The Silk Vendetta (40 page)

The Comte responded gracefully.

“Where is Raoul?” she asked.

“Alas, he is in Carsonne.”

“Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

“I have important business here and he has his duties in Carsonne.”

“That’s a pity.”

“I will let him know what you said. He will be gratified.”

Mademoiselle Leclerc came in. She was obviously looking for Katie.

“This is Mademoiselle Leclerc, Katie’s French governess,” I said.

I was ashamed of the twinge of annoyance I felt as I saw his eyes upon her—assessing her, I thought. She was very pretty and younger than I. I noticed the effect he had on her; she flushed and her eyes seemed to brighten. One would never be sure of him, I thought.

Mademoiselle Leclerc said she had come to take Katie for a walk.

“Go along now, Katie,” I said.

”Shall you be here when I come back?” she asked the Comte.

“I hope to be,” he said.

She looked pleased and went off with her governess.

”What an enchanting child she is,” he said. “She could only be yours. I should like her to see more of Raoul.”

I was still thinking of the governess.

“So while I am here,” he went on, “I shall show you Paris.”

”As I told you, I am no stranger to it.”

”I mean the real Paris … which only a native can show you. I can think of so much I want you to see.”

I was wonderfully happy during the days that followed. I knew that I was falling under his spell and I told myself I need have no fear. I was not an innocent girl. I would always remember the sort of man I was dealing with … polished, worldly, looking for new sensations and fresh woods to conquer. I would always remember that and pride myself on my common sense.

But everything seemed different when he was around. He was indefatigable in his attempts to please me and the days were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions … too delightful to set aside. I could be happy and carefree as I had not been for years, catching his moods, but always at the height of my pleasure I was aware of the warning voice. Every now and then the image of Heloise lying in the shallow water came to me. There was my mother, too. She had loved recklessly and unwisely. I could understand their feelings. It would be easy to give way to moments of recklessness with a man like this.

But mostly I gave myself up to the sheer enjoyment of those golden days. I learned a great deal about him. There was a serious side to his nature and his life was by no means given over entirely to sensual pleasures. He was deeply knowledgeable. He was something of a connoisseur of art. He was well versed in his country’s history and to be with him was to share that interest. His love of his country was fierce—and yet he was essentially critical which made discussion especially interesting. I felt I was learning a great deal about many things, including myself.

I looked forward to our meetings. I knew my father was anxious but I assured him he had no need to fear. He did though. The Countess was in a fever of excitement. She was completely fascinated by the Comte. He knew exactly how to treat all women and to adjust his attitude to what he believed would please them best.

He brought presents for Katie, flowers for the Countess. He deferred to my father. He was anxious to be on good terms with the entire household. It was part of his strategy.

He took us to the opera to see Orpheus in the Underworld. He told me it was a particular favourite of his because of the fun it poked at the gods. It was a delightful performance and we all enjoyed it. Even my father was laughing; and when we drove home the enchanting music was ringing in my ears. I told myself that it would be among my favourites ever after.

The Countess was eager that I should enjoy my expeditions. I said I should be working, but she would not hear of it.

“We can manage perfectly well,” she insisted. “After all, we did while you were away. This is just an extension of your holiday. Plenty of time for work … later.”

Those days sped by at an incredible rate. I knew I should never forget them. Paris is one of the most delightful cities in the world, and under the guidance of the Comte it was an enchanted place. Sometimes Katie accompanied us; but more often we were alone.

We climbed to Montmartre, he holding my arm as we mounted the steep streets. We visited the Cathedral, that rather bizarre oriental building which has always been so much a landmark of Paris. He talked of St. Denis, the patron saint of France, and the martyrs who had been put to death here. He showed me the great bell—Francoise-Marguerite or La Savoyarde de Montmartre which was nine feet tall. He made me listen to its unusual timbre. I had been here with my father when I first came to Paris but everything seemed to have acquired a new and exciting quality now. I was seeing much which I had seen before without noticing. He brought a new light to everything and that which had been insignificant had become of absorbing interest.

