The Demon Lover

Within the Chateau

The journey would have been tiring but for the fact that I was so excited by everything I saw. I had never been out of the country before and I was eager to miss nothing. The crossing was smooth and after what seemed like an interminable train journey we arrived at Rouen. There we took another train which would carry us to Centeville.

It was late afternoon when we arrived. We had been travelling since the early morning of the previous day and in spite of the interest of the journey I was immensely relieved to have come to the end of it.

As we left the train a man in livery approached us. I detected a look of disbelief in his eyes and I guessed that this was surprise at seeing a man and woman when he had been expecting a man only.

My father was the first to speak. His French was quite good and mine was adequate, so we had few qualms about language difficulties.

“I am Kendal Collison,” he said.

“Might you be looking for me? We were told that we would be met at the station.”

The man bowed. Yes, he said, he had come to meet Monsieur Collison on behalf of Monsieur de Manner, Steward of the Chateau de Centeville.

“Then I am your man,” said my father.

“And this is my daughter, without whom I do not travel nowadays.”

I received the same courteous bow, which I acknowledged by inclining my head, and the man then proceeded to lead us towards a carriage. It was magnificent-dark blue in colour and emblazoned on it was a coat of arms, presumably that of our illustrious patron, We were helped in and told that our baggage would be brought to the chateau. I was relieved because it was certainly not worthy to grace such a vehicle. I looked at my father and almost giggled. It was sheer nervousness, of course. The ceremonial nature of our reception had had this effect, reminding me that we were about to face the consequences of our very rash act.

The horses were whipped up and we bowled along through the most enchanting countryside. It was wooded and hilly and suddenly we saw the castle perched above the town-a Norman, grey stone and impregnable fortress with its massive cylindrical columns, its long narrow slits of windows, its rounded arches and machicolated towers.

It looked forbidding-a fortress indeed rather than a dwelling place, and I felt a shiver of apprehension run through me.

We were climbing the gradual slope and as we grew nearer to the castle, the more menacing it seemed to be. We should have explained, I told myself. We have come here under false pretences. What will they do if they discover? Well, they can only send us back.

I looked at my father. I could not tell from his expression whether he felt the brooding power of the place as I did.

We passed over a moat and under a portcullis and were in a courtyard.

The carriage stopped and our splendid driver jumped down from his seat and opened the door for us to alight.

I felt suddenly small standing beside those immense walls of stone. I turned to look up at the Keep, with the tower on it which must give a view of miles surrounding the castle.

“This way,” said our driver.

We were facing a studded door. He rapped on it sharply and it was opened immediately by a man in livery similar to that worn by the driver.

“Monsieur and Mademoiselle Collison,” said the driver as though announcing us at some function. He then bowed to us and prepared to leave, having delivered us into the hands of our next guide.

The servant bowed in the same ceremonious fashion and signed for us to follow him.

We were taken into a large hall with an arched roof supported by thick round stone columns. There were several windows but they were so narrow that they did not let in a great deal of light; stone benches were cut out of the wall; there was a long, beautifully carved table in the centre of the hall -a concession to a later period, for I presumed the hall itself was pure Norman, and another concession was that there was glass in the windows.

“Excuse me for one moment,” said the servant.

“I will acquaint Monsieur de Marnier of your arrival.”

My father and I looked at each other in suppressed awe when we were alone.

“So far, so good,” he whispered.

I agreed, with the proviso that we had not yet come very far.

In a very short time we were making the acquaintance of Monsieur de Marnier who quickly let us know that he held the very responsible post of Majordomo, house steward of the Chateau de Centeville. He was a very impressive personage in a blue coat with splashes of gold braid on it and large buttons which depicted something. As far as I could see at the time it seemed to be some sort of ship. Monsieur de Marnier was both gracious and disturbed. He had been misled. He had been told one gentleman.

“This is my daughter,” explained my father.

“I thought it was understood. I don’t travel without her. She is necessary to my work.”

“Of course, Monsieur Collison. Of course. An oversight. I will discover … It will be necessary to have a room prepared. I will see to that. It is a bagatelle… of no importance. If you will come to the room which has been prepared for Monsieur, I will arrange for one to be made ready for Mademoiselle. We dine at eight of the clock.

Would you care for some refreshment to be sent to your room meanwhile? ”

I said some coffee would be excellent.

He bowed.

“Coffee and a little gouter. It shall be done. Please to follow me. Monsieur de Mortemer will see you at dinner. He will then acquaint you with what is expected.”

He led the way up a wide staircase and along a gallery. Then we came to a stone spiral staircase-typically Norman, which was a further indication of the age of the castle, each step being built into the wall at one end leaving a round piece at the other as the shaft. I was a little concerned for my father as his eyes might fail him in the sudden change of light on this rather dangerous staircase. I insisted that he go ahead and I walked close behind him in case he should stumble.

At length we came to another hall. We were very high and I could see that up here the light would be good and strong. We turned off the hall to a corridor. The servant opened the door to that room which had been allotted to my father. It was large and contained a bed and several pieces of heavy furniture of an early period. The windows were long and narrow, excluding the light; and the walls were decorated with weapons and tapestry.

I could feel the past all around me but here again there were a few concessions to modern comfort. I saw that behind the bed a ruelle had been made. It was an alcove in which one could wash and dress a kind of dressing-room which would have no place in a Norman fortress.

“You will be informed, Mademoiselle, when your room is ready for you,” I was told.

Then we were alone.

My father seemed to have cast off a good many years. He was like a mischievous boy.

“The antiquity of everything!” he cried.

“I could fancy I was back eight hundred years and that Duke William is going to appear suddenly to tell us that he plans to conquer England.”

“Yes, I feel that too. It is decidedly feudal. I wonder who this Monsieur de Mortemer is?”

“The name was spoken with such respect that he might be the son of the house.”

“Surely the Baron who is about to be married wouldn’t have a son … one who is old enough to receive us at any rate.”

“Could be a second marriage. I hope not. I want him to be young, unlined … Then he will look handsome.”

“Older faces can be more interesting,” I pointed out.

“If people realized it, yes. But they all long for the contours of youth, the un shadowed eyes, the matt complexions. For an interesting miniature give me the not so young. But so much depends on this. If we can make our subject look handsome … then we shall get many commissions. That is what we need, daughter.”

“You talk as though they are going to accept me. I have my doubts. At the Court of Francois Premier they might have done. He loved women in every way and respected their equal right to intelligence and achievement. I doubt we shall find the same in feudal Normandy.”

“You’re judging our host by his castle.”

“I sense that he clings to the past. I feel it in the air.”

“We shall see, Kate. In the meantime let us think up a good plan of action. I wonder where we shall be working. It’ll have to be lighter than these rooms.”

“I am beginning to wonder where this will end.”

“Let us concern ourselves first with the beginning. We’re here, Kate.

We’re going to meet this Monsieur de Mortemer tonight. Let’s see what he has to say to your presence here. “

While we were talking there was a knock and a maidservant came in carrying coffee and a kind of brioche with a fruit preserve. When we had eaten, she said she would return and take me to my room, which was next to my father’s. Then water would be brought for us to wash. We had plenty of time before dinner.

The coffee and brioche were delicious and my spirits rose. I began to catch my father’s optimism.

My room was very like his. There were thick carpets on the floor and the draperies at the window were of dull purple velvet. There was an armoire, some chairs and a table on which stood a heavy mirror. I knew I could be comfortable here.

My luggage was brought in and I prepared to change for dinner.

What did one wear in a place like this? I had imagined that there would be a certain amount of ceremony, and I was thankful for Lady Farringdon’s parties for which I had had several dresses made.

I chose a fairly sober one of dark green velvet with a full skirt and fitted bodice. It was by no means a ball gown but it had been suitable for the musical evenings which Lady Farringdon had given and I thought it would fit the present occasion. Moreover I always felt my most confident in that colour green jewel colour, my father called it.

“The old masters were able to produce it,” he said.

“No one else was very successful with it after the seventeenth century. In those days colour was important and great artists had their secrets which they kept to themselves. It’s different now. You have to buy it in a tube and it is not the same.”

When I was ready I went to my father’s room. He was waiting for me and I had not been there more than a few minutes when there was a discreet tap on the door. It was the steward himself who had come to conduct us down to dinner.

We seemed to walk some distance and were in another part of the castle. The architecture had changed a little. The castle was evidently vast and must have been added to considerably over the centuries. It seemed to have changed from early Norman to late Gothic.

We were in a small room panelled with a painted ceiling which caught my eye immediately. I should enjoy examining that at some later time.

In fact there were so many features of this place about which I had promised myself the same thing. We had been hurried through a. picture gallery and I was sure my father found the same difficulty as I did in not begging the steward to call a halt so that we might study the pictures.

This was like an anteroom the sort of place, I thought, where one might wait to receive an audience with a king. This Baron de Centeville seemed to live like a king. I wondered what sort efface he had. I had a strong feeling that it was not going to suit a miniature.

Someone had entered the room. I caught my breath. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He was of medium height with light brown hair and eyes; he was elegantly dressed and his dinner jacket was of a rather more elaborate cut than I was accustomed to seeing at home. His very white shirt was daintily tucked and his cravat was of sapphire blue. A single stone sparkled in it as only a diamond could.

He bowed low and taking my hand kissed it.

“Welcome,” he said in English, “I am delighted to receive you on behalf of my cousin, the Baron de Centeville. He regrets he is unable to see you tonight. He will be here tomorrow. You must be hungry.

Would you care to come to dinner immediately? It is a small affair this evening. We dine . a trois . very in time . I thought that best on the night of your arrival. Tomorrow we can make arrangements. ”

My father thanked him for his gracious welcome.

“I fear,”

he said, ‘that there may have been some misunderstanding and only I was expected. My daughter is also a painter. I find it difficult nowadays to travel without her. “

“It is our great pleasure to have Mademoiselle Collison with us,” said our host.

He then informed us that he was Bertrand de Mortemer, a distant cousin of the Baron. The Baron was the head of the family . He was a member of a smaller branch. We understood?

