Days of Winter (42 page)

“You’re absolutely right. We won’t say a thing. But imagine his joy if it’s true.”

“Oh yes. I pray he will be …”

Madame waited in the reception room, hoping against hope that her Etienne would now have what she had always most wanted for him … and for herself. …

After the examination Jeanette sat across from Dr. Bernier.

“Well, my dear,” he said, “I believe you are going to be a mother.”

“Are you sure?”

“Almost certain. Of course we will run tests to be on the safe side, but you seem to be at least two months along—”

Jeanette clenched the arms of the chair. “That’s impossible. We were married less than a month ago.”

He looked at her, frowned slightly and said, “Oh … well, your uterus appears to be somewhat large for so short a time—”

“I don’t see how it can be that far along.” The color had drained from her face.

He sat back, took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. He knew very well that she was more than a month into her pregnancy. He’d been practicing too long not to realize what the situation was. Either the child had not been conceived by Etienne, or the couple had had premarital relations. In any case, he’d been a trusted friend and doctor to the Duprés for a very long time. What he wrote in his records would be discreetly worded.

He put on his glasses again and smiled at the young woman sitting across from him, knowing how she must feel at being discovered. “Perhaps I’m mistaken about the time … this soon, it’s difficult to make a categorical statement about that. But I must tell you there’s little question that you are pregnant.”

She looked away, on the edge of tears. What if Dr. Bernier confided in the family? Oh please, God, I beg you, even though I’m not deserving, please … help me …

God, or his equivalent at the moment, answered sooner than expected, as Dr. Bernier said, “In any event, you need not worry, Madame Dupré. Premature, seven-month babies do very well.”

She looked up at him gratefully, even though she knew he was protecting her to protect the sensibilities of the Duprés. Whatever, he had her undying thanks. Next he discussed the necessity of prenatal care, and set up appointments for monthly visits. Then, his arm around her shoulders, he walked her back to the reception room, where he greeted Madame. “Well, my dear Madame Dupré, it seems you’re going to be blessed with another grandchild. My congratulations to you and to Etienne. I’m sure our young mother will come through splendidly. …”

Madame was delighted … Etienne would be a father, and nothing would be spared in Jeanette’s behalf. …

Madame left it for Jeanette, of course, to break the news to Etienne, and Jeanette waited until they retired to their bedroom for the night. “Etienne …? I have some news … good news to tell you.”

“Yes?”

She swallowed hard, moistened her lips and began, “Maman and I paid a visit to Dr. Bernier today.”

“The obstetrician?”

“Yes, Etienne …”

He seemed unable—or unwilling?—to grasp the logical inference. Her heart was pounding. Did he suspect? But how could he? No, she chastised herself, she was allowing her mind to play games, born out of her own guilt. More likely it was the suddenness of the reality of impending fatherhood so soon after their marriage. …

“Etienne, we’re going to have a child.”

He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then he frowned and shook his head, as though he couldn’t possibly have heard right Then he looked at her again. “A child?” he said.

“Yes. A child. We’re going to have a child.”

He was incredulous. A deep blush colored his face at the same time his eyes brightened with joy. He grinned. Jeanette believed that she’d never before seen him look so happy. He knelt down in front of her and put his head in her lap. “You’ve brought us so much happiness, and now this …”

She cried softly from the release of her own anxiety. “I hope I can always make you happy.”

“Have no fears on that, my dearest. You have already given me more than any man has the right to dare hope for.”

And when they retired that evening, he held her in his arms with a special mixture of tenderness and strength … lover and proud possessor.

Life, by its own invention, tended to settle into a pattern of schedules and routines. Both Etienne and Jeanette were early risers. Most mornings she put on a casual dressing gown and the two of them had breakfast alone, leisurely, since it was Madame’s habit to sleep late and have breakfast served to her. They took that meal in the morning room. Jeanette loved this room best of all. It was filled with plants and ferns of all sizes. The double doors opened onto a garden that even in winter was enchanting. She adored the green dining table and the chairbacks on which had been carved baskets of flowers, painted in colors. Here, it always seemed like spring. The pictures on the walls were of flowers, most of them painted by Etienne. The floors were parquet squares, high polished, in the center of which lay an oval Brussels rug. The border was wide, and the design an exact replica of the chair-backs.

