The Silk Vendetta

Carsonne

The Paris salon was my salvation. For a whole year I worked steadily. I did not want to think about Drake. Grand’mere was as ever a constant solace, always thinking of what was best for me. The Countess briskly refused to allow me to be sorry for myself. The Paris salon was, in her eyes, a more worthwhile acquisition than a husband. My father was comforting, too. He was so eager to make up for all the years when we had not known each other. And there was Katie. She was so excited by what was going on, and to see her little face alight with interest and listen to the endless questions, made me feel that whatever my loss, I had a great deal to live for.

They nursed me through that time, and the days became tolerable although at night I would feel sad and find myself brooding on what might have been. I had loved Philip, youthfully, romantically. There had not been time for us to discover the flaws in our natures which living together might have disclosed. We had existed in a state of euphoric idealism. Could it have gone on like that? Perhaps not. But our love would always remain in our minds as it had been … not as it might have turned out to be. And he had died tragically, unexpectedly … and no one knew exactly why; and now when there had seemed the chance of a more mature relationship with a man whom I admired, respected and loved, events had been so contrived that I had lost him, too. Sometimes I felt that I was doomed to lose my lovers and to bring disaster on them. Philip had died by a gunshot wound and Drake had fallen into what could be a worse fate; he was married to a woman whom he hated.

I must try to forget that my dream was shattered and stari again.

In a way I was lucky, for this project which demanded my deeply involved attention would help me.

Grand’mere had decided that it would be a good idea if I went to Paris. We had a good manageress in London and with Cassie to help we could leave her in charge. That meant thai Grand’mere, the Countess and I, with Katie, went to Paris.

From time to time the Countess would return to London to make sure that everything was working smoothly there and then she would come back to us.

Katie was delighted with Paris. I had engaged two governesses for her—one French, one English, for as she might be living in France for some time she must become proficient in the language, but at the same time she must not neglect her English studies. Miss Price was earnest and conscientious and just a little prim, a contrast to Mademoiselle Leclerc who was voluble and high-spirited. She came from Lyons where, she assured me, the best French was spoken.

Katie was rather a serious child. She greatly enjoyed the company of Mademoiselle but I think she had a greater respect for Miss Price who imposed strict rules. Katie’s loving nature enabled her to adjust herself to the two and I was amused to see how she changed in their company; she could be quite sedate with Miss Price and frivolous with Mademoiselle Leclerc. I was pleased with the arrangement.

With Mademoiselle she would take her hoop into the gardens; they would ride in steamers along the Seine; she would make the acquaintance of other children there and was soon able to chat with them. With Miss Price she took quiet walks along the river, looking at the books on the stalls and visiting places of historic interest. Miss Price made a point of studying the history connected with the places they visited and afterwards Katie would pass on what she had learned to me and I was pleased and gratified by the knowledge she was acquiring.

There were a few initial difficulties to be smoothed out, but the Countess was adept at dealing with such matters and sooner than I had expected we were establishing ourselves.

I thought of home. In the election which had taken place soon after Drake’s wedding Gladstone had triumphed though without the large majority for which he had hoped and—much to the Queen’s disgust—went to Osborne to kiss her hand. “A deluded old man of eighty-two,” she called him, “trying to govern England with his miserable democrats. He was quite ridiculous.”

“This will be a step up for a certain party,” commented the Countess.

I wondered what he was doing. Whether he was finding Julia’s social expertise a compensation for a lack of love.

“But they’ll be out soon,” said the Countess. “It’s Gladstone’s obsession with Ireland that will be their downfall.”

I used to wonder a great deal about the child who had been so casually conceived. I wondered whether it would prove a consolation to Drake. It was some time before I heard that there had never been a child—so the very reason why Drake had married Julia had not existed.

I longed for news. I was thinking of Drake a good deal. I heard that Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill though it had passed through the Commons had been rejected by the Lords.

Another year passed and I was still thinking of Drake. We were so busy that there was time for little else beside the salon.

My father paid periodic visits to Paris. He was a great help to us—not only financially—for he was as eager as any of us to see the business a success.

Katie was a delight to him—especially when she could chatter in his own language. He was constantly urging me to visit his vineyards. Katie would love it, he said. And how right he was.

He had several but his favourite was the one in Villers-Carsonne, which was very close to Villers-Mure. I had an idea that this was the one he loved best because it was close to his old home and the country was the scene of his childhood. His voice softened when he spoke of it; but it was not to it that he took us first, but to one not so far from Paris.

He thought Katie would be interested in the vendange. In fact, she was quite enchanted, and she thoroughly enjoyed those weeks we spent there. She was learning to ride. My father set one of the grooms to teach her and when she was not joining in the harvesting of the grapes, she was riding with the groom. My memory went back to those days when she had ridden round the paddock at Swaddingham with Drake and I was sad watching and thinking of what might have been.

Her happy face was some consolation to me. It was a great occasion when she was let off the leading rein. My father said she was a born horsewoman and as much at home on a horse’s back as on her own two feet. He would ride with her round the vineyard—he on his big black horse, she on her pony while he told her about the grapes, answering her interminable questions with pleasure; and afterwards she would come and tell me everything.

This was one of the more old-fashioned of his vineyards and here they trod the grapes in the ancient manner. I think he had wanted Katie to see this and it was his reason for bringing us here.

He would talk to her as though she were an adult—which won her heart—explaining to her that at most of his vineyards he used a machine to crush the grapes. It had two wooden cylinders turning in opposite directions and in this machine not a single grape escaped. But some liked the old ways best and preferred to do what had been done through the centuries.

What a night that was! The grapes, which had been laid out for ten days on a level floor to take the sun, were put into troughs, and the villagers sang as they danced on them, crushing them while the juice trickled through into the vats which had been placed below to catch it.

It was magic to Katie, and perhaps to all of us. My father’s eyes were sentimental as he watched her—her hair flying loose, her eyes alight with excitement.

“You must always come to the vendange,” he said.

Katie was reluctant to return to Paris, but soon she forgot the regrets and was content again.

I remember the day when one of our English clients came to Paris. She was Lady Bonner, a noted hostess, who was said to know more of other people’s private lives than any other woman in London. She was voluble and always eager to impart the latest scandal.

She knew of my connection with Julia and asked if I had heard from her lately.

I said that we had not.

“Oh dear me! Quite a scandal. Poor Drake, what a mistake he has made! Of course, it was her money. He needed that. He is an ambitious man. Mind you, he comes from a wealthy family, but he has that sort of pride that says No, I will make my way on my own. Making his way meant marrying money … and so he did that. But what a burden the poor man found he had taken on. She drinks … you know.”

All I said was: “Oh?”

“Oh yes, my dear. Surely you knew. It was always a problem with her and now it has become really serious.”

“There was to be a child …” I began. “Perhaps having lost it…”

“A child! Good Heavens, no! That’s not Julia’s line at all. It was this function. She was so intoxicated… . She staggered when she was talking to Lord Rosebery … and if Drake hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have fallen flat on her face. You can imagine the talk. Poor Drake was overcome with embarrassment. This could cost him a post in the government… if there ever is a stable one. He thought her money would help … and so it would if she had been the right sort of wife. They all think they are going to get a Mary Anne Disraeli. He made a big mistake, poor man, and it may well cost him his career.”

“But he is an able politician,” I protested.

“Only half of the battle, my dear.”

She went on talking of the London scene but I was only half listening. I was thinking of Drake who had blundered into such a disaster.

Poor Drake, he was no happier than I was—in fact he had not the consolations which I was so grateful for.

Cassie came to Paris now and then and often the Countess went to London. We were now making a profit in Paris and business was flourishing in London where our name had been greatly enhanced. We were a big name in the world of fashion.

Three years had passed since Drake’s marriage to Julia and Katie was now eleven years old.

One day my father said: “I am going to take you to Villers-Carsonne.”

He had often seemed a little secretive when he mentioned it and I had the feeling that there was some reason why he was not eager to talk of the place, let alone take us there.

Now he seemed to have come to the conclusion that the time was ripe. He sought an opportunity, when we were alone, to talk to me.

“You may have wondered,” he said, “why I have not suggested you come to Villers-Carsonne before.”

I admitted that I had.

“It is near the place where I was brought up. It is my favourite vineyard. There we produce our best wines. I am there frequently, but I have never taken you there. Why? you asked.”

“I did not,” I said, “but I will.”

He hesitated for a while and then he said: “This is because I have much to tell you. Your grandfather, Alphonse St. Allen-gere, is well known throughout that part of the country. They say that he is Villers-Mure. It may be difficult for you to understand but Villers-Mure resembles a feudal community. In Villers-Mure my father is the lord of all, the grand seigneur. Monsieur le Patron. He is as powerful as a medieval king. It is a restricted community. Almost everyone depends on the silk manufactory; he owns that manufactory; and therefore they owe their livelihoods to him.”

”He sounds formidable.”

He nodded gravely. “He would not receive you, Lenore.”

“I realize that he does not accept me as his granddaughter. But should that prevent my going to your vineyard? That does not belong to him, does it?”

“It is mine. He does see me when I am there. Because I have done well and not through his help he has a certain respect for me. I am an undutiful son, he implies, but grudgingly, he allows me to call on him.”

”I think I should be inclined to refrain from calling.”

“One does not. He has a certain quality … and as much as one resents his attitude one finds oneself obeying.”

“I am quite prepared not to be received.”

“My sister Ursule will be delighted to meet you.”

”Will she be allowed to? “

“Ursule does not live at the house in Villers-Mure. She lives in Villers-Carsonne. She was disowned long ago. She defied him, you see.”

“Forgive me, mon pere, but your father seems to be a man it is better not to have to meet.”

He nodded. “Ursule was disowned shortly after I was. Louis Sagon, her husband now, came to the house to restore my father’s pictures. He painted a portrait of Ursule and fell in love with her—and she with him. My father had other plans for her. He forbade the match. They eloped and as a result she was cut off from the house. She married Louis Sagon and they settled in Villers-Carsonne. My father has never seen her since. She was more courageous than I was.”

