Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (52 page)

P
ART
F
IVE

VIVIENNE
H
ONOR

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SIX

C
ountess Zoë's house on the Faubourg Saint-Germain was very quiet when Hubert let me in. Quieter than usual, I thought as I followed him across the grand marble foyer.

“How is Countess de Grenaille?” I asked him as we went up the wide curving staircase together.

“A little better today,” he said. “She has rallied again. She is a most remarkable woman, Madame Trent. And she is looking forward to seeing you.”

“As I am her, Hubert.”

He led the way down the corridor, opened the big double doors to her bedroom, ushered me in, excused himself, and disappeared, as always the perfect butler.

I glanced toward the antique bed and saw to my surprise that it was draped in its silk coverlets and was empty.

“I'm over here, Vivienne, sitting near the fire,” Countess Zoë said in a voice that was stronger than I had expected. This morning, on the phone, she had sounded weak. I had been alarmed, worried for her health.

I turned to her, and, smiling, I walked across the room in the direction of the fireplace. And I could not help thinking how well she looked. Hubert was right, she
was
remarkable, extraordinary really. Her chestnut hair was stylishly coiffed and she wore makeup, expertly applied. I was again struck by the arresting looks of this seventy-three-year-old woman.

This afternoon she was wearing delphinium-blue silk lounging pajamas, most obviously couture, and sapphire earrings. The color of the silk outfit and the sapphires exactly matched her wonderful eyes. From the first moment I met her I had recognized her great beauty, and there had been odd moments when she had seemed very familiar to me. Puzzled, I had not been able to fathom why this was so. I knew now. She reminded me of Sebastian. It was her eyes, of course. Bits of sky, I thought, as his had been, and their mouths were identical. Sensitive, vulnerable mouths.

As I drew to a standstill at her side, she said, “I'm glad you're back in Paris, Vivienne, I've been longing to see you. Thank you for coming, my dear.”

“I was planning to run over today,” I answered bending down, kissing her on both cheeks. “I was just about to phone you and invite myself to tea, when you called the hotel.”

Smiling at me, she patted my hand resting on her arm. “You've become very special to me, Vivienne.”

“As you have to me, Countess Zoë.” I was carrying a shopping bag of books and I placed them next to her chair and went on, “These are for you, I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will, you seem to know my tastes very well, and how kind you are, my dear. Thank you.”

I went and sat down on the chair opposite and looked at her expectantly.

“I wanted to see you because I have something for you.” As she was speaking she turned toward the Louis XV end table next to her chair and picked up a small package. Leaning forward slightly, she offered it to me and added, “This is for you, Vivienne.”

I was surprised, and as I took it from her I exclaimed, “But Countess Zoë, you don't have to give me gifts!”

She laughed lightly. “I know I don't . . . come along, open it.”

I did as she said, removing the ribbon and the gold wrapping paper. The small velvet box in my hands looked old, and when I lifted the lid I gasped, more surprised than ever. Lying on the dark red velvet was a heart-shaped brooch covered entirely with small diamonds and there was a slightly larger diamond set in the center. “Countess Zoë! It's beautiful! But I can't accept this, it's far too valuable!”

“I want you to have it. Harry Robson gave it to me when we were married in 1944 and I've always liked it. I think you will enjoy it too. It's a pendant as well as a brooch. If you look on the back you will see how it works. There's a little hook, so it can hang on a chain.”

“But this is something you should give to Ariel or your daughter-in-law.”

“Hasn't it occurred to you that you are my daughter-in-law? Or were, when you were married to Sebastian.”

I simply stared at her without speaking. And of course she was correct. But the brooch was obviously extremely valuable and I was reluctant to take it.

She continued, “However, that is not the reason I am giving it to you. I want you to have a memento, something special to remember me by . . . ”

“Oh Countess Zoë, I'll never forget you, how could I! You're the most extraordinary person I've ever met in my whole life.”

“Please accept the brooch, Vivienne, you'll make me very happy if you do. It gladdens my heart to think that every time you put it on you'll be reminded of an old lady who has grown very attached to you.”

“You sound as if you're not going to see me again. And you are! Every time I come to Paris!” I exclaimed.

“I sincerely hope so. But let us be realistic, my dear. I am an old woman and I am very ill. You know that, Vivienne. And I am not going to be on this earth forever. But enough! Let us not get maudlin today. Please accept the brooch. Do it for me.”

