Doctor Raoul's Romance (10 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

“
Do you really mean it, Raoul?” said Denise de Neuf, her white arm in her loose-sleeved gown gracefully pouring steaming coffee into delicate cups. “You really mean to give up everything in Paris, and go on your travels?”

Getting up to fetch his cup, he nodded, and stood over her as, tantalizing and elusive as ever, she thought.

He relaxed back into his chair, leaning against the cushions, balancing his cup expertly.

“Raoul, why? Why do you do this?”

“Why?” His dark eyebrows, such a contrast to his fair hair, made their half-indignant gesture of surprise. “I have told you often, Denise. I have always intended to travel. I am a specialist. I have much need of research.”

She sighed slightly.

“Yes, I know. And yet—Raoul, my dear, are you quite sure you are not running away?”

Although his cup clattered in his saucer he answered evenly, “Oh, no,
chérie
.
What cause have I to run away?”

“You are not perhaps running away from me?”

“Denise!”

“There is no need,
mon ami.
I am not a tigress, nor am I a huntress determined to snare you with a matrimonial net.”

“How can I run from you, Denise?” he asked, tranquilly and gallantly, as he took her hand to drop a kiss in the palm. “Since I always carry your image in my heart!”

“Thank you, my knight!” Suddenly she flopped into her favorite position on the footstool at his feet. “And now let us drop the pretty speeches, shall we? And tell me truthfully. It’s that little ink-eyed ‘mock-
fiancée
’ of yours, isn’t it? She holds you prisoner and you are struggling to break the chains.”

“Denise, your imagination!” He tried to laugh, but it was in vain. She knew him too well.

“I’m not fleeing from her,” he said, quietly intense. “Quite the reverse.”

“Ah, I understand now. You remember that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ You are not yet sure of her love.”

“It’s so difficult to explain, Denise, what I know in my heart. She does love me. I know it, I feel it. But she will not allow herself to realize it. She covers it with layers of so-called love for Renton. She feels protective toward him.”

“Perhaps she really loves him. Are you quite sure you are not making a mistake?”

“Quite sure. She does not love him. She loves me. Perhaps, even now, I might win her. But I do not want part of her heart, part of her love. I must have it all.”

She got up and came to him, giving him her hands.

“I wish you all joy,” she said softly, “I understand so well. For that is how I wanted you,
c
hé
ri
.
But it was not to be.”

He bent his head and kissed her, a kiss with no passion. She sighed. Then she said briskly, “Come and have some
café
and
petits fours.
You will not get
gateaux
like these in darkest Africa. Why not make the most of them, while you can?”

Blanche sat idly in the children’s swing, her hands clasped in her lap. A few minutes ago, pushed by Pierre, she had been up among the leaves, knowing a wild, childlike ecstasy. Just for a few moments, her grown-up cares had been forgotten, and she had been an eight-year-old again.

“Where are the children now?” asked Pierre.

“With Denise de Neuf. That woman’s a blessing, Pierre. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Fortunately, the children are always happy with Georges and Michel.”

“But you like children really, you understand them well.”

“No, I don’t. I hate the little brats.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it. You ought to have children of your own.”

“I’ve plenty of time for that. And anyhow, I don’t want children of my own.”

“You would if you were married to me. Oh, Blanche, I want you so badly. I love you so. I want to—to give you everything. To cover you with roses!”

He caught her in his arms. The swing rocked violently. She held her head away from him, teasing “I will cover you with roses, All the sweetest of spring posies,” she trilled in a falsetto.

“Oh, Pierre, you are ridiculous! You’ll never write a good song if you can’t be more original than that. That’s quite Victorian, or whatever the equivalent is in France!”

“You think I’m not serious about the theater, like you,” he protested. “That I won’t succeed there. But I’ll surprise you one day.”

“Let me see you, then,” she taunted.

“You shall. One day you’ll see the world at my feet—and then I will lay it at yours. And if you like, you can kick it away. That’s how much I love you, Blanche. And always will.”

“Pierre,” she said, suddenly pressing herself against him, “do you really mean it? Would you do anything for me? Anything?”

