The Black Swan (19 page)

“There is no great hurry,” he said. “We can talk awhile and still be in time for
déjeuner.
”

“You are concerned about Belinda?” I asked.

“No, not really. I think she can take care of herself. I just wanted to know what you think of this … shall we say whirlwind courtship.”

“You think it is a courtship?”

“Well, we have our English gentleman … and the English are said to be an honorable race.”

“Do you believe in generalizations?”

“No. But Sir Robert seems to fit the mold.”

“Yes. I am sure he is honorable.”

“Then I think we may have a match on our hands.”

“And that pleases you?”

“It does not displease me.”

“Then I suppose you will give your consent?”

“I have a notion that Belinda is one to act as she wishes and would not be concerned with the consent of others.”

“You are her father. I am sure she would want your approval.”

“She would like it, but if she made up her mind and my wishes do not accord with her desires, she would dispense with such a formality. Don’t think I would blame her. I like her spirit. She has plenty of that. She is, after all, my daughter.”

“Then you must feel very happy about what is happening.”

“I am not unhappy.”

“It will save you a great deal of planning for her future, I daresay.”

“I suppose you are right. I have already discovered all I can about Sir Robert. There is my good friend the Comte. I could learn more if this becomes a serious matter. But what I know already is in his favor.”

“Well, this seems a wonderful piece of good fortune for Sir Robert… and for you.”

“It is stimulating talking to you, Lucie. You have such an air of reserve … almost a meekness. Yet you are in fact a spirited young lady and it excites me to talk to you. By the way, have you seen any more of those people?”

“People?”

“Those two you met on the boat and had coffee with a few days ago.”

“No.”

“Well, they were hospitable to you. Would you like me to ask them here?”

“That would be kind of you. I am sure they would enjoy that very much.”

“We’ll ask them to lunch. After all, you must return their hospitality, you know.”

I was pleased at the prospect of seeing the brother and sister again. It had been a very pleasant encounter. They had become so friendly in such a short time; and I liked to feel that I had friends close by.

“No more trouble with Diable?” he said.

“No. I have been very cautious and haven’t ventured too close.”

He gazed across the lake and just at that moment the two swans came into sight.

“They look so graceful,” I said, “so utterly beautiful.”

“You would not believe, would you, that there could be so much venom in such a magnificent creature,” he said. “Never forget that you must be watchful of him, for he can suddenly attack. He vented his spite on one of the maids a few years ago. She lost the sight in one of her eyes.”

“How dreadful! Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You were unprepared. But remember it for the future. Swans … like some people … are not all they seem.”

“Well, I hope there are not many around like Diable.”

He leaned toward me and took my hand. “Be on the watch, Lucie, for the Diables of this world,” he said.

I was puzzled and he continued to smile at me.

“I shall always be at hand,” he went on, “whenever you need me.”

He had said that once before. I supposed I should be grateful to him. He had certainly saved me from the swan; he had made me welcome at his château; and now he was prepared to entertain two strangers, merely because they had shown me some hospitality. Yes, I should be grateful, but I could not throw off this feeling of revulsion.

It was with great pleasure that I rode over to the Fitzgeralds.

Sir Robert was now a frequent visitor at the château. He had postponed his return to England, and the reason was, of course, Belinda.

He told us he was known as Bobby which seemed to suit him. The more I saw of him, the more I liked him. There was a certain innocence about him—rare in a young man—and I subconsciously felt he would have no defense against Belinda’s wiles.

She would marry him, I was sure, for that was what she had made up her mind to do.

When I arrived at the Fitzgeralds’ house, Phillida was out, but Roland was in and clearly delighted to see me.

“How very nice of you to call,” he said. “We were talking of you only this morning. Phillida was wondering whether we dared send a note to the château asking you to come over for lunch.”

“What a coincidence!” I cried. “For I have an invitation for you. Monsieur Bourdon wondered whether you would care to come over to the château for lunch.”

“That would be delightful. I feel sure Phillida would love it. As for myself, I should enjoy it very much.”

