The Black Swan (18 page)

“Wasn’t that rather rash of you?” He was looking at me with concern.

“Rash? I don’t see anything rash about it.”

“But … people you don’t know!”

“I told you, I met them on the boat.”

“That is not knowing them.”

“Oh, you are so formal. I could see they were perfectly nice ordinary people. They invited me to see the place they had rented and to have some coffee. That’s all. It was a very pleasant morning.”

“What is their name?”

“Fitzgerald.”

“I’ve not heard of them.”

“It’s hardly likely that you would. They are visitors from England just on holiday here.”

Jean Pascal looked displeased. I thought he was a little annoyed because I had not accompanied them to the vineyard.

“By the way,” he said, “I’ve asked some people to dine with us tomorrow night. The Comte and Comtesse de Grellon and Monsieur and Mademoiselle du Pont. Just a small dinner party to begin with.”

Belinda looked excited. “A real Comte and Comtesse!” she cried.

Jean Pascal smiled at her indulgently. “There are some still around, you know.”

“Tell us about them,” pleaded Belinda.

“The Comte is about sixty, the Comtesse a year or so younger. They have a château about five miles from here. They will stay the night. Then there are the du Ponts. Monsieur is about forty, a widower, with a charming daughter, Genevieve. I am sure you will like them all. The rest, my dear Belinda, you must discover for yourself.”

He was smiling blandly now. I believed his vague annoyance that I had eluded them and spent a pleasant morning elsewhere had passed.

Belinda was very excited at the prospect of a dinner party although, as she said to me, the guests did not appear to be very exciting.

“How can we tell until we meet them?” I asked.

“An old Comte of sixty and his Comtesse! Another old man with his daughter. I should have thought mon père would have invited some young people … young men.”

“I daresay some will be provided at a later date.”

“Why waste time?”

Early in the morning a man arrived at the château with a special message for Jean Pascal. We learned what it was at
déjeuner.

“There will be an extra guest tonight,” he told us. “I have had a note from the Comte. He tells me that a friend from England has arrived unexpectedly and he is asking if he might bring this guest along tonight. I have said that of course I shall be delighted. I am sure you young ladies will be pleased that you will be able to speak to someone in English.”

We admitted that we would. “French people speak too fast,” said Belinda.

“No faster than you do, my dear,” her father retorted. “It is just that you can’t follow quickly enough.”

Belinda dressed with care. Her father had a Frenchman’s eye for what was chic and he was inclined to be critical. I often watched the manner in which he took notice of our appearance; and I must admit that at times I felt an inclination to wear something of which he would not approve. Belinda, on the other hand, set out to please him, which was not difficult for her. She had a natural flair for choosing what suited her and dressed with a certain panache and a touch of flamboyance which was in keeping with her looks and personality.

We went down to the hall to receive our guests. The du Ponts arrived first. He was a small man with sleek dark hair and pince-nez which gave him a somewhat severe look. His daughter Genevieve I imagined to be in her early twenties; there was a certain primness about her and she appeared to be devoted to her father.

I saw Belinda study them and dismiss them as dull. I had a notion she might be right.

Then the Comte and Comtesse arrived and with them their mystery guest.

I was aware of Belinda’s excitement. He was tall and very fair with a fresh complexion, light blue eyes, and features set in a somewhat classical mold. I guessed him to be in his early twenties—good-looking in a bland way. The Comte and his Comtesse could not be anything but French. Aristocratic, both of them, unconsciously implying that they were accustomed to deference and formality. They were both silver-haired, elegantly dressed, immaculate.

The Comte kissed our hands and we murmured that we were enchanted to meet him. Jean Pascal looked on with approval.

Then the Comte presented his guest. He was Sir Robert Denver, whose father had been a great friend of the Comte. Sir Robert always visited the Comte when he was in France and so here he was.

Jean Pascal said how pleased he was that Sir Robert’s visit had coincided with the Comte’s and Comtesse’s to Bourdon. These platitudes continued for some little time and then we all went in to dinner.