“And she is happily married?”

“Yes. She has a son and a daughter. She will want to meet you. We see a great deal of each other when I go to the vineyard.”

“So that was two of you who were disowned.”

“Yes. Two of us disappointed him. My elder brother, Rene, however was a comfort to him. He is taking over a great deal of the work at the manufactory, although of course my father is still head of affairs there. Rene is a good son. And he has produced two sons … and there were two daughters … twins… . One of them, Heloise, died.”

“Long ago?”

”Twelve years or so.”

“She must have been young to die.”

“Just seventeen. She … drowned herself. It was a great blow to us all… and especially to Adele, her twin sister. They had always been close.”

“Why did she do this?”

“Some love affair. It was all rather mysterious.”

“It seems to me to be a very sad household, but then I suppose it would be with a man like your father ruling over it.”

He agreed sombrely. ”I want you to be prepared before you come.”

“I shall not think of my grandfather. If he does not wish to see me, then I have no desire to see him.”

“Ursule has expressed her eagerness to meet you. She is always urging me to bring you.”

“Then I shall look forward to meeting her. She is, of course, my aunt.”

“You will like her, and Louis Sagon. He is immersed in his work and appears to have little interest in anything else, but you will like him. He is a quiet, gentle, kindly man.”

”I shall be content with meeting them—and forget all about my ogre of a grandfather.”

In spite of the fact that he had prepared me in a way for what I must expect, my father seemed to view the proposed visit with some trepidation.

I said goodbye to Grand’mere and the Countess, and Katie and I set off with my father.

We travelled by train and it was a long journey from Paris. Katie was in a state of high excitement. She kept to the window, my father beside her, pointing out the landmarks as we went along. We passed through towns and farmlands, past rivers and hills. There was great interest when we saw vineyards and my father would cast a knowledgeable eye over them; we glimpsed several ancient castles—grey-stoned with the pepper-pot towers which were such a feature of the country. My father was growing a little subdued as we drew nearer and nearer to his birthplace. I fancied he was suffering a certain uneasiness and I wondered whether he was asking himself whether his father would hear of my presence and what his reaction would be.

They were to send a carriage to the station of Carsonne to take us to the house. He told me that they would know exactly when we should arrive as there was only one train a day.

It was a small station.

”We are lucky to have it,” he said. ”The Comte de Carsonne insisted on it. He is a very influential man. It was something of a fight, I believe, but the Comte usually gets his way in such matters.”

As we came into the station my father waved his hand towards a man in dark blue livery who was standing there.

“Alfredo!” he called. He turned to me. “He is Italian. Some of the servants are. We are very close to the borders and that makes us somewhat Italianate in certain ways.”

Alfredo was at the door taking the luggage.

“This is my daughter, Madame Sallonger,” said my father, “and my granddaughter, Mademoiselle Katie Sallonger.”

Alfredo bowed. We smiled at him and he took our bags.

My father was evidently a man of some importance in the neighbourhood if the respect which was shown him was any indication. Caps were touched and welcomes offered.

Then we were in the carriage driving along.

The vineyard was spread out before us. People were already gathering the grapes and we saw the labourers with their oziers, so carefully poised as not to damage the grapes with too much motion.

My father said: “We are in good time for the vendange. “At which Katie expressed her pleasure.

Ahead I saw the chateau. It stood on what looked like a square platform surrounded by deep dykes.

“How grand!” I exclaimed.

“Chateau Carsonne,” said my father.

“And does this Comte … the one who insisted on bringing the railway to Carsonne … live here?”

“The very same.”

“Does he actually reside there?”

“Oh yes. I believe he has a house in Paris … and probably in other places, but this is the ancestral home of the Carsonnes.”

“Shall we meet them, these Carsonnes?”

“It is hardly likely. Our families are not on the best of terms.”

“Is there some sort of feud?”

“Hardly that. My father’s land borders on theirs. There is a sort of armed neutrality … not open warfare … but both sides ready to go into action at the least offence from the other.”

“It sounds very warlike to me.”

“It is hard for you with your English upbringing to understand the fierce nature of the people here. It is the Latin blood … and although you were born with it, your upbringing has evidently brought down its boiling point.”

I laughed. “It all sounds very interesting.”

“We shall soon see my place. Oh, look. Ahead of you.”

Katie leaped up and down with excitement. My father put an arm about her and held her against him.

It was like a miniature chateau with the now familiar pepper-pot towers. It was of grey stone and there were green shutters at the windows, several of which had wrought-iron balconies. It was charming.

As we drew up I saw a man and a woman standing at the door as though to receive us.

“There is Ursule,” said my father. “Ursule, my dear, how good of you to come over to greet us. And you, Louis.” He turned to me. ”This is your aunt Ursule. And this is her husband Louis.” He smiled at them. “Lenore,” he said, “and her daughter, Katie.”

“Welcome to Carsonne,” said Ursule. She was dark-haired and not unlike my father. There was an air of kindliness about her and I liked her immediately. Louis was, as my father had said, a very gentle man. He took my hands and said how pleased he was to see me.

”We have been urging your father for a long time to bring you here,” said Ursule. “Come along in. We live half a mile away. I had to come over to welcome you.”

We went into the house and were in a long panelled hall with a great fireplace round which gleamed brass ornaments.

“I have arranged which room Lenore shall have,” said Ursule. ‘ ‘I thought it better not to leave it to the servants, and Katie shall have the one immediately next to hers.”

“That is thoughtful of you,” I said. “We like to be close.”

Katie was taking everything in as Ursule took us up to our rooms. Mine was low-ceilinged with pale green drapes and bedspread and there were hints of green in the light grey carpet. It was a charming restful room and what delighted me was the communicating door between it and Katie’s.

In mine there was a balcony. I opened the french windows and stepped out. In the distance I could see the towers of the Chateau Carsonne and the terracotta coloured roofs of the houses in the little town close by. And there below me were the ever-present vines.

I felt touched in some odd way. Beyond the chateau lay Villers-Mure—the mulberries and the manufactory … the place where I had first seen the light of day. I suppose one must be moved by the sight of one’s birthplace, particularly when one has never seen it before.

Hot water was brought and we washed and changed our clothes. Katie kept exclaiming at something new she had discovered.

She said: “Isn’t it exciting to find a grandfather in the park? You’re always finding out something about him. Other people’s grandfathers are rather dull. They’ve been there all the time.”

“Some people might like it that way,” I commented.

“I don’t. I like it our way.”

After we had eaten a meal in the courtyard we were taken back into the house to meet the servants. There were quite a number of them. Ursule explained everything to me as we went along.

“We eat in the courtyard until it gets too cold. We like the fresh air. And it can be very hot sometimes. Georges—your father’s son … your half-brother really … comes here quite frequently. He has his own place now about fifteen kilometres away. His sister Brigitte has recently married and lives in Lyons. I daresay you’ll meet them sometimes. I am so glad you and my brother are together. He has never forgotten your existence and when your grandmother came here and sought him out he was so excited … so happy. So it is wonderful to see you here.”

“He has been so good to me.”

“He feels he can never make up.”

“He has to me … more than I can say.”

She asked if I could ride and I told her that I could.

”That is good. It is not easy to get around any other way and you should see a little of the countryside.”

“I should like to see Villers-Mure.”

She did not speak for a moment. Then she said: “I haven’t been there for over twenty years.”

“Yet it is so near.”

“Did you know the story? I displeased my father when I married. It is not forgotten.”

“It seems … terrible … all that time.”

“That’s the way it is.”

“Have you never tried to become friendly again?”

“It is clear that you do not know my father. He is a man who prides himself on keeping his word. He has said he will never see me again—and that is what he will do.”

“He must miss a great deal in life. He must be very unhappy. ”

She shook her head. “He has what he wants. He is the Seigneur of Villers-Mure. He is the king in his domain and all must obey him or suffer the penalty he inflicts upon them for disobedience. I believe he is content. Well, I have never regretted choosing the way I did.”

”So you never go there?”

She shook her head. ”Never.”

After Ursule had shown us the house, my father took us on a little tour round the vineyards. We ate once more in the courtyard and we sat long over the meal until it was dark. The night air was scented and as we sat watching the stars appear in the sky, a bat flew back and forth … low just over our heads; and we still sat on.

My father, I knew, was very content, that at last we had come. Ursule and Louis were staying for a few days. “To see you settled in,” said Ursule. “Your father needs a hostess at times and this is one of them.”

We talked desultorily about the little town of Carsonne which was almost on the borders of Italy, and where the air was just right for the cultivation of the grape.

We were growing drowsy on my father’s best wine which he had had brought up from his cellar for the occasion and I noticed that Katie was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open, so I suggested we go to bed.

I saw Katie into her bed. “I’ll leave the communicating door open,” I said. “Then we shall be close.”

I think she was rather glad of that. Perhaps she felt that there was something rather eerie about the countryside after dark. By the time I had tucked her in and kissed her good night she was almost asleep.

Then I went to my room. I undressed, but before getting into bed I opened the windows and went out onto the balcony. It looked dark and mysterious—the stars brilliant in the clear air; and seeming closer than it did by day. There it was—the Chateau Carsonne, arrogant, mighty, menacing in a way. I found it difficult to withdraw my gaze from it.

Finally I went to bed but I found sleep elusive. I kept thinking of all the events of the day and when I did sleep it was to be haunted by dreams in which my wicked grandfather loomed large and the Chateau Carsonne was a prison in which he had decided to shut me up because I had dared come into his territory against his wishes.

When I awoke the dream lingered. It made me feel very uneasy and the first thing I did on rising was to go out to the balcony and look at the Chateau Carsonne.

A few days passed with rapid speed. Ursule and Louis departed, Ursule insisting that we visit them soon. I assured her mat there was little I should like more. We were good friends already.