“Well of course I accept it, Countess Zoë, and thank you very much. It's beautiful and you're very generous . . .”

I rose and went to kiss her. Then I looked down into her upturned face and said, “Just so long as you know that I don't need the brooch to be reminded of you.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she replied. Her vivid blue eyes were suddenly sparkling.

I could tell she was happy and this pleased me. I took out the diamond heart and pinned it on the jacket of my suit. “There, how does it look?”

“Dazzling,” she said, glanced over at the desk near the window, and went on, “Would you please bring me the letter case on the desk, Vivienne?”

Nodding, I did as she asked. Then I went and sat down in my chair again. Leaning against the antique tapestry pillows, I watched her open the case and sort through the contents.

This woman had captivated me the moment I had entered her house and we had bonded almost instantly. I had fallen completely under her spell; there was something wholly unique about her. She had an understanding heart, was intelligent, wise, and brave. So very brave. When I thought of the painful things that had happened to her in her life, I wondered how she had ever stood it all, how she survived. It was miraculous that she had lived through those tragedies the way she had, so courageously. Zoë de Grenaille was indeed an indomitable woman. I was filled with admiration for her and I had grown to love her.

“Vivienne?”

“Yes, Countess Zoë?”

“This is Sebastian's birth certificate. Please burn it.” Handing the document to me, she continued. “You can read it if you wish . . .”

I nodded, glanced down at the paper I was now holding. The facts were written there. They were exactly as she had told me. The names danced before my eyes. Cyrus Lyon Locke. Mary Ellen Rafferty Locke. Sebastian Lyon Locke. Reddington Farm, Somerset County, New Jersey. And Sebastian's date of birth, June the third, 1938. How often I had celebrated his birthday with him on that date.

“This was the beginning . . . the beginning of a great tragedy,” I whispered.

“Burn it, Vivienne. Please.”

“Immediately.” I went to the fire, knelt in front of it, and let the flames consume Sebastian's birth certificate.

“Now this one. My marriage license.”

I held the piece of paper that had legalized the union between Mary Ellen Rafferty and Cyrus Lyon Locke and a wave of anger swept through me. He was at the root of it. Cyrus Locke. How evil he had been. I tore the marriage certificate in half and dropped the pieces into the fire.

“This is the photograph taken at La Chunga in 1960,” Countess Zoë went on, handing it to me. “Consign this to the flames as well.”

My eyes dropped to the picture. I was compelled to look at it, I could not help myself. It was a Sebastian I did not know who stared back at me. I recognized him immediately, there was no question who he was. But how different he looked from the Sebastian I had known. The older man. He was so young here, so untouched by life. And the Zoë next to him was the most glamorous of women. Her beauty was in full bloom. She looked glorious. No wonder she had been irresistible to men.

Conscious of her eyes on me, I placed the photograph on top of the logs and watched it curl and burn until it was no more, then I swung my head to look at her.

“You wished you could keep that, Vivienne,” she said slowly “And for a moment I almost told you that you could. But it's better to destroy everything. It's not that I don't trust you with the photograph, but—” Her voice faltered and she glanced away.

I said, “I know you trust me. And you're right, it's better this way. You'll feel easier in your own mind.”

She sighed to herself and murmured, “Let me see what else is in here. Ah yes, my marriage license from Caxton Hall in Westminster where I married Harry Robson. No need to destroy that. However, here is my own birth certificate. Please burn it.” Handing this to me, she settled back in her chair.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, there's no real reason to throw this away, is there?”

She was thoughtful. Eventually she said rather softly, “Ariel and Charles know that I was an actress when I was young, and that my name was Zoë Lysle. They're aware that I was widowed when I married Édouard, the widow of Harry Robson, supposedly my first husband. But they've never heard the name Mary Ellen Rafferty, and I want everything burned that could ever link me to the Locke family. Put it on the fire, my dear. Please.”

I did as she asked and then pushed myself to my feet.

Countess Zoë said, “It was wise to get rid of the damning evidence. I wouldn't want Ariel or Charles to find it later. But I'm glad I told you everything, Vivienne. I think I've lifted a burden from you, taking you into my confidence, and it's lifted a burden from me, sharing my secret with you. That has weighed me down for twelve years, it's been a relief to speak of it with you.”

I got up and went and crouched next to her chair. Looking deeply into those startlingly blue eyes, I said, “I will honor your confidence. I will never tell anyone as long as I live.”