Sir Robert was seated between Belinda and me.

Dinner was served with special formality. I had not realized how many servants there were at the château. They tiptoed about the dining room, unobtrusive and efficient.

Sir Robert was as glad as Belinda and I were to have someone to whom he could chat in English.

There was something charming about him. This was particularly noticeable in the somewhat formal company. He was without pomposity and completely unpretentious.

“How jolly,” he said, “that I happened to be staying with the Comte when this invitation came. To tell the truth, I was dreading it. My French is appalling. I don’t get half what is said. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be able to talk in English!”

“We find that too,” Belinda assured him.

“So you see,” I added, “the relief is mutual.”

“My father, of course,” went on Belinda, “speaks perfect English. Well, he has been so much in England.”

“Yes. So the Comte told me.”

“Do you often come to France?” I asked.

Belinda frowned at me.
She
wanted to talk to him and there were too many interruptions coming from me.

He said, “No … not often. Before he died, my father came frequently. Sometimes I came with him. He had a feeling for France … and he had one or two good friends here. The Comte, for instance, was one of them. He was a special one. On the rare occasions when he came to England he stayed with us. So when I come to France I always visit them and stay a few days.”

“So you are only here for a few days,” said Belinda, a little crestfallen.

He nodded. “That is why it is so lucky that I came here.”

Belinda sparkled. “Isn’t that a nice thing to say, Lucie?”

I agreed that it was.

“And where is your home?” asked Belinda.

“It’s in Hampshire.”

“Oh, not so very far from London.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you ever come to London?” Belinda asked.

“Not often. Occasionally.”

There was a brief silence while the fish was served.

“There is quite a lot to do on the estate,” he went on. “Since my father died …”

“Was that recently?” I asked.

“About a year ago.”

“Are you a sort of … squire?” said Belinda.

“Sort of,” he answered.

“How exciting!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t had a lot of experience.”

“Well, I suppose you have people to help. Have you a family?”

“No. I was the only one. My father died suddenly. It was a terrible shock. Everyone thought he had years ahead of him.”

“So you are all alone … no wife to help you … no children?”

“All alone,” he said.

I could see that Belinda’s interest was increasing. Sir Robert Denver—owner of a title and estate in Hampshire, good-looking enough. Quite an eligible bachelor.

She gave me a venomous look, realizing that I was reading her thoughts.

I watched her setting out to charm him, and I guessed she was making a success of it.

I wished her luck. There was something very pleasant about him. He was not exactly worldly and this was particularly apparent in the company of such men as the Comte and Jean Pascal … and, I daresay, Monsieur du Pont. Of course, he was a good deal younger than they were, but I could not believe that Jean Pascal had ever been innocent as this young man appeared to be.

From then to the end of the meal Belinda took charge of the conversation, chattering away, telling him, in the most interesting manner, of her life in the goldfields and how different it was in London; he listened avidly and before it was time for us to leave the table, I could see that she had woven her special spell about him. He looked a little bewildered … but enchanted.

When I was in bed that night I kept thinking about the evening and the guests, particularly Sir Robert.

I heard the door rattling and my heart began to beat with alarming rapidity. I sprang out of bed.

“Who is that?” I cried.

“Belinda, of course.”

“Just a moment.” I unlocked the door and she came in, clad in dressing gown and slippers.

“Why do you lock your door?” she demanded.

“I … don’t know. A habit, I suppose.”

She was too concerned with herself to give more than a passing thought to my little fancies.

I got back into bed and she sat on the edge of it, watching me.

“What do you think of him?”

“Of whom?”

“Don’t be silly! You know very well.”

“I presume you are referring to that eligible bachelor with a nice title, an estate in Hampshire and no encumbrances.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I think he is a very pleasant young man … rather too innocent to be let loose into a world of predatory females.”

“Oh, stop being pompous! He’s nice, isn’t he? What do you think he thought of me?”

