The Demon Lover

The Onflamme Kite

I would not have believed I could be so happy. Two years had passed since the birth of my son and he grew in strength and beauty every day and in a manner at which both Nicole and I marvelled. The excitement of his first tooth, his first smile, the first word he uttered, the first time he stood alone on his two dimpled feet, was so intense, and the more so because it was shared.

He was at the centre of our lives. As soon as he was able to speak he said his own name, of which his version was Kendy. It occurred a great deal in his conversation. Intelligent as he was, he could not help but be aware of his importance, and sometimes I thought he believed the whole world was made for him.

Each morning, when I was in the studio, he would be Nicole’s concern.

I was getting more and more clients and there was hardly a day when I did not have work to do. It was very satisfactory and there was no doubt that my name was becoming more and more well known in Parisian circles. People came from the country too-which was very gratifying as it showed that my fame was spreading beyond Paris.

“Excellent, excellent,” Nicole would murmur, and she could never resist adding: “Was I not right?”

She had been right in everything she had done. She had found a way out for me, and because I had the most adorable child in the world I could cast aside my regrets and be happy.

I wrote to my father about once a month reporting progress. He was delighted with the way things were going and quite understood that I could not spare the time to come home. As for him, his sight was fading and he did not feel quite able to undertake the journey to Paris. It was comforting therefore to receive my letters. He wanted to hear about my success and he thought that it had been the best thing that could have happened, particularly to a woman to be acclaimed by someone like the Baron and then to have her own studio in Paris.

“I think of you all the time, dearest Kate,” he wrote.

“I am so proud of you. It is the one thing which could make it possible for me to accept my affliction with resignation.”

I thought a great deal about him. He was happy in Collison House and I grew more and more grateful to Clare for looking after him as she did.

He mentioned her frequently in his letters. It was clear to me that the management of the house and the care of my father were in the best possible hands.

I had nothing to worry about. I tried not to think of the Baron and when I did to remind myself that although he had behaved so abominably to me, through him the commissions had come and my child. It was strange to contemplate that my boy was partly his. I tried to dismiss that thought whenever it intruded, but I did notice, with a touch of apprehension, that Kendal was beginning to look a little like his father. He was going to be tall and broad with light blond hair and bluish-grey eyes. He will be brought up so differently though, I thought. He shall not resemble that man. I will teach him a better way of life. It may well be that he will become an artist.

He liked to sit in the studio and watch me work, although of course he was never there when the clients were. He insisted that I give him some paints, so I gave him some paints and he painted on a sheet’ of paper.

Such happy days they were, and as I watched his fair head bent over the paper in complete absorption I often thought: I would not have had it otherwise. He has made everything worthwhile.

One day when Nicole had taken Kendal out for his morning walk in the Luxembourg Gardens, I was painting in the studio. My subject was a young woman who wanted a miniature of herself to present to her husband on his birthday. I had met her at one of Nicole soirees, as I did so many of my clients. She chattered on and on as I painted her, which suited me. I liked to catch the fleeting expressions as they talked. They were often very revealing.

She said suddenly: “I saw Madame St. Giles with your little son as I came in.”

“Oh yes,” I replied.

“They are just going for their morning walk.”

“What an enchanting little fellow!”

I was absurdly pleased when people said complimentary things about Kendal.

“I think so, but you know how these maternal feelings carry one away.”

“He is certainly a beautiful child. It is delightful to have children.

I hope to . in time. Of course I am young yet. But then so are you, Madame Collison. You must have been very young when you married. And so sad . , . your husband never to see his son. “

I was silent.

She went on: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken of it. It must be very painful… even now. Forgive me.”

I said: “It’s perfectly all right.”

“Time heals, they say, and you have your dear little boy. My husband was at Centeville last week. He stayed a night at the castle.”

I held my brush above the ivory. It was very necessary that my hand should be absolutely steady. Each stroke was so important.

“Oh yes . , .” I murmured.

“He said the Princesse was not very well. I understand she has not been … since the birth.”

“The birth?” I heard myself say.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? It’s quite some time ago. The child must be about the same age as your little boy. Did you say he was two? Yes, that would be about it … almost exactly, I should imagine.”

“No,” I said, “I didn’t know there was a child.”

“A little boy. It’s a mercy that it was a boy. I hear the Princesse’s health might prevent her from having other children.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s quite a young woman.”

