoon at Henri’s château in Provence. For three months they stayed there absorbed in their love. Exactly nine months from the day of their wedding, Denise was born in Paris. Two years later, they had a son, Jean-Paul, named for Henri’s father. It was Antoinette’s hope to present her husband with many sons. But when the third child came—another son—the birth was so difficult and prolonged she could never have another. The second boy was named Etienne, after Antoinette’s father.

Jeanette was entranced with the story. Her mind had traveled back in time. …She had almost forgotten why she was here, but Monsieur Dryfus brought her back sharply.

“Dear Madame Dupré lost her beloved husband four years ago, and I’m afraid she’s never recovered from his death. She continues to be in mourning. But it is Denise’s children who especially need you. They’re now with their grandmother in Paris, and the present governess, who’s elderly and quite rheumatic, wants to go back to Provence, where Denise and her husband lived. A new governess is needed, and of course I thought of you.”

“My heart goes out to the children,” Jeanette said, tears in her eyes.

“I was sure it would. Well … are you interested in the position?”

“Yes. But do you think I’m qualified?”

“Yes, I do. In fact, I took the liberty of speaking to Etienne about you and have arranged an interview. Would tomorrow morning at ten be convenient?”

“Oh,
yes
… that will be fine.”

“In that case, I’ll tell Etienne that you’re coming.”

Jeanette hesitated in front of the mansion on the Boulevard Victor Hugo. The blinds were drawn. For a moment she felt chilled and unsure of herself, but she walked slowly up the brick path and ascended the steps. The front door was hung with the black of mourning, relieved somewhat by a wreath. Jeanette placed her finger on the bell and rang. The door was opened by an elderly butler, who led her to the library and asked her to be seated. Monsieur Dupré would be down presently. She sat in a high-backed winged easy chair. The room was breathtakingly beautiful. There was a marquetry desk, with heavy ormolu. The walls were lined with walnut bookshelves. An Aubusson rug covered the center of the marquetry floor. Above the mantel was a portrait of Marshal Dupré, dressed in his fine uniform, which was covered with the medals he’d won. It was apparent why Madame Dupré had fallen in love with him. He was probably the handsomest man Jeanette had ever seen. …

She looked at the coat of arms on the opposite wall, and then the door was being opened and her heart began to beat faster … she sat erect and folded her hands in her lap. She wasn’t facing the door and so couldn’t yet see Monsieur Dupré.

As he slowly approached, she heard a peculiar thumping sound. When he stood in front of her she prayed that the expression on her face didn’t reveal her shock: Monsieur Dupré, walking with a cane, apparently had a club foot. His left shoulder was tilted and he was slightly humpbacked. On his right sleeve he wore a black armband.

Although he was only twenty-five his hair was beginning to gray at the temples. Jeanette noted a strong resemblance between him and his father, especially through the eyes. Dark brown, deep-set and soft, there was compassion and kindness in them which seemed to go with people who suffered. Still, he wasn’t handsome.

Jeanette tried with all her reserve to pretend that she hadn’t noticed his deformity or the four-inch platform on his shoe.

He seated himself behind the desk. Jeanette was startled when he finally spoke. His voice was magnificent. There was a resonance, a depth, in the words he spoke that made her forget his deformity. So swift and sudden was the transition, he became almost beautiful when he was talking. A simple word like “mademoiselle” seemed to have magical connotations.

“As you know,” he began, “Monsieur Dryfus was kind enough to recommend you to us. Most highly, I might add. However, the responsibility for three young children is not a small one. More than anything else, perhaps, it demands a great deal of dedication. In all candor, young as you are, might you not be doing yourself a disservice by taking on such a position?”

She had known her youth would be a disadvantage, but she answered softly, “No, monsieur, I don’t feel that way. I think above all one needs a love of children, and that I have.”

Etienne Dupré seemed pleased. Watching her carefully, he proceeded to tell her a little about the children, and how it might be especially difficult to reach them now since they were suffering the loss of a governess and both their parents.

Jeanette assured him that she was no stranger to loss.

He was impressed. The other applicants were experienced, but they seemed to lack the warmth of this girl. In any case, what guarantees were there in this life when his own sister and her husband lay side by side in their grave, and just two weeks ago they were loving parents who never dreamed they wouldn’t live to see their children raised to adulthood. What better was there to trust than one’s instincts …?

He came to a decision. “When could you begin?”

“As soon as I’m needed,” she said, delighted.

“Would tomorrow be all right?”

“Yes, I have no other commitments.”

“Good. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. We’ll expect you at nine.”

They discussed the salary, and the interview was over. Jeanette could hardly believe her good fortune.

Etienne knocked on the door of his mother’s room.

“Is that you, Etienne? Please come in.” She lay on a chaise longue, a damp cloth over her swollen eyes.

“I’m happy to see you out of bed,” he said. “Are you feeling better today?”

How could she answer such a question without telling a lie? The pain would never go away.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m better today. Now, tell me about the girl. Did you hire her?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think she’s too young?” They had discussed Jeanette’s age the night before.

“She is certainly young,” he said, “but rather than being a handicap, I believe her youth may be an advantage.”

“I’m shocked at your judgment, Etienne.”

“I knew you would be. So am I. I was quite surprised when I hired her.”

“Then why did you do it, especially when there are so many women who come recommended with portfolios?”

“I think it was partly the character, the strength and forthrightness I sensed in her, but also her … well, her warmth … in some ways she seems old beyond her years. …When I considered the children and what they need at this time, I decided in favor of her youth and eagerness—”

“Strange recommendations for a governess, Etienne.”

“Perhaps she won’t be a governess in the conventional sense, but she’s really very intelligent and poised, she’s been educated at one of the best schools in London, speaks French fluently, and, as I said, is mature beyond her years—”

His mother looked at him in amazement. “And all of this you discovered in a ten-minute interview?”

“Yes.”

“Was your judgment altogether objective?”

Etienne observed his shoe. He hobbled to the window and stood before the drawn blind which kept the room in semi-darkness, grateful that his mother couldn’t see the expression on his face.

Madame Dupré was so accustomed to Etienne’s infirmity that sometimes she forgot he was not a whole man. She knew she had offended him. “Come, Etienne, sit beside me.”

He took his place beside her once again.

“Please forgive what I said,” she continued. “I’m sure that what you did was in the best interest of the children. …But why didn’t you hire a French girl?”

“Oh, Mother, how provincial you are. I didn’t hire her because she’s French or English. I hired her for what she is, a lovely and I suspect most capable young woman named Jeanette Hack.”

“Jeanette Hack? That isn’t an English name—”

“No, I suppose not …I don’t really know its origin—”

“What is her religion?”

“Monsieur Dryfus tells me that she’s a Jewess—”

“A Jewess?”

“Yes … does it matter?”

“No, Etienne, but what about the children’s religious training?”

“I’m sure she won’t try to convert them—”

“That is not what I mean, Etienne. But will she, for example, take them to mass?”