We said we understood perfectly and it was very good of Monsieur de Mortemer to show such solicitude for our comfort.

“The Baron has heard of your fame,” he explained.

“As you may have been told, he is about to marry and the miniature is to be a gift for his bride elect. The Baron may ask you to paint a miniature of his bride if…”

“If,” I finished bluntly, ‘he likes the work. “

Monsieur de Mortemer bowed his head in acknowledgement of the truth of this.

“He will most certainly like it,” he added.

“Your miniatures are well known throughout the Continent, Monsieur Collison.”

I was always deeply moved to see my father’s gratification at praise and it was particularly poignant now that his powers were fading. I felt a great surge of tenderness towards him.

He was growing more and more confident every minute-and so was I. One could not imagine Monsieur de Mortemer being anything but pleasant and if the great and mighty Baron were like him, then we were indeed safe.

“The Baron is a connoisseur of art,” said Monsieur de Mortemer.

“He enjoys beauty in any form. He has seen a great deal of your work and has a very high opinion of it. It was for this reason that be selected you to do the miniature rather than one of our own countrymen.”

“The art of miniature painting is the one I think in which the English can be said to excel above others,” said my father, off on to one of his favourite subjects.

“It is strange because it was developed in other countries before it came to England. Your own Jean Pucelle had his own group in the fourteenth century while our Nicolas Hilliard, who might be said to be our founder, came along two centuries later.”

“It requires much patience, this art of the miniature,” said Monsieur de Mortemer.

“That is it, eh?”

“A great deal,” I corroborated.

“Do you actually live here with your cousin, Monsieur de Mortemer?”

“No… no. I live with my parents… south of Paris. When I was a boy I lived here for a while. I learned how to manage an estate and live er … comme Ufaut… you understand? My cousin in my patron.

Is that how you say it? “

“A sort of guiding influence, the patriarch of the family?”

“Perhaps,” he answered with a smile.

“My family estate is small in comparison. My cousin is … er … very helpful to us.”

“I understand perfectly. I hope I am not asking impertinent questions.”

“I am sure, Mademoiselle Collison, that you could never be impertinent. I am honoured that you should feel such an interest in my affairs.”

“When we … when my father is going to paint a miniature he likes to know as much as he can about the subject. The Baron seems to be a very important man … not only in Centeville but in the whole of France.”

“He is Centeville, Mademoiselle. I could tell you a great deal about him, but it is best that you discover for yourself. People do not always see through the same eyes, and perhaps a painter should only look through his own.”

I thought: I have asked too many questions, and I can see that Monsieur de Mortemer is the soul of discretion. But toujours la politesse A good old French saying. He is right. We must discover this all-important Baron for ourselves.

My father turned the conversation to the castle. He obviously felt that would be a safe subject.

We had been right in thinking that the original structure dated back to some time before 1066. Then it had been a fortress with little more than sleeping quarters for the defenders and the rest equipped for fighting off invaders Over the intervening centuries it had been added to. The sixteenth century had been the era of building. Francois Premier had set the fashion and had built Chambord and restored and, embellished wherever he went. A great deal had been added to Centeville in his day, but this was apparent only in the interior.

Wisely, the Norman aspect had been preserved outwardly, which was probably the reason why the place was so impressive.

Monsieur de Mortemer talked enthusiastically about the castle and the treasures it contained.

“The Baron is a collector,” he explained.

“He inherited many beautiful things and he has added to them. It will be my pleasure to show you some of the rare pieces here.”

“Do you think the Baron will permit that?”

“I am sure he will. He will be gratified by your interest.”

“I am a little concerned as to where I shall paint the miniature,” said my father.

“Ah yes, indeed. The Baron has employed artists here before. He understands about the light which will be needed. Previously the work has been executed in what we call the Sunshine Room. That is a room we have here in that part of the castle which is the most modern, by which I mean it is seventeenth-century. It was built to let in the sun on all sides. It is high and there are windows in the roof. You will see it tomorrow. I think it will please.”

“It sounds ideal,” I said.

We talked desultorily on one or two other topics. The journey we had had, the countryside compared with that at home and so on, until finally he said: “You must be absolutely exhausted. Let me have you conducted to your rooms. I hope you will then have a good night and in the morning you will feel refreshed.”

“Ready to meet the Baron,” I added.

He smiled and his smile was very warn and friendly. I felt a glow of pleasure. I liked him. I liked him very much. I found his perfect grooming not in the least effeminate, only very pleasant. I thought he had a charming smile and although his implication that we bestowed a privilege on Centeville by being here might not be entirely sincere, it had certainly put us at our ease, and I liked him still more for that.

It was a relief to get into bed that night. I was very tired, for the journey and the apprehension as to what we should find at the end of it had exhausted me so completely that I was asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

I was awakened by a gentle tapping at the door. It was one of the maids bringing petit dejeuner which consisted of coffee, rolls of crusty bread with butter and confiture.

“I will bring you hot water in ten minutes, Mademoiselle,” she told me.

I sat up in bed and drank the coffee, which was delicious. I was hungry enough to enjoy the rolls.

The sun was shining through the long narrow window and I felt a pleasurable sense of excitement. The real adventure was about to begin.

When I was washed and dressed I went to my father’s room. He had been awakened when I had, and had enjoyed his coffee and rolls and was now ready.

Monsieur de Marnier appeared. He had instructions to take us to Monsieur de Mortemer when we were ready.

We followed him to that part of the castle where we had taken dinner on the previous evening. Bertrand de Mortemer was awaiting us in what I called the anteroom with the painted ceiling.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling most agreeably.

“I trust you have slept comfortably.”

We assured him that we had and were most grateful for all the concern of our wellbeing which was shown to us.

He spread his hands. It was nothing, he told us. Centeville was privileged.

“Now you will wish to see the Sunshine Room. Would you follow me.”

We were delighted when we saw it.

It had been built by one of the Barons who had had an artist working in the castle on a permanent basis.

“Do you think it will suit you?” asked Bertrand.

“It’s perfect,” I told him and my father agreed with me.

“So often one is expected to paint in rooms which are quite inadequate,” he said.

“This will be just what we need.”

“Perhaps you would like to arrange … what has to be arranged.

Bring up the tools of your trade, as they say. “

I looked at my father.

“Let us do that,” I said.

“Then we shall be all in readiness.”

“Shall you start the portrait as soon as the Baron arrives?”

My father hesitated.

“I like to talk awhile with my subject first… to get to know him, you see.”

“I am sure the Baron will understand that.”

“Well, let us prepare,” I said to my father.

“Do you think you can find your way back to your rooms?” asked Monsieur de Mortemer.

“We have to learn,” I replied.

“Well, now that you have seen the Sunshine Room let me take you back.

After that you can find your own way, perhaps. “

“I shall note the landmarks as we pass through,” I said with a smile.

to that room. It was what we would call in England a solarium and was of course ideal for our purpose. My father commented that everything was working out splendidly.

I thought he looked a little tired and I did notice once or twice that he blinked in the strong light of the room. I could see all sorts of obstacles about to rise before us. I could not quite picture how we were going to pretend he was painting the miniature when actually I was going to do it. It would certainly be a new and interesting way of working. I wondered how it would end.

It would be dreadful to produce something below Collison standards on such an important occasion.

When we had returned to our rooms I suggested that my father rest for a while. There was an hour or so before dejeuner and the journey and excitement of coming here had been a little too much for him.

I persuaded him to lie down and then thought I would like to look at the chateau from outside. I put on a hat and found my way down to the hall. There was the door through which we had entered on the previous night. I went through into the courtyard.

I did not want to leave the precincts of the castle so I did not cross the moat. I looked round and saw a door. I went through this anu was in a garden. I gathered I was at the back of the castle. Before me stretched out the undulating countryside with the woods in the distance. It was very beautiful. The gardens, which ran down to the water of the moat, had been carefully cultivated. Flowers grew in profusion with colours perfectly blended. Our Baron had a feeling for colour-unless of course he employed people to select them for him, which was most likely.

I went down to the moat’s edge and sat down. What peace! I thought of Clare at home running the house and Evie far away in Africa. I was uneasy and kept assuring myself that there was nothing to be uneasy about. If the Baron discovered that my father could no longer paint, and if he wanted a Collison, his only alternative was to take mine. And if he refused?

Well, then we should just return home.

I heard footsteps and turning sharply saw Bertrand de Mortemer coming towards me.

“Ah,” he said as though surprised.

“Have you finished your preparations?”

“There is not much to do until the … er … subject arrives.”

“Of course not.” He sat down beside me.

“Well, now you have seen the castle by the light of morning what do you think of it?”

“Grand. Massive. Impressive. Overpowering. I can’t think of any more adjectives.”

“Those already supplied are sufficient.”

He was looking at me steadily and I noticed that his handsome appearance had not diminished with daylight. Rather, I thought, was it accentuated.

“To think of one man owning all this … it’s rather staggering,” I said.

“Not for the Baron. He was brought up to it. He’s a scion of his forefathers. Wait until you meet him, then you’ll understand.”

“Is he. like you?”

Bertrand seemed very amused.

“I think you would have to look very hard to find a resemblance.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am. If he were like you I should feel very relieved.”

He put his hand over mine suddenly.

“That is a very nice compliment,” he said.

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement of fact.”

He smiled at me. a little sadly, I thought. He said: “No, you will find him very different.”

“Please prepare me.”

He shook his head.

“It is better for you to find out for yourself.

People see others differently. You see him for yourself. “

“That is what you said last night and yet you do give me certain hints. I have the impression that the Baron is not easy to please.”

“He knows what is best and he will want the best.”

“And his fiancee?”

“Is the Princesse de Crespigny.”

“A princess!”

“Oh yes. The Baron is not only one of the wealthiest men in the country, he is also one of the most influential.”

“And the Princesse?”

“She comes from an old French family with royal connections. The family managed to survive the revolution.”

“The Baron also?”