“Oh yes … very young. But it was a difficult birth. Anyway, they have their boy.”

“Did you see him?”

“Only briefly. He looked rather sickly.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Well, you would have expected the Baron to have a child like himself, wouldn’t you?”

“What have they called him?” I asked.

“Rollo, I expect.”

“Oh no … no. That’s the Baron’s name.”

“I had heard that it was and I would have expected the child to be named after him.”

“No. The child is William.”

“Ah, William the Conqueror.”

“He hardly looked like a conqueror, poor little mite. But children grow out of their weaknesses, I believe.”

“Yes, I believe they do.”

“You haven’t to worry about your little one. He looks the picture of health.”

I could not get on after that. I could not shut out of my mind the thought of the Princesse in that castle. She had been afraid of it.

And then to bear a child and suffer and become weakened by it. I thought the Baron would not be very pleased with that now with a sickly child, boy though he was, son and heir and William the Conqueror.

Later that day when I was alone with Nicole I mentioned that conversation to her.

She nodded.

“You knew?” I said.

“I’d heard.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You know how you felt every time his name was mentioned. You still do, a little, I think.”

“All the same, I would rather have heard from you.”

“I’ll remember that if I get any more snippets of gossip.”

“Yes, do. I like to be informed.”

“Even about… certain people?”

“Yes, even about them. How did it go in the Gardens today?”

“Very well. Kendal is becoming interested in statues. He loved the one of Chopin and I had to tell him as much as I knew about the musician.

I even had to sing some of his pieces, with disastrous results I’m afraid. Still, Kendal liked them. “

It was a few weeks later when I received a shock. Kendal had risen from his early afternoon nap and was as usual full of energy. We were finding it hard to keep up with him these days and Nicole often said it had been easier when he could only crawl. He had been out with Nicole all the morning, and after his nap I had promised to take him out. I had taken him to the shop where I bought my brushes and after we had made a few purchases we returned to the house.

As we entered I heard Nicole talking. Visitors, I thought, and was about to take Kendal up the stairs to our apartment when Nicole appeared. She looked rather flustered.

“Kate,” she said, “Your father is here.”

I stood very still. I couldn’t believe I had heard correctly, and just at that moment Clare appeared in the doorway.

“Kate!” She ran to me and embraced me. And there was my father. Kendal looked on at the visitors with curiosity. I had to make a hasty decision.

“Father,” I cried and we embraced.

“We have news for you. We had to tell you in person.. he said.

“What a dear little boy!” cried Clare.

I felt myself flushing scarlet. I was numb and could not think of what to say. Often I had pictured myself telling my father, for I knew that my son’s existence could not be kept secret for ever. But I had certainly never imagined anything like this.

“There is a great deal to explain,” I said.

“Nicole, will you take him up. He can come down and see my father in a little while.”

“I want to see him now,” said Kendal.

“You’ve seen him, darling. I have to talk to him first.”

Nicole took him firmly by the hand and led him away.

I went into the salon with my father and Clare.

“First, tell me your news,” I said firmly, trying to find the words to explain Kendal.

“Clare and I are married,” blurted out my father.

“Married!”

“Three weeks ago. We didn’t tell you because we knew you’d be too busy to come to the wedding and perhaps feel you ought and so make it difficult for you. We thought we’d surprise you on our honeymoon.”

“Oh, Father!” I said.

“You’re not pleased,” said Clare quickly.

“Of course I’m pleased. I think it’s wonderful. No one can care of him like you.”

“I want to care for him,” she said earnestly.

“Particularly now …”

My father was smiling in my direction and I realized that he could not see me very clearly.

I said slowly: “As you have guessed, I have something to tell you.”

“Do you want to speak to your father alone?” asked Clare.

I shook my head.

“No, Clare. You’re one of the family now. I’m afraid this will be a shock to you. The little boy is my son.”

There was a deep silence in the room.

“I couldn’t tell you,” I rushed on.

“That’s why I had to stay here. I couldn’t come to see you …”

“You are married?” asked my father.

“No.”

“I… see.”

“No,” I said.

“I don’t think you do.”

“What happened to Bertrand? You were going to marry him.”

“My child’s father is not Bertrand.”

“Someone else?”

Clare said, “My poor, poor Kate.”

“No,” I said fiercely.

