Days of Winter (41 page)

A breakfast fit for the bride of a Dupré—ordered by Madame—was wheeled in. “I don’t remember eating a thing last night,” she said, “and the children were so precious and excited.”

“I know … poor Lucien’s hands were shaking when he held the ring, he was as nervous as I was. Matter of fact, the only one who seemed calm was Jean-Paul, for which I thank him. He helped calm me down before the ceremony with, not incidentally, the help of a brandy. It’s a wonder I didn’t stagger going to the altar.”

The smile left her face momentarily … for at least this one day she wished there could be no mention of him, of her and him. …She changed the subject. “Your mother came to see me before the wedding, and I deeply appreciate it. Do you remember the first time I met her, Etienne … when I took the children to see her? You know, she frightened me so, I thought I would faint. …”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “I know … Mother can be very stubborn at times, but she is also fiercely logical. Once she sees the wisdom of something she can even capitulate gracefully. And once one wins her friendship, it’s theirs forever. …”

And Jeanette nodded agreement, remembering the day at the cottage When Madame had humbled herself … and thinking of her she also thought of her mother … and thrust the thought aside. “You know, Etienne, in some ways you’re very much like her, in the very best ways. …And I’ll never forget your kindness to me from the very first—”

“It was easy, I assure you. After all, I fell in love with you from the first … like Mother said, you bewitched me on sight, and she was right.”

She took a final sip of coffee. “Yes, well, I really think we should get ready, dear, it’s getting late and there’s so much to do before we leave. …”

The family was waiting when the newlyweds emerged downstairs. Jeanette was wearing a sheer wool mauve dress with matching suede shoes, bag and gray gloves. The sable coat that she carried draped over her arm had been a present from Uncle Leon. The sable hat sat back on her head, revealing the chignon, carefully twisted at the nape of her neck by Renée’s able hands. Etienne wore a gray tweed tailored suit and fedora. He no longer wore the black armband … his mother had insisted he not, and he was grateful to her for it.

When the children spotted them coming down the stairs they ran to them and Jeanette embraced them as they all told her—and using her first name—how much they would miss her, and hurry back … and they were promptly corrected by Madame, who told them, “Aunt Jeanette … Aunt Jeanette, from now on, children.” Jeanette assured them she would write every day and that a month was, after all, only four weeks, and Nicole pressed her with, “You won’t forget to write?”

You won’t forget to write, will you, mama … of course, all the time
… Jeanette blinked back the tears, wanting to forget, remembering. Time wouldn’t behave, the past never really went away. …But this was now and the future … “Of course,” she said, “I’ll write and I’ll be thinking of you every minute, just as your uncle will.” … Next she was greeted by Madame, who kissed her and whom she thanked for the lovely wedding. And as Madame held her, she thought how strange it was that she had begun despising this girl, and now had genuinely come to love her, and to be able to see her poise and warmth for the precious realities that they were. If only Jean-Paul had been so blessed in his marriage … what a difference between her sons’ two women. …And just as quickly she dismissed the depressing thought of Jean-Paul’s chronic sniffler.

“And you, Uncle Leon,” Jeanette was saying, “what a joy it has been for me to have you here to share this with me. Thank you, dearest uncle.”

And finally the moment she’d dreaded. Standing in front of her, smiling, Jean-Paul held and kissed her hand, saying how
well
she looked this morning, and she rather abruptly withdrew it, trembling, which helped but didn’t entirely reassure him that she was still merely playing her appropriate role.

Finally Jeanette embraced Madeleine. “I don’t need to ask you to take good care of the children, my dear friend. I know you will.” And they stood for a moment looking at each other, remembering the not so distant past.

T
HE TRIP LASTED WELL
over two days, and took them through the Swiss and Italian Alps. They changed trains once in Milan, then the train sped on across the Apennine Mountains. When the Milan-to-Rome express finally came to a halt in Rome, the Duprés were driven to the Excelsior Hotel, which would be their address for the next two weeks.

That night, amid the splendors of Rome, Etienne said, “Jeanette … do you have any idea what it means to me … that you love me?”

