The Eden Inheritance (29 page)

‘A very highly strung girl,' Guillaume remarked, helping himself to more potatoes. ‘Spends too much time alone or with the child, if you ask me.'

‘And what else is she supposed to do?' Christian demanded.

‘She could keep me company,' Louise grumbled. ‘She has never been the wife I would have wished for you, if I am honest, Charles. I had always hoped that when you married I would gain another daughter. But Kathryn …' she hesitated, her face becoming even more vixenish, ‘ why, she seems to spend more time with Guy's tutor than she does with any of us. I'm surprised you allow it, Charles.'

The familiar shut-in look darkened Charles' features.

‘For heaven's sake, Maman, what are you suggesting?' he demanded.

‘Nothing, nothing at all …'

‘Guy's tutor. We do not have the pleasure of his company tonight,' von Rheinhardt remarked casually, but his eyes were sharp.

‘He went to visit friends in Bordeaux,' Christian said quickly.

‘And probably won't be coming back,' Charles said.

They all turned to look at him.

‘What do you mean?' Guillaume asked.

‘I'm not very happy with his work. I don't think he's the right tutor for Guy. I've been meaning to talk to you about it, Papa.'

‘Really?' Guillaume remarked mildly. ‘I thought he was very good with Guy.'

‘He's well qualified I know, but his speciality is dealing with much older children. I am seriously considering dispensing with his services when he returns … if he returns, which I somehow doubt. I imagine he is as bored with Guy as Guy is with him.'

‘You surprise me,' Christian said sharply, alarmed at the prospect of Paul losing his base here at the château. ‘Like Papa, I thought he was just the man to give Guy a good start. What does Kathryn think? Have you discussed it with her?'

‘No, I haven't.' Charles' tone was bombastic. ‘Kathryn is unreasonably biased, since he's an old friend of hers. I think I am the one to judge what is best for my son's education.'

‘We don't have to discuss it now, though, surely?' Louise put in with an anxious look at von Rheinhardt. ‘We shouldn't be boring the General with our domestic trivia. And Charles, I really think you should go and see if Kathryn is all right. She didn't look at all well to me.'

‘Stop fussing, Maman,' Charles began irritably, then broke off at the unexpected sound of voices raised in greeting in the passageway outside the door and the clatter of high heels on the flagstoned floor. ‘What is going on out there?'

The door opened; a slender girl with long straight hair stood there. Her eyes were red-rimmed with dark shadows beneath, her cotton blouse and skirt crumpled, and she clutched a canvas holdall to her chest.

‘Celestine!' Louise gasped, ‘ I don't believe it! You are supposed to be in Paris!'

She spoke for all of them.

‘I've come home,' Celestine said. ‘I couldn't bear it any longer. It's terrible there. I got a train but it was delayed and …' She broke off, suddenly becoming aware of von Rheinhardt. His back was towards the door but like the others he had turned his head. Celestine's already pale face turned even whiter.

‘Who is he? What is a German officer doing here?'

‘Celestine!' Louise spoke sharply, wamingly, and Guillaume tried to intervene.

‘My daughter is obviously tired. She doesn't know what she's saying.'

But nothing and no one could stop Celestine.

‘I don't believe it!' she cried. Tears had begun to run down her face. ‘You get everywhere, don't you? Even here in my own home! Oh, I can't bear it! The Boche – even in my own home!'

It was the first time that anyone at the château had actually voiced aloud a condemnation of the Germans. It hung in the air like a portent of what was to come.

‘Celestine – darling – come and sit down,' Louise, surprisingly, was the first to recover, perhaps because, naive as she was, she simply did not fully realise the possible ramifications of Celestine's outburst. She rose from her chair, a slight figure in an extravagant pre-war Paris creation, putting her arms around Celestine's thin shoulders and leading her to the chair Kathryn had recently vacated. ‘Bridget will set a place for you. You're hungry, I'm sure, if you have travelled all the way from Paris.'

‘No – I'm not hungry.' Celestine tried to shrug her off. ‘I just want to go to my room, Maman. I just want a bath and a sleep.'