“We are always in a little turmoil here at the time of the vendange,” said my father. “An excitement grips the household. It is the culmination of a year’s hard work… all the trials we have undergone … all the anxieties as to whether or not there would be a good harvest or no harvest at all … that is over, and this is the achievement.”

“It’s understandable.”

“If you knew what we have suffered. It has been a little damp this year and we have had to keep a watch for mildew. Apart from that it has been a fairly good season. And now it is over and everything is being gathered in. Hence the jubilation and the anticipation of the great climax.”

There were horses for both Katie and me and we loved to ride round exploring. Katie was quite a good rider by now, but at this time her chief interest was in the wine harvest.

She liked to go off with my father and he liked to have her with him; this gave me an opportunity to ride out alone.

I knew that Katie was safe and happy with my father and so I could give myself up to the complete enjoyment of exploring the countryside.

It was some four days after our arrival when the whole countryside seemed to be taking its afternoon siesta. I donned my riding habit and went down to the stables.

My father had suggested I use a certain chestnut mare. She was smallish and not over-frisky, but at the same time she had spirit. We suited each other; and that afternoon I rode out on her.

I found myself going in that direction where lay Villers-Mure. There was one point where I could ride up to the top of a ridge of hills and look down on the valley. It was becoming a favourite spot of mine and I knew that one day I should be tempted to ride down the slopes and into that village.

On this afternoon I went to this spot. From where I was I could see the mulberry bushes and the manufactory with its glass windows in the distance. It did not look like a factory. A small stream ran past it and there was a bridge over it on which creepers grew; it was very picturesque. I could see the towers of the big house and I wondered what my grandfather was doing at that moment and whether he was aware that his granddaughter was close by.

One day, I thought, I will ride down there. I will find the house where Grand’mere lived with her daughter; and I wondered if my mother had ever come up here and stood on this very spot, where she and my father had met, where I had been conceived. This was the place of my birth and I was forbidden to go to it.

I turned away. The sun was hot this afternoon. Away to my right the thicket looked cool and inviting and I could smell the redolence of the pines. I turned the chestnut towards the thicket. The trees grew more closely together as I progressed. It was beautiful… the smell of damp earth … the sudden coolness and the scent of the trees. I rode on deeper into the wood. I wondered how far it extended. It had seemed quite a small wood when I had first seen it and I was sure that if I went on I should emerge soon.

I heard the bark of a dog. Someone was in the woods. Or perhaps it was just a dog. The barking was coming nearer. It sounded fierce, angry. Then suddenly two Alsatian dogs were visible through the trees. When they saw me they gave what sounded like a yelp of triumph and they were bounding towards me. They stopped abruptly, looking straight at me, and their barking was truly menacing. I felt the chestnut quiver. She drew her head back. She was very uneasy.

“Go away,” I cried to the dogs forcing a note of authority into my voice which seemed only to infuriate them the more, for their barking intensified and they looked as though they were ready to spring at me.

To my relief a man had come riding through the trees. He pulled up sharply and stared at me.

Then he said: “Fidele. Napoleon. Come here.”

The dogs stopped their barking immediately and went to stand beside his horse.

In those few seconds I noticed a good deal about him. He was riding a magnificent black horse and he sat it as though he were part of it. He reminded me of a centaur. His eyes were very dark and heavily lidded and his eyebrows were firmly marked. His hair under his riding hat was almost black. His skin was fair which was one of the reasons why he was so striking. It made such a contrast to dark hair and eyes. His nose was what I call aggressive—long, patrician, reminding me of the pictures I had seen of Francois Premier. His mouth was the most expressive part of his face. I imagined it could be cruel and at the same time humorous. He was one of the most striking looking men I had ever seen and that was the reason why I could take in so much in such a short time.

I knew at once that he was a man of power who set himself above others and he was as accustomed to obedience from those about him as he was from his dogs. He was now studying me with those strongly marked eyebrows slightly raised. His gaze was penetrating and I felt uncomfortable beneath it. I was vaguely irritated by the intensity of his inspection and I could not refrain from showing my displeasure.

I said: “I suppose these are your dogs.”

“These are my dogs and these are my woods and you are trespassing.”

“I am sorry.”

“We prosecute trespassers.”

”I had no idea that I was doing so.”

“There are notices.”

“I am afraid I did not see them. I am a stranger here.”

“That does not excuse you, Mademoiselle.”

“Madame,” I said.

He bowed ironically. “A thousand apologies, Madame. May I know your name?”

”Madame Sallonger.”

“St. Allengere. Then you are connected with the silk merchants.”

“I did not say St. Allengere but Sallonger. That was my husband’s name.”

“And your husband … he is here with you now?”

”My husband is dead.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thank you. I will now leave your woods and apologise for the trouble I have caused if you and your dogs will allow me to pass.”

“I will escort you.”

“There is no need. I am sure I can find my way.”

“It is easy to lose oneself in the woods.”

“They did not seem to me to be so very extensive.”

“Nevertheless … if you will allow me.”

“Of course. You will want to make sure that I leave your property at once. I can only say I am sorry for the intrusion. It shall not happen again.”

He approached me. I patted the chestnut and murmured words of reassurance. She was still disturbed by the dogs.

“She seems restive,” he said.

“She does not like your Fidele and Napoleon.”

“They are a very dutiful pair.”

“They look vicious.”

“They could be in the course of their duty.”

“Which is to keep trespassers from your land.”

“That among other things. Come this way.”

He rode beside me and we went through the woods, the dogs docile now, accepting me and the chestnut as approved by then-master.

He said: “Tell me, Madame Sallonger, are you visiting this place?”

“I am here with my father, Henri St. Allengere.”

”Then you are one of them.”

“I suppose so.”

“I see. Then I believe I know exactly who you are. You are that one whose grandmother took her to England which accounts for your accent and that somewhat foreign aspect.”

“I’m sorry for the accent.”

“Don’t be. It is charming. You speak our language fluently, but there is just that little betrayal which gives you away. I like it. As for your foreign ways … I like those too. Vive la difference.”

I smiled.

“Now,” he went on, “you are asking yourself, who is this arrogant man who has dared accost me and driven me from his woods? Is that so?”

“Well, who is he?”

“Not a very pleasant character, as you will have gathered.”

He was looking at me expectantly but I did not answer. That amused him. He laughed. I turned to look at him. He was like a different person now. His eyes were brilliant…full of laughter. His mouth had changed too: it had softened.

“And you would be perfectly right,” he said. “My name is Gaston de la Tour.”

”And you live hereabouts?”

“Yes, close by.”

“And you own the woods of which you are very proud and eager to keep to yourself.”

“Correct,” he agreed. “And I resent others using them.”

“They are so beautiful,” I said. “It is a shame to keep them to yourself.”

“It is because they are beautiful that I want to. You see, I am entirely mean-spirited.”

“What harm do people do in your woods?”

“Little, I suppose. But let me think. They might damage the trees … start fires. But the real reason is that I like what is mine to be mine alone. Do you think that is reprehensible?”

“I think it is a common human failing.”

”You are a student of nature?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am self-absorbed … a quite impossible creature really.”

“You have one virtue.”

“Pray tell me what good you have discovered in me?”

“You know that you are … your own words … quite impossible. To know oneself is a great virtue and so few of us have it.”

“What a charming trespasser you are! I am so glad you took it into your head to come into my woods. Please tell me, Madame Sallonger, how long will you stay among us?”

“We have come for the vendange.”

“We?”

“My daughter and I.”

“So you have a daughter.”

“Yes. She is eleven years old.”

“We have something in common. I have a son. He is twelve years old. So we are both … parents. There is something else. You are a widow. I am a widower. Is that not interesting?”

”I don’t know. Is it? There must be a great many widows and widowers in the world. I suppose they meet fairly frequently.”

“You are so prosaic … calm … logical. Is that the English in you?”

“Actually I am French by birth, English by education and upbringing.”

“The latter probably forms one’s nature more than anything. I’ll tell you something. I know exactly who you are. I was eight years old at the time. So you now know my age. In a place like this people know the business of others. It is a place where it is impossible to have secrets. There was a big furore. Henri St. Allengere and the young girl… one of the beauties of the place … the wicked old man who blighted their lives. Blighting lives is a habit of old Alphonse St. Allengere. He is one of the ogres of the neighbourhood … quite the most monstrous.”

“You are right in thinking he is my grandfather.”

“Condolences on that point.”

“I see you do not like him.”

“Like him? Does one like a rattlesnake? He is well known throughout this neighbourhood. If you go to the church you will see the stained glass windows restored by the benevolence of Alphonse St. Allengere. The lectern is a gift from him. The roof is now in excellent condition. Through him war was declared on the death watch beetle; the church owes its survival to him. He is God’s good friend and man’s worst enemy.”

“Is that possible?”

“That is something, my dear Madame Sallonger, which you with your knowledge of human nature, will be able to decide more easily than I.”

I said: “It is a long way through the woods.”

”I am glad of it. It gives me a chance to enjoy this interesting conversation.”

I was suspicious suddenly. It had not taken me long to reach that spot where the dogs had found me. He saw my look, interpreted it and smiled at me ingratiatingly.

“Where shall we emerge?” I asked.

“You will see.”

“I am not very familiar with this terrain. I want to be able to find my way back.”

“You will be safe with me.”

“I think I should be back now. They will wonder what has become of me.”

“Leave this to me.”

”I seemed not to have gone so far.”

“The woods are beautiful … you said you thought so.”

“I did. But I had no intention of lingering.”

“I give you permission to come to my woods at any time you like.”

“Thank you. That is generous of you.”

”I have my good points.”

“I feel sure you have.”

“Then I have managed to vindicate myself during this brief encounter.”

“But, of course. You have been most courteous after the first shock of finding me. Now if you will show me the way out of the woods … quickly … I shall be most grateful.”

“Your gratitude is something I appreciate. Come along.”

The trees were thinning. We were out in the open and ahead of us lay the chateau.