“One of the females I just mentioned whose attitude toward him brightened considerably when he disclosed his position in the world.”

“Stop it. I liked him.”

“Well, so did I.”

“Lucie, don’t you dare! Well, you wouldn’t have a chance if you tried.”

“Certainly not against you … with your wiles.”

“So don’t attempt it.”

“I had no intention of doing so.”

“I think he is just right.”

“I am sure he is.”

“And
I
am going to make sure that we see more of him.”

“Yes. Don’t let him slip through your fingers. That would indeed be a tragedy.”

“I don’t intend to listen.”

“And it was to tell me this that I owe the pleasure of this visit from the future Lady Denver.”

“It sounds rather good, doesn’t it?” she said with a giggle.

“Belinda! One word of caution.”

“What?”

“Don’t be too blatant. I don’t suppose you are the first who has tried to snare him. All that eligibility, you know. So don’t be too obvious.”

She laughed. “I don’t know why I tell you all this.”

“I do. You’ve got to talk to someone on this all-absorbing subject.”

“What subject?”

“You, of course. My dear Belinda, you are obsessed by Belinda … and naturally expect everyone to be the same.”

“Oh, shut up. I am going to ask mon père to invite him over again. Or perhaps we can go riding over to the Comte and see him then.”

“Do that. I am sure ton père will agree.”

“I’m going now.”

“Good night. And good luck in the campaign.”

She went and I got out of bed and locked the door.

We did not have to go looking for Sir Robert. He rode over the next day. Belinda sparkled. It was even better than she had thought.

Jean Pascal was amused and Sir Robert was pressed to stay to
déjeuner,
an invitation he was delighted to accept.

Belinda chatted animatedly all through lunch while Jean Pascal looked on benignly. I presumed from his demeanor that he approved of Sir Robert as a prospective son-in-law.

Later we all walked in the gardens together and Jean Pascal talked quite knowledgeably about the flora and fauna of the neighborhood, to which Sir Robert muttered and murmured his appreciation, but I was sure his thoughts were elsewhere.

Belinda was radiant, and when at length our guest left—most reluctantly—it was with an invitation from Jean Pascal to call whenever he felt inclined to do so.

I guessed the next visit would not be long delayed. Nor was it.

The next day he came again.

I was walking in the grounds which I loved to do. They were so beautiful and because of the many shrubs and trees and the copse one could be shut away from the château and enjoy a pleasant feeling of solitude.

My thoughts were wandering. I was thinking of Joel, for he was never long out of my thoughts; then I fell to wondering whether this obvious attraction between Belinda and Sir Robert would result in an engagement. I heard footsteps. They were coming toward the copse. I was certain they belonged to Jean Pascal and decided to emerge into the open, as I felt reluctant to be alone with him in the copse.

I quickly made my way in the direction of the lake.

He called to me and I paused, looking back.

“Lucie, I was hoping to catch you,” he said. “I saw you walking this way. You love the grounds, don’t you?”

“They are very beautiful.”

There was a seat under one of the trees. He indicated it and we sat down. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

We sat side by side. I had moved away from him as unobtrusively as I could, because he had sat too near.

“What do you think of this Sir Robert?” he asked.

“I think he is a very pleasant young man.”

“Belinda seems to think so, too.”

“Belinda is … impressionable.”

He laughed. “You are not, I am sure.”

“Not as Belinda possibly.”

“Do you think anything will come of it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think it would be rather a good idea. He seems eligible.”

“That’s the word I used to Belinda.”

“So you have been discussing it. She seems to like him, wouldn’t you say?”

“Whether she likes his eligibility or his personality I am not sure.”

“Don’t the two go hand in hand?”

“Not for some, I imagine. But I am inexperienced in these matters.”

“Lucie, you amuse me. And I think you are wiser than you make out to be.”

“I do not make out anything. I am just as I am.”

“And may I say I find that delightful.”

“It is good of you to say so.” I looked at the watch pinned on my blouse.