“I am not poor. It happened … and now that I have my boy I wouldn’t have had it otherwise.”

My father was looking bewildered.

“But you were to have married …”

“There was someone else,” I said.

“And you couldn’t marry him?”

I shook my head. My father was struggling with his principles and his love for his daughter. It was a great shock to him that I should have an illegitimate child. I felt I owed him some explanation for I did not want him to think I had been blithely immoral with no thought to consequences.

I said quietly: “It was forced on me.”

“Forced! My dear child!”

“Please … do you mind if we don’t talk about it.”

“Of course we won’t,” Clare said.

“Kendal dear, Kate is happy now .. whatever happened. And she’s successful with her work. That must be a great compensation for everything. And the little boy is such a darling.”

“Thank you, Clare,” I said.

“Perhaps I’ll be able to tell you later.

This has come so suddenly. “

“We should have told you we were on our way,” said Clare.

“We wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s a wonderful surprise. I’m so happy to see you. It is just that ”

“We understand,” said Clare.

“You will tell us when you want to. In the meantime, it is not our business. You have this studio and all this success. It is what you dreamed of, isn’t it?”

My father was looking in my direction as though he had been confronted by a stranger. I went to him and taking his hand kissed it.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s been unfair to you. Perhaps I should have told you. I didn’t want to make difficulties. Believe me, it was not my fault. It… happened to me.”

“You mean … ?”

“Please don’t talk of it. Perhaps later. Not now. Oh, Father, I am so glad you are happy and that you have Clare.”

“Clare has been very good to me.”

I reached for her hand and we all stood close together.

“Please understand,” I said.

“I did not seek it. It … happened. I have a wonderful friend in Nicole who has smoothed the way for me. I believe that in spite of it I have been lucky.”

My father clenched his hand and said softly: “Was it that man… that Baron?”

“Father, please … it’s over and done with.”

“He did a lot for you. So it was because-‘ ” No, no. That’s quite wrong. Perhaps I can talk to you later. not now. “

“Kendal dear,” said Clare gently, ‘don’t distress Kate. Imagine all she has gone through. and then our coming so suddenly. She’ll tell us when she’s ready. Oh, Kate, it is wonderful to see you. Is the little boy interested in painting? “

“Yes, I really think he is going to be. He daubs a bit but I’m sure he has an eye for colour. I named him Kendal.. just in case.”

My father smiled gently. He gripped my hand tightly.

“You should have come to me, Kate,” he said.

“It was my place to help you.”

“I almost did. I might have done if Nicole hadn’t been there. Oh, Father, you have been so lucky to have Clare. I’ve been lucky with Nicole. It is a wonderful thing to have staunch friends.”

“I agree on that. I want to see the boy, Kate.”

"You shall. “

He murmured: “Kendal Collison. He’ll carry the torch perhaps.”

My father and Clare stayed with us for three days.

Once he had recovered from the shock, my father accepted my position in much the same way as he had accepted his oncoming blindness.

He did not ask any more intimate questions. Whether he presumed that I had actually been forced to submit to the Baron or whether he thought he had overpowered me with his persuasion, he did not ask and I did not tell him. He realized that talking of the matter distressed me and he wanted the visit to be a happy one. He wanted to stress the fact -which I already knew-that whatever happened to either of us our love for each other would remain as steady as a rock.

They talked of village matters. Hope had a little baby and was happy although for a long time she had been unable to get over her sister’s death. Everything was the same at the vicarage. Frances Meadows was a wonderful worker and managed the household efficiently as well as countless village concerns.

“Life is very quiet for us compared with you in your wonderful salon,” said Clare.

“But it suits us very well.”

My father’s sight had grown much worse. He did not wear glasses because they made no difference. I thought the time must come when he would be totally blind. I dreaded that day and I know he did.

Clare had long talks with me.

“He is adjusting himself gradually,” she said.

“I read to him. He loves that. Of course he can’t paint at all now. It’s heartbreaking to see him in the studio. He goes up there quite often still. I think your success means a great deal to him.”

“Clare,” I told her, “I don’t know how to be grateful enough to you.”

“It’s I who should be grateful. Before I came to you, life was so empty. Now it is full of meaning. I think I was meant to look after people.”

“It’s a very noble mission in life.”