I caught my breath and said: “It’s magnificent.”

“The home of the Comtes de Carsonne for hundreds of years.”

“I know. I was told of them. I saw it when we arrived and was most impressed.”

”It is one of the finest and oldest chateaux in this part of the country.”

”I understand the present Comte is in residence quite often.”

“Yes. Though he is often in Paris.”

“I suppose so. Are those his vineyards?”

“Yes. Quite small compared with those of Monsieur St. Allengere … but, of course, there is something special about the chateau wine.”

“There would be, I suppose. I think I know where I am now. Thank you for rescuing me from those monsters of yours.”

“You mean my good and faithful hounds?”

I nodded. “And thank you for escorting me through the woods.”

“You are so gracious. I will attempt to be the same. I repeat; please come to my woods whenever you wish.”

“That is indeed kind of you.”

“It may be that I shall meet you there.”

I did not answer. When I had thought that he was detaining me I had been faintly alarmed, now I was sorry that the encounter was over.

We paused side by side on the slight hillock while I looked round me.

“There,” he said, “are your father’s vineyards. Go straight down the hill, cut across the field there and you will be mere.”

“I see. And thank you. Goodbye, Monsieur de la Tour.”

“Au revoir, Madame Sallonger.”

I knew he was watching me as I rode off and thoughtfully I made my way. I was tingling with pleasure. It had been very amusing. He had made quite an impression on me. I could not say that I liked him. I did not admire arrogant men. Neither Philip nor Drake had been like that. Philip had been essentially gentle; Drake was, too. This man was quite different, and all the time I felt he had been making fun of me; and there was something sensuous about the manner in which he had regarded me—something, too, in the tone of his voice. I thought he was too much aware of me … physically, and that the banter was leading to something. He made me uneasy and yet at the same time he had stimulated and excited me.

When I approached the house I saw my father. He was coming from the stables.

“Lenore,” he called, “I’m glad you’re back. I was getting anxious.”

”Is something wrong with Katie?”

“No … no. She’s all right. I heard that you had ridden off and I thought it was time you were back.”

“I had quite an adventure. You know the wood. …”

He nodded.

”I explored, and two savage looking dogs appeared. I thought they were going to attack me. Marron was quite put out.” I patted her as I mentioned her name and felt her response.

“Dogs!” said my father.

”Horrible brutes. Fortunately their owner was with them. He called them off and told me I was trespassing. The woods apparently belong to him. He talked for a while and said his name was Gaston de la Tour. Do you know him?”

He stared at me. ”Gaston de la Tour,” he said, “is the Comte de Carsonne. The woods do belong to him … so does most of the place.”

“You mean to say that this man is the Comte himself? He didn’t say … just that he was Gaston de la Tour.”

“I am sorry you encountered him,” said my father.

“It was quite amusing.”

“He would be, of course, if the mood took him.”

“After his first accusation of trespassing he was quite friendly. …”

My father looked anxiously at my flushed face. “Well, you probably won’t see him again. It’s better not. He does not enjoy a very good reputation … with women.”

“Oh, I see.” I laughed. “I can quite believe that.”

I left Marron to the groom and went into the house with my father, thinking of the wicked Comte.

The grapes were all gathered and the process had been completed without mishap. They were now lying on the level floor absorbing the sun. Every day the sky was examined with a tinge of anxiety, but each morning the sun rose and shone benignly on the gathered fruit. All was well.

Katie was growing more and more excited. My father had shown her the great cylinders which he had had installed to crush the grapes. She was a little disappointed because she had been fascinated by the treading. However, he explained that this way was more effective.

Then came the first blow. The itinerant workers who arrived at this time of the year to add to the work force, did not come. My father was furious when he heard the reason.

“They are at the chateau,” he said. “The Comte’s vendange is usually a week or so later than ours; we are a little more exposed to the sun here and that means we start earlier. This year he has decided to begin at the same time—hence, he has ordered the workers who usually come to us, to go to him.”

“Do you mean to say that those who have been coming to you for years, just go when he beckons them?”

“It is the Comte, you see. He expects complete obedience.”

“But what of their loyalty to you?”

“I don’t blame them. They have been commanded and they have to go.”

”How mean of him!”

“He wants us all to realize that he is the master here. Most of this land belongs to him. There is only mine and of course Villers-Mure which is beyond his jurisdiction. But he likes to remind us of his power.”

“Can’t you explain to him that you must have those men?”

”I would not dream of asking favours of him. We will manage without.”

“Can we?”

“I think we shall do what we have to.”

My father set about reorganizing the workers; and then the second blow fell. He used wooden horse-drawn carts to transport the workers from place to place and one of these was involved in an accident. The horse bolted, jumped a hedge, broke a leg and overturned the cart, injuring four of the workers.

The horse had to be shot; the foreman had broken a leg, one of the workers an arm and others suffered from cuts and bruises.

My father was in despair. “It would seem,” he said, “that there is a curse on the vendange.”

Then the unexpected happened. While my father—in the depth of despair—was trying to reorganize everything, a cart arrived with ten men—some of them the itinerant workers who had deserted us at the Comte’s command.

I saw the cart arrive and hurried down to see what had happened now. My father came and joined me.

One of the men stepped down from the cart.

He said: “The compliments of Monsieur le Comte. He has heard of your ill luck and he has sent us to work for you while you need us.”

My father stared incredulously. “But …” he stammered, “I don’t understand. And why did you desert me in the first place?”

“The orders of Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur St. Allengere. We could not disobey them. But now he has sent us. He has heard of the accident and wishes to help you. When we have finished here we are to return to the chateau for his vendange.”

My father’s emotions were mixed. I could see that he was fighting with himself. He wanted to refuse the Comte’s offer, but the sight of those men and what they could do for him was too much, and his common sense prevailed over his pride. Here was a chance to save the wine harvest and it would be folly on his part to refuse it.

He murmured: “It is good of the Comte.”

“We’ll get to work immediately, Monsieur St. Allengere.”

They scrambled down. They did not need instructions. They knew exactly what to do.

I followed my father into the house. I laid my hand on his arm. “So all will be well?”

“I cannot understand his motives.”

“He is sorry. He has heard of the accident. He knows all the difficulties. I daresay he is sympathetic.”

“You don’t know the man. We are rivals. I am sure he would be delighted if my harvest was a failure.”

“Perhaps you misjudge him.”

My father shook his head. “He has his reasons, I daresay. He always has his reasons.”

Katie had come up and was listening with that single-mind-edness which was a habit of hers.

“Is he really an ogre?” she asked.

My father nodded grimly.

“I’d love to see him. He lives in that castle. Is he a giant?”

“There aren’t any giants now, Katie,” I reminded her.

Katie looked disappointed. ”Does he eat people?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” replied my father.

“Oh, let’s forget him,” I said. “We have a complete work force now and can go ahead.”

My father agreed with me, but he did not like the fact that salvation had come through the Comte.

That was a memorable night. All was safe and there was an air of jubilation everywhere. After what had been a calamitous beginning we had come through to a satisfactory end. The whole of the neighbourhood seemed to have gathered there. Lights from lanterns and torches flickered in the warm evening air. On the grass before the house the fiddlers were playing folksongs: people were singing as they danced. Katie was beside me, silent with wonder.

There was last year’s wine for all, and cakes made of nuts and fruit. The singing grew louder as the evening progressed and the dancing more vigorous. I sat down on a bench and watched them and I was moved to hear some of the songs Grand’mere had sung to me when I was little.

En passant par la Lorraine Avec mes sabots …

Someone was beside me. He sat down. I turned and my heart gave a leap of surprise, consternation and I admit, a certain excitement.

I heard myself stammer: “The Comte de Carsonne.”

“In person,” he replied, putting his face near mine. “Please say you are glad to see me.” He took my hand and kissed it. He looked at Katie. “Don’t tell me. I know. This is the delectable Mademoiselle Katie. I am enchanted to meet you, Mademoiselle.” He then took her hand and kissed it.

I could see the excitement bubbling up in Katie’s eyes. Her hand had never been kissed in that manner before—and by such an obviously important gentleman.

“I know who you are,” she said. Katie was never at a loss for words.

“Then we are well acquainted already.”

“Are you really an ogre?”

“I think the answer is probably yes.”

“You’re not a giant, though.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Do you eat people?”

“Do I look like a cannibal?”

“What is a cannibal, Mama?”

“Someone who eats people,” I said.

“They do not form a regular part of my diet,” he told her.

“Would you eat me?”

“This is a silly conversation,” I said. “You know it is, Katie.”

He laughed and taking her by the chin smiled at her. “Not for breakfast,” he said.

“Dinner then?”

“I should have to fatten you up.”

“Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum,” chanted Katie, “I smell the blood of an English girl.”

She giggled.

I said to him: “Did you want to see my father?”

“No. I wanted to make sure that all was well and that he had overcome his bad luck.”

“He was grateful to you,” I said.

“If all is well, I am satisfied.” He added, “What do you think of this?” He waved his hand. “This … ceremony?”

“It is very interesting.”

“Quite amusing … briefly, for the lady of business from London and Paris.”

“Quite amusing.”

“I see that Mademoiselle Katie is entranced. Mademoiselle, I should like to show you a true vendange … just how it has been done for the last hundreds of years … the way they do it at my chateau. Will you honour me by attending?”

“Do you mean to come to yours? Oh yes, please. We will, won’t we, Mama?”

I said: “We shall have to see.”

“But why can’t we go?”

“We must see what plans your grandfather has for us.”

“He hasn’t any.”

“Then,” said the Comte, “it is arranged. Madame Sallonger, Mademoiselle Katie, you are to be my guests. It will be in three days from now.”

Katie clapped her hands.

“I promise not to eat you,” he added.

Katie lifted her shoulders and giggled.

My father had seen us and came speedily towards us.

“Monsieur le Comte.”