His sense of the past was ever-present. He talked sadly of the Revolution which had destroyed the old way of life, and bitterly of the masses and of his ancestors who had suffered at their hands. Only extraordinary good fortune had saved his branch of the family.

“The blood lust,” he said, “the bile of envy … the desire to destroy because this one has something which that one lacks.” He took me to the Conciergerie, into the vaulted Salle Saint Louis called the Salle des Pas Perdus on account of the fact that those condemned to die passed through it on their way to the guillotine. He was grim when we saw the cell in which Marie Antoinette had spent her last days. “Subject to humiliation inflicted by petty tyrants,” he said with venom.

Then I saw a different side to him. He was surprising me all the time.

His knowledge of art was profound as I discovered when we visited the Louvre. He showed me new aspects of pictures I had seen before. He was fascinated by Leonardo da Vinci and we stood for a long time in the Grande Galerie while he discussed the Virgin on the Rocks. Of course he had much to say on the Mona Lisa which had been in the country since 1793; and he told me how Francois Premier, who had cared deeply for artists, had brought Leonardo from Italy that he might have first claim on his works. “He was an artist manque, “he said, “as perhaps I am. But I am afraid there are a good many manques in my life.”

“One which is not, is the wisdom to know it,” I told him.

Such happy days! I shall never forget them. Each morning there was a fresh adventure. This, I told myself, is the way to live. But I reminded myself a hundred times a day, it was ephemeral. There had to be an ending … soon.

But I clung to each moment, savouring it to the full. I had an uneasy feeling that I was becoming his victim as he had all the time intended that I should. I had lost sight of that fact in discovering new sides to his nature.

We went to Pere-Lachaise—so much a part of Paris. I had often wondered who Pere-La Chaise was and he told me that he was the fashionable confessor of Louis XIV and that the cemetery was so named from his house which had stood where the present chapel now did. We looked at the monuments and the graves of the famous.

“A lesson to us all,” he said. “Life is short. The wise make the most of every moment.”

He pressed my arm and smiled at me.

I very much enjoyed the open spaces. I loved the elegance of the Pare Monceau which seemed to be full of children with their nurses and unusual statues of people like Chopin with his piano and figures representing Night and Harmony, of Gounod with Marguerite. The children loved them and when I took Katie there she was loath to be drawn away from them.

It was one day when we were together in the Jardin des Plantes that I realized these halcyon days were almost over. We sat on a seat watching the peacocks and I remembered once saying to him that in certain moments one realizes that one is completely happy. This was such a moment.

I said to him: “I shall have to go home soon.”

“Home?” he said. “Where is home?”

“London.”

“Why must you go?”

“Because I have been away so long.”

”But is not Paris your home, too?”

“One can only have one real home.”

“Are you telling me you are homesick?”

“I just have the feeling that I must go. It is a long time since I saw my grandmother.”

“I hope you will not go just yet. These have been pleasant days, have they not?”

“Very pleasant. I am afraid I have taken up a lot of your time.”

“That time has been spent in the way I wished it to be. You know that, don’t you? These meetings have been as agreeable to me as I hope they have been to you.”

“I will be frank,” I said. “You have a motive, and it may be that you are wasting your time.”

“My motive is pleasure. I find it and that is never a waste of time.”

I was silent. I could hardly refuse him that which he had not asked for … except in a subtle way.

“Why are you pensive?” he asked.

“I am thinking of home.”

“I cannot allow that. Where would you like to go tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I shall prepare to go home.”

“Please stay. Think how desolate I shall be if you leave.”

”I fancy you would quickly find some other diversion.”

“Is that how you think of yourself… a diversion?”

“No. It is what I intend not to be.”

“You know my feelings for you.”

“You have made them plain.”

“You have enjoyed our excursions?”

“They have been most illuminating.”