“You know I would.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“Come to England, Pierre. We can get married there, and then get jobs in the theater. It’ll be such fun. Oh, do say yes, Pierre darling, please, please do!”

He pushed her away from him.

“Blanche darling, you don’t mean it. I know you don’t. What about the children? Gillian and Nicholas trusted us to look after them.”

“I haven’t forgotten the children. Denise will take them. She’ll sympathize.”

“But, Blanche
—
” he began.

“Don’t you see, Pierre, this is our chance. While Gillian and Nicholas are away. While there’s no one to stop us.”

“Blanche, you must be mad.”

Her face crumpled up. She was like a lighted torch suddenly extinguished before his eyes.

“Then you won’t go with me?” Blanche demanded.

“Darling, I can’t.”

“Very well then, I’ll go alone!” She drew herself up and marched away from him toward the house, her hair blazing in the sunlight. He sat forlornly on the swing and watched her go.

Had he been feeble when he should have been strong? For her own sake, he had not dared to take her at her word. And he did not believe for one moment she would really carry out her threat to go alone. No, he had done the right thing, the only thing.

And yet he felt that he had lost something valuable, tarnished, perhaps, on the surface, but underneath infinitely precious.

CHAPTER NINE

Adrien sat at her bedroom window watching the sea as it gradually changed color, shining and clear in the dawn light.

N
icholas had held her in his arm and told her he loved her.

Once she had thought she would have given the world for that. That she could ask no more. But now ... she realized that it was barren, sterile. What was a kiss?

What were words of love, however beautiful and desired, if they lacked deep roots?

“I must go, of course,” she told herself. “Today. Yes, I must go today.”

She heard the low-toned clock in the hall strike eight. Time for Gillian’s morning coffee. Adrien dressed quickly and went downstairs to prepare it. She was relieved to find there was no sign of Nicholas.

Gillian welcomed her querulously.

“Where on earth have you been? Did you oversleep, or what? I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

Her eyes scanned Adrien’s face keenly, like a detective, without sympathy, noticing the dark shadows under the violet eyes, the exhaustion plainly written there. Once, Gillian knew, she would have been quick to show compassion. She would have been quick to say, “Do go and lie down, Adrien. You look all in. I shall be all right.” But now there was a coldness in her which nothing seemed to melt.

“I want to go out today,” she said imperiously. “I want Nicky to take me. Where is Nicky?”

Again she glanced sharply at Adrien.

“I think he has gone out for a walk,” replied Adrien quietly, pouring out the coffee with a hand that, somehow, she kept from trembling.

But when she went downstairs again he was there, in the kitchen, waiting for her.

“Adrien,” he said, and reached out a hand to draw her to him. “Adrien, my darling
...
”

“No, Nicholas.” She stood well away from him, resisting the impulse to go to him, to let him take her in his arms. Her lips were dry with longing for his kiss.

“Nicholas, I’m going to leave as soon as possible. I can’t just walk out. But I can’t stay.”

“Adrien
...
” in his tone was pleading.

His face was hollow, his cheeks flushed and feverish.

She said evenly, “I think I’d better ring up Raoul, tell him I have to go home to England suddenly. Something urgent. Ask him to find another nurse. Ring up Raoul. Yes, that’s what I must do. He’ll cope.”

She was surprised at the comfort of the thought.

“But, Adrien, listen to me,” Nicholas begged.

“Till then, till the nurse comes, we’ve got to be careful, Nicholas.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We mustn’t let our emotions get out of hand—say or do things we don’t mean. As we did last night.”

He moved toward her.

“Darling, I don’t think you understand. I wasn’t pretending last night, you know.”

She smiled.

“I know that. But it wasn’t real, Nicholas.”

“But it was—-it was. I love you, Adrien darling. I want to marry you.”

“Marry me?” she echoed incredulously.

“Yes, of course.”

“But you’re married to Gillian.”

“Yes,” he said, “at the moment. But marriages can be set aside.”

“Divorce? For you and Gillian? Oh, Nicholas, how can you think of such a thing?”

She was surprised to find how the thought hurt her. Suddenly she remembered the bright beam of love that had flashed between Gillian and Nicholas, that first day, in her presence.