“Then that’s settled. Would tomorrow be all right?”

“We have no engagements here, so I can assure you that it will be very convenient for us. Do sit down. I’ll ask Angelique to make some coffee.”

I sat down and we talked. He thought that his sister should stay a little longer, he said. “Phillida is getting restive though. She won’t admit that she is ill.”

“Well, she is not now, is she?”

“Oh no. She has recovered. But I think she needs to be in this climate a little longer. She has this weakness, you know.”

“She seems so full of life.”

“I know. But I have to watch over her.”

“She is fortunate to have such a devoted brother.”

“I am the fortunate one.”

“Well, let us say you both are.”

The coffee arrived and while we were drinking it he said, “You haven’t told me much about yourself. Are you feeling better?”

I hesitated. Then I said, “What happened to me is not easily forgotten.”

“I understand, and you must forgive my speaking of it. Please do not talk of it if you would rather not. I think a great deal about all you went through. That … and the aftermath … must have been terrible for you.”

“Yes, it was.”

“The trial … and everything. The part you were called upon to play in it … to come face-to-face with …”

I nodded.

“I am upsetting you,” he went on. “I just wanted you to know I understand … and sympathize. But we should not be talking of it now. It does no good.”

“No, it does no good. Oh, listen, that must be Phillida.”

It was. She came in, flushed and laughing, and when she saw me her eyes lighted up with real pleasure.

“Oh, how wonderful to see you! We were talking of you.”

“Yes, I told her,” said Roland. “It was only this morning. What do you think? We are invited to luncheon … invited to the château!”

“Oh … really?”

“And I, your brother, have accepted on your behalf. Was that right?”

She laughed joyously. “Need you ask? I accept with alacrity.”

I stayed with them for some time. We laughed a great deal, and my previous conversation with Roland was forgotten.

I could see that Roland was blaming himself for bringing up the subject, and I tried to convey to him that it was not important. It was never far from my mind, in any case.

I was thinking what pleasant people they were, and I was glad our friendship was growing.

It was a comfortable feeling, when I was at the château, to remember that I had friends close by.

Roland and Phillida Fitzgerald visited the château as arranged.

I met them in the gardens where I had gone to wait for them. A groom was ready to take their horses to the stables, and I took them into the hall and introduced them to Jean Pascal, Belinda and Sir Robert Denver, who was at the château every day. It was accepted now that he was Belinda’s suitor.

Jean Pascal was charming to the visitors and was clearly determined to make them feel welcome.

“Miss Lansdon was so delighted to meet with you again after your brief encounter on the Channel boat. It is fortunate for us all that you met there and then again ran into each other.”

“It was certainly very pleasant for us,” said Phillida. “And so kind of you to ask us to visit your wonderful château.”

“I have to confess,” Jean Pascal told her, “that I am rather proud of it, and you have given me the opportunity to show it off.
Déjeuner
will be served almost immediately.”

It was a very pleasant meal. Both Fitzgeralds obviously enjoyed the conversation, as did Jean Pascal, so it ran smoothly.

Jean Pascal discreetly set about discovering as much as he could about them, never for one moment appearing to be curious. They told him what they had already told me … about the death of their parents and how Roland was carrying on with the London branch of their business, although he paid periodic visits to Yorkshire.

“So it is wool with you and wine with me,” said Jean Pascal. “Two very useful commodities. Neither of which I believe the world could be happy without.”

“We have been most impressed by the wine we have been having here,” Phillida told him.

“We of the Médoc believe it is the best in the world. You must forgive our pride.”

“It is natural to be proud when pride is merited,” said Roland gravely.

He asked a great many questions about the wine-growing industry and Jean Pascal said that, if they cared, he would take them for a tour of the vineyard. Phillida expressed her delight at this and Roland accepted the invitation with more subdued but no less enthusiasm.

Then the talk was general, in the midst of which Sir Robert said that he had had news from home and would have to be returning before the end of the week.