‘Celestine, do as your mother says and sit down!' Guillaume ordered. It was seldom he played the authoritarian and when he did the effect was stardingly positive. Celestine looked at him from beneath her slightly hooded eyelids and subsided into a chair, still clutching her holdall. Christian, sitting next to her, relieved her of it, placing it on the floor. It was, he thought, surprisingly light if Celestine had come home for any length of time, but then that was typical of her. She had never been one to bother her head much about possessions.

As she sat von Rheinhardt made to rise.

‘I think perhaps I should thank you for an excellent dinner and leave,' he said. ‘ This is obviously a family occasion.'

‘Otto – no!' Guillaume protested, rising also. ‘Please do stay until we have finished the meal, at least. It does seem to be turning into something of a farce, I agree, but …'

‘Not at all,' von Rheinhardt said, correct almost to the point of overpoliteness, though his eyes were very cold, very hard. ‘I do not wish to intrude or to cause distress to a young lady. And besides, I have a great deal of work to do. As I told you, saboteurs are beginning to cause us trouble. I want to ensure that nothing of this sort occurs in my district. I will bid you all good night.' His eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘I do hope Madame Kathryn will be feeling better soon.'

Guillaume accompanied him to the door.

‘I am so sorry – I hope you will come again to visit us soon …'

‘I hope so too.'

As the big black staff car pulled away down the drive Guillaume returned to the dining room. His eyes were blazing with rare fury.

‘What on earth were you thinking of, Celestine? Surely you should know better than to speak to a German officer like that? How did you get here anyway? It's after curfew.'

‘The stationmaster brought me. He was very kind,' Celestine said, huddling into her chair. ‘As for speaking as I did, yes, I shouldn't have done it, I know, but I'm fed up with having to kowtow to the Boche. Paris is full of them – it's dreadful. And it was such a shock, finding one here, in my own home. What was he doing sitting at our table?'

‘We have to keep on his right side,' Charles told her. ‘He's in charge of the district. God knows what damage you have done, Celestine, speaking to him like that.'

‘I know … I'm sorry …' She was close to tears now. ‘I just don't know how you can bear it, any of you.' She looked around. ‘Where is Kathryn?'

‘Kathryn was unwell,' Louise said gently. ‘Please tell us why you've come home, Celestine. It's lovely to see you but it's such a surprise when we thought you were in Paris. What about your studies?'

‘What do my studies' matter now, Maman?' Celestine asked bitterly. ‘ What is the point of anything any more?'

‘Don't talk like that, darling,' Louise chided her. ‘I know how it seems to you at the moment but you have all your life in front of you. You can't give up just because things are not as they used to be.'

‘Really?' Celestine laughed harshly. ‘Forgive me, Maman, but you don't know what you are talking about. Tucked away down here in comfort you don't know anything about it.'

Louise bristled.

‘Really, Celestine, we have our privations too.'

‘No, she is right, Maman,' Christian said. He squeezed Celestine's thin arm. ‘We are sheltered here. The Boche don't bother us much. They've been anxious to be good gaolers. I expect it's a different story in the cities.'

‘It certainly is. If you saw Paris now you'd hardly recognise it – swastikas everywhere, troops parading, French people not allowed to go into some of the streets, nasty little men in Homburg hats and raincoats watching your every movement.'

‘Homburg hats and raincoats?' Louise repeated blankly. ‘What do you mean?'

‘She means secret police,' Christian said. ‘You see, Maman, she's right, isn't she? We
are
sheltered here.'

‘Then there is the Gestapo HQ in the Avenue Foch,' Celestine continued. ‘Those who are taken there don't come out. Oh, I hate them! I hate every one of them! If you knew what they were really like you'd never have one under your roof!'

‘Otto von Rheinhardt is a soldier, not Gestapo,' Guillaume pointed out.

‘He's still a German,' Celestine said passionately. ‘That's enough for me.'

‘I can see you are upset, Celestine, but I must ask you to try and contain yourself.' Guillaume spoke gently, for he loved his daughter, but there was no mistaking the firmness in his tone. ‘You may not like it, none of us do, but there are some things we have to do to ensure our survival and the survival of our heritage. I am sure if you think about it you will realise the sense in it.'