She said, “How can you say a thing like that? You must be mad. You don’t mean it, Nicholas. You could never stop loving Gillian.”

He put his hand to his head.

“I’m all confused. I thought you loved me, Adrien.”

“I do,” she admitted steadily. “It’s no use denying it, now. I think I’ll always love you.”

“Then
...
”

“But I know you don’t love me. I know you love Gillian, in your heart. You always will. She hasn’t changed, not really. When her convalescence is over, you’ll find she is just as she used to be. That is—” She broke off.

“Yes, Adrien?”

“That is, if you uphold her with your love,” she finished in a whisper. Then, more firmly, “She’s terribly dependent on you. Raoul says it’s you who cured her really, with your love. You can’t let her down now.”

“Adrien!” he begged.

“When I’m gone, you’ll realize nothing has really changed. You’ll find you still love Gillian as much as ever, more perhaps. I know it, Nicholas.”

“I don’t think so.” But his tone lacked conviction. She had always been able to give him courage and strength. “And then—what about you?”

“It’s different for me,” Adrien thought. “How different! But at least I’m used to it. I’ve loved him so long.”

She forced herself to smile at him, to say, “I expect it will pass for me too.”

“Oh, Adrien, it was so sweet to hold you in my arms.”

“Sweet for me too,” she whispered. “But Nicholas, I know it wasn’t love. Not real love.”

A furious voice sounded from the stairs. “Nicky, Adrien! Isn’t anyone ever coming to help me to get dressed?”

Guiltily, they sprang apart.

And at that moment, shrill and vehement as a warning or a summons, the telephone bell jangled through the house.

It was Blanche’s voice that came over the wire, shrill and hysterical.

“Oh, it’s you, Adrien! Adrien, I don’t know what to do. They’ve run away!”

“What on earth are you talking about, Blanche? Take hold of yourself, for goodness’ sake! Who’ve run away?”

“The children! Frances and Geoffrey. Oh, Adrien, they may be dead! What shall I do?”

Blanche’s voice rose to a shriek. She was sobbing violently. Then suddenly Gillian, who up till now had been too weak to walk down the stairs alone, was at her side, taking the receiver from her hand.

“Blanche!” Her voice, like icy water, silenced the girl at once. “Stop all that screaming. What are you saying? Tell me at once, please, what have you done with my children?”

Nicholas gave a gasp. “The children? What’s this?”

He went to Gillian’s side, put his arm around her waist, and drew her against him.

“Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find them,” he said.

Her body relaxed against his, and even in the agony of her anxiety, she gave a half smile.

Adrien sat down on the staircase. Suddenly it was her limbs that seemed to be without strength
...

“I’m tired!" Geoffrey announced, in a woeful voice. “Are we nearly there?”

Frances tossed her head, and shook her pigtails scornfully. “Course not. We’ve only just started. You are stupid, Geoffrey.”

“How long is it going to take us?”

“Days and days.”

Geoffrey stood stock still, planting his little sandalled feet firmly on the road.

“Then I want to go home.”

“Back to Aunt Blanche?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go and live in the chateau, with Madame de Neuf?” Frances asked
h
im.

“I like Madame de Neuf.”

“So do I. And Georges and Michel. It’s fun going there to play. But they don’t belong to us, Geoffrey. Blanche shouldn’t send us there to stay. Mummy wouldn’t like it. That’s why we’re going to her.”

“I don’t think Aunt Blanche really meant it. Adrien says she doesn’t always mean what she says.”

“Well, I’m not going to risk it,” said Frances firmly. “I saw her packing our clothes. I’m going to Mummy and Daddy. And Adrien. Come on, Geoffrey! We shall never get there, if you keep stopping. When we come to a shop I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Encouraged by this, Geoffrey moved forward reluctantly.

“I want ice-cream,” he wailed.

“You shall have ice-cream,” promised Frances recklessly. Anything to make him walk a little quicker!

But at that moment a sports car flashed past them, to draw up a few yards farther down the road, with a fierce clashing of brakes.

“Well now,” demanded the amused voice of Doctor Raoul Dubois, “just where do you two think you’re off to?”