“The Baron would always survive.”

“So this is the marriage of two noble families. One very rich, the other not so rich but royal.”

“The Princesse is connected with the royal families of France and Austria. She will be most suitable for the Baron. The Crespigny estates could be restored. If anyone can do that it is the Baron.”

“With his immense wealth,” I murmured.

“It is a useful asset.”

“And the Baron is happy with his coming marriage?”

“Believe me, if he were not, there would be no marriage.”

“Be careful,” I said.

“You are beginning to give me your picture of the Baron before I have met him.”

“You are good to remind me. My lips are… what you say … sealed?”

I nodded.

“Now we will talk of other things,” he said.

“Yourself?”

“And yourself?”

Then I found myself telling about life at Collison House-the gatherings at Farringdon Manor, the vicarage family and the Camborne twins, of my mother’s romantic marriage and the happiness she and my father had shared, of her. death, of our luck in having Evie who had now married her missionary and left the cosy predictability of our English village for the perils of darkest Africa.

“But she left us Clare,” I added.

“She saw to that before she went.

Evie was one of the natural managers of those around her. She looked after us all. every one. “

He looked at me steadily.

“I think you are one of these … managers.”

I laughed. The? Oh no. I am deeply involved in my own affairs. “

“I know. Painting! For I gather that you paint too. It means much to you. Are you going to paint miniatures like your ancestors?”

“That is what I should like to do more than anything.”

“More than anything. Do you not want a lover … marriage … little children?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. But I want to paint.” He was smiling at me, and I thought: I am talking too much. I hardly know this man. What was it about him that won my confidence? That infinite kindness which I had sensed in him from the moment we met; that air of worldliness which probably was nothing more than a mode of dress and behaviour.

He invited confidences and I seemed to have given him far too many. I thought: I will be telling him about my father’s encroaching blindness next.

“It is your turn to tell me something about yourself,” I said.

“It has been the life of so many in my position.”

“I gather you spent some part of your childhood here.”

“Yes, I did. The Baron said he would have me here to learn something of life.”

“What of life?”

“Oh, how it is to be lived here in the country … at Court. That has become formal now with the Empress Eugenie setting the standards. The Baron regrets the disintegration of the monarchy but he is reconciled to the Second Empire and supports Napoleon the Third … not with real enthusiasm but as the only possible alternative to republicanism.”

“Is the Baron often at Court?”

“Quite often. But I think he is happiest here in Normandy.”

“Is he a very complicated man… difficult to understand?”

He smiled at me.

“And therefore a good subject for a painter. We will see if your father probes those hidden depths of character.”

“He would probably need a large canvas to do that. The miniature is to go to his lady-love. It should therefore be romantic.”

“You mean … flattering.”

“It is possible to be romantic without flattery.”

“I fancy the Baron might not be flattered to be called romantic. He prides himself on his astute approach to life.”

“Romance is not necessarily a stranger to astuteness.”

“Is it not? I thought in romance one saw everything through a rosy glow.”

“That is how my father must make the Princesse see the Baron … through a rosy glow. I think it is time I returned to the house.”

He sprang up and held out his hands. I gave him mine and he helped me up.

He stood for a while holding my hands. It was only for a few seconds but it seemed longer. I thought how still everything was; the quiet water of the moat, the tall massive walls about us, and I felt myself tingling with excitement.

I flushed a little and withdrew my hands.

He said: “Perhaps this afternoon … if you are not busy …”

“We shall not be busy until the Baron returns,” I said.

“Do you ride?”

“A great deal. I helped to exercise the Farringdon horses. The local big house I told you about … They pretended I was doing them a service when they were so obviously doing me one.”

“That’s the way to do a service,” he said.

“If it is given with a request for gratitude it is no service.”

“You are right, of course. But why do you ask if I ride?”

“Because if you say yes, you do, I suggest we ride this afternoon. I could show you the countryside which might interest you. Does that appeal?”

“Very much.”

“Have you a habit?”

“I brought one with me … hoping … and not really believing in my hopes … that they might be realized so soon.”

He touched my arm lightly.

“I am glad you came,” he said earnestly.

“It is very interesting … getting to know you.”

Little quivers of excitement continued to come to me. I thought what a lovely morning it was here in the sunshine, close to the strong walls of the castle, the silver sparkle of the water and this interesting and most handsome young man looking at me with very thinly veiled admiration.

Riding out through the beautiful country with Bertrand de Mortemer was an exciting experience. I loved to ride and was very interested to explore new terrain. I was about to embark on an adventure and I was adventurous by nature. I felt I was on the verge of discovering that life was exciting; it might be dangerous but perhaps I was of a nature to enjoy a spice of danger and therefore went to meet it instead of taking the cautious line and avoiding it.

I could not really explain this exultation which I felt now. I could only say that I was enjoying this ride as I had never enjoyed a ride before.

Of course it had its beginnings in this young man’s company. I was more drawn to him than I had ever been to anyone else on such short acquaintance. It was fascinating to talk to him and the little pitfalls of language into which now and then we fell amused us both.

We talked and we laughed and the time flew by most pleasantly.

I said to him: “We seem to have become friendly in a very short time.”

“Time is always too short when good things happen,” he answered.

“Life is too short. I tell myself that you have come here with your father who is to paint a picture and you will soon be gone. How am I to get to know you if I do not do so quickly? How long will it take to paint the miniature?”

“I cannot say. So much depends on how the work progresses.”

“Not long, I am sure.”

“I imagine the Baron will want it done with the greatest speed.”

The mention of the Baron brought a chill into the afternoon. I must have been enjoying it so much that I had forgotten him.

I didn’t realize what was happening to me that afternoon, but it was an enchanted one. I began to believe afterwards that this was what people meant by falling in love something which had never happened to me before. I had met very few young men; I supposed I had lived a fairly sheltered life. I had certainly never met anyone in the least like Bertrand de Mortemer. His outstanding good looks, his elegant clothes, his determination to do everything he could to help, his gentleness which mingled with a certain worldliness enchanted me. And yet on the other hand I felt protective towards him, which was a strange way to feel. I didn’t know why-but then my emotions were so mixed and so strange to me. I was in the first place overcome with astonishment that I could feel so strongly about a man who was almost a stranger.

So naturally I was excited as we galloped across the meadow and the castle came into sight. The wind caught at my hair under my hard bowler hat and I loved the feel of it. I loved the sound of thudding hoofs; and he was beside me, laughing, enjoying it as much as I did.

Excitement. Adventure, Daring. And Danger . oh, definitely danger.

To come here under false pretences, to work out a devious plan for painting a picture which would be mistaken for my father’s work. that was surely courting danger.

Oh, but it was exciting.

Even as we rode into the stables I was aware of the change. One of the grooms came running to us.

The Baron had returned.

I felt my excitement immediately tempered by apprehension. I looked at Bertrand de Mortemer. He seemed to have shrunk.

The testing time had come.

I had not expected it quite so soon, for as we came into the great hall the Baron himself was there.

There was a second or so of silence while he looked at us. I felt then that my greatest fears had some foundation.

He was an overpowering man but I had expected that. He was very tall and broad, which gave an impression of bulk rather than height. He was dressed in dark riding clothes which accentuated the blonde ness of his hair, which was thick and glistened in the light which came through the narrow windows. His eyes were steely grey, his nose was rather prominent but straight, and he had a fresh colour which gave the impression that he was full of health and vigour. There was something about him which set the alarm bells ringing in my head. I suppose I was wondering how we were going to deceive such a man.

He came towards us, his eyes on me. His brows were raised slightly ironically.

“Bertrand,” he said, ‘why do you not present me to your friend? “

“Oh,” replied Bertrand with a little laugh which could only indicate embarrassment, ‘this is Mademoiselle Collison. “

“Mademoiselle Collison?” He paused and looked at me quizzically.

I had always believed that when one was on the defensive one must go into the attack, so I answered quickly: “I came with my father. He is Kendal Collison who is to paint the miniature of the Baron de Centeville.”

He bowed.

I hurried on: “I travel with my father. I can be of some use to him.”

“I trust they have looked after you,” he said.

“I mean within the household. I can see that Monsieur de Mortemer has performed his duty as host in my absence.”

“So,” I replied, ‘you are the Baron de Centeville. I am glad to meet you. “

“You have been riding, I see.”

“While we were waiting for your arrival I thought I would show Mademoiselle Collison the countryside,” Bertrand explained.

“What do you think of our countryside, Mademoiselle Collison?” His English was good but his accent slightly more foreign than that of Bertrand.

“Very beautiful.”

“And the castle?”

“What was your description,” Bertrand asked, turning to me.

“Impressive. Impregnable. Majestic …”

“I am delighted, Mademoiselle Collison. I confess I am gratified when people admire my castle. I wish to meet your father.”

“I will bring him to you. He is resting at the moment.”

He shook his head.

“No matter. I shall meet him for dinner. Will you tell him that I wish to start on the portrait tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning. That’s rather early. My father likes to get to know his subject a little before he embarks.”

“He will quickly sum me up, I am sure. Arrogant, overbearing, impatient and self-willed.”

I laughed.

“You have a poor opinion of yourself, Baron.”

“On the contrary, it is very high. Those are the qualities necessary I believe to enjoy life fully. Tell your father to be ready to start tomorrow morning. I do not wish to waste too much time sitting.”

I lifted my shoulders and glanced at Bertrand. I said:

“That is not really the way in which to approach the matter. It is not simply a process of putting paint on ivory or vellum or whatever the support is to be.”

“Oh? Then what else is involved?”

“Getting to know the sitter. Finding out what he or she is really like.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle Collison, I should not wish anyone to know what I was really like, particularly the lady to whom I am affianced. There are some things in life which are better hidden.”

He was studying me intently and I was aware of my untidy hair which was escaping from under my bowler hat. I felt the colour rise to my cheeks and I thought: He is laughing at me, while all the time he is putting me in my place, reminding me that we are employed here to carry out his wishes. I disliked him immediately and I thought: Is this the sort of treatment we are to expect from the wealthy? Do they regard artists as tradesmen?

