Paris: The Novel (80 page)

“So, Hadley,” said Aunt Éloïse with a smile, as the carriage rolled away, “you have been working hard at your painting in France for many months now, and I have never asked you: Are you satisfied with your visit so far? Are you finding what you hoped for?”

“Thanks to this fellow here”—Hadley indicated Marc—“and the kindness of his family, I’ve been more fortunate than I could have dared to hope. Many people come to France and see it from outside, but by getting to know a family, I’ve already learned far more about France than most people do.”

“This is probably true in any country,” said Aunt Éloïse, “but it is especially true in France. And tell me—honestly, I beg you—how you like it here.”

“Oh, I’m in love with it,” Hadley said simply.

“You are?” said Marie.

“I don’t mean that France has no faults. I find people a little too obsessed by their history. But the culture has so much charm, that’s understandable. And nobody can call France old-fashioned. A little slow to adopt mechanical inventions, maybe. But all the new artistic and philosophical ideas are happening here. That’s why all the young American artists come piling in.”

“And what of your own painting?” asked Aunt Éloïse. “Are you making progress?”

“Some.” He hesitated, then smiled a little ruefully. “Not enough.”

“You have talent,” Marc assured him.

“A little, Marc. But not enough. That’s what I’ve learned. I shall study painting all my life, but I’m not going to be a painter. That’s what I needed to find out, and I’ve seen so much already that I know my limitations. I’m not disappointed. I just needed to know.”

“Too soon to give up,” said Marc. “Tell him so, Marie.”

“I watched Hadley working in Fontainebleau and I was very impressed,” said Marie. “But I’d rather know what he thinks.”

“I’ve decided that I want to live a life more like my father’s. I don’t want to go into business, as I’d thought I might. I want to live in the same world that you and your aunt do, Marc. If I apply myself, there will be positions I could take in art schools or universities in America. That would allow me free time to do my own work and travel in the summer. I mightn’t get rich, but I’m fortunate. I’ll have enough private income to get by.”

“You could have a house in France and spend your summers here,” said Marie.

“I could certainly do that,” said Hadley. He smiled. “Sounds a pretty good idea.”

They had reached the gates of the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont.

“Marc, wait here for Gérard and his friend,” said Aunt Éloïse. “Then take them up to the little temple at the top of the park, where we shall meet you.” And with that she swept Hadley and Marie away.

It was warm and it was quiet. There was scarcely a soul about as they wandered along the winding path that led down to the small lake. In the middle of the lake, the island rose up steeply to the tiny temple far above.

“This way,” said Aunt Éloïse. And she led them around the edge of the lake until they heard the sound of a waterfall. “It’s one of the wonders of the place,” she explained to Hadley. “This was the entrance to an old gypsum quarry, but they turned it into a grotto with an artificial waterfall and stalactites.”

They entered the grotto together. It was empty.

“I’ll just see where the others are,” said Aunt Éloïse, and left them.

The water cascaded down delightfully. The stalactites that hung in huge spikes from the roof of the cave gave it a magical air. Standing together, they looked up the waterfall to a patch of blue sky in the roof, far above. Marie stepped back into the cave, under the festoons of stalactites, and stood watching Hadley as he inspected the area around the waterfall.

She had never been entirely alone with him before. She felt her heart beating, but she kept still. He walked back to her.

She was looking up at him. She was almost trembling, but still she held herself under control, forced herself to be calm.

“It seems my chaperone has deserted me,” she said softly.

He gazed at her, uncertain.

“Obviously,” he said with half a smile, “she trusts me not to behave like Marc.”

She gave a hint of a shrug, and smiled, still looking up at him.

“Why?”

As he looked down at Marie, with her face upturned and her lips slightly parted, Frank Hadley felt a great wave of desire. And perhaps, even then, he might have held back; but the fact that she knew about her brother, and had told him so, had somehow removed the awesome barrier of her innocence. In his mind, she was a woman now. He bent his head down, and kissed her.