Raoul had awaken that morning from strangely vivid dreams in which he had rescued Adrien from a fire, from drowning, from being crushed by a train, for other fearsome deaths. As the early light forced its way into his bedroom, he knew he must see her today.

He tried to laugh at himself.

“Really, this is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a medical student of nineteen suffering the pangs of first love.”

Nevertheless, after drinking a rapid cup of coffee, he took his car from the garage and set off—and encountered Frances and Geoffrey on the way.

“Where are you two off to?” he repeated.

They looked at him hesitantly, scraping their feet against the sandy road. They were both very tired, and to be truthful, Frances was beginning to regret the whole idea as much as her younger brother. But she didn’t want to give in too easily.

But it didn’t take Raoul Dubois many minutes to find out what it was all about, and his face hardened.

“That idiotic Blanche!” he thought. “I’d like to tell her exactly what I think of her. And I will, one day!”

He opened the car door.

“In you get!” he ordered. “You’re two very naughty children, you know. Aunt Blanche will be terribly worried about you.”

“No,” said Frances, in her strangely mature way, “she’ll be pleased. She’s always saying she’s sick of us.”

Raoul made no reply. However, he decided he would not return the children to their young aunt’s tender mercies. He drove them to a cafe, bought them some lemonade and cakes, and then phoned Val d’Argent.

It was Jeanne, the little maid, however, who came to the telephone.

“The children? They are safe?
Dieu merci!
Oh, Monsieur le Docteur, I am so relieved! And Mam’selle Blanche—she has been out of her mind with worry. Ah,
la pauvre
!”

He spoke again, but there was no reply. Jeanne had put down the receiver.

“Mam’selle Blanche!” Jeanne came running across the lawn. “The children ... they are safe!”

“Safe?” Blanche started up. “Jeanne, what are you saying? Did you say the children are safe?”

“But yes, Mam’selle Blanche. Monsieur le Docteur Dubois has just telephoned. He found them three kilometers from the town. He says—oh, mam’selle!”

She broke off in alarm. Blanche’s whole body sagged in a dead faint.

Pierre caught her in his arms, and carried her gently into the house.

Gillian, quiet but agonized, paced restlessly from room to room. Terrified, Nicholas kept pace with her, urging her to lie down a little and to let Adrien give her a sedative.

“Please, darling,” he implored her, “please rest now. You’ll make yourself ill again!”

“What does that matter? I don’t want to get well if anything has happened to the children. Ring up Blanche again, please, Nicky darling, and see if she has any news.”

“Please, Nicky,” begged Gillian again.

He moved toward the telephone, but at the moment it rang violently, petrifying him. It was Adrien who dropped her broom and ran forward to answer it.

Across the wire came Pierre’s voice. “That is Adrien, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Would you tell Madame Renton that the children are quite safe?”

The look on Adrien’s face told Gillian the good news. She gave a little cry and collapsed into her husband’s arms. But she did not faint. She signalled to Adrien not to put down the phone.

“I’m all right—really. Ask Pierre where they are. Tell me everything. I’m not an invalid any more. It’s time I remembered. I’m a mother—and a wife.”

Adrien sat on the steps and watched a little green and brown lizard crawling lazily over the hot stone.

“That’s that!” she thought. One look at Nicholas’s face, as he had bent over his wife, had been sufficient to tell her what she already knew in her heart—that Nicholas’s love for Gillian was in reality unchanged.

What he had felt for herself, Adrien knew, had had no reality. It had come from loneliness, frustration, bewilderment, a childish longing to be comforted. It was not love.

She heard the sound of Raoul’s car far off along the steep cliff road. She rose languidly, and went to meet him.

“Hello,” he said, “my little
fiancée
.” He half hesitated, then took her in his arms. Suddenly she longed to bury her face against him, to sob out her misery. She was surprised to find how glad she was to see him.

“I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He indicated Frances and Geoffrey, who had got out of the car, and stood hesitantly behind him, by no means sure of their welcome.

“We know,” Adrien told him.

“You know? How?”

She explained.

“What about Mrs. Renton? How did she take it?”

Adrien said, “She had Nicholas to help and comfort her.”

Raoul glanced at her sharply, but made no comment. Instead he said, “I must go up and see her, and afterwards I have much to say to you.”