Lost heritage (4 page)

For a moment longer the shrewd eyes seemed to examine her features closely, noting every detail, then, as if still only half convinced, Madame Menais shook her head. *You are right, of course,' she conceded. 'It is unlikely that we have

met before, and yet there is something about your face '

Once more she shook her head slowly, then shrugged as if to dismiss any lingering doubt. 'You are right, mademoiselle^ of course; how would we have met?'

Seeking another and safer subject, Charlotte looked around the big room with interest. Ornate walls and ceiling were moulded and gilded in fantastic designs, and the floor under a scattering of rich pale tugs was of blocks of different woods set into a mosaic of colour and grain, gleaming richly in the sunlight from three tail slim windows at the far end of the room.

'This is a beautiful room,' she said, observing how each armchair had its own small table beside it, handy for coffee cups and ashtrays, a situation that was probably taken for granted by the Menais. 'I've never seen anything quite so breathtaking before, and I've certainly never dreamed of actually sitting in a room like this.'

She was aware as she spoke that Madame Menais was watching her and smiling, but the warmth of her smile did not for a moment suggest that she found her enthusiasm and her obvious impressibility in any way naive. Instead she nodded as if she understood her reaction perfectiy.

'It is a very beautiful room,' she agreed, and looked round it with obvious appreciation. 'And I find myself more and more pleased to return to it as the years go by. Les Chataignes is a very beautiful house and we are all

very privileged to live here still, although we do not always appreciate the fact, I am afraid.'

*It's always been in your—the Menais family?' Charlotte asked, and felt rather as if she was taking a first step on the road to discovery.

Madame Menais nodded, but she was immediately distracted by the arrival of Celine with their coffee. Charlotte noticed the way she glanced behind her at the door just before she set down the tray and wondered if Raoul Menais was following her; his grandmother was expecting him to join them. Instead of Raoul Menais, however, the figure that appeared in the doorway and hesitated for just a moment before coming in was a woman.

*Tante Sophie!* Her voice was husky and she came across the room on high heels that had the effect of making her walk with a curiously mincing step, while the wide sleeves of her dress fluttered like the wings of a pale moth as she came. 'Comment vas-tu?'

Madame Menais lifted her face to be kissed on both cheeks, then looked across at Charlotte with a half-smile that suggested things had not gone quite as she had planned them. *Lizette,' she said when the woman took the chair next to hers, *this is unexpected. I have brought Miss Kennedy to see you; Miss Charlotte Kennedy. Mademoiselle, this is Madame Lizette Menais, in whose behalf I engaged you.*

For a moment die appearance of Lizette Menais came as a distinct shock to Charlotte. Her hair was still blonde, baby-fine and naturally blonde but streaked with grey and unkempt, and her face was thin and pinched. There was a look in her eyes that suggested she cried a great deal and the eyes themselves were such a faded blue that they had the clouded look of iced water, and her mouth was shiveringly unsteady. A fact she sought to conceal by nibbling desperately at her lower lip while she was introduced.

'Charlotte is my favourite name.' There was something infinitely touching about the confession that touched Charlotte's heart, while the pale eyes continued to study her. 'You are English?'

The voice was harsh, almost querulous, and Charlotte began to suspect that it was not a physical illness that troubled Lizette Menais, yet still she felt curiously drawn to her. But the reactions of someone in her state of health could be notoriously unpredictable and Charlotte guessed that if she put a foot wrong now, she could well find herself on the next plane back to London. She had come too far now to let that happen and she trod carefully.

'Oh yes,' she agreed, determinedly bright. 'The advertisement asked for an English-speaking secretary-companion, Madame Menais, and I'm '

'Lizette!' the voice corrected her shrilly, and for a moment Charlotte blinked uncomprehendingly. *I am known as Madame Lizette, not Madame Menais, have you not been told that?'