I felt defiant and did not care if I offended him. We could go home and he could find another miniaturist to paint the sort of picture he wanted for his fiancee. I was not going to let him treat me in this way.

I said to him: “If you want a pretty, conventional picture, Baron de Centeville, it is not necessary to call in a great artist. If you will excuse me, I will go to my room and tell my father that you are here.

He will see you at dinner and then plans can be made for tomorrow’s sitting. “

I felt his eyes watching me as I turned away and went upstairs.

Then he said something to Bertrand which I did not hear.

I dressed myself in the green velvet for dinner and attended carefully to my hair, piling it high on my head. I looked slightly older than my years and the green velvet always gave me confidence. I knew I was going to need it.

I had warned my father that the Baron might well prove difficult.

“Of course, I only saw him briefly in the hall. He has a great opinion of himself and is inclined to patronize. A rather obnoxious character, I’m afraid … quite different from Monsieur de Mortemer.”

“Ah,” said my father, ‘there is the perfect gentleman. “

I agreed.

I said: “Father, I don’t know how we are going to deceive this Baron.

It is going to be difficult. And if he discovers what we are doing, he will be most unpleasant I am sure. “

“Well, let’s look at it this way,” said my father.

“He can only send us back to England and refuse to have the miniature. If he does that it will be because he knows nothing about art. Your miniature will be every bit as expert as anything I can do. He’ll get a Collison, so he’ll have nothing to complain about. Don’t worry. If he sends us back . then we shall have to think what we are going to do in the future.”

When we were ready, Bertrand arrived. He said he had come to take us down.

That was very thoughtful of him. He must have guessed that my first encounter with the Baron had been disturbing.

“The Baron is so used to everyone agreeing with him immediately,” he said by way of explaining the Baron’s manner.

“And he clearly does not like it when they do not.”

“I think it is more astonishment than anything else. In any case, you can stand up to him. After all, your father is the well-known Kendal Collison. I think the Baron will have a great respect for him. He really does admire artists.”

“And clearly does not admire their daughters.”

“Oh … he was quite amused.”

“He has a strange way of showing amusement. In any case I am not sure that I like being a figure of fun.”

“You will do very well. Do not let him see … how do you say it? that he rattles you? If he realizes that he does he will try it all the more to discountenance you.”

“A most unpleasant character.”

“He would agree with you on that.”

“He’s a throw-back to a different century from this,” I said.

“Fortunately we have moved forward into civilization.”

Bertrand laughed.

“How vehement you are. He was not so bad, was he? I think you take too much interest in this Baron.”

“I have to …” I paused. I was going to say ‘if I am going to paint a picture of him’. I finished lamely . ‘to help my father. “

My father had come out of his room. He looked frail and I was filled with the urgent need to protect him. If the Baron slighted him in the smallest way, I should definitely tell the man what I thought of him.

The Baron was already in the room with the painted ceiling and with him was a woman. I was struck immediately by her appearance. At first I thought she was a great beauty, but I realized as the evening progressed that she owed that impression to her gestures, her clothes and the manner in which she wore them, to her poise and sophisticated manners. She was the sort of woman who could put on beauty as one might a piece of jewellery. It was an illusion but a clever one. Her mouth was too large, her eyes too small and her nose too short for beauty. and yet she exuded that soignee, chic and really beautiful impression.

The Baron turned to greet us. He wore a dark blue velvet dinner-jacket and very white linen. He looked very elegant. I felt my green velvet was somewhat outmoded, and it no longer did for me the things it did at Farringdon Manor.

“Ah,” said the Baron, ‘here is the artist. You are indeed welcome, sir, and we are honoured to have you with us. Nicole, this is Monsieur Kendal Collison and his daughter, Mademoiselle Collison. They have honoured us . you know for what purpose. Mademoiselle Collison and I have met already. Oh briefly . too briefly. My dear Monsieur and Mademoiselle Collison, allow me to present Madame St. Giles. “

I was looking into that beautiful face. The small dark eyes were friendly, I thought, and if she made me feel gauche and unattractive, that was not her fault. I did not dislike her as I did the Baron.

“Bertrand, I think we should go in to dinner,” said the Baron.

“Yes,” said Bertrand and gave Madame St. Giles his arm. The Baron took mine.

I was startled. I had not expected this formality, and I found close proximity to the Baron something which repelled me.

Oddly enough, I think he knew that I was shrinking from him and disliked laying my hand even on his coat sleeve.

He looked over his shoulder at my father.

“Alas, Monsieur Collison,” he said, ‘we have no lady for you. Well, you are the guest of honour so that is your compensation. “

My father said it was a great pleasure to be here and the Baron was too kind.

I thought grimly: We will wait and see if that is so.

Dinner was an elaborate meal-more so than it had been on the previous night, but not nearly so enjoyable. This was due to the Baron’s presence.

The conversation, out of deference to my father, generally concerned art.

“My father was a collector,” the Baron told us, ‘and he taught me to follow in his footsteps. I have always had a strong appreciation of the creative arts . whether it be in literature, sculpture, music, or painting . I have always believed in absolute honesty regarding them. I know you will agree with me, Monsieur Collison. All great artists must. I do not like because I am told I must like. A work of art must please me. I think it is a disservice to art to abandon honesty for the sake of being in the fashion. I like a work of art for what it means to me . not for the signature in the corner if it is a picture, or on the cover of a book if it is literature. “

I couldn’t help applauding this sentiment. I would remind him of it if he were to discover I, a woman, had painted his portrait-that would be after he had expressed approval of it, of course.

“You are quite right, Baron,” said Madame St. Giles.

“I could not agree more.”

He looked at her mischievously.

“In your case, Nicole, it might be wiser to take note of the name of the artist … because, my dear, I’m afraid you lack the judgement to decide for yourself Nicole laughed.

“The Baron is right, you know,” she said, looking at me and my father.

“You will find me a complete ignoramus. One virtue I have, though. I am aware of my ignorance. So many people are completely oblivious of theirs. Now this is a virtue, is it not?”

“A very great one,” said the Baron.

“Ah, if only everyone had your good sense.”

“But who is to say whose judgement is to be respected?” I asked.

“There is a saying in my country that ” Good taste is what I have. Bad taste is what everyone else has who does not agree with me. “

“I see we have a philosopher here,” said the Baron, fixing me with his cold grey eyes.

“Answer that if you can, Nicole, for I cannot attack such logic.”

Then he talked to my father. We would start the portrait the following morning. He was anxious to get it completed quickly and could not stay long at the castle. He had business in Paris.

“A work of art cannot be hurried,” I said.

“I see now why you have brought your daughter with you,” retorted the Baron.

“She is going to keep us all in good order.”

“Oh, Kate is very useful to me,” said my father.

“I have come to rely on her.”

“Everyone should have someone on whom he or she can. rely. Don’t you agree, Nicole? Mademoiselle Collison? Bertrand?”

Bertrand said that it was comforting.

Madame St. Giles said it was necessary.

I said I thought that one should be self reliant if that were possible.

“As you are, Mademoiselle Collison, I see. How do you work, Monsieur Collison? I did so admire the miniature you did of the Grafvon Engheim. I saw it when I was in Bavaria. In fact it was what decided me that I would ask you to execute this commission for me.”

“The Gratis a charming man,” said my father.

“It was &’ very pleasant stay in the Black Forest. What an enchanting^ place that is. I shall never forget it.” j “I liked, too, the one you did of the Grafin. You made her look like a princess of romance.”

“A beautiful woman …”

“I thought her features very irregular.”

“An inner beauty,” mused my father.

“Difficult to define in words.”

“But you captured it in paint. An ether al quality … yes. It gave a suggestion of goodness. A lovely piece of work. I can tell you the Graf was delighted. He showed it to me with great pride.”

My father beamed with pleasure.

“I hope that you will be equally pleased, Baron,” he said.

“I must be. I want the best you have ever done. My Collison must be supreme. I already have one Collison in my collection. You must see my miniatures. This one dates back … according to the costume … to the mid-seventeenth century. I fancy it was painted just after that time when the Roundheads were making such havoc in your country … as the mob did for us not so long ago. That miniature is one of my most highly prized.”

“Do you know who the subject is?”

“No. It is just called An Unknown Woman. But there is the distinctive KC. in the corner. We had difficulty in finding it but I knew it was a Collison by the style. Having seen your daughter, I have come to the conclusion that it is a picture of a member of the family. There is a resemblance. Colouring and a certain’ he paused and I could not read the expression in his eyes ‘je ne sais quoi… But I have always been aware of it.”

“I very much look forward to seeing that,” said my father.

“You shall. You most certainly shall.”

I was excited by the talk of art and his obvious knowledge. I was most eager to learn as much as I could about him and I felt I was not doing too badly. I knew that he was arrogant, rich, powerful, that he had always had his own way and planned to go on doing just that. He was knowledgeable about art and had a real feeling for it. It would be almost impossible to deceive him, I was sure. I was eager to talk with my father as to how we should deal with this difficult situation and the thought that it would begin the next morning filled me with apprehension.

When we rose from the dining table we went back to the room with the painted ceiling. Liqueurs were served there; I found the drink sweet and pleasant.

After a while the Baron said: “Monsieur Collison is tired, I see.

Bertrand, you will conduct him to his room. Mademoiselle Collison, I see that you are not tired. You would, I am sure, prefer to remain and chat a while. “

I said that was so, and Bertrand took my father to his room, leaving me alone with the Baron and Madame St. Giles.

“Tomorrow,” he said, looking at me, “I shall show you my treasures.

Have you explored the castle yet? “

“Monsieur de Mortemer has been very good. He has shown me a little.”

The Baron snapped his fingers.

“Bertrand has not the feeling for the castle … wouldn’t you say so, Nicole?”

“Well, it is yours, isn’t it? He, like the rest of us, is but a guest here.”

The Baron patted Nicole’s knee rather affectionately. I thought he must be on very familiar terms with her.