Leaning closer, Countess Zoë kissed my forehead, touched my cheek gently. “I know you won't reveal anything I've told you. You're such a fine person, so honest and loyal. And honor is bred in the bone with you. You could no more do a shoddy thing than Ariel could.” She paused and looked at me intently when she said, “You've become like another daughter to me. I've grown to love you, Vivienne.”

“Thank you for saying those lovely things, Countess Zoë, and I want you to know that I love you too.”

A smile touched her mouth and was gone in an instant. A sudden sorrow seemed to settle over her and her eyes filled with tears. Reaching for my hands, she said, “It's as though I took a knife and plunged it into him. I'm responsible for Sebastian's death, Vivienne. I've lived with that ghastly knowledge for over seven months, and it's overwhelmed me. The sorrow is unendurable.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Please, please, don't blame yourself,” I said. “You had to tell Sebastian the truth. There was nothing else you could do. You couldn't let him marry Ariel. That would have been unconscionable.”

She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “His death is a shadow on my heart,” she said.

 

I continued to console her and eventually she took hold of herself, became composed at last.

Hubert brought in the tea tray, poured for us, and left.

We sipped our tea in silence for a while. It was Countess Zoë who spoke first. She said, “Love is the only thing that's worthwhile in this terrible and incomprehensible world we live in. It's the only thing that makes any sense. Take the advice of an old woman who's seen almost everything and experienced much . . . don't make any compromises when it comes to marriage. Oh yes, you'll marry again, Vivienne, I'm absolutely certain of that. But you must only marry for love.”

“I know, and there is no other reason, as far as I'm concerned.”

“When the right man comes along, you'll know it. You'll be swept off your feet, but you'll be very sure of your feelings, I don't doubt that.”

“I think I will, Countess Zoë.”

There was a faint smile on her face, but I could see the tears glittering in her eyes when she said softly, “Oh, I don't
doubt
you, Vivienne. Not at all.” There was a pause before she finished, “Your whole life is ahead of you. Live it well from this day forward.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

I
went straight from Countess Zoë's house to the restaurant where I was meeting Jack for dinner.

As I sat back in the cab, after giving the driver the address of Chez Voltaire, I wondered whether I should remove the diamond heart. It was still pinned to my jacket and looked wonderful against the black wool. I decided to leave it where it was.

Jack was already there when I arrived, and he rose as I was shown to the table. “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

We both sat down. I looked across the table at him and said, “And so are you, darling.”

He grinned at me. “You're looking very nifty this evening, Viv. Very chic. Great suit. Who gave you the pin?”

“I've had it for ages,” I said evasively, now regretting that I had not taken it off in the cab after all.

“It looks very Sebastian to me,” he said, motioned to a waiter, and went on, “What would you like to drink?”

“I'll have a glass of champagne, Jack, please.”

“Good idea, I'll have that too. I'm really off the hard stuff these days.” He ordered a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, the waiter went away to fetch it, and Jack continued, “So, have you tracked her down?”

“Who?” I asked, although I knew at once to whom he was referring. Ariel. She had been the subject of our last conversation at the Château d'Cose only a couple of weeks ago.

“The mystery woman in Sebastian's life. Ariel de Grenaille, of course,” he said.

“No, I haven't,” I replied. “And I don't think I'm going to either.”

“Why not? You were so gung-ho about her . . . about speaking to her.”

“Well, I've spoken to her mother and Ariel is in Africa. I'm not planning to go there, Jack, I don't think it's worth it.”

“That's a change of tune! So what did you find out? From the mother, I mean?”

“Not a great deal. Ariel lives in Africa. That's where she was when Sebastian killed himself. So obviously she can't shed any light on the matter. She doesn't know any more than you or I do.”

“
Is
she a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“A scientist?”

“Yes, Jack, she works with hot viruses, such as Ebola and Marburg. That's what her mother told me.”

“Jesus! That's dangerous work.”

“Yes, it is.”

The waiter came with the bucket of champagne and proceeded to open the bottle. This put a stop to Jack's questions. But the moment we were alone again he continued to press me about Ariel de Grenaille.

“
Was
she engaged to Sebastian?” he probed, his curiosity apparent.

I answered, “From what I understand, yes. They were planning to get married at some point this spring. About now. As he had told me, Jack. And that's it, there's nothing more to say. Except that you were always right. We'll never know why Sebastian killed himself. It's still a mystery.”