“Your father is so kind … so good, I’m the lucky one. I am so sorry for people who haven’t had my luck. I often grieve for poor Faith Camborne.”

“She was always so helpless,” I said.

“I know. I tried to befriend her. I did what I could …”

“You were always very helpful to her and I know she was very fond of you.”

“All we can do now is pray that Hope will stop grieving for her sister and enjoy what life has given her … a good husband and a lovely baby.”

“Dear Clare,” I murmured, kissing her, Kendal was very excited to find he had a grandfather. He climbed all over him and peered into his face. He must have heard talk of his very imminent blindness because one day he climbed onto his knees and looking long into his face said:

“How are your poor eyes today?”

My father was so moved that he was almost in tears.

“I’ll see for you,” Kendal said.

“I’ll hold your hand all the time and won’t let you fall over.”

And when I saw the expression on my father’s face I could only rejoice once more in my boy and regret nothing just nothing-that had given him to me.

They were going on to Italy. My father wanted Clare to see those works of art which had affected him so deeply when he had had eyes to see them. I believed he would see them again through Clare.

She was so gentle with him, so kind, not fussing too much but just enough to let him know how much she cared for him, letting him do what he could for himself and yet at the same time always being there if he should need help.

I felt glad that they had come. It was as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer had a dark secret which must be withheld from them. I should be able to write to them freely in future.

“Please, Clare,” I said when they left, “You must come and see me often. It is difficult for me to come to Farringdon, but do come again soon.”

They promised that they would.

Two years had passed. Kendal was now approaching his fifth birthday.

He could draw very well and there was nothing he liked better than to come to the studio in the afternoons when there were no clients there and sit at a bench and paint. He painted the statues he had seen in his favourite Luxembourg Gardens. Chopin particularly delighted him but he did some recognizable pictures of Watteau, Delacroix and Georges Sand. He had a skill which I thought was miraculous. I was writing to my father regularly for he was always wanting news of Kendal and was delighted to hear of his interest in painting; he wrote that at five years old I had begun to show such leanings.

“It is wonderful,” wrote my father, ‘to know that the link is not broken. “

He and Clare came to Paris twice during that period.

He was almost blind now and his writing was becoming difficult to decipher. Clare often wrote in his place. She told me that the decline in his sight, though gradual, was definite. However, he had accepted it and was very happy to talk with her, and she was reading to him more and more. He was up to date with the news and always liked to learn what was happening in France.

“I don’t read to him anything that I think might distress him,” she wrote.

“He did get a little uneasy about the situation over there.

There seems to be a certain dissatisfaction with the Emperor and with the Empress. She is beautiful, I know, but we hear that she is extravagant and then of course she is Spanish and the French always did dislike foreigners. Look how they hated Marie Antoinette. I think your father is always a little anxious that what happened eighty years ago will start all over again. “

I didn’t take much notice of that when I read it. Life in Paris was so pleasant. We had our soirees where beautiful and intelligent people congregated. We talked art more than politics, but I did notice that the latter were beginning to come more and more into the conversation.

Nicole was delighted with life, I think. She lived luxuriously and loved her soirees. I think now and then she took a lover, but there was no really serious relationship. I did not enquire and she did not tell me. I think in her heart she was always aware of what she called my Anglo-Saxon respectability, and she wanted nothing disturbed.

I was not without my admirers. I had never been beautiful but I had acquired something during my years with Nicole. A poise, I suppose. My work was highly successful and I was treated with great respect. It was considered a symbol of social rank to have a Collison miniature, and with the perversity of fashion, my sex, which had been a drawback, now became an asset.

I liked some of the men who made approaches to me, but I could never enter into an intimate relationship. As soon as they showed any signs of familiarity my whole being would shrink and I would see that face leering at me. It had become more and more like the demon-gargoyle of Notre Dame as the years passed.

We were all very happy. I engaged a nursery governess for Kendal. I could not expect Nicole to take him out every day although she liked to on occasions. Jeanne Colet was an excellent woman, kind yet firm.

She was just what Kendal needed. He took to her immediately. He was a very lovable child. He was mischievous occasionally as most children are, but there was always an absence of malice in his mischief. He wanted to find out how things worked and that was why he destroyed them sometimes. It was never due to a desire to spoil.