“Well, Mademoiselle Collison,” he said, ‘you know how it is. This is my home. It is built by my ancestor and is one of the first the Normans built in France. There were Centevilles living here from the early days when Great Rollo came harrying the coast of France, with such success that the French King said that the only way to stop this perpetual harassment is to give these invaders a corner of France, which he did. And there was Normandy. Never make the mistake of thinking we are French. We are not. We are the Norsemen come to France from the magnificent fjords. “

“The French were a very cultivated people when the savage Norsemen came in their long ships looking for conquest,” I reminded him.

“But the Normans were fighters, Mademoiselle Collison. They were the unvanquished. And Centeville Castle was here at the time our great William the Duke conquered you English and forced you to submit to Norman rule.”

“The Normans won on that occasion,” I said, ‘because King Harold had just come down to the south after winning a victory in the north. If he had been fresh for the fight, the victory might have gone the other way. Moreover, you say you defeated the English. The English of today are a mixed race. Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Romans . and yes, even glorious Normans. So it seems to me a little misplaced to crow over the victory of William all those years ago. “

“You see how Mademoiselle Collison corrects me, Nicole.”

“I am delighted that she puts forward such a good case against you, Rollo.”

Rollo! I thought. So that is his name. I must have shown my surprise for he went on: “Yes, I am Rollo. Named after the first Norman to turn this corner of France into Normandy. His battle cry was ” Ha! Rollo! ”

And it continued to be the Norman battle cry for centuries. “

“It is no longer in use, I trust.”

I could not understand this impulse in me to attack him at every turn.

It was most unwise since we had to try to please him; and here I was antagonizing him before we began.

But he did not look displeased. He was actually smiling, and it occurred to me that he was enjoying the conversation. I was being as unpleasant as I could without being rude. How strange that he-who was used to sycophants-should not object. It must be because it was so rarely that anyone stood out against him.

But Nicole was by no means a sycophant. Perhaps that was why he liked her as he obviously did.

Bertrand had returned.

He said to me: “Perhaps you would like to take a walk in the grounds before retiring for the night?”

I rose with alacrity.

“That would be delightful,” I said.

“You need a wrap. Shall I go and get one?”

“Take mine,” said Nicole.

“It will save a journey up to your room. I don’t need it.”

She handed me a scrap of chiffon which seemed to take its colour from whatever it covered. It was decorated with a border of sequinned stars.

“Oh.. thank you,” I said. “It looks too… pretty. I should be afraid to harm it.”

“Nonsense,” said Nicole coming to me, and herself put it round my shoulders. I thought she was very charming.

Bertrand and I went out through the courtyard to the moat.

“Well, what did you think of the Baron?” he asked.

“It’s rather too big a question to answer briefly,” I said.

“It’s like confronting someone with the Niagara Fails and asking for an immediate opinion.”

“He would be amused to hear himself compared with them.”

“I would say he is very conscious of his power and wants everyone else to be too.”

“Yes,” agreed Bertrand.

“He likes us to recognize that and to do exactly as he wants us to.”

“Which is all right as long as it coincides with what one wants oneself.”

“You are perceptive, Mademoiselle. That is exactly how it has been for me so far.”

“Then,” I said, ‘you must be prepared for the day when it is not. I thought Madame St. Giles charming. “

“She is considered to be one of the most attractive women in society.

Her association with Rollo has lasted for several years. “

“Her… association!”

“Oh! Did you not guess? She is his mistress.”

“But,” I began faintly, “I thought he was going to be married to this Princesse.”

“He is. I suppose it will have to end with Nicole then … or perhaps there will be just a lull. She’s prepared for that. She’s a woman of the world.”

I was silent.

He laid his hand on my arm.

“I’m afraid you are rather shocked. Did you not know that there was this relationship?”

“I’m afraid I’m rather unworldly. Nicole … she doesn’t seem to be upset.”

“Oh no. She always understood that there would come a time when he would marry. He has several mistresses, but Nicole was always the chief.”

I shivered beneath Nicole’s wrap. His hands would have been on that chiffon, I thought. I pictured him with Nicole . sensuous . cynical . It was a horrible picture. I did not want to paint that miniature. I realized that one could learn too much about a subject.

The next morning our ordeal began. I arranged a chair for the Baron where the strong light fell on his face. My father sat opposite him.

We had decided that the support should be ivory which had proved to be ideal since the beginning of the eighteenth century. I sat in a corner watching. I was memorizing every line of his face: the sensuous lips which could be cruel, the rather magnificent high brow and the strong blonde hair springing from his head.

He had told us that the completed miniature would be set in gold and the frame should be studded with diamonds and sapphires. For that reason he wore a blue coat and it certainly accentuated his colouring; it even put a hint of blue into the grey eyes.

My fingers itched to hold the brush. I was deeply aware of my father. He worked quietly and without apparent tension. I wondered whether he was aware of how much he could not see.

This morning would tell us a great deal whether it was possible to carry out this plan or not. I was not sure what sort of miniature I could do from memory or from my father’s work. I was sure I could have made a superb portrait if I could have gone about it in the normal way. I would bring out his arrogance. I would capture that look which suggested that the whole world was his. I would paint in a little of the animosity I felt towards him. I would make a portrait which was absolutely him . and he might not like it.

He talked while my father worked and mainly to me.

Had I been to the Bavarian Court with my father? I told him I had not.

He raised his eyebrows as though asking:

Why not, since you came to Normandy?

“Then you did not see the picture of the Grafin and her inner beauty?”

“I very much regret not having seen it.”

“I feel I have met you before. It must be in the miniature of the Unknown Woman. I suddenly feel she is unknown no longer.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

“And I to showing it to you. How is it going, Monsieur Collison? Am I a good sitter? I look forward to seeing the work as it progresses.”

“It is going well,” said my father.

“And,” I added, ‘we make a rule that no one sees a miniature before it is finished. “

“I don’t know if I shall agree to that rule.”

“I am afraid it is necessary. You must give a painter a free hand to do what he wishes. To have your criticism now would be disastrous.”

“What if it were praise?”

“That, too, would be unwise.”

“Do you always allow your daughter to lay down the rules, Monsieur Collison?”

“It is my rule,” said my father.

He told me then about certain paintings he possessed not all miniatures by any means.

“How I shall enjoy gloating over my treasures to you, Mademoiselle Collison,” he added.

After an hour my father laid down his brush. He had done enough for the morning, he said. Moreover, he guessed the Baron must be tired of sitting.

The Baron rose and stretched himself, confessing that it was unusual for him to sit so long at one time.

“How many sittings shall you need?” he asked.

“I cannot say as yet,” replied my father.

“Well, I must insist that Mademoiselle Collison remains with us so that she may divert me,” he said.

“Very well,” I replied, perhaps too eagerly.

“I shall be there.”

He bowed and left us.

I looked at my father. I thought he seemed very tired. He said: “The light is so strong.”

“It is what we must have.”

I studied the work he had done. It was not bad but I could detect an unsure stroke here and there.

I said: “I have been studying him closely. I know his face well. I am sure I can work from what you have done and what I know of him. I think I had better start immediately and perhaps work always as soon as he has gone so that I have the details clearly in my mind. We’ll have to see how it goes. It will not be easy to work without a living model.”

I started my picture. I could see his face clearly and it was almost as though he were sitting there. I was revelling in my work. I must get that faint hint of blue reflected from the coat into those cold steely eyes. I could see those eyes . alight with feeling. love of power, of course. lust. yes, there was sensuality about the mouth in abundance. Buccaneer, I thought.

Norseman pirate. It was there in his face.

“Ha! Rollo!” sailing up the Seine, pillaging, burning, taking the women . oh yes, certainly taking the women . and taking the land . building strong castles and holding them against all who came against him.

I don’t think I ever enjoyed painting anyone as much as I enjoyed painting him. It was because of the unusual method, I suspected; and because I had a strong feeling of dislike for him. It was a great help to feel strongly about the subject. It seemed to breathe life into the paint.

My father watched me while I worked.

I laid down my brush at length.

“Oh, Father,” I said.

“I do want this to be a great success. I want to delude him. I want him to have the Collison of all Collisons.”

“If only we can work this together …” said my father, his face breaking up in a helpless sort of way which made me want to rock him in my arms.

What a tragedy! To be a great artist and unable to paint!

It was a good morning’s work and I was very pleased with it.

After dejeuner which my father and I took alone as Bertrand had been summoned to go off somewhere with the Baron and Nicole, I suggested that my father take a rest. He looked tired and I knew that the morning’s work had been more than a strain on his eyes.

I conducted him to his room, settled him on his bed and then, taking a sketch-pad with me as I often did, I went out.

I went down to the moat and sat there. I thought of how Bertrand and I had come here and how we had talked and what a pleasant day it had been. I hoped we should see more of each other. He was so different from the Baron - so kind and gentle. I could not understand why women like Nicole could demean themselves as she had done for the sake of men like the Baron. I found him far from attractive. Of course he had great power and power was said to be irresistible to some women.

Personally I hated all that arrogance. The more I saw of the Baron the better I liked Bertrand. It seemed to me that he had all the graces.

He was elegant, charming and above all kindly and thoughtful for others-qualities entirely lacking in the mighty Baron. Bertrand’s task had been to put us at our ease on our arrival and this he had done with such perfection that we had become good friends in a very short time, and instinct told me that our friendship had every chance of deepening.

While I had been thinking I had been idly sketching, and my page was full of pictures of the Baron. It was understandable that he should occupy my thoughts as I had to paint a miniature of him in a manner I reckoned no miniature had ever been painted before.

There he was in the centre of my page-a bloodthirsty Viking in a winged helmet, nostrils flaring, the light of lust in his eyes, his mouth curved in a cruel and triumphant smile. I could almost hear his voice shouting. I wrote below the sketch “Ha! Rollo.”

Round the page were other sketches of him . in profile and in full face. I wanted to know that face from every angle and in several moods. I had to imagine those I had not seen.