He rose smiling urbanely as though it were the most natural thing to call casually on an enemy of years’ standing.

“I’m glad all went well, St. Allengere.”

“I have to thank you,” began my father stiffly.

“Don’t think of it. It was the only thing to do. I heard about the accident. What a time for it to happen! I guessed your predicament and so I sent the men.”

“They came just in time.”

“Then I am content.”

“I am indebted to you,” went on my father.

The Comte waved his hand. “Madame Sallonger and Mademoiselle Katie have just agreed to come to the chateau vendange. That is ample reward for the little service I have been able to render.”

My father looked stunned. He said: “I am sure the Comte will want to look round. Would you care to come with me, Comte?”

“With pleasure.”

He was smiling secretively as he bowed first to me, then to Katie; and we watched him walk off with my father.

“He’s not a giant,” said Katie. ”But he’s better than a giant. He makes me laugh. I like him, don’t you, Mama?”

I was silent.

She looked disappointed. “He doesn’t really eat people. That was only a joke.”

“Oh?” I said.

“I like him,” she added, almost defiantly.

I did not see him again that night.

I was glad to be alone in my room. There was no doubt that he was disturbing. I wondered why he had sent those men and why he had actually put in an appearance tonight. First he had shown his power by commanding the itinerant workers to come to him and then he had made the grand gesture. I thought it had all been rather contrived.

I lay awake for a long time thinking of him.

In the morning, when we were alone together, my father said: “The Comte is acting very strangely … to turn up like that, as though we had been fast friends for years. We have never had any communication whatsoever.”

“Well, he did send the men over.”

“Why? In the normal way he would have snapped his fingers at us. He would have been glad if our harvest had been spoilt. We are, in a measure, rivals. Moreover his family have had a long-standing feud with ours.”

“Not you personally.”

“My father and he are at daggers drawn. If they could do each other an ill turn there would be no hesitation. Why this sudden volte facet” He looked at me searchingly and I felt myself flushing. “You met him, of course.”

“Yes, in the woods. I told you.”

“I think this must be something to do with you. You will have to be careful, Lenore.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I think he may well be planning to pursue you. He is said to be susceptible and you are attractive.”

“He seemed to like Katie.”

“I expect that is part of the act. He apparently has little in-terest in his own son.”

“Katie was greatly taken with him. He played along with her little game of ogres and cannibalistic tendencies. He seemed amused.”

“I don’t like it. I have looked forward so much to your coming here, and now I think I shall be relieved when we return to Paris.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I am not a young and innocent girl. Remember I am a widow with a child.”

“I know. But he is said to be a very attractive man.”

”I am sure he sees himself in that light.”

”I fear others do, too.”

“I tell you not to worry.”

“But you have promised to go to his vendange.”

“Katie more or less accepted before I could intervene.”

My father shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he repeated.

“All will be well,” I assured him.

And I was thinking: / did like it—although I was sure my father was right and the Comte probably thought that I should be an easy conquest.

I was greatly looking forward to proving him wrong.

That night will always stand out clearly in my memory. At the time there seemed something unreal about it. I can shut my eyes even now and recall it in every detail. The air was so clear that the stars seemed close above; it was warm and windless. The voices of the revellers came to us from a little distance away—singing to the accompaniment of violins, accordions, triangles and drums.

But most of all I remembered the Comte. He had somehow arranged that he and I should be apart from the others and we sat in a small courtyard about whose grey walls bougainvilleas bloomed and there was a smell of frangipani in the air. I sipped the special wine which he had had brought from his cellars and nibbled the cake which had been made for the occasion and which was a feature of the vendange.

From the moment he had sent his carriage to conduct Katie and me to the chateau it had been an enchanted evening. It was a somewhat cumbersome vehicle although very dignified with his family’s arms engraved on it. My father had been concerned and I had reassured him. I should be all right and Katie was with me. I said we should return at midnight and he muttered something about its being late for Katie to which I had said she might stay up for once and no harm would be done.

He was certain that the Comte was set on a course of seduction. I was largely in agreement with him, but I had no intention of becoming the easy victim of a philanderer; and I felt I had been serious too long and should be none the worse for a little light entertainment which I intended this to be.

How magnificent was the castle! It overwhelmed one with its antiquity. As we approached the platform on which it stood a feeling of anticipation swept over me. This night was going to be like no other. The high round tower of the main wing encircled by a corbelled parapet, the cylindrical towers which flanked the building, the thick massive walls, the narrow slits of windows … it all seemed to me entirely medieval. I felt that I was passing into another world.

The Comte greeted us with his son Raoul beside him. Katie and the boy eyed each other speculatively. Katie took the initiative and said: “Hello, Raoul. Do you really live here?” Then she wanted to know whether they poured boiling oil down on their enemies.

“Oh, we have more subtle means of dealing with them nowadays,” said the Comte.

As I stood in that ancient hall, I felt the past closing in on me and the Comte was an essential part of it—the overlord, the all powerful seigneur who believed that he could claim the droit de seigneur now, as his ancestors had undoubtedly done in the past.

I looked about at the weapons hanging on the walls, the great fireplace over which was displayed the arms of Carsonne, the embrasures in which there were stone benches, clearly centuries old. It was impressive indeed.

The Comte had arranged everything as he had intended it should go. He said he knew that Katie was eager to observe the manner in which they conducted the wine making at the chateau.

“Here we observe tradition,” he said. “Everything must be done as it was hundreds of years ago. You will want to see the treading.” He told Raoul that he must look after his guest. He summoned Raoul’s tutor, Monsieur Grenier, to take charge of the two of them. The housekeeper, Madame Le Grand, appeared and was presented to me. She would make sure that the children’s wine was well watered. She knew they were longing to taste the vendange cake.

So tactfully was it all arranged that Katie went off happily with them, which left me alone with the Comte.

It was an unforgettable scene.

We saw the men with their laden baskets marching to the troughs in which the grapes were to be trod to the sound of music. They must have been about three feet deep when the treaders appeared.

The Comte was watching me closely. “You are thinking this is unhygienic. Let me assure you that every precaution has been taken. All the utensils have been disinfected. The treaders’ legs and feet have been scrubbed. You see, they are in a special sort of short trousers … all of them, men and women. This is how it has always been done at the chateau. They will sing our traditional folk songs as they dance. Ah, they are beginning.”

I watched them, dancing methodically as their feet sank lower and lower into the purple juice.

“They will go on till midnight.”

“Katie …”

“Is very happy with Raoul. Grenier and Madame Le Grand will see that she is all right.”

“I think I…”

“Let us enjoy a little freedom for a while. It is good for us … even the children. Have no fear. Before midnight strikes you will be safely on your way. I give you my word. I swear it.”

I laughed. “There is no need to be so vehement. I believe you.”

“Come with me. We will escape the turmoil. I want to talk with you.”

And so I found myself in the scented courtyard on that starlit night … alone with him … and yet not alone … for we were within sound of the revelry and every now and then the night would be punctuated with a sudden shout; and there was the constant music in the background.

A servant appeared with wine and the vendange cake delicately served for us with little forks and napkins embroidered with the Carsonne crest.

“This,” he said, “is vintage chateau wine which I have served only at special occasions.”

“Such as the vendange.”

“That takes place every year. What is special about that? I meant the day when Madame Sallonger is my guest.”

“You are a very gracious host.”

“I can be charming when I am doing what I like to do.”

“I suppose we all can.”

“It is those other occasions which indicate the character and betray our faults. I want to hear about you. Are you happy?”

“As happy as most people, I daresay.”

“That is evasive. People’s contentment with life varies.”

“Happiness is rarely a permanent state. One would be very fortunate to achieve that. It comes in moments. One finds oneself saying, with a certain surprise, I am happy now.”

“Are you saying that at this moment?”

I hesitated. “I am very interested in all this. The vendange, the chateau … It is all so new to me.”

“Then can I conclude that if it is not quite happiness, it is a pleasant experience?”

“It is certainly that.”

He leaned forward. “Let us make a vow tonight.”

“A vow?”

“That we will be absolutely frank with each other. Tell me, do you feel drawn to this place?”

“I wanted to see it properly from the moment I had my first glimpse of it. You see, I was born close to here. There has always been a mystery about Villers-Mure. I am excited to be near it.”

“I was born here in this chateau. So our birthplaces are very near. Tell me, how do you feel about your grandfather?”

“Rather sad.”

“Don’t let yourself be sad on his account. I find a certain pleasure in contemplating him. I feel very strongly about him. He is the sort of person I dislike most. It is more amusing and interesting to have deep feelings about people and I am one to have such feelings. I hate or I love … and I do both most intensely.”

“It must make life rather exhausting.”

He looked at me steadily. “Your upbringing would have been very different from mine. The English are less formal than we are, I believe. Yet they cloak their feelings in assumed indifference. I call it a kind of hypocrisy.”

“Perhaps it makes life easier not to have to cope with the intense hatred and love you mention.”

He was thoughtful. “Perhaps,” he said. “I was interested to see your Katie and my Raoul together. She is quite uninhibited.”

“That is a natural characteristic.”

“As Raoul’s solemnity is with him.”

“Katie has always had absolute security. She knows she can tell me anything. I am always there to help her. I think it makes her spontaneous. It gives her confidence.”

“You mean Raoul has missed that?”

“You can tell that better than I.”

“I have not been such an exemplary parent as you have.”

“I have done what is natural.”

“I believe that child means everything to you.”

“That is true.”

“She is a lucky girl.”

”I should like to believe that.”

“You were brought up by Madame Cleremont.”

“Yes. I also was lucky.”

“A good woman.”

“You speak as though you know her.”

“I know most that goes on here, and there was a scandal at the time she left. Your mother was once the beauty of the neighbourhood. I was a child but I had long ears and I used them to good avail. So I knew that Henri St. Allengere was in love with the village beauty and that wicked old Alphonse had refused to sanction the match, that there was a child on the way, and Henri could either desert the girl or get out. Henri decided to desert the girl. Poor Marie Louise. She lived with her mother who cared for her and they said broke her heart when Marie Louise died giving birth to a daughter.”