Belinda looked shocked, so I knew she had not been pre-warned; and I noticed that Robert avoided looking at her.

“I hate to go,” he said. “I’m having such a splendid time here. But, of course, I didn’t intend to stay so long in the first place.”

“Well,” said Jean Pascal. “It’s not so very far away, and the Channel is not always in one of its ugly moods.”

I began to wonder whether the courtship was not going as well as I had thought, and whether he was seeking an excuse to end it. Knowing Belinda, I realized that she was far from pleased.

There was a brief but awkward silence which Roland broke by commenting once more on the excellence of the wine; and Jean Pascal immediately told them its vintage and said that it had been brought up from the cellars because it was a special occasion when Lucie’s friends came to the château.

Roland was looking at me intently. He seemed to be faintly puzzled. I had a notion that he was wondering about the relationship between Jean Pascal and myself.

When lunch was over, Jean Pascal suggested that we accompany our guests on the tour and we went among the vines and watched the men and women at work, pruning and examining the plants for signs of disease, tying the vines to stakes and repairing trellises.

I had rarely seen Jean Pascal so enthusiastic about anything as he was on this subject. He was clearly very knowledgeable and took great pleasure in explaining to people who knew little about the matter. He talked at great length about the dreaded pests, fungicides and all the evils which could befall the grape.

I could see the Fitzgeralds were enjoying the tour. Phillida could not restrain her excitement and kept asking questions.

“I know you must think me very stupid, Monsieur Bourdon,” she said. “I am such an ignoramus. Yet it is
so
interesting and I
do
want to know.”

Jean Pascal was only too happy to instruct. In fact he seemed a different person. It was the first time I had seen him really enthusiastic. That cynical languor dropped from him. I liked him better that afternoon than I ever had before; perhaps I was grateful to him for being so charming to the Fitzgeralds, whom I looked upon as my friends.

Jean Pascal showed us the wine presses which they had used before the wooden cylinders were put in.

“These are quite effective,” he explained. “They press the grape in the best possible way and so ensure that all the juice can be made use of.”

We saw men clearing the great vats and preparing them for the harvest.

“They are made of stone, you see,” said Jean Pascal. “When they have been well scrubbed, they will be put in quick lime to saturate the acid still existing in the cask.”

“It’s quite fascinating,” said Roland.

“How can we thank you, Monsieur Bourdon,” added Phillida, “for giving us such an instructive and entertaining afternoon?”

“By coming again, Miss Fitzgerald,” said Jean Pascal gallantly.

We walked back to the château past the lake. Diable, with Ange in attendance, looked at us suspiciously as we passed.

“What beautiful swans!” cried Phillida. “And black, too. I don’t think I have ever seen a black swan before. I have seen plenty of white ones. They look so serene.”

Jean Pascal looked at me and smiled. “Lucie will tell you that you cannot always judge by appearances. The cob, the male, may be beautiful to all outward appearances, but he has an evil nature. He objects to anyone encroaching on his territory. He gave Lucie a fright not long ago.”

“Yes,” I explained, “I was standing admiring him when suddenly he decided to attack me.”

“Fortunately I was at hand,” went on Jean Pascal, “and I rushed to the rescue. I beat the old devil off with a stick. I had to.”

“So … he would have attacked you!” cried Phillida. “I should have thought he would have known you.”

“Diable—that’s our name for him: apt, don’t you think?—Diable is no respecter of persons. I told Lucie it is a lesson for her. Don’t be beguiled by beauty for you never know what lurks beneath it.”

“I think you are a cynic, Monsieur Bourdon.”

“Shall we say a realist? But Lucie will be very careful in the future. Is that not so, Lucie?”

“Certainly where the swan is concerned.”

When the guests left we all went to the stables to see them off. It had certainly been a most enjoyable afternoon.

“Pleasant people,” was Jean Pascal’s comment.

Sir Robert was invited to stay to dinner that evening, which he did.

Conversation was a little less fluid than usual. The prospect of his departure hung over us. Jean Pascal said how sorry we should be. We should miss him.