I suppose I saw him as perfect; but it was a fact that others loved him on sight, and he was a favourite wherever he went. Even the grim concierge came out to see him as he passed in and out. He used to run in and tell me about the people he had met in the Gardens. He spoke a mixture of French and English which was enchanting and perhaps one of his attractions.

However, people noticed him and perhaps that was why when he came back and talked about the gentleman in the gardens I did not at first pay much attention.

There was a fashion at that time for kites. The children flew them in the Gardens every day. Kendal had a beautiful one with the oriflamme the ancient banner of France emblazoned across it. The gold flames on a scarlet background were most effective and it certainly looked very splendid flying up in the sky.

He used to take the kite into the Gardens every morning and he would come back and tell me how high it had flown far beyond the other kites. He had thought it was going to fly right to England to see his grandfather.

Then one day he came back without his kite. He was in tears.

He said: “It flew away.”

“How did you let it do that?”

“The man was showing me how to fly it higher.”

“What man?”

“The man in the Gardens.”

I looked at Jeanne.

“Oh, it’s a gentleman,” she said.

“He’s sometimes there. He sits and watches the children play. He often has a word for Kendal.”

I said to Kendal: “Never mind. We’ll get you another kite.”

“It won’t be my oriflamme.”

“I expect we can find another somewhere,” I assured him.

The next morning he went offkiteless and rather disconsolate.

“I expect it’s with my grandfather by now,” he said, and that seemed to comfort him. Then he said anxiously: “Will he be able to see it?”

His face puckered a little and he showed more than sorrow for the loss of his kite. He was thinking of how his poor grandfather would not be able to see that glorious emblem. It was that thoughtfulness, that feeling for others, which made Kendal so endearing.

“I’ll find another oriflamme kite if I have to scour Paris,” I said to “I’ll do the same,” she told me.

I had a sitting that morning but promised myself that I would go out to look in the afternoon. There was no need to. Kendal came back from the Gardens with a kite about twice the size of the lost one, and more, glorious, more flamboyant was the red and gold emblem of ancient France.

He was so joyous I just knelt down and hugged him.

“Mind the kite,” he warned me.

“It’s a very precious one.”

I looked at Jeanne questioningly.

“It was the gentleman in the Gardens,” she said.

“He was there this morning with the kite.”

“You mean … he’s given it to Kendal?”

“He said it was partly his fault that the other one was lost. He and Kendal played with it all morning.”

I was a little uneasy.

“There was no need for him to replace it,” I said, ‘and even so, to buy such an obviously expensive one. “

A few days passed and each morning Kendal went off with his kite. He had been flying, he told me, with the gentleman in the Gardens.

There came what I was waiting for a cancellation from a sitter and I seized the opportunity. I was going to see the gentleman in the Gardens for myself.

When I saw him I stood very still, trembling with a terrible fear. My impulse was to snatch up Kendal and run as fast as I could.

He was coming towards me. He bowed. Memories came flooding back. I wanted to shout at him: “Go away. Get out of my life.”

But he stood there smiling.

“Mamma,” said Kendal and continued in his delightful combination of the two languages:’ Voila the monsieur of the jar dins

“Kendal and I have become friends,” said the Baron.

“How … how long has this been going on?” I murmured.

“Long enough for us to have become good friends.”

I could not look at him. He terrified me. I knew his ruthlessness and I greatly feared what his next action would be.

“How did you … ?”

“I saw him. I was attracted by him … I discovered his name.”

Kendal was looking from one to the other of us.

“Are we going to fly the kite?” he asked.

“But of course,” replied the Baron.

“Is it not a fine kite?” he went on, looking at me.

“It’s bigger than the one that went to England,” said Kendal.

“I hope your grandfather liked it.”

He knows so much! I thought. He has done this deliberately. Why?

He bowed to me.

“Will you forgive us? We must get the kite in the sky.

It has to show these others how inferior their little efforts are. “

“Come on,” said Kendal.

I watched them move off together. I was dazed. What is he trying to do now? I asked myself. What does this mean? He has been coming to the Gardens to see the boy. Oh, why? When has he ever been interested in children?

So I had not escaped from him. The last few years when I had come to terms with life, when I had learned to accept what it offered me and be grateful for it. they were just the interim.

I was afraid of this man. I knew him to be without mercy.

What did he want with my son?

The appalling truth had to be faced. Kendal was his son too.