Then suddenly I heard a laugh and turning sharply, I saw him. He was leaning over my shoulder. His hand shot out and he took the paper from me.

I stammered: “I didn’t hear you.”

“My grass is thick and luxuriant here by the moat. I confess … seeing you there so absorbed … sketching away … I crept up to see what could be of such interest to you.”

He was studying the paper.

“Give it to me,” I commanded.

“Oh no. It’s mine. Man Dieu, you are a very fine artist, Mademoiselle.

Ha! Rollo. Why, that is magnificent. “

I held out my hand pleadingly.

“I feel as though I have been stripped bare,” he said accusingly, but his eyes had lost their steely grey. He was amused and pleased.

“I did not realize that you knew me so well,” he went on.

“And to draw this without a model! Why, you are a draughts man Mademoiselle. I often say that the reason so many artists today are mediocre is because they never learned how to draw. How did you come to know me so well?”

“I don’t know you. I know a little of your face. But I was with you this morning during the sitting.”

“I noticed how you kept your gimlet eye on me. Mademoiselle Collison’jioy should be painting a miniature of me.”

“That is for my father,” I said.

“You can destroy that paper.”

“Destroy it! Never! It’s too good for that. I shall keep it. It will always remind me of you, Mademoiselle Collison. I have something else to remind me too. The miniature of which I was telling you. You must see it. I can’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

He held out a hand to help me to my feet.

I said: “My father is resting. I thought he should do so.”

“Well, after a trying morning …” he said almost mischievously.

“Now you and I will go and see the miniatures, shall we? I refuse to wait a moment longer before showing you your double.”

I went with him into the castle. He was carrying my sketch-pad.

Fortunately there was nothing else on it but a few sketches of trees and the moat.

He took me to a part of the castle where I had not been before.

“This section was restored in the mid-eighteenth century,” he told me.

“It’s rather elegant, don’t you think?”

I agreed it was.

“Entirely French,” I commented, and I could not help adding: “Rather different from the comparatively crude aspect of Norman architecture.”

“Precisely,” he replied, ‘but lacking the antiquity. Why, it is not a hundred years old yet. So modern! But a fine piece of architecture all the same. What do you think of the furniture? It was made by Gourdin and Blanchard Gamier. “

“Delightful,” I said.

“Come with me.” He opened a door and we were in a small chamber, the ceiling of which was painted with a celestial scene. Angels floated across a heaven of exquisite blue dotted with golden stars.

The walls were panelled and on these hung the miniatures. There must have been about fifty of them and they were all exquisite and of great value. They were of all periods dating back to the early fourteenth century and many of them were on supports of vellum and parchment, metal, slate and wood which was largely used at that time.

“They are beautiful,” I cried.

“I think so too. It’s a delightful expression of art. More difficult to execute, I imagine, than a large canvas. The artist must be restricted. You must have very keen eyes for such work.” He hesitated and my heart started to beat very fast. For a moment I thought: He knows! Then he went on: “I should have liked to be a painter myself, Mademoiselle Collison. I love art. I understand it. I can criticize it… see what is wrong … even feel I know how it should have been done… but I can’t paint. That’s rather a tragedy, don’t you think?”

“You are an artist manque,” I said.

“Yes, I do think that is rather sad. It’s better I think to be born without the urge to paint than to have it and not be able to use it.”

“I knew you would understand. I lack the divine spark. Is that what it is? I could mix the paints. I have an eye for colour … but alas, the spirit which makes painting great is lacking, But let me show you my Unknown Woman.”

He took me to it, and I was startled. It could have been a painting of me. The reddish tint in the fine abundant hair escaping from the jewelled snood which held it. the tawny eyes . the firm chin . they might well have been mine. The Unknown Woman was dressed in green velvet and the colour of the dress brought out this striking tint in her hair.

He laid a hand on my shoulder. There! Now you see what I mean. “

“It’s extraordinary,” I agreed.

“And it really is a Collison?”

He nodded.

“Nobody knows which one. You tiresome people always call yourselves K. If only you had had a variety of initials what a lot of trouble you would have saved.”

I couldn’t stop looking at the picture.

“It’s always been a favourite of mine,” he said.

“Now I need no longer call it the Unknown Woman. It now has a name for me: Mademoiselle Kate Collison.”

“Have you had it long?”

“It has always been in the family collection for as long as I can remember. I think in the past one of my ancestors must have been on very friendly terms with one of yours. Why otherwise should he have wanted a miniature of the lady? It’s a very interesting thought, don’t you agree?”

“It could have come into his possession in some other way. You don’t know the identity of several of the people portrayed, I am sure. It is certainly a collection you can be proud of.”

“I shall hope to add two more to it shortly.”

“I thought the one… my father was painting was for your bride elect.”

“It is. But she will live here, and our two miniatures will be hung side by side on this wall.”

I nodded.

“I hope,” he went on, ‘that I shall have the pleasure of showing you other treasures of mine. I have some fine pictures as well as furniture. You are an artist, Mademoiselle

Collison. Oh fortunate Mademoiselle CoHison . a real artist. not an artist manque such as I am. “

“I am sure you are the last person to feel sorry for yourself.

Therefore you cannot expect other people to be. “

“Why so?”

“Well, you happen to think you are the most important person not only in Normandy but throughout the entire country, I imagine.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Oh no,” I said.

“It is how you see yourself. Thank you for showing me the miniatures. They are most interesting … Now I think I should return to my room. It is time to dress for dinner.”

The days which followed were the most exciting of my life-up to that time. I had made two discoveries which could not be denied-one sad, the other exhilarating beyond my expectations. My father would not be able to paint miniatures again. I could see clearly that the necessary deftness of touch had deserted him. He could not see well enough, and to be the smallest fraction of an inch out of place in such a small area could change a feature entirely. He might go to larger canvases for a while but in time even that would be over for him. The other discovery was that I was a painter worthy of the name of Collison. I could put those initials on my miniatures and none would be able to question the fact that they had not been done by a great artist.

I could not wait to get to work every morning. I don’t know how I sat through those sessions while my father worked and the Baron sat there smiling a rather enigmatic smile, making lively conversation with me or sometimes lapsing into what seemed like a brooding silence.

I would dash to the drawer in which I kept my work and take out that picture. It was growing under my hands; it laughed at me; it mocked me; it was cruel; it was amused; it suggested power and an immense ruthlessness. I had captured this man and shut him up in my miniature. To have brought all this into such a small space was an achievement, I knew.

My father gasped when he saw it and said he had never seen anything of mine—or his for that matter—to equal it.

I began to think that this way of working was perhaps more rewarding than conventional sittings. I felt I knew the man. I could almost follow his thoughts. My excitement was so intense that I would find myself gazing at him during meals or whenever I was in his company.

Several times he caught me at it; then he gave me one of those enigmatical smiles.

What strange days they were! I felt as though I had stepped outside the life I had known into a different world. The Farringdons, the Meadows, the Cambornes seemed miles away . on another planet almost.

This could not last, of course. I think perhaps it owed its fascination to the fact that it was inevitably transient.

I should go away from here. Forget the Baron who had obsessed me all these days; but the time I had spent here would in a way be caught up and imprisoned in the miniature.

Then there was Bertrand de Mortemer. Our friendship was progressing at unusual speed. It was a great joy to be with him. We rode together often. He described the family estate which was situated south of Paris.

“Not a big one,” he said.

“Nothing like Centeville … but it is pleasant… with the Loire close by and all those beautiful castles to make one feel proud every time one catches a glimpse of them.”

“I should love to see them.”

“They are far more beautiful than this stark old Norman fortress. They are built for living in, for celebrations, ban yes, for enjoying life,

not fighting for it as they did in this grey stone castle. I feel so different when I’m at Centeville. “

“Are you here often?”

“Whenever I am sent for.”

“You mean by the Baron?”

“Who else? His father set himself up as head of the family and Rollo has inherited the crown.”

“Still, I suppose you could escape from the yoke.”

“Rollo would frown on that.”

“Who cares for Rollo … outside the precincts of the Castle ofCenteville?”

“He has a way of showing his displeasure which can be uncomfortable.”

“Does that matter very much?”

“It’s usually a practical displeasure.”

I shivered.

“Let’s talk about more pleasant things. How is the miniature going?”

“Very well, I think.”

“Is your father pleased with it?”

“Very.”

“I dare say we shall be seeing it soon. What does Rollo think?”

“He hasn’t seen it yet.”

“I should have thought he would have demanded to.”

“He doesn’t exert the same power over visiting artists as he does in his family circle, you see.”

He laughed and then was serious.

“Kate,” he said-for some time he had called me by my Christian name.

“When it is over, you will go away from here …”

“If our work is approved we shall go to Paris to paint the Princesse.”

“But you will go from here …”

“And you?”

“I shall hear what I am expected to do. There is always something. When Rollo asks me here it is for a reason. He has not yet explained that to me.”

“Can’t you ask him?”

“He has not precisely said there is something. I am merely surmising there is because when I am invited here it is usually because I am going to be asked … no, told… to do something.”

“The more I hear of the mighty Rollo, the more I dislike him.” My lips curled. I was thinking of that gleam of acquisitiveness I was going to get into his eyes cold grey with a hint of blue reflection from the coat he was wearing.

“He doesn’t care about being liked. He wants to be feared.”

“Thank heaven I am beyond his sphere of influence. If he doesn’t like my … my father’s work … we shall shrug our shoulders and depart, taking the miniature with us … without the magnificent diamond and sapphire frame, of course … and perhaps it will be for sale in some London jeweller’s. It would be rather fun to call it Portrait of an Unknown Man.”

“Yes, I can see that you are not in the least overawed by him. He sees it too. Everyone else is … except Nicole. Maybe that is why he is fond other.”

“How can he be fond of her when he is going to marry someone else? I wonder Nicole stays here. Why doesn’t she tell him to get on with his marriage and simply go away.”

“It is how things are in some circles. No one thinks any the worse of Nicole for being Rollo’s mistress.”