‘You mean I should warn the Château de Savigny to be here for my children?' Celestine flared back. ‘Well, I don't, Papa – not if it means fraternising with those pigs and having them as house guests.'

Guillaume shook his head wearily.

‘You are young and full of fire,
ma petite
. When you have a child of your own you will feel differently, you'll see.'

‘You think so, huh?' Celestine drew herself upright in her chair, holding on to the arms so rightly that her knuckles showed white.

‘I know so. When the time comes …'

‘Let me tell you, Papa, the time is a great deal nearer than you think. And I still feel the same. I don't want the Boche around my child – I'd rather die! That's the reason I've come home from Paris, don't you see?' She broke off. They were all gazing at her in disbelief. She gave a little laugh. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you like this. I didn't mean to tell you at all just yet. But there – it's done now. I'm pregnant. I am going to have a baby.'

The silence seemed to go on forever, broken only by Louise's small strangled cry. She pressed a napkin to her mouth, her cheeks as white as the square of starched damask. Then Guillaume spoke.

‘Is this some kind of joke, Celestine? Your way of getting back at us for having von Rheinhardt here to dinner? If so, let me tell you …'

‘It's no joke, Papa, I assure you. I'm sorry but there it is.'

‘I can't believe this! The shame!' Louise whispered. She looked on the point of fainting. ‘Who is the man? Where is he?'

‘Maman – for God's sake!' Christian rose, standing behind Celestine and placing his hands protectively on her shoulders. ‘Celestine, little one, you don't have to say anything now if you don't want to.'

‘It's all right.' Celestine smiled up at him weakly. ‘I'll tell you. His name was Julien Didier. He was a student too. We loved one another. But he's dead now – at least, I am almost certain he is. You see – he was a Jew. The Boche took him. They came to our apartment and took him. They beat him up in front of my eyes …' Her voice began to falter; Christian held her more tightly. ‘They beat him with the butts of their guns,' she went on reciting it like a litany. ‘His face was just a pulp. They kicked him until he couldn't stand up and then they threw him down the stairs. I saw it all. The apartment was spattered with his blood. Then they bundled him into one of their vehicles and drove him away. I couldn't find out where they had taken him but I can guess. I haven't seen him since. I won't, I know. What they started in the apartment they will have finished now. He's dead, I know it. And you wonder why I hate the Boche!'

Suddenly, explosively, her unnatural calm shattered and she began to cry, huge gasping sobs that racked her body.

‘The bastards!' Christian grated. He crossed to the chiffonier, poured some cognac into a glass and pressed it into Celestine's trembling hands. ‘Drink this, little one. It will do you good.'

‘Oh my baby!' Louise, her outrage at Celestine's indiscretion temporarily forgotten, found her own maternal instincts aroused in the face of her daughter's distress. ‘This is terrible … terrible!'

‘Maman, why don't you take Celestine to her room?' Christian was taking charge of the situation. ‘We'll talk about this in the morning when we are all calmer.'

‘Yes. Oh my darling, you need to rest …'

When Celestine and Louise had left the dining room Guillaume covered his face with his hands. He looked old suddenly, a broken old man, his authority washed away like a sandcastle by an incoming tide.

‘Whatever next?' he asked, more of himself than the others. ‘What else are we expected to bear?'

‘Perhaps,' Christian said, ‘you will begin to see the Boche as they really are – an army of butchers.'

‘But Paris is Paris … it's different here in Savigny …'

‘Is it? Is it really? And how long will it be before they exert their savagery here too? They are drunk with power but they want more, still more. Surely you must see, Papa, they will never be satisfied, until they grind us into the dirt.'

‘I don't know, Christian, I don't know anything any more,' Guillaume muttered.

Charles said nothing at all.

‘Charles, what did you mean by telling Papa that you are not satisfied with Paul as a tutor?' Kathryn demanded angrily.

It was the following evening and Charles was dressing for dinner when Kathryn burst into the room. He looked up, startled, still holding one gold cuff link half slotted into the cuff of his white evening shirt.