”I was the cause of the trouble.”

“The innocent cause.” He smiled at me. “When your grandmother wanted you recognized and made demands on the old tyrant, he did not want you here so he passed you off to those English connections—the breakaway Huguenot branch of the family. Madame Cleremont was the bait. She was a genius at the machine and a highly respected member of the St. Allengere work force. He would give her to the Sallongers if they would take the child as well and allow her to be brought up in their household. So he rid himself of an encumbrance and a perpetual reminder of his son’s misdemeanour. And then you married one of the Sallongers, and that should have been the happy ending. But something went wrong.”

I felt the pain of memory—those days and nights in Florence … each day falling more and more in love with Philip … and even the horrible experience of Lorenzo’s death.

“Now you are looking sad,” he said. “You are remembering your marriage.”

“It ended so disastrously. It was so brief.” I found myself telling him about Philip’s disappearance from the house and the discovery of his body in the forest.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know. I can never know. We were happy. We had just bought a house. It is a mystery.”

I told him of that terrible time, of the verdict at the inquest.

“It is incredible,” he said. “It must have been some secret which he could not bear you to know.”

”I will never believe that he killed himself. Sometimes I wonder if someone killed him.”

“Why?”

“Because if he did not kill himself that was the only solution.”

I told him about Lorenzo’s death.

“You see,” I went on, “I sometimes think … although I didn’t at the time, of course … only after that happened to Philip … that someone was going to kill Philip and mistook Lorenzo for him.”

I could see mat he was astonished.

“It certainly throws a different light on everything,” he said. “Do you think you will ever forget?”

“I think I never shall.”

”Have you ever tried to probe the mystery?”

”I have pondered on it endlessly, but there seems no reason. I had to come to the conclusion that there could only be one answer, but knowing him, that seemed impossible.”

”No one will ever match up to him. He will be in your memory always … just as he was in those weeks of your marriage. You were not long enough together to discover the flaws. They say those whom the gods love die young.”

“Do you believe that?”

“It means that they have eternal youth because that is how they live on the minds of those who knew them.”

“You speak enviously. Surely you are not regretting living on?”

“Not I. I would take all the risks of my sins being revealed. You have told me about your husband. I will tell you about my wife. You know that in families like mine these things arc arranged.”

“I had imagined so.”

“When I was eighteen a wife was found for me.”

“I am surprised that you allowed yourself to accept such a situation.”

“I rebelled. I was not enamoured of the young lady. But she was a daughter of one of the greatest houses in France. We still have our great houses, you know, in spite of Liberte, Egalite and Fraternite. We still keep up the old traditions. There are a few of us who escaped the holocaust of the last century. Car-sonne was lucky. Perhaps we were too tucked away. Perhaps our local peasants were too lethargic. The chateau was untouched. After all, we are almost on the Italian border. We survived and so did some others. These families stick together, as they did through the days of the Napoleons … till the end of the monarchy and so on. So I must marry one who was chosen for me. My father explained that I should not be downhearted. I must do my duty and produce the heir to Carsonne and he must have the requisite amount of blue blood in his veins. Once that was done, I could, as my father said, take my pleasure where I would. All French noblemen must do their duty by their wives and are then free to enjoy their mistresses. It is a way of life.”

“Very acceptable by your sex, I am sure.”

“You are right. So I married. My poor Evette. She was only a child, barely seventeen, hardly suited to childbearing … no more fit to be a mother than I was a father. However, we did our duty and Raoul duly appeared. Alas in doing hers, Evette lost her life. And so I became a widower.”

“Did they not think you should marry again and produce more blue-blooded heirs?”

“They did. But I did not. I had done my duty. I was now my own master for my father had died. The married state was not for me. I enjoyed my freedom.”

“But surely you would not have allowed marriage to have impaired your freedom?”

“I suppose not. I am one who will go his own way. But still, I am content to remain as I am enjoying being pursued by those who fancy the title of La Comtesse and have a respect for an ancient chateau. But always I elude the capture.”

“I daresay the pursuit is hot and strong.”

”It varies. And you, dear Madame Sallonger, you, too, prefer the solitary state?”

“I think it preferable to an unhappy married life.”

“Surely there must have been much pursuit in your case?”

I was silent thinking of Drake. On this night he seemed more remote than he had for a long time.

“I see I have aroused unpleasant thoughts. Forgive me.” He attempted to fill my glass.

“No thanks,” I said, “I have had enough.”

“My special vintage?”

“It is quite potent.”

“You find it so? Perhaps it is the night air, the scent of the flowers, the company?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I should like your grandfather to see you sitting here with me now. It gives me great pleasure to contemplate how angry he would be.”

“So that pleases you?”

“Enormously. I do not need anything to make me enjoy your company more, but if I did, that would.”

“Do you dislike him so very much?”

“Infinitely more,” he assured me. “There is a feud between our families. A vendetta. I dislike him more than anyone I know. There are some sinners whom I find tolerable … myself for instance. What I cannot endure is the virtuous villain. Your grandfather is one of those. He is cruel, ruthless, selfish. His work people live in fear of him—and so does his family. He believes that he and God are the greatest friends and allies. He thinks his place in Heaven is secure. He will oust Jesus Christ from his place on the right hand of Lord God Almighty when he gets—as he is sure he will—to Heaven. In fact, I expect he believes they will send a special company of angels down to fetch him. He takes Mass once a day; his household is subject to long prayers while he reminds them of their evil ways and how he—as God’s emissary—is waiting to spring on every misdemeanour and to make sure that the sins they do by two and two are paid for one by one. In his own chapel he communes with a god who is made in his own image and is therefore as unpleasant as he is. I assure you the Devil’s Own are preferable to such a man.”

I found myself laughing.

“He has been our enemy for years,” he went on, “and my father passed his loathing on to me. Viva Vendetta.”

“How you hate him. Surely he must have some redeeming features?”

”I can think of only one. He is your grandfather and therefore indirectly responsible for your existence.”

I was silent and he went on: “You are fortunate that he does not wish to see you. Have you met your aunt Ursule?”

”Yes, and her husband.”

“Ursule had the courage your father lacked at the time. He broke away afterwards but he should have done so in time to live happily ever afterwards with Marie Louise. Just imagine if he had! You and I might have known each other long ere this. Ursule certainly had courage. My father helped her and Louis Sagon. He gave Sagon work restoring his pictures and they had a house which my father said went with the job. He did it all to spite old Alphonse. They are a tragic family and it can all be traced back to that old man. Then there was the matter of He-loise. That is not so long ago. She was Rene’s daughter. He had two daughters—Heloise and Adele. He also has a son Patrice. Patrice is like his father, obeying the old man without question. Patrice is the heir to the St. Allengere properties … after Rene, of course. They have worked hard for it, which means never offending the tyrant and absolute obedience to his commands. Perhaps they think it worth it.”

“Tell me of Heloise.”

“She was so pretty … a gentle girl. She drowned herself in the river. It is quite shallow so there was no question of an accident. She just gave up. It was said that she was betrayed by a lover. It was a great blow to Rene. He doted on her. She meant more to him than Adele. There was nothing gende about her. She was close to her sister … had always protected her. Mon Dieu, one would need protection in that household. She went away to Italy. She was very interested in the silk production. They said that although she was a girl she played a big part in the business so she went away to study Italian methods. It was while she was away that this happened to Heloise.”

“And Heloise’s lover?”

“There is a bit of a mystery about him. Heloise would not name him. If she had, Adele would have tried to kill him. She is a passionate woman and when her sister died she was almost mad with grief.”

“And so the lover was never discovered? Surely in a place like this it would be difficult for him to hide his identity?”

He was silent and the thought occurred to me suddenly: You were the man!

I felt bemused. He was dangerous, but he was fascinating. I knew his reputation and still I was attracted to him. I thought I must go. I should be warned. He was looking at me penetratingly as though he were trying to discover what was in my mind.

I said: “It is getting late.”

“The time has flown. Time is so perverse. It flies when one wishes it to stay and slows down when one is longing for it to go. This has been a wonderful evening for me.”

“It has been interesting, but I must find Katie. It is long past her bedtime.”

I stood up and he stood beside me. He took my hands and drew me towards him. He was standing very close. I was not short but he was some six inches taller and I had to look up to him. I was very eager to let him know that I was unmoved by his proximity.

“It has been such a pleasant evening,” I said coolly. “Thank you so much.”

”It is I who should thank you.” I thought in that moment that he was going to kiss me and I felt alarmed, particularly as I realized that it was not so much of him that I was afraid, but of myself.

Impatiently I tried to shake off the effect he was having on me. I knew him for a practised philanderer. Why had I allowed myself to be attracted by him? Why was I hoping that he would kiss me and declare his passion? Perhaps I had been alone too long. Perhaps I wanted a normal married life. I had tasted that … and it had been taken from me. I had thought of Drake … but not quite like this.

He drew me to him suddenly and kissed me lightly on the forehead. I withdrew my hands and tried not to show surprise or emotion. I pretended to understand that this was a French custom for hosts to kiss their lady guests chastely on the brow.

I said rather briskly: “Now, I must find my daughter.”

He took my arm, holding it lightly as he led me towards the revellers.

Katie was there with Raoul and Monsieur Grenier.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried when she saw us. “It’s the best vendange I have ever seen.”

It was clear that she had made friends with Raoul and that he was delighted by her companionship. Poor boy, I thought, no doubt he does not have a very good time with such a father. I expected that he had always to remember the duties which would be his one day. He would have to be skilled in all the manly pastimes; he would have his tutor to please. Katie’s attitude to life must be a revelation to him.

Katie was over-excited. I thought: It is indeed time we left.

The Comte sent for the carriage. He himself would escort us back and Raoul should accompany us. I sat next to Katie and put my arm about her. She lay against me and I could see that her lids were forcing themselves down in spite of her efforts to remain awake. The jogging of the carriage would soon send her to sleep.