Somewhere in his voice, she thought, there seemed to be almost a plea, and she quickly said, “And do you know how much you mean to me …?” And meant it, at the same time knowing she would be … had been unfaithful to him. …Somehow she would, she had to, learn to live in two emotional worlds. She
would
be a good wife to Etienne … while still being the mistress of Jean-Paul … the father of her child. …And she would not only have Jean-Paul’s child, she’d also repay Etienne for his kindness and love and have children by him as well.

She fell in love with Rome. It seemed to have been there forever. She loved its cathedrals and museums, its fountains and its restaurants. All the glory of the Renaissance was reflected in its art. The only difficult moment came one day at the Spanish Steps. They were an agony for Etienne to walk down, but he was determined to do it. He attracted a great deal of attention, stepping down sideways in his slow, patient way. Jeanette, hating herself for it, nonetheless felt some embarrassment … and, again in spite of herself, felt herself becoming irritable their last night in Rome as they sat at a table in the magnificent dining room of the Excelsior Hotel, the champagne chilled to perfection, the dinner superb, and watched the other couples dancing, wishing that—

She pushed the dangerous thought from her mind, but it lingered—try as she might to eliminate it—just as it did during the next weeks in Florence and Venice, before, finally, returning home to Paris.

To Paris, and to …

On the second night of their return to Paris, the newly-weds were honored at dinner. Madame had invited only an intimate group of relatives and friends. Jean-Paul, naturally, was among them.

When they adjourned to the small salon for coffee and brandy, Etienne wanted to join the bridge players. Since Jeanette hadn’t yet learned to play, she walked across the hall to the large salon, sat down at the piano and started to play a Chopin waltz. Jean-Paul soon joined her.

“Did you miss me?” he said.

“Yes,” and did not look up from her playing.

“Very much?”

“Yes … please, not tonight, we can’t talk now …”

“I’ve taken an apartment, I know you’ll like it …” and he wrote down the address, tucking the slip of paper into the cleavage between her breasts (the owner asserting ownership). He described the balcony that looked out on the Eiffel Tower, and the magic of the lights that enhanced their city by night. …They would share it together. …There, in their hideaway, all of Paris would belong to them.

The next afternoon Jeanette took special pains with her appearance. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the thin straps on her satin slip. When she had finished, she put the sable coat over her slender shoulders and picked up a box containing a dress she wished to have altered.

She went to the library, where Etienne was hard at work on the estate accounts. He looked up from the desk.

“You look especially delicious, and where are you off to?”

“Only a few errands, darling … but this is Paris, after all, and one should try one’s best to match her beauty.” A too pretty speech, she thought, and hurried on with, “I’ll be back long before dinner.” She kissed him and left.

Getting into the limousine, she told André to drive her to Dior’s, and he needn’t wait, she’d either call to be picked up later or take a taxi home, she wasn’t yet certain which. Once inside the salon, she waited until André drove off, then immediately she walked out to the street and hailed a taxi that drove her to Jean-Paul.

He was waiting. She had hardly knocked when he opened the door, took her in his arms, kissed her and lifted her off the ground, kicking the door shut with his foot. It was the same for her … the nearly mindless, helpless frenzy she felt with him almost from the first … as he carried her to the bedroom, her coat falling from her shoulders to the floor in a heap. Their lips still together, he unbuttoned the back of her dress, released the shoulder straps of the slip and slid it from her body. He unbuttoned the fastening of the tiny lace bra as she hastily untied the sash of his dressing gown, under which he was naked. As they clung together, she felt his hardness touch her. He kissed her distended nipples, her abdomen, and beyond. Finally he spread his legs out and she lay beneath him. She wanted him as never before. As he entered her she moaned.

“Jean-Paul … oh God …” And then he was entering her, thrusting, turning, and in the final moment before the culmination, he whispered, his voice rasping, “Too long, away too long … belong here … with me … don’t forget it …”

Spent and exhilarated at the same time, she lay back now in his arms, content not to talk, only to luxuriate.

Not so Jean-Paul, whose “curiosity” about her time with Etienne was still very much alive. “Last night you didn’t want to talk. …Now tell me.”