“So you're not planning to interview her for the profile?”

“No, I'm not. Cheers.” I touched my glass to his.

“Cheers,” he said and went on, “Is it a work in progress? Or have you finished it?”

I laughed. “No, I haven't, not yet. But I'm going back to Lourmarin tomorrow, and I fully intend to add the final touches. All it needs is a good polish.”

“I'd hoped you'd be staying in Paris for a few more days,” he grumbled, sounding petulant. “I thought you could keep me company. I'm here on wine business until the end of the week.”

“I'd like to, but I really must get back. I've such a lot to do, and my book on the Brontë sisters is coming out in the summer. I'll have to do a certain amount of promotion for it, travel a bit, and right now I need some time at
Vieux Moulin.
Quiet time. Alone.”

“Are you going to Connecticut in August, as you usually do?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“I might be there at that time. At Laurel Creek Farm.”

“I can't believe it! And I certainly can't believe you'd leave Château d'Cose!”

He began to laugh. “I'm thinking of spending a couple of weeks there, I'm not planning to move
permanently
to Cornwall, Vivienne.”

I sat back in my chair and regarded him for a long moment. He looked well, thinner, and much better groomed than he usually was. I also realized he was in a good mood, almost benign, which was unusual for him. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Jack, I want to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you don't love Catherine Smythe.”

“Now you've gone and ruined the evening, Viv, and it's only just begun.”

“Do you love her?” I pressed. When he was silent I went on relentlessly, “It's me, Viv, sitting here. Your oldest and dearest friend and you can't fool me. Look me right in the eye, Jack Lyon Locke and tell me that you don't love her.”

“I do, but—”

“No, no, no, Jack. No buts.”

“Who gave you that fabulous pin?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“Okay okay. I love her. So what?”

“I saw Catherine two days ago. When I was in London working with my publisher.”

“You did!” He sat up straighter and stared at me intently. “How is she?”

“She looks fantastic. She's got a wonderful peachy bloom about her. I must say there are some women who really blossom during pregnancy, she's one of them. And she's in great spirits, happy about the baby, working hard on her book about Fulk Nerra, and planning to move into a new apartment.”

“When?”

“Well, she hasn't actually found one yet, Jack, but she's looking hard, and certainly she hopes to be settled in a new place before the baby's born.” I stared at him, waiting for a comment or a question, but he said nothing. He gulped down his champagne and looked around for the waiter, who came in a flash to fill his glass.

Once we were alone, I said, “Catherine loves you very much, Jack.”

“Go and tell that to the Marines,” he muttered in a truculent voice.

I answered softly, “I know she does, and I also know that she'd like to be with you, with or without the benefit of marriage. In any case, she's very independent minded about matrimony, but then you know that.”

“If she loves me as much as you say she does, then why did she betray me?” he asked in a sulky voice.

“How did she do that, Jack?” I murmured, frowning.

“She got pregnant when she knew I didn't want children.”

“I don't believe that was on purpose. From what she said, it was an accident. Let me ask you something, just out of curiosity. Why are you so against children?”

“I'm not against kids. I just don't want any of my own.”

“Catherine says you think you can't love a child. Because you believe Sebastian didn't love you.”

He offered me a sardonic smile. “That was her parting shot to me, if I remember correctly. And she's off her rocker. Of course I can love a child . . .”

“Then why don't you go to London and get her, bring her back to France? You could have a good life together, darling.”

“No way, Viv. I'm better off alone.”

“I
don't think you are. She also told me something else, Jack. She said that you confided things about Sebastian and she thinks he was suffering from something called disassociation.”

“Yeah. She spouted all that to me too! A lot of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo!”

“Not necessarily, Jack. There is such a condition, I've discussed it with a psychiatrist I know.” I paused, then slowly I continued, “I think she's correct. Sebastian probably was afflicted with it.”

“Well, well, well, so the worm turns.”

“No, not at all. But I've thought a lot about him in the past few weeks, since I've been working on the profile of him for the
Sunday Times,
and I've come to see him differently.”

“Tell me. I'm all ears.”