“I suppose if she were the coachman’s mistress it would be a different matter.”

“But of course.”

I burst out laughing. We both did. The incongruity of the situation struck us simultaneously.

We walked arm in arm through the gardens.

“Things are run differently in France from in England,”

explained Bertrand.

“We are more formal perhaps, but more realistic.”

“More formal certainly. I suppose Nicole’s staying here in these circumstances is realistic because it is actually happening. But I do think it is … what shall I say … cynical.”

“Cynical perhaps,” he agreed.

“The Baron,” I went on, ‘is certainly cynical. He thinks this is a perfectly normal situation . for a Baron.

“I want this woman,” he says.

“I no longer want this woman. It is time I married. Here is a suitable match. Goodbye, Nicole. Welcome, Princesse, to Centeville.” I suppose it is because she is a princesse that she is so welcome. “

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you calmly accept that?”

“I accept it because I can do nothing else. Moreover it is not my affair.”

“You are not like that, Bertrand, are you?”

He looked at me steadily.

“No,” he said.

“I am romantic and I think you and I are alike in some ways, Kate.”

He drew me to him then and kissed me; and I was very happy.

People came to stay at the castle sophisticated people from Paris.

In the evenings we dined in the great hall. There were no longer the intimate dinners. There was music, dancing and a great deal of gambling. Bertrand always sought me out at these gatherings and we would talk a great deal together. Our friendship was ripening. I would look for him as soon as I joined the assembly.

“He was so kind and always helpful. My father retired early on these occasions. He could see even less now than he could when we arrived in France.

The Baron took little notice of me when he was entertaining his guests, but I continued to observe him. My mind seemed divided between him and Bertrand. The contrast between them grew more and more marked. I thought of them as Beauty and the Beast.

Nicole acted as hostess, which surprised me yet once more. Everyone accepted her as the mistress of the place.

“It’s rather like the King’s mistress,” Bertrand explained to me.

“She was the most important person in France.”

People often talked to me about my father. These friends of the Baron were like himself, very cultivated and greatly interested in art and, as my father’s daughter, I was accorded some respect.

Bertrand said: “We live differently at home. Much more simply. I want you to meet my mother and sister. I am sure you will like each other.”

I thought that was almost a proposal.

On another occasion he said: “In our little chateau there is a room which would be good to paint in. It’s very light and another window could be put in.”

I was growing more and more fond of him and was happy and relaxed in his company. I was in a way in love with him, but I was not completely sure of the intensity of my feelings because it was difficult to direct them away from the Baron and the miniature. When that was finished, I promised myself, I would be able to sort out my true feelings. At the moment and this was natural enough I was obsessed by my work, even to the exclusion of Bertrand.

The time was approaching now. The miniature was nearly finished.

I gloated over it. I was almost sorry that it was nearing completion.

I felt it would leave a great gap in my life.

One afternoon when the castle was quiet, my father was resting and everyone else seemed to be out. I went to the room to look once more at the miniature and perhaps put one or two finishing touches if I considered they were needed.

I opened the door. Someone was at my drawer. It was the Baron and he was holding the miniature in his hands.

I gasped: “What are you doing here?”

He turned and faced me. His eyes were shining.

“It’s superb,” he cried.

“You should have waited …”

He was looking at me slyly.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen it,” he said.

“I’ve watched its progress. There is no part of my castle that can be closed to me, Mademoiselle Collison.”

He looked down at the miniature.

“I can’t stop looking at it,” he said.

“I see something fresh every time … It’s sheer genius.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it.”

He laid the miniature down in a manner which I can only call reverent.

Then he turned to me and greatly to my dismay put his hands on my shoulders.

“The man in the painting is ruthless… power-seeking… lecherous cynical… It’s all there. But there is one thing he is not, Mademoiselle, and that is a fool. Would you agree?”

“Of course.”

“Then do not go on believing that you deceived me for one moment. I knew what was happening from the first morning. What is it? Your father’s eyes? Or have his hands become unsteady? He was a great artist once. It is becoming clear to me why you came with him.

“I always go with my father,” he said, imitating me.”

“But I was not at the Bavarian Court. I was not in Italy with him. No. It is only to Centeville that I always come.” Dear Mademoiselle, I do not like to be deceived, but I will forgive a good artist a great deal. ”

“You are right,” I said.

“That is my work. And now you are going to find fault with it and say that a woman cannot paint like a man and that although this miniature is tolerably good, it is not worth the price you agreed to pay …”

“Are you a little hysterical, Mademoiselle Collison?”

“I am never hysterical’ ” My confidence in the English is restored. I have always heard they are so calm in any crisis. Now . you are deceiving yourself as you attempted to deceive me. I admire your sex.

There are many things you do . divinely. Where should we be without your sex? And I see no reason why a woman should not be given credit for her painiing as well as all the other gifts she bestows on us for our joy and our comfort. “

“Then you accept the miniature?”

“Mademoiselle Collison, I would not part with this miniature for anything.”

“I thought it was to be presented to your fiancee.”

“To be brought back here and placed in my castle. I shall put it next to my lady with the hazel eyes and tawny hair, she who was an unknown lady to me and is now so no more. Mademoiselle, I am as you pointed out an artist manque, but I know what is good art and let me tell you, you are a great artist.”

I felt tears in my eyes and was ashamed of them. The last thing I wanted to do before this man was show emotion.

I stammered: “I am so pleased … that you care for the miniature.”

“Sit down,” he commanded, ‘and tell me what is wrong with your father. ”

“It is his eyes. He has a cataract forming.”

“That’s a tragedy,” he said with genuine feeling.

“And so you came here to do his work for him.”

“I knew I could do it and that you would get value for your money.”

“Indeed. I have that. But why did you not explain? Why set up this ridiculous charade?”

“Because you would never have accepted a woman. You would have thought, because of my sex, I could not be as good as a man.”

“Yet I knew all the time and I think I am going to be as proud of this miniature as of any in my collection.”

“You … are more enlightened than most people.”

“Hurrah! I have found favour in your sight at last! All those sketches you did of me … they are excellent. Perhaps some day you will paint a full-length portrait, eh? I very much liked the winged helmet.

Done with a little irony, eh? How many sketches have you of me, Mademoiselle Collison? “

“I wanted to get as many aspects of your face as possible and weld them into one. I did not want to miss anything.”

“There speaks my great artist.” He picked up the miniature again.

“It’s not exactly a handsome face, is it? Not exactly a kindly face.

There’s cruelty in it. and all those unpleasant characteristics which alas you have discovered. “

“It is a portrait of you. Baron, not of Prince Charming.”

“Ah, you would have to get Bertrand to pose for that. As this is to go to my fiancee I think I shall call it ” The Demon Lover’. Do you think that appropriate? “

“Perhaps,” I said as coolly as I could.

“But you would know best about that.”

I was flushing a little. I felt he knew too much about me, and while I had been observing him I had not gone unnoticed in his eyes.

“Now,” he went on, ‘what are you going to do? “

“I shall go to your Princesse if you wish me to.”

“I mean after that.”

“We shall go home.”

“And then? Your father cannot continue with his work, can he?”

“He is capable still of some work. It is only the very small and detailed work which he cannot manage.”

“I have a plan. I am going to show the miniature. Everyone wants to see it, you know. They talk of little else. I shall have a ball and the miniature will be on show. The Jeweller is already working on the setting. It will look magnificent nestling in that gold frame with sparkling gems surrounding it. Then … I am going to tell the truth.

I am going to introduce you as the artist. I will tell the pathetic story of your father’s encroaching blindness . and say that in his daughter we have an artist worthy to take her place with her ancestors. ”

“Why?”

“Why? Oh come, Mademoiselle Collison. Don’t you see? These are rich people. Many of them will be wanting a Kate Collison. I agree that there might have been prejudice against your sex. But your little deception … although it did not deceive me … has worked satisfactorily.”

I said: “You will do this … for us …”

He smiled at me quizzically.

“I will do it for a great artist,” he said.

I did not want to stand there any longer with that strong light on my face. I did not want him to know how anxious I had been and how happy I was suddenly. And that it was due to him was ironical and hard to accept.

I murmured: “Thank you.”

And turning I went slowly out of the room. He did not attempt to detain me. He stood still and I felt he was watching me.

When I saw the completed miniature in its jewelled frame I felt it was the greatest moment of achievement in my life. My father had been delighted that the deception was at an end, and that the Baron, far from being annoyed, was highly delighted, and was going to proclaim me as the artist at one of his lavish gatherings in the great hall of the castle.

He had talked to my father, commiserated with him on his affliction and congratulated him on having passed on his genius.

My father was happier than he had been since the discovery that he was going blind, and it occurred to me that all this euphoria had come about through the Baron whom I disliked so heartily.

He seemed to take a delight now in arranging our affairs. I was to go to Paris and my father should go home when he left Centeville. There was no longer any need for the deception. From now on woman that I was-I should be accepted as a great painter and respected in the same way that my father and his ancestors had been. He, the Baron, would arrange that.

“Somewhere at the back of my mind I hoped it would turn out like this,” said my father when we were alone.

“I don’t mind losing my sight so much now. You will carry on and the fact that you are a girl is not going to stand in your way. I feel I have done my duty. It is wonderful of him to give this … celebration or whatever it is … to launch you … to introduce you. He is such a powerful man that his word will count for a good deal.”

Bertrand regarded me with some awe.

“Why,” he said, ‘you are more wonderful than ever. I suppose I must be more respectful to you when I speak to you. “

“You must be exactly as you were. I can honestly say it was you who made me feel so comfortable and at ease when I first came to work here. That feeling is necessary, you know, if good work is going to be achieved.”

“Then nothing has changed between us?”

“How could it be?” I asked, and he pressed my hand warmly.

Nicole came to congratulate me.

“The miniature is quite beautiful,” she said.

“A wonderful piece of work. The Baron is delighted.”

“He has told me so.”

“And he does want to … what he calls launch you. He hates to think you may be handicapped by your sex.”