'Oh yes, of course, madame, I'm sorry.' Charlotte apologised hastily, but found herself far less resentful than she might have been, perhaps because Lizette Menais so obviously regretted her outburst. Gnawing at her lip she shook her head and kept her eyes downcast, watching the resdess hands in her lap. She was, Charlotte suspected, not only a sick woman but a very unhappy one too. 'I'll soon get used to the different names,' she told her confidendy, and immediately had Madame Menais's support.

'Yes, of course you will, child!' She turned her gende smile on the blonde woman. 'I hope you have not been unwell again, ma chere. I expected that you would be resting before luncheon.'

'I was.' A hand brushed limp strands of hair back from her brow. 'But I heard you arrive and came downstairs. I was—anxious.' She made a gesture with the same hand

that seemed to apologise for the confession and Madame Menais reached over and gendy pressed soothing fingers over the restless ones.

'Naturally you were, ma chere, but you see what a delightful companion I have brought for you. One who will not only type your letters for you but also see that you take your tablets and rest when you should.'

*Merci, Xante Sophie.' She brushed back her hair with that same nervous gesture and looked across at Charlotte. 'I'd like to call you Charlotte,' she said in a more steady voice. 'And I really am glad that you've come, please believe that.'

The appeal was irresistible and Charlotte impulsively dismissed any earlier doubts without hesitation. Unhap-piness had touched her only twice in her young life. The first time when her mother died and again when her father died a year ago, but not even in the darkest moments of sadness had she felt the kind of despair that showed in this woman's eyes.

'I think you'll find me quite useful, madamey she said with an encouraging smile. 'I went to secretarial school and I've also held down a job since then; and when my mother was very ill I managed to take care of her too, with my father's help, of course.'

'You look very young.' For a moment the pale eyes showed a glimmer of warmth when she studied Qiarlotte's slighdy flushed face. 'And you're very pretty,' she added, as if that fact was much less in her favour.

'I'm twenty-two, Madame Lizette,' Charlotte told her, ignoring the doubtful compliment.

'Are you?' For a moment the ravaged face took on a distant look and Madame Menais leaned forward to press her resdess fingers once more.

'Shall we all have coffee together, Lizette? Will you stay and join us?'

Lizette raised her eyes and looked first at the old lady and then at the half-open door. *Is Raoul back too?' she asked, but seemed to know the answer before it was given. *Yes, of course he is, you came together, didn't you?' She got to her feet in a quick jerky movement, glancing round swifdy when Charlotte too got up. *l won't wait,' she said, *but you need not bother to come vmtil you've had your coffee. Miss Kennedy—Charlotte.'

Charlotte hesitated, glancing at the older woman for some indication of whether or not she should take Lizette at her word, but Madame Menais was shaking her head as she picked up the coffee pot, apparendy quite happy with the situation as it was. *Stay and have your coffee, child,' she told her. *Lizette will manage until you join her in a few moments, will you not, ma chereV

*Yes. Yes, of course I will.' Nervous hands stroked the limp, greying hair back from her brow once more. * Someone will show you the way when you're ready. Now, if

you'll excuse me, I'll leave you before ' She broke off

and glanced again at the half-open door, then shook her head. *ril see you later, Charlotte.'

Charlotte watched her go walking across the room, unsteady on those dangerously high heels, and wondered if she should not have gone with her after all. But Madame Menais was already pouring coffee and she caught the look in her eyes and smiled. *Do not concern yourself,' she told her. *Lizette would prefer that you go to her after you have had your coffee, and surely you are not so nervous of my grandson that you also wish to vanish before he arrives to join us, are you. Miss Kennedy?'

The implication was immistakable and Charlotte looked up curiously as she shook her head. 'No, of course not, madame,'' she denied.

Just the same she could not help wondering why it was

that Lizette Menais ^as so fearful of Raoul that she preferred to leave before he arrived.

After four days of working for Lizette Menais, Charlotte was still undecided whether or not she was going to find it a job she liked, although that, she told herself once or twice during the four days, was not her prime reason for taking it. It was difficult knowing just how she was going to start discovering anything about her own background without making enquiries, and in view of the situation that was difficult.