“I believe Sebastian had a problem being intimate with us, loving us on a certain level. He just couldn't do it, the emotion wasn't there. Very simply, it was missing in him. And by
us
I mean you, me, and Luciana. My mother. And probably all the wives. You see, he never knew mother love, had never bonded with
anyone
during the first years of babyhood when that is essential. And yet, conversely, he was a caring human being, Jack. Look how concerned he was about the world, how he wanted to help those in desperate need. It was possible for him to do enormous charity work, to ‘love' the world en masse, so to speak, because he didn't have to be
intimate
with all those people out there. He gave vast amounts of money, traveled the world making sure it was used properly. And gave the
impression
of being a ‘loving' man.”

Jack was listening to me, taking in my words, and I could see that I had reached him. I went on, “Sebastian tried so hard, he did the best he could for us and he did care about us, Jack. In fact he always showed the three of us how much he cared, demonstrated it in so many different ways. He gave
you
the château because you loved it so much. It wasn't for tax benefits, as you've so often implied. He encouraged you to work with Olivier and learn the wine business. I know he expected you to run Locke Industries and the Locke Foundation one day, but he never said you couldn't do it long distance, the way he had always done. And he never once said you had to give up the winery. He spent time with you, he encouraged you to do so many things when you were young. Sebastian helped to make you what you are today.”

Jack was staring at me in astonishment. “What do you mean, spent time with me? He never did that! He was forever traveling, always lumbering me with Luciana. And you, missy.”

I laughed in his face. “Oh God, Jack, you sound like a maungy little boy. And for what it's worth, I'
m
the one who got lumbered with you and Luciana.” I leaned forward and grabbed hold of his hand resting on the table. “Listen to me! Sebastian did the very best he could for you!
I know. I saw it.
And he did spend time with you. He taught you how to ride a horse, play tennis, row a boat and swim, and many other things. You've just blocked it out because you hate him for some unknown reason. Why, I'll never know. And I'll never know why you can't give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“You have always viewed him from a different angle. You see him differently than I, Viv!” he shot back.

“That's true to some extent, I agree. But I think I'm beginning to see him more realistically. I know I always idolized him. And idealized him, as well. I've suffered from a complaint called hero worship for years. But I'm getting over that. He wasn't perfect, I realize this. He was moody and difficult, and one of the most agonized men in the world. That's why he was morose and gloomy so much of the time. And I believe his agony sprang from his awful childhood. Being brought up by Cyrus Locke and some hideous nanny, and then acquiring a dreadful stepmother like Hildegarde Orbach must have been perfectly horrible. Foul. Poor little boy. When I think about his childhood my heart bleeds. Actually, in my opinion, he turned out very well under the circumstances.”

Jack was looking at me intently, digesting my words. He had an odd look on his face when he said, “You seem to have worked out his psychology very well . . . do you really believe he suffered from disassociation then?”

“Frankly, Jack, I do.”

He nodded. “You said he couldn't love on a intimate level. Are you now telling me he couldn't love
you?”

“Yes, I am. I don't think he loved me, not in the way you and I love people, Jack. Oh Sebastian said he loved me, gave me lip service. And I know he cared very deeply about me and my welfare, and that he was sexually involved with me. Very much so. But sexual passion can't be construed as love.”

“The worm
has
turned,” he said in such a soft voice he was barely audible.

“I see him in a new light,” I replied, “I understand him better, that's all. And I don't love him any less than I ever did. My
view
of him has changed. Not my feelings for him. They're still exactly the same.”

“I see.”

“Try to give him the benefit of the doubt, Jack, can't you? I think you'd feel better if you did. You have no reason to hate him. He was a good father.”

He said nothing. He sat there staring at me across the table, and suddenly I understood without him saying it that I had got through to him. And I realized he respected me more than ever for being so honest with him.

I sipped my champagne. I, too, was silent.

Unexpectedly Jack exclaimed, “But he always took what I wanted—”

“What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.

“My Special Lady, for one. Your mother. I loved Antoinette very much.”

I was so taken aback I gaped at him and my jaw dropped. “Jack, my mother was a
mother
to you! She was a grown woman. They were heavily involved. She adored him. What on earth are you getting at?”

“I don't know . . . I always felt I was in some sort of competition with him . . . for her love and attention. And yours. I couldn't believe it when he married you. He took you away from me.”

“Oh Jack, I'm sorry. So very sorry you've been harboring these awful feelings of . . . frustration and anger. And quite obviously for years. But Sebastian wasn't in competition with you, don't you see that? You were only a little boy. He was a man and one who was lethally attractive to women.”

Jack sighed heavily. “I guess the shoe was on the other foot . . . I suppose
I
was competing with
him.
Is that what you're saying?”