When they finished eating, Etienne usually went to the library and read the morning paper. Jeanette went to the children’s room, making sure to see Lucien before he went off to school. Then Madeleine attended to her chores, as Jeanette sat with Nicole, going over her lessons, while Desirée played house with her dolls.

Many mornings Etienne would come in later, sitting quietly and with pride as Jeanette bent over the table, intent on the girls’ instruction. Desirée was beginning to read simple books with pictures. She was very bright and so keen that after reading a story once or twice she could recite it by heart. It was all Jeanette could do to restrain from squeezing Desirée affectionately as the cadence of her gentle, sweet voice rose and fell. And for a half hour each day the little girls had their piano lessons. Both children showed promise of becoming accomplished, but of the two, Desirée displayed the more exceptional talent, her pudgy fingers playing back and forth over the gleaming, responsive keys.

At noon, Jeanette would go to her room and dress for the day, then lunch with Etienne and Madame. She ate very sparingly now. In fact, she dieted strenuously. Of course, she took her vitamins and calcium tablets, plus milk, which the doctor had stressed to her, but she wanted to gain very little weight during the pregnancy, making sure the unborn child would not be too large for a babe supposedly born in the seventh month.

Madame objected heartily, insisting that Jeanette was not eating enough for two. Madame believed that expectant mothers should indulge, it was their duty. But Jeanette was ready with the excuse that since her pregnancy, food tended rather easily to upset her. It was sheer torture, though … always being famished, and at bedtime she reluctantly indulged herself with a glass of hot milk and crackers in order to sleep.

On the appointed afternoon she dressed as usual, eliminating the satin slip under the wool dress … Jean-Paul was always so anxious at their rendezvous, she accommodated him—and, to be honest, herself—by wearing as little as possible. Putting the key in the lock, she felt the by now too familiar rush of undeniable excitement, anticipating his taking her in his arms, making her feel what she both craved and hated … except this time it was tinged with a sense of fear as she stepped across the threshold. Usually Jean-Paul met her at the door. Something was -wrong today, she knew it. After pouring herself a brandy, she looked out at the bleak winter day, at the Eiffel Tower just beyond, shivering as she pulled her coat more snugly around her. After waiting a half hour, she went to the telephone and called his home.

The butler answered. “The Dupré residence.”

“May I speak with Monsieur Dupré?”

“He’s not in, may Į take a message?”

The butler seemed somewhat harassed. “He had an earlier appointment with Monsieur Dryfus on a legal matter. …”

“Oh, I’m … his secretary and am calling to check …”

“Ah, well, Monsieur left about fifteen minutes ago, although I can’t say where he’s gone.”

“I see. Then he must be on his way.” She sighed in relief. Something must have delayed him, but why hadn’t he called? She told herself not to think about it. He would explain later. The important thing was, he was now on his way. She took another brandy to warm herself, then went to the bedroom and undressed, although Jean-Paul always loved doing this for her. Well, today he would have to forego that pleasure … their time together would be shorter than usual. …

As she lay in bed, nude, her desires began to increase, and with them, her anxieties as the minutes turned to hours. By four o’clock she was frantic, certain that something dreadful had happened, but she could not possibly wait any longer. …

By the time she got home her pulse was racing and her head throbbed with pain. She did not go straight to Etienne as she usually did. (Actually, after spending the afternoon with Jean-Paul, her affection for Etienne was even greater.) She went directly to her room, took two aspirins, and lay down. …

“My God, I’ve been so worried … it’s five-thirty. I didn’t know you were home.” It was Etienne. She had fallen asleep.

“I’m sorry … forgive me … I came straight to the room. I was feeling so ill … just before I came home I felt terribly nauseous—” She forced a smile. “You understand—”

“
Yes,
of course … the baby … but your hands are so cold. How do you feel now?”

“I’ll be fine. Truly …” At least I will if nothing is wrong with Jean-Paul … please God, let nothing be wrong. …She finally managed to persuade Etienne that there was no more cause for concern but agreed to be more careful about going out in taxis.