She had no way of knowing if her parents had even belonged to this particular branch of the Menais family, and if they did whether or not they had been married to one another. It was that aspect, more than any other, that made her so reticent about probing. The Menais family were rich and proud and were not likely to like having family scandal revived, if that was the explanation.

The four days had passed quickly enough and she could hardly claim to be overworked or that Lizette Menais was a hard taskmaster. A few letters each day was usually all that was required of her; mosdy to friends, but needing to be typewritten because Lizette's shaking hands found it difficult to write legibly for more than a few seconds.

She took an alarming number and variety of medicines, mosdy in the form of pills, and it was up to Charlotte to see that she did not swallow more than the prescribed dose or that she did not take too many glasses of her favourite wine after them. She read innumerable magazines, both French and English, and talked at length sometimes, although never yet about anything of consequence.

Despite the fact that she spoke English with a very slight French accent, Charlotte was almost certain she was of English origin, but her own French was so poor that she was unqualified to judge just how good Lizette's was. She was a confused and a confusing woman, but regardless oi

everything, Charlotte liked her.

It was part of her job to fetch the mail each day from the hall downstairs, and on her fourth day there Charlotte made a determined effort to avoid seeing Michel Menais. She disliked the fact that he just happened to be leaving the apartment when she came past each time and also the way his dark eyes scanned her sUm shape as he walked too close beside her as they came downstairs. This morning she had seemingly managed to avoid him, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she neared the bottom of the stairs.

She did see someone else, however, and she smiled to herself when she thought she recognised Jean Cordet, the young man who had made the flight from England so interesting for her. He was leaving one of the offices through in the outer hall and pushing papers into a briefcase as he made for the front doors. ,

'Monsieur Cordet?' She called out quickly before he let himself out, and he turned at once, almost as if he had expected to see her. *Good morning!'

She had the awful feeling for a second that she might have called out to the wrong man, but as soon as he turned and she recognised him more certainly, she too smiled beamingly. He was even better looking than she remembered from their first encounter, and he brushed a hand through his dark hair as he took her hand. He did not shake it nor did he actually kiss her fingers, but he raised them half-way to his mouth and bowed his head slighdy in a token gesture.

*I am delighted. Mademoiselle Kennedy!' he said. 'How is the work with Madame Lizette?'

Delighted to have seen him again, Charlotte laughed cheerfully. *Oh, I like it, and Madame, very much,' she told him. *The work's so easy and there's very litde to do '

*Except perhaps to keep out of the way of Monsieur

Michel, eh?' he suggested with a broad wink, and Charlotte felt herself colour slighdy.

She had already guessed that Michel Menais would have a reputation among the women, but she was not prepared to admit that he had been making a point of seeing her each morning when she came down for the mail. I've had no trouble in that direction so far,' she told him, but said nothing about how carefully she had avoided him that morning. Glancing behind him at the door of the office he had just left, she smiled curiously. *Are you here on business, Monsieur Cordet?'

*Ostensibly I am here to see Monsieur Raoul,' he admitted with a smile, *but I was hopeful of seeing you again, mademoiselle^ and that is why I did not send my junior. This is a happy coincidence!'

*It certainly is,' Charlotte told him happily. *I fetch Madame Lizette's letters every morning, but I'm quite a bit later than usual. I must have known you'd be coming!'

He took her hand once more and held it in his, his fingers toying with hers while he looked down into her eyes, his own gleaming unmistakably. *Would you have made the effort especially if you had known you were likely to meet me at this time?' he asked, and raised her fingers to his lips for a moment, brushing them with a light kiss. *I like to think of you doing so, ma belle mademoiselle^

*It's possible,' Charlotte allowed rather breathlessly. She was uneasily aware of the silent emptiness of the two halls, and of the blank faces of the office doors that could at any moment open to admit one of the Menais to the hall, and she eased her hand free as unobtrusively as possible. *I musm't be too long or Madame Lizette will be waiting for her mail and I shan't even have collected it!'

*Just a moment longer,' Jean begged, and looked so anxious about it that she hadn't the heart to refuse. *You will have dinner with me this evening?'