I watched the oriflamme rise in the sky. There it was, outshining all others. Everyone was pointing it out and Kendal’s pride in it was immense.

What is he teaching the boy already? I asked myself. Already he is showing him that he must be superior to all others. He must fly a larger kite. He must put the others in the shade.

It was how the Baron had been brought up. He would try to turn my beautiful child into another such as himself.

I heard him say: “Here you are. You hold it. Grip it firmly. Don’t let go. Can you?”

“Of course,” said Kendal.

“Of course,” he repeated.

“I am now going to have a word with your Mamma.”

He sat beside me. Instinctively I moved away. He noticed and laughed.

“What a boy!” he said.

I did not answer.

“He looks just like my grandfather. I have a portrait of him at the boy’s age. The likeness is amazing.”

I said slowly: “This boy is my boy. He is never going to be like those Norse barons who rode roughshod over everyone who stood in their way.”

“There is a sweetness in him,” he went on, ‘inherited from his maternal relations, I don’t doubt. But he’ll be a fighter. “

“I don’t think there is any need to discuss him with you. If you will let me know the cost of the kite …”

“That was my gift to him.”

“I don’t really care for him to take gifts from strangers.”

“Not from his own father!”

I turned to him sharply.

“What are you planning?”

“I merely made a comment. I am his father and I shall give him a kite if I want to… or anything else for that matter.”

“I am his mother. I have brought him into this world and cared for him ever since. It is not for you to come along now because you like the look of him and claim to be his father. How can you be sure that you are.”

He looked at me sardonically.

“You are a woman of impeccable morals, I am sure. Everything fits. One only has to look at him.”

“Lots of children look alike.”

“Not so like. Besides, I knew him at once as soon as I saw him. I said to myself: That is my son.”

“You have no claim on him.”

“Don’t let him see that you are afraid of me. That might arouse his resentment against me. I have heard from him what a beautiful, clever mother he has. I have also heard talk of you. You justified my belief in you. The famous Kate Collison … beautiful … young … aloof … a little mysterious … living almost like a nun, they say.”

“Where did you get this information?”

“You live in the limelight, dear Kate. One cannot help but bear these things. I said to myself: There has been no one else in Kate’s life. I was the one. I remain the one.”

“I see your opinion of yourself has not changed.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ll tell you this, Kate. I am not a very happy man.”

“How is that? Surely you can juggle with circumstances and give yourself what you want?”

“It’s not easy.”

“You have indeed changed. I thought you were omnipotent.”

“Not quite, alas.”

“Surely you are not content with being ” not quite”?”

“Listen, Kate, don’t let’s waste time like this. I have thought of you often.”

“I suppose that is meant to be flattering.”

“It’s the truth. That was a wonderful time for me.”

“It was hardly that for me.”

“It was, Kate. If you are truthful with yourself you will admit you loved it … every minute. Come, you know you did.”

“I hated it. I hated you. It ruined …”

“Your life? No. Look for yourself. Out of it came that beautiful boy.

You wouldn’t change that, would you? “

“I have my boy and I am going to keep him.”

“You wouldn’t have him any different, would you … not in one little way?”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

“There you are. He had to be part mine to make him as he is. You might have married Bertrand. I saved you from that. | I was surprised when he didn’t go ahead. I told him to, but | he defied me. He lost a great deal. He is a very poor man now. a He married hoping his wife would bring him something. She did a little … not as much as he hoped though.”

“Did you have a hand in that?”

“He had to learn he could not defy me. Oh, you would have been so bored with him. Such a milk and water gentleman. It would have lasted with you, Kate. It would have ruined your career. Madame de Mortemer.

No, I don’t see you as that. Instead here you are, glorious Kate Collison, sought after but unattainable, the great artist, and the mother of the most delightful boy in France. Tell me, does he paint? ”

“What is it to you?”

“A great deal.”

“I refuse to answer.”

“Oh Kate … the same Kate. It take me back so. I should never have let you go. You see I can make mistakes.”

“That’s an extraordinary admission. Yes, you have indeed changed. It surprises me very much to hear you admit defeat.”

“I hope you will take pity on me.”

“I don’t believe a word you say, you know. I never shall.”

“Oh, you admit we shall have other opportunities for disagreeing. That implies a continuation of our relationship which I very much desire.”

“I think I should be going.”

“You can’t bring down the oriflamme yet … unless you would like me to take charge of the boy.”