She hesitated. “Jean-Paul, you know what I feel for you, but please, I ask you to also make it possible for me to have this life with you. And for that …well, I ask you not to question me about my life with Etienne. …”

He looked at her, trying to camouflage the anger he felt. …However, he had to concede, unreasonable though it might be. “It’s merely that I am concerned about your feelings, how you are managing in a difficult situation—”

“I realize that, darling, but when we’re together like this, here in this lovely place, I don’t want to talk about anything but us, to think about anybody but us. This is a special world that belongs to us, and when we’re here, there isn’t any world outside. …”

All his diplomatic training did little to modify his feeling of distinct unease. It seemed, he suspected, that the lady wanted to share his body but her life belonged to his precious little brother … except wasn’t that precisely the arrangement he’d wanted …? He wasn’t being too consistent, he told himself, for a gentleman whose career was one of opportunistic reason. And, telling himself that, it did no good at all.

“Please understand,” she was saying, “I do have to leave you and go back to … him. At least while we’re together let’s please pretend that only you and I exist,” (not adding that otherwise they might not be able to exist at all).

He smiled. “I surrender, as a good diplomat should when in a cul-de-sac. But I surely am permitted to ask how you are feeling … the morning sickness, have you had any?”

“Yes, but thank God I’ve been able to get to the bathroom before it became too bad—”

“And when will you tell Etienne?”

“Tomorrow, I think. After I see the doctor. …”

He felt immensely pleased, concentrating once again on the original guiding purpose behind this whole arrangement that he had so skillfully arranged. And, almost to himself, he said, “A son, soon I will have a son and—”

She laughed. “And how are you so certain it will be a son? Maybe it will be a lovely baby girl—”

“No. My first child will be a son.”

“Very well, sir, if you say so, and now I really must …”

“You really must stop talking,” he said, drawing her close to him, “and only think of how you are going to be my son’s mother, and always are going to belong to me. …” And he made love to her once more, as though to prove his argument.

Afterward, when it was nearly past the time to go, she felt a slight dizziness as she dressed to return to Etienne, looking as well groomed as when she had left him. And later, at dinner, she could honestly say—indeed she welcomed it as an escape—that she did not feel well and would she be forgiven if she went to bed early? Madame expressed concern and hoped she would feel better. Etienne took her upstairs, leaving Jean-Paul alone in the salon with his mother.

“How is Marie Jacqueline?” Madame said. “It’s a pity she can’t be with us—”

“I know, Mother, but as you realize, she really isn’t well at all … I’m afraid her allergies are even worse. Mother, I’ve done everything I can think of … doctors, everything …”

“Jean-Paul, I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but can’t you somehow persuade her to get out of the house? She’s become so withdrawn. I noticed it in Provence this summer. She scarcely left her room. Can’t something be done?”

“No, Mother, I’m afraid not …”

Madame sighed. “Such a pity …”

The next morning Jeanette knocked on her mother-in-law’s door.

“Come in, my dear. How are you this morning?”

“I’m not sure, Mother. I didn’t feel or sleep well last night, and I feel slightly ill this morning.”

Madame’s face lit up. “What do you mean by ill? Please give me the symptoms.”

“Well … I feel a slight nausea—”

“Oh, my dear … I do think we must make an appointment for you to see our doctor.”

“But why—”

“To see if you are pregnant, of course. You are, after all, a bride, a married woman … and married women eventually become mothers.”

Jeanette, feeling almost like another person, outside of herself, watching herself perform, looked properly surprised. “But we’ve been married so short a time.”

Madame laughed happily at her new daughter’s charming naiveté. It can happen, I assure you, very quickly, my dear.” She immediately reached for the telephone and called Dr. Bernier’s number, which she knew well from memory. She had called him often enough through the years. An appointment was made for two o’clock that afternoon. “I’ll go with you,” she added.

Jeanette very much preferred to go alone, but quickly, eagerly, answered, “Would you? That would be a great comfort But, Mother, let’s not say anything to Etienne until we’re completely sure. He might be so disappointed if—”