“You will miss them when you go away.”

“I daresay I shall. But I am very busy in London. There will be so much to catch up with.”

“And then you will forget me?”

“I shall think of you, I am sure.”

He took my hand. “Why are you afraid?” he asked.

“Afraid? I?”

“Yes. Afraid, you … afraid to let me come too close.”

“I think I may be different from most of the women you know.”

“You are indeed. That is one of the things about you which I find so attractive.”

“So therefore I do not react as you are accustomed to expect.”

“How do you know what I expect?”

“Because I realize the sort of life you have led.”

“Do you know me so well?”

“I think I know you well enough to deduce certain things.”

He gripped my arm. “Don’t go,” he said. “Let us get to know each other … really well.”

I knew what he was suggesting and I was ashamed that it presented some temptation. I shook him off angrily. A love affair? It would be torrid, wildly exciting … until it burned itself out. Such an adventure was not for me. I wanted a steady relationship. A few weeks… perhaps a few months … of passion were no substitute for that.

Suppose he had suggested marriage? Even then I should have hesitated. My common sense told me that I should have to think very dispassionately before I entered into any form of relationship with him. But of course he was not suggesting marriage. He had married once for the sake of the family, and he wanted his freedom now … no encumbrances. He had a strong and healthy heir. He had done his duty to Carsonne. No more marriage for him. He would be free.

I thought: Why have I let this go so far? Why have I allowed my emotions to become involved? I had and I greatly feared that I could be overwhelmed by him.

I looked at the proud peacock, his beautiful feathered tail arrogantly displayed, and the pale little peahen trotting along behind him.

Somehow that gave me strength.

Never. Never, I told myself.

I stood up. I said coolly: “I think it is time that we were going.”

Blackmail

Katie and I returned to London, my father accompanying us because he did not want us to travel alone. I knew that he was relieved because we were going for he had been deeply affected by the Comte’s pursuit—particularly after he had appeared in Paris.

“You enjoyed your visit?” he asked me tentatively.

I replied that it had been one of the most interesting periods of my life, at which he was silent.

It was wonderful to see Grand’mere again. I noticed her studying me intently, and at the earliest moment she found an opportunity of speaking to me alone.

She said: “You look different… younger. I saw the change in you the moment you arrived.”

I told her that I had seen Rene in the graveyard. ”I went there to look for my mother’s grave,” I explained.

“So you saw your father’s brother. Did he speak to you?”

“Yes. He was quite friendly. He was at Heloise’s grave. He knew who I was. He had heard that I was at my father’s vineyards and he recognized me. He said I was very like my mother.”

She nodded emotionally. “I wonder what he thought to see you there. I don’t suppose he told the old man. There would have been trouble if he had.”

”He really seemed more interested in my scarf than in me.”

“Your scarf?”

“Yes. I dropped it and he picked it up and saw that it was made of Sallon Silk. Then he talked about Philip. He thought he had discovered it. He was really taken aback when I told him it was Charles.”

“That family thought of little else but silk. They must have been really put out when someone other than themselves discovered the Sallon method. But something else happened?”

“Do you remember the chateau there?”

“Carsonne. Of course. Everyone knows the chateau and the de la Tours.”

“I met Gaston de la Tour.”

“The present Comte!”

I nodded. “Oh,” she said blankly.

I told her about the encounter with the dogs and our being invited to the vendange and how Katie and his son had got on so well together.

“Well, that was interesting,” she said, watching me intently.

”I met him in Paris.”

“You mean he followed you to Paris.”

“No. He was there when we were.”

“And you saw something of him.”

I nodded.

“I see. So that is it.”

“What do you mean, Grand’mere … that is it?”

“I mean he is responsible … for the change in you.”

“I do not know that there is any change.”

“You may take it from me that there is. Oh, Lenore, this is the last thing I wanted to happen. I’ve worried a lot about you. Since Philip’s death you have been lonely.”