“That I will never allow.”

“I thought not,” he said.

“Why have you come here?” I asked.

“To see the boy.”

“To ingratiate yourself with him.”

“I want his friendship.”

“It is not for you.”

“Shame, Kate. His own father!”

“I heard you have a son of your own … a legitimate one.”

His face hardened.

“I have no son,” he said.

“The Princesse has a son, I was told.”

“She has.”

“Then …”

“You knew, Kate. You were with her. I believe she confided in you. She did not come to me a virgin.”

I looked at him steadily, mockingly. He was very serious now.

“The child was born too soon,” he said.

“I knew it was not mine. She admitted that she had had a lover. Armand L’Estrange. So I give my name to a bastard. What do you think of that? It makes you laugh, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing.

“It makes me laugh.” Then I was sober suddenly.

“The poor little Princesse … I began.

“Oh, you are sorry for her, are you? That deceitful harlot.”

“I’d be sorry for anyone who had the ill fortune to marry you.”

“Well, you have the satisfaction of knowing that I have a share in that misfortune.”

“You are outraged, I am sure. Never mind. You have learned a valuable lesson. You can be deceived like anyone else. What is good for men is perhaps after all good for women. You should not feel so angry because you have been caught at your own game.”

“I had forgotten you are one of the advanced women, are you not? You are a woman and an artist. You stand side by side with men and compete with them.”

“I compete as an artist… if you call it competing. This is not a matter of sex.”

“I gave you your chance … remember that. Do you think you would have found it so easy if I had not?”

“No. But you claim to be a lover of art. You recognized my talent and for that reason only you pointed it out to others.”

“I was interested m_you.”

“As an artist.”

“And as a woman. I think I proved that.”

“Oh, I thought that was a matter of sordid revenge.”

“It is always a good rule to combine business with pleasure.”

“Well, it is over now. You submitted me to the greatest humiliation one person can inflict on another. For that I shall never forgive you.

You owe me something. Well, keep out of my way. Keep away from my son. “

“You ask too much.”

He took my hand and crushed it in his.

“I wouldn’t harm either of you,” he said.

“I happen to be very fond of you both.”

“Who was it said. Fear the Greeks when they bring gifts? I have another comment and that is that when men like you play at being kindly they are at their most deadly.”

“Kate, you’ve changed. Understand that I have changed too.”

“I do not believe you will ever change for anything but the worse.”

“Won’t you give me a chance?”

“No.”

“Cruel Kate.”

“There is only one way in which you can change my feelings towards you.”

“What is that?”

“Stay away from me … and mine. And do you want a word of advice?”

“From you, Kate, that would be golden, I am sure.”

“I had to face a frightening situation. When I discovered I was going to have a child I did not know which way to turn. I had a good friend and I came through; and now I have come to terms with life. You should do the same. You have a son.

You may have more children. You must not blame the Princesse because she did once what you have spent your life doing. At least in her case it was done by consenting parties. “

“Oh Kate,” he said, ‘it does me so much good to be with you. Do you know, I feel more alive just to hear you talk. I really do enjoy being berated by you. Do you remember how you fought me? You really meant to fight, didn’t you? Have pity on me. My marriage is a disaster, I hate my wife’s sickly bastard, I despise my wife. She cannot have more children. Bearing the bastard did something to her. There’s my sad story. “

“There’s a moral in it.”

“What’s that?”

“The wicked never prosper.”

He laughed and I stood up. He stood beside me. I had forgotten how big he was, how overpowering.

“I’d like to have a chance to put my case to you,” he said.

“May I?”

“No,” I answered.

“I am not interested in your case. I can only see you as a barbarian, a savage born out of your century. If you would please me … and God knows you owe me something … you will stay out of my life. Leave me with what I have suffered for and worked for.

These things belong to me and you have no part in them. ” I called:

“Kendal. Bring down the oriflamme. It’s time to go home.”

The Baron went to the boy and helped him with the kite. Kendal was leaping round with excitement while the Baron handed him the kite.

“Thank you for it,” said Kendal.

“It’s the best and biggest kite that was ever in the sky.”

I thought: Already he is making my son like him.

We made our way silently home. I was deeply apprehensive. I had not felt such fear for a long time.

Kendal walked soberly beside me, carefully carrying his oriflamme kite.