At eight o’clock she and Etienne dressed for the evening and went downstairs as usual to join Madame for their aperitif, and Madame remarked on how pale she looked, remembering but not mentioning Jacqueline’s miscarriage during the early months of her pregnancy, and urged Jeanette to eat more … she really
must …
and rest too during the day, and Jeanette promised. …And then Madame’s thoughts, as did Jeanette’s, turned elsewhere.

“I’m surprised Jean-Paul is so late this evening,” Madame said. “He’s usually here by now.”

“He probably had to stay late at the office,” said Etienne. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

But eight-thirty turned to nine o’clock and there was still no sign of Jean-Paul. “I can’t imagine why he hasn’t called,” Madame said anxiously. “He never fails to call if he’s going to be late.”

“I’ll call his home,” said Etienne, realizing that Madame’s concern was heightened by her memory of what had happened to Denise.

He had just left the room and picked up the receiver to call Jean-Paul when Jean-Paul himself walked in. Etienne, intercepting him at the doorway, was stunned. “My God, what happened to your face?”

Jean-Paul shook his head, not able to speak yet. The right side of his face had deep lacerations, as though it had been clawed, leaving the crevices swollen and red. “I had to come here, I had to be here,” he finally managed to get out.

“Of course you did,” Etienne said, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulder, “but for God’s sake, what
happened?”

“Let me have a brandy. I’ll tell you but I must sit down. …”

“Sit here while I prepare Maman for this.”

He helped Jean-Paul to the gold-leafed chair in the vast hall, then went to his mother. “Maman … Jean-Paul is here …in the entry.” As she promptly got up, Etienne said, “Wait, Maman, something has happened, now please don’t become alarmed … he’s all right but his face is bruised. …”

Jeanette slumped down into the chair without a word.

Madame braced herself. “Please bring him in immediately.”

Etienne did, and she saw his lacerated face. She took a compulsively deep breath. “Dear God … Jean-Paul, what has happened …?”

Etienne handed him the brandy. He gulped it down, then another, which he sipped slowly. Jeanette watched in horror, but, she told herself, at least he was safe.

“I hardly know where to begin,” Jean-Paul said, collapsing in a chair. “When I got back from dinner last night Pierre was waiting in the hall. He was white. Obviously, something was very wrong. I asked what the problem was, and he asked me to go straight to Marie Jacqueline’s room. When I got there, it was a shambles. The sheets and pillow cases were torn to shreds. The furniture was turned every which way and her cats were pawing at the drapes. They had been ripped away from the window, and lay in a heap on the floor. And in the middle of the bed lay one of her cats … dead. God, the sight of that cat. …Marie Jacqueline was all disheveled, her hair unkempt and falling loose. Her eyes were glazed and wild. As soon as I came in, she ran to the door and locked it and threw the key into the fire. She was cursing and screaming obscenities. Pointing to the dead cat, she accused me of killing her child … her baby.” Jean-Paul shuddered and shut his eyes. “She had strangled it. …” He could still hear her accusing voice, which he would not repeat to them … “I know that you and Jeanette … your own brother’s precious bitch of a wife … are lovers. …” He’d been certain that she couldn’t possibly
know,
which didn’t at all diminish the shock of hearing her speak out her wild suspicions … which, of course, were the truth.

He continued, “She screamed it out, over and over again, ‘You’ve killed my child and you’ve killed me too.’ Finally she ran to the bed, picked up the dead cat and used its claws to claw my face. I suppose I was in shock. I kept trying to control her, to quiet her down. …Finally she dropped the animal and went at me herself. Her strength was incredible. When I tried to take hold of her, she lashed out at my face and kicked with her feet. Finally I was able to tie her hands with a piece of cord and put her on the bed. But she kept on screaming. I think she’d simply gone mad. I thought I was going mad. I managed to tie her feet together and secure a piece of sheet around her mouth, it helped quiet the screams some … and then I got outside the room by climbing down the ivy at the window. I called the psychiatrist who’d been taking care of her. When he came, I opened the bedroom door with the master key. The doctor gave her an injection that put her to sleep, then we talked about what the next move should be. He told me he’d noticed a decided decline in her behavior in the last few weeks, which I must admit he’d spoken to me about before … I should have paid more attention but Marie Jacqueline was always such a private person; in fact she had become a recluse, as you, Maman, noticed … but
this
outburst I had not anticipated, nor had the doctor.”