And suddenly Marie found herself receiving his kiss, with her head
thrown back, and she felt his arm around her waist drawing her up, and her hands reached out, clasping his neck, his body, needing to hold him, and she thought that she would swoon.

Until a voice interrupted, and brought the sky crashing down.

“In the name of God,” cried Gérard, “what are you doing?” And as they sprang apart: “Marie, are you insane?”

Gérard took charge. For once, they all had to do what he said. Not a word, he ordered. Not a word to anyone, not even to Marc.

At least, thank God, Rémy Monnier had no idea what had happened. Not only would it have ruined Marie’s chances with him, but a few words from Monnier and the news would have been all over Paris.

Even Aunt Éloïse, who had so shamefully left them alone, had to keep quiet. It only confirmed Gérard’s opinion that his aunt was an irresponsible fool. If he hadn’t decided to come down to see where they were, and taken a different path from the one where she was standing guard, she might have gotten away with this nonsense. And where would that have left everybody?

As it was, they all trooped up calmly to the little temple, Marie walking with her aunt and he with Hadley, and they all admired the little temple and the view. And Monnier declared it was a delightful afternoon.

When they got back to the entrance to the park, Gérard suggested in the most natural way that the others should take the family carriage and drop Rémy Monnier at his house, which was almost on their way home, up near the Parc Monceau, while he conveyed Hadley back. “Because I never get a chance to talk to him.”

So Rémy Monnier found himself in the carriage with Marie, and Gérard went off with Hadley.

Gérard wasted no time. But to Hadley’s surprise, he could not have been more friendly.

“My dear Hadley, please forgive me, but I have to protect my sister’s reputation—which my aunt entirely failed to do. In my place, you’d be obliged to do the same.”

“The fault’s mine, not hers …,” Hadley began, but Gérard wouldn’t hear of it.

“That grotto’s a romantic place, and my sister’s … well, in my opinion, she’s everything a man could want.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that.”

“You kissed her. Any of us might have done the same. That’s what chaperones are for.”

“There was no disrespect, I assure you.”

“Of course there wasn’t. We know you’re a good fellow. My brother, Marc, whom we all love, is not a good fellow. His family know it, and I’m sure you know too. In fact, my parents thought you were a good influence on him. But tell me, Hadley, what are your intentions? Are you wanting to marry my sister?”

“It hadn’t quite come to that,” answered Hadley truthfully. “It was all a bit sudden. But I reserve the right.”

“Hadley, we like you very much,” declared Gérard. “But you can’t marry Marie. It’s out of the question. Think about it. You’ll go back to America. Would you take her away from all her family? Would she be happy there? My parents wouldn’t consent to the marriage, and I’d oppose it strongly, for those reasons. Besides, you’re a Protestant. Marie’s a Catholic. Are you planning to convert? Because she isn’t going to.”

He didn’t belabor the point. But when he dropped Hadley off, he added one thing.

“Do you think Marie has fallen in love with you, Hadley?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Well, nor could I. But if she has, then the best thing is to leave her alone. Don’t raise hopes which can’t be fulfilled. That would be unkind.”

And the trouble was, Hadley thought, as he mounted the stairs to his lodgings, that although he didn’t like Gérard, what he said might be true.

The next day, he made his decision. His reasons were straightforward.

Professionally, he’d achieved his purpose in France. He was ready to return to America and start his career.

If the circumstances had been different, he thought, he might have spent more time in Marie’s company, and he might have offered to marry her. The idea of living in Europe and spending summers in France was delightful.

But if there was going to be implacable opposition from her family,
what was the good of that, for either of them? There was only one sensible and decent thing to do.

The next day he sent a cable to his father. Having done so, he went to see Marc.

“My father’s sick. I have to return to America at once.”

“My dear Hadley. Just when we were getting used to you. I’m heartbroken.”

“I’m sorry to go, but there’s nothing to be done.”

Then he called on Marie and her parents.

Jules and his wife had no reason not to accept his explanation at face value, and urged him warmly to come straight to their house whenever he returned. “And if you ever come to America,” he said in return, “my parents and I will be so delighted if you will stay with us.”