I was aware of the Comte’s watchful eyes. Raoul sat rather stiffly beside his father. I imagined he was always thus in the Comte’s company.

At length I said: “We’re here.”

Katie opened her eyes and was immediately wide awake remembering where she was.

“Raoul,” she said, “may I come and see your falcon? You promised to show it to me. May I come to the chateau? I haven’t seen it really.”

The Comte spoke for his son. “Please come whenever you wish, Mademoiselle Katie. There will always be a welcome for you.”

Katie smiled rapturously. “This is the happiest night of my life,” she declared.

The Comte smiled at me triumphantly.

My father was clearly relieved by our arrival. He had rather obviously been waiting for us.

“Grandfather,” cried Katie, “it was wonderful. You should have seen them dancing on the grapes. The purple juice splashed right up their legs … and they went down and down. …”

“I am gratified indeed,” said the Comte.

We said farewell and I listened to the carriage rumbling off into the night.

“I expect you are tired,” said my father.

“Very.”

“I’m not,” said Katie.

“Then you should be,” he told her. “You should have been in bed hours ago.”

“It’s midnight,” said Katie. “It’s the first time I’ve been up at midnight.”

“Come on,” I commanded. “You’re half asleep.”

And she was asleep almost before I could help her into bed, but as far as I was concerned sleep was elusive. It had been a memorable night and somehow significant. This worldly French nobleman was different from anyone I had ever known before.

Then I thought of Heloise who must have been led through ecstatic weeks … perhaps months … before she knew that she had placed her trust in a faithless lover.

I tried to remember his face when he had talked of Heloise. Could he have been the man? He would have been at hand. I knew I must be very careful.

The carriage came for Katie the next day. Madame Le Grand arrived with it. She assured me that my daughter would be well looked after. Monsieur le Comte had instructed her that she was to take care of her so mat I need have no qualms.

I said: “I am not sure whether I should allow her to go.”

“Oh, Mama,” protested Katie, “I want to go. I want to see Raoul. He’s promised to show me the chateau and his falcon and dogs.”

“I personally will see that no harm befalls your daughter, Madame,” Madame Le Grand assured me.

I thanked her and I did not see how I could protest after that.

When she had gone my father came to me.

“This is so strange,” he said. “Our families have never been on these terms.”

“Isn’t it rather foolish to keep up these old feuds?”

“My dear Lenore, the Comtes of Carsonne have kept up the feuds as firmly as any of us. It is this change of front that I do not like. It is since you came across him riding.”

“There is this friendship between his son and Katie.”

“Which he has contrived.”

”But they are two children. It is good for them to be together. They liked each other at once. Poor boy, I don’t suppose he has many companions of his own age.”

“They are no doubt bringing him up to be like the rest of them—to think they are divine beings set there to rule over us all.”

“That seems to be what he thinks of the St. Allengeres. Oh really, Father, these family feuds went out with Romeo and Juliet.”

“I think we should return to Paris. I daresay they can do without us here. It is not fair to leave everything in the salon to the Countess. When the barrelling is done and everything is safely in the first cellar, I shall be ready to leave.”

“When will mat be?”

”At the end of the week, I should think. We’ll go back then.”

I agreed that we should.

In the late afternoon Katie was returned. She was full of the day’s adventure.

“They have a keep, Mama. Do you know what a keep is?”

I said I did.

“We explored the chateau with Monsieur Grenier who told us a lot of history … but it was interesting because it was all about the chateau. Then he took us riding. They have an oubliette. Do you know what an oubliette is?” She did not wait for my reply, for she was eager to tell me. “It means forgotten. They used to push people down there … it’s like a dark, dark cave… . There is only a hole in the floor above… . They are left down there … to die … forgotten, you see.”

“What a gruesome place it must be.”

“Oh it is,” said Katie delightedly. “Raoul has a falcon. He is going to teach me what has to be done. We went to the parapets. You can see right across to the mulberries and those buildings by the little river. St. Allengeres live there. It sounds a bit like us.”

Halting the flow, I said: “Katie, we are leaving at the end of the week.”

“Oh no, Mama … just when I am having such a good time.”

“All good times come to an end, Katie.”

“They don’t have to … if you don’t let them.”

“We have to go, Katie.”

“The end of the week,” she said blankly; and was downcast for about five minutes.

The next day the carriage came to take her to the chateau again.

That day I went out riding myself. I thought: Two more days and I shall be away from here. I had expected it to be a memorable experience. I had thought so often of my birthplace where my mother had lived and died giving birth to me. But it had been complicated by the Comte. He had cut across my expectations and added something to the adventure.

I was not surprised that day to meet him. I had a fancy that he had lain in wait for me, certain that he would catch me some time.

He rode up to me on his big horse which he had been riding in the woods on the first day we met.

“Good day, Madame Sallonger,” he said. “What a pleasure to find you.”

“Thank you.”

“I heard you are leaving soon.”

“My daughter must have mentioned it.”

“Raoul is desolate.”

“Oh, he will find another playmate.”

“How could he find another Katie? I, too, am desolate.”

“You will soon forget we ever came here.”

“That statement is completely false and you are aware of it.”

“I think you flatter us both.”

“I speak from the heart.” I smiled lightly and he went on earnestly. “I feel we could be good friends … if you would allow that. I have thought a great deal about you since we have met.”

“I am honoured but it seems strange that I should have given you such food for thought.”

“It is quite natural when you consider that you are different from anyone I have ever met.”

“Well, no one person is absolutely like another.”

“Most of them arouse little interest in me.”

“That is because you are self-absorbed.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Perhaps I speak rashly. I know so little of you.”

“I think you would find it interesting to discover more.”

“What a pity I shall not be here to make those discoveries.”

“You could stay, I suppose.”

“I do have my business to attend to.”

“Are there not others who can do that?”

“Naturally I could not stay away indefinitely.”

“I believe you have been eluding me.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Perhaps because you are a little afraid.”

”Are you so formidable?”

“Very, I expect.”

”Perhaps to those who depend on your bounty, but, Monsieur le Comte, I am not in that category.”

“You are afraid of me in a different way. My reputation has been whispered to you. I am the notorious enemy of your fam-fly.”

“I know you are my grandfather’s enemy, but why should his enemies be mine?”

“So … I am your friend?”

“A pleasant acquaintance, shall we say?”

“Is that how you rate me?”

“This is, I believe, our fourth meeting. How could I rate you in any other way?”

“But each has been no ordinary encounter.”

“No. The first time you set your dogs on me, the second you were the gracious host and now we have met by chance… . Oh and there was another when you came uninvited to my father’s house.”

“I shall be sad when you depart.”

“How kind of you to say so,” I said lightly.

“I mean it. Please persuade your father that he must stay another week … and we will meet each day.”

“I fear that it would be a great encroachment on your time … and mine.”

“Stop this banter. You know how affected I am by you. You intrigue me. You are so cool… so sure of yourself… yet I suspect hidden fires within you.”

“You talk of me as though I am a smouldering bonfire.”

“I think I am falling in love with you.”

“Monsieur le Comte is pleased to jest.”

“I never jest about matters which are serious to me. Do you intend to mourn your husband for ever?”

I was silent. I was so much enjoying this encounter with him. It stimulated me. It made me feel young as I had not felt since the days of my marriage with Philip. I wanted to go on with this battle of words. There was an element of danger in it which only added to the excitement. I knew he was an expert in such encounters. He attracted me. I supposed any woman would have been attracted by him. He was so essentially worldly, but perhaps chief of all he emanated power and that, I believe, is an irresistible element of sexual attraction. He was so obviously a man who had been accustomed to having his own way and was adept at getting it. I thought about the frail Evette and all the women to whom he must have made easy and competent love. That he intended to add me to their list had been obvious for some time. That should certainly not be. And yet… I could not resist this flippant interchange. I felt this was a kind of mental seduction—exciting to indulge in, and wise, because there would be no after effects.

Certainly I had very much enjoyed all our encounters.

Then suddenly I thought of Heloise lying in the shallow river. Had it been like this with her in the beginning?

He was saying: “I could show you the way to a new life. Bring you out of the past. I could give you a chance to put all that behind you.”

Was he right? I wondered. Had I lived too long in the past? I might have been Drake’s wife now. I think I might have been happy with Drake. Drake was gallant and kindly, a man one could trust. He would have been a tender husband and a good father to Katie.

Of course the Comte had charmed Katie, but that was superficial charm. He was using Katie as a means of approaching me. How different Drake had been!

“What are you thinking now?” he asked.

“Of returning,” I replied.

“Do you think you will escape me so easily?”

”Escape? Why do you use the term? I am not your prisoner.”

“No,” he said. “It is I who am yours.”

I laughed.

“You are a cruel woman,” he said.

”You did ask that I should be frank. I understand you. I know your motives. I am not one of your village maidens to be carried away by your family crest … nor am I one of those ladies of your acquaintance who make a bid for a title and an ancient chateau. Neither of these things would mean anything to me.”

“And what about their owner?”

“As I said, I hardly know him. He is … an amusing acquaintance.”

“So I do amuse you?”

“You know you do.”

“And you enchant me. You know you do.”

“You are of the world, Monsieur, and so am I. I am not in the first flush of youth. Nor are you. I just want you to know that you are wasting your time in looking for an easy conquest in this direction. There must be plenty of other easier prospects.”

“You misunderstand me.”

“I understand you very well. I will tell you the truth. I have enjoyed our meetings, but I do not attach any significance to them.”

He sighed. “I see how difficult it is to convince you of my feelings.”

“Not difficult at all. I understand perfectly. I shall really have to go back now. I have preparations to make.”

“Suppose I were to ask you and your father to a musical entertainment at the chateau. I could get some well-known musicians to play for us. Do you like music?”

“I do. But we could not accept your invitation. We have to leave at the end of the week.”