“I was really surprised that he is prepared to take so much trouble,” I said.

“I suppose one shouldn’t…”

She smiled at me. Judge one’s fellow beings? ” she asked.

“No. One certainly should not … until one knows all the circumstances-and it is rare for one person to know all about another. Now for the grand occasion. Rollo has put me in charge of it.

He is going to make an announcement about you and tell them that you are leaving for Paris. You will probably find one or two people will want to make definite appointments with you to paint miniatures for them. “

“It is a great opportunity, of course. My father …”

“You need not worry about your father. If you are anxious about him the Baron will send someone back to England with him to look after him during the journey.”

“Would he do that?”

“But of course.”

“I am overwhelmed by all this kindness.”

“When the Baron takes action he is a rather overwhelming man. What do you propose to wear for the occasion?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t many clothes with me … and nothing in any case which would match up to these smart French society women. I suppose my green velvet will have to do.”

“Your green velvet is very becoming. Would you let my maid come along and do your hair.”

“That is kind. I know mine is invariably untidy.”

“You have beautiful hair and it is worth a little attention.”

She smiled at me serenely. I could not help liking Nicole. I should have loved to talk to her and ask her how she felt about this extraordinary situation. Here she was, like the mistress of the house, and accepted as such, when all the time her lover was making no secret of the fact that he was soon to be married to someone else.

The great day came. I was very excited and so was my father. Nicole’s maid came to dress my hair and it was amazing what she did to me. She brought me a comb with green stones in it, the colour of my dress, and when it was fixed in my hair, I thought I looked like a different person not unworthy to mix with the soignee guests below. But perhaps that feeling would change when I moved among them as it used to even at the Farringdon Manor gatherings; one’s appearance seemed to be able to undergo a great change between the bedroom mirror and the eyes of the other guests.

However, I had little time to think of my appearance. Everyone was admiring the miniature and calling attention to its excellence as they discovered something fresh which appealed to them.

The Baron took my hand and led me up to a dais. We mounted the few steps and I stood there with him on one side of me, my father on the other.

He then explained briefly my father’s affliction and the fact that I had painted the miniature. They seemed to have no doubt that I was a great artist. There I was . so young and talented. He was certain that before the end of my life I was going to be the greatest Collison of them all.

People came up to congratulate me. I had to promise on the spot that as soon as I was free I would go to the house of Madame Dupont to paint her two daughters. It was a definite commission. A Monsieur Villefranche made me promise to come and paint his wife.

It was triumph such as my father and I had never dreamed of.

The Baron was smiling with a faintly proprietorial air. He was obviously delighted with the reaction of his guests.

When the musicians began to play a waltz he seized me and swept me off my feet “Do you dance as well as you paint, Mademoiselle Collison?” he asked.

He was smiling. Here was a new aspect of him. He was really quite pleased by my success. I had not thought him capable of feeling pleasure for other people, but I supposed that as a lover of art he was so delighted with the miniature and there was also a good deal of gratification because he had been aware of the deception from the beginning.

I tried to keep up with him but his dancing was a trifle erratic. He had a trick of lifting me off my feet so that I felt as though I were flying through the air.

“A successful evening, eh?” he said.

“The start of a great career. My blessings on you.”

“I have to thank you,” I said.

“We are friends at last. Is that not charming?”

I said it was.

The dance came to an end. He released me and a short time after I saw him dancing with Nicole.

Many people sought my company that night. It was my time of triumph, and I was young and inexperienced enough to enjoy every moment of it.

For me it was over all too soon.

The following day could not be anything else but an anticlimax. My father and I were to leave Centeville on the day after. My father would go home. The Baron had insisted that one of his men should accompany him. I was to be taken to the home of the Princesse where I should begin on my miniature. After that I could decide when I wished to execute the several commissions which had been offered to me, and I could plan my life from there.

I spent the morning packing and then took a walk round the grounds. I was joined by Bertrand who said that the Baron was out riding with Nicole and he thought he would be away until evening. On his return he wished to have an interview with Bertrand.

“It is coming now,” he said.

“I am to be given my orders. I think he probably waited until the miniature was completed before giving them to me.”

“Perhaps he merely wants to say goodbye. You will be leaving soon, won’t you?”

“I plan to travel to Paris with you and your father.”

“That will be very pleasant for us.”

“I understand someone will be accompanying your father to England.”

“That is that I have been told.”

“Then you will have nothing to worry about. How do you feel about going to the Princesse?”

“Do you mean, do I feel nervous? The answer is no… not after what happened. The Baron has really done a great deal for me.”

Bertrand nodded.

“We will meet when you are in Paris.”

“That will be very nice.”

“You didn’t think I would let you slip away, did you?” He looked at me earnestly.

“Kate, when you have finished this commission you must come and stay with my mother. She wants to meet you.”

“I should like that very much. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Kate …” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“There is something I have to say to you.”

“Well, I’m listening.”

“I… er …” He paused.

“I think I hear sounds of arrival. It may be Rollo is coming back already. He’ll probably be wanting to see me.

He must have changed his plans . I wonder what my orders will be.

Perhaps we can talk it over later. “

“All right then … later.”

“Au revoir, Kate.”

He was smiling at me in a rather bemused way. I guessed what he had intended asking me. It must surely be that he wanted to marry me. I felt a certain pleasure at the prospect. I was not really sure. I had been living in circumstances alien to everything I had known before.

It was understandable that I should be affected by them and to such an extent as not to be able to make a sound judgement, I had known Bertrand such a short time, yet I should feel desolate if I

should have to say goodbye to him and never see him again. And yet. I was so uncertain. I was rather glad that the Baron had decided to return early and so had put off the moment of decision even for a little while.

It must have been an hour later when Bertrand came to my room. He seemed like a different man from the one I had known. His face was blotched and his eyes slightly bloodshot. His mouth twitched with uncontrollable rage.

“Bertrand,” I cried.

“What on earth has happened?”

He stepped into the room and shut the door.

“I am leaving the castle at once.”

When? Why? “

“Now. Immediately. I just came to tell you. I will not stay here a minute longer than I need.”

“You have quarrelled with the Baron?”

“Quarrelled?” he cried.

“I will never speak to him again. He’s a devil… He’s worse than I believed him to be… and God knows that was bad enough. He’s a demon. I hate him. And he hates me too. Can you guess what he wants me to do?”

“No!” I cried, bewildered.

He spat out: “Marry! Marry Nicole.”

“What?”

“He wants her settled comfortably … and he has ordered me to make an honest woman other.”

“No!”

“But yes. That is what he has just told me.”

“How could he suggest such a thing!”

“He just did.”

“And Nicole?”

“I doubt she knows anything about the transaction. That’s how it is with him. He makes the laws and other people carry them out.”

“But how could he suggest such a thing. What did he say?”

“He said that now he was marrying he wanted to find a husband for Nicole and he thought that I would fit the book very well. He would make her an allowance and one for me and I should be considerably richer than I am now. I just let him run on and then I shouted at him.

I told him I would never marry his castoff mistress. “

“He must accept that.”

“He didn’t. He said I was a young fool. I was turning down a good offer. He wanted me to marry Nicole and that was the best reason in the world for my doing so. He was going to put all sorts of opportunities in my way. He would be my generous patron … I kept shouting at him that I would not marry a mistress he no longer wanted.

I said I had my own plans for marriage. “

“You … said that?”

“I did. He didn’t believe me. Then I said: ” I’m fond of Kate, and I think she is of me. “

“What did he say to that?”

“He was stunned for a few seconds. Then he laughed at me. He said:

“Nonsense. She’d never have you. In any case I should consider such a match most unsuitable.” I lost my temper. I remembered all those times when we. my family . had had to do what he wanted. This was the last straw. I went on shouting about his throwing his castoff mistresses at me and that I would never marry any of them. Then I went to my room and started getting my things together . “

“Oughtn’t you to wait until tomorrow?”

“Stay under this roof! Never! There is an inn not far from here. I will go there for the night and then tomorrow morning I’ll be waiting for you and we’ll travel to Paris together.”

“Oh Bertrand,” I said.

“I am so sorry.”

“I had to make a stand some time. There comes a time when it is simply not possible to take any more. You gave me courage. He can do me no harm. He might endeavour to make us poorer … never mind that now.

I can get by without him. Oh Kate, in a way I feel wonderfully relieved. I feel free. Do you think I was right to act as I did? “

“Absolutely right.”

“And don’t you think it was a horrible thing to suggest?”

“Despicable.”

He took my hands and kissed them.

“Kate,” he said, ‘will you marry me . when we’ve had time to work things out? “

“Yes,” I replied.

“I will.”

Finally he released me.

“I shall be out of this castle in a quarter of an hour,” he said.

“I will see you on the train to Paris.”

Then he had gone.

I was appalled by what Bertrand had told me, and I reproached myself for having felt I liked the Baron a little because of what he had done for me. He was ruthless, cynical and a man of no principles.

At dinner one or two people asked where Bertrand was and the Baron said that he had been called unexpectedly to Paris.

The next day my father and I left Centeville in the company of one of the Baron’s upper servants.

I felt completely bewildered by everything that had happened. In a short time I had not only been accepted as an artist of repute but had become engaged to be married. I wished that I did not feel so uneasy.

Had I perhaps been hurried into accepting Bertrand’s proposal because of the Baron’s despicable conduct? Poor Bertrand had been so distressed. I had felt I had to comfort him as best I could. It seemed to me that the Baron was changing the course of my life even if unwittingly, merely by being there a malignant presence.

I was fond of Bertrand. Of course I was. I liked what I knew of him, but how well did I know him?

I wished I had not been so impulsive. I was of course pleased that our relationship had not ended, but was I rushing ahead too fast.

I wished I could stop thinking about the Baron. It seemed so strange that a man who had done so much for me could have behaved as he had towards Bertrand.

It was fortunate that I was leaving the castle. When I had driven the Baron from my mind I would begin to see that life was offering me a wonderful future.

I must take it with both hands and be grateful for it.