“I am interested to discover what happened to your husband. I think the matter should not be dismissed lightly. I think we should try to solve the mystery. Once you know the truth you will cease to think so constantly of him. You will grow away from the tragedy. You will see that life is for living not brooding over the dead and dreaming of what might have been.”

“This has very little to do with my relationship with you.”

“Oh, it has, I am sure.”

“I am taking this turning back. It is a short cut to the house.”

As it came into sight with its surrounding vineyards I pulled up.

“In case I don’t see you before I go, I will say goodbye.”

“This sounds like dismissal.”

“That’s absurd. It is just… goodbye.”

He took my hand and kissed it.

“This is not the end, you know,” he said.

And I felt a lightness of heart for I should have hated it to be the end.

I withdrew my hand.

”Au revoir,” he said.

I turned and rode away.

When I am busy in Paris I shall forget all about this, I told myself. What would involvement with him mean? A brief love affair. Not marriage. The idea of marriage with him was a disturbing thought. It would be stimulating and exciting. But he had never mentioned the possibility of marriage. That was another reason why I should get away.

Of course he had no intention of marrying. The only time he had talked of it was in connection with Evette whom he had married to please his family. He had produced the heir and he would never want to enter the bonds of matrimony again. Although why a man such as he was should have such an aversion to it I could not understand, for he would never keep his vows if he did not want to. He would be a typical French husband … courteous, paying attention to his wife and doing what he called his duty and then being off to take pleasure with his mistresses.

That was manage a la mode according to the worldly ways of the French nobility.

It was not for me.

Before I left I wanted to see my mother’s grave. I knew that she was buried in the graveyard of the little church of Villers-Mure. My father had not wished me to go near his old home. I think he feared what my grandfather’s reaction might be if he heard that I was there. I did not want to involve him but I was determined to go.

The day before we were due to leave, I set out.

I came to the hill from which I could look down on the St. Allengere property. I could see the village close to the manufactory, and the little river winding its way past the stone buildings and under the little bridge. It was a charming sight.

I could see the spire of the church and I made my way down the hill towards it.

There was no one about. I expected they were all at work. I came to the church and tethered my horse outside. I entered and my footsteps, echoing on the stone flags, broke the silence. It was awe-inspiring to think that this was the church where my mother and Grand’mere must have sat so often together. The windows were magnificent. There was the Jesse window presented by a Jean Pascal St. Allengere in the sixteenth century; and the parable of the loaves and fishes by Jean Christophe St. Allengere a hundred years later. There was St. John the Baptist. “Presented by Alphonse St. Allengere.” I stood staring at his name. My grandfather! I remembered what the Comte had said about him and could not help smiling.

The name St. Allengere appeared in several places. They had been benefactors of the church throughout the ages. I was trespassing. I should not be here. My father did not wish it. I wondered what my grandfather would say if he knew I had ventured into his territory.

I felt suddenly warm so I took off the scarf I was wearing. I studied the ornate altar, the lectern… another gift to the church from my pious grandfather. There was evidence everywhere of his generosity.

This was his church. The castle would have its own chapel, I supposed, so the Comte would never come here. He would be quite different from my grandfather; if his flippant conversation was an indication of his beliefs he was certainly not devout.

I came out into the fresh air and made my way to the graveyard.

Ornate statuary had been placed over many of the graves. There were angels in plenty and figures of the saints. Some of them were so large and lifelike that one almost expected them to speak.

I did not think my mother would be among those with the elaborate sculptures, but there among the most magnificent were the burial grounds of my ancestors. The name St. Allengere was on many of the headstones. I went to the most ornate of them all. Marthe St. Allengere; wife of Alphonse 1822-1850. So that was my grandmother. She had been young to die. I daresay childbearing and life with Alphonse had taken their toll. I walked on and found the grave of Heloise. There was no elaborate statue there. It was an inconspicuous little grave, but all the plants on it had been well tended. There was a white urn from which grew pale pink roses. Poor Heloise! I wondered about her. How she must have suffered. I thought of the Comte. Of course he may not have been the man involved with the tragic girl. I was being unfair to him to be so sure that he was he. I had no reason for doing so except that he was the man he was. Heloise was a beautiful girl, and I knew that he would take great delight in seducing the daughter of the enemy house.

I passed on. It was some time before I found my mother’s grave. It was in a corner among those of the less flamboyantly decorated. It just said her name, Marie Louise Cleremont. Died aged 17. I felt an intense emotion sweep over me and I saw the rose bush which had been planted there through a haze of tears.

Her story was not unsimilar to that of Heloise. But she had died naturally. I was glad she had not given up. I had robbed her of her life. Had she lived, we should all have been together, she, Grand’mere and I. Poor Heloise had been unable to face life. Hers was a different story although it had begun as my mother’s had with a lover who had failed her. A lesson to all frail women.

I turned away and started to make my way back to the church door where I had left Marron. In doing so I had to pass the St. Allengere section and I was startled to see a man standing by Heloise’s grave.

He said,’ ‘Good day,” and as I returned his greetings I could not resist pausing.

“A fine day,” he said. Then: “Have you lost your way?”

“No. I have just been having a look at the church. I left my horse tethered at the door.”

”It’s a fine old church, is it not?”

I agreed that it was.

”You are a stranger here.” He looked at me piercingly. Then he said: “I believe I know who you are. Are you staying by any chance at the vineyards?”

“Yes,” I told him.

“Then you are Henri’s daughter.”

I nodded, and he looked rather emotional.

“I heard you were there,” he said.

“You must be … my uncle.”

He nodded. “You are very like your mother… so like her, in fact, that for the moment I could believe that you were she.”

“My father said there was a resemblance.”

He looked down at the grave.

“Have you enjoyed your visit here?”

“Yes, very much.”

”It is a pity that it has to be as it is. And Madame Cleremont, she is well?”

”Yes, she is in London.”

“I have heard of the salon. I believe it prospers.”

“Yes, now we have a branch in Paris. I am going back there tomorrow.”

“I believe,” he went on, “that you are Madame Sallonger.”

“That is so.”

“I know the story, of course. You were brought up by the family and in due course married one of the sons of the house. Philip, I believe.”

“You are very knowledgeable about me. And you are right. I married Philip.”

“And you are now a widow.”

“Yes, I have been a widow for twelve years.”

The scarf which I was carrying had caught in a bramble. It was dragged from my hands. He retrieved it. It was silk, pale lavender, and similar to those we sold in the salon.

He felt its texture and looked at it intently.

“It is beautiful silk,” he said. He kept it in his hands. “Forgive me. I am very interested in silk naturally. It is our life here.”

“Yes, of course.”

He still kept the scarf. “This is the best of all silks. I believe it is called Sallon Silk.”

“That is true.”

“The texture is wonderful. There has never been a silk on the market to match it. I believe your husband discovered the process of producing it and making it the property of the English firm.”

“It is true that it was discovered by a Sallonger, but it was not Philip, my husband. It was his brother, Charles.”

My uncle stared at me incredulously.

“I was always of the opinion that it was your husband. Are you sure you were not mistaken?”

“Certainly I am not. I remember it well. We were amazed that Charles should have come up with the formula because he had always given the impression that he was by no means dedicated to the business. My husband was … absolutely. If anyone should have discovered Sallon Silk it should have been him. But it was most definitely Charles. I remember it so well. It was a brilliant discovery and we owe it to Charles.”

“Charles,” he repeated. “He is the head of the business now?”

“Yes. It was left to the two of them, and when my husband … died … Charles became the sole owner.”

He was silent. I noticed how pale he was and his hands shook as he handed me back the scarf.

He lifted his eyes to my face and said: “This is my daughter’s grave.”

I bowed my head in sympathy.

He went on: “It was a great grief to us all. She was a beautiful gentle girl… and she died.”

I wanted to comfort him because he seemed so stricken.

He smiled suddenly: “It has been interesting talking to you. I wish … that I could invite you to my home.”

I said: “I quite understand. And I have enjoyed meeting you.”

“And tomorrow you are leaving?”

“Yes. I am returning to Paris tomorrow.”

“Goodbye,” he said. “It has been most… revealing.”

He walked slowly away and I made my way back to Marron.

Our last evening was spent with Ursule and Louis in their little house on the Carsonne estate. It was a pleasant evening. Ursule said how she always looked forward to Henri’s visits and she hoped that now I had come once I would come again.

I told them how interesting it had all been. I mentioned to them that I had been to the graveyard to see my mother’s grave and had there met Rene. At first my father was taken aback but then he was reconciled.

“Poor Rene,” he said. “Sometimes I think he wishes he had had the courage to break away.”

“He is our father’s puppet,” replied Ursule rather fiercely. “He has done all that was expected of him and his reward will be the St. Allengere property in due course.”

“Unless,” said Louis, “he does something to earn the old man’s disapproval before he dies.”

“I am glad I chose freedom,” said Ursule.

Later they talked about the Comte.

“He’s a good employer,” said Louis. “He gives me a free hand and as long as I keep the Carsonne collection in order I can paint when I will. Occasionally he arranges for me to have an exhibition. I don’t know how we should have come through without his father and now him.”

“He does it all to spite our father,” said mine.

”The Comte has a fine appreciation of art,” said Louis. ‘ ‘He respects an artist and I think he is not unimpressed by my work. I owe him a great deal.”

“We both do,” said Ursule. “So Henri, do not speak harshly of him in our household.”

“I admit,” said my father, “that he has been of use to you. But his reputation in the neighbourhood …”

“That’s a family tradition,” insisted Ursule. “The Comtes of Carsonne have always been a lusty lot. At least he doesn’t assume the mask of piety like our own Papa … and think of the misery he has caused.”

“I daresay de la Tour has caused discomfort in some quarters.”

“Now, Henri, you are referring to Heloise and you don’t really know that he had anything to do with that.”

“It’s clear enough,” said my father. “He has been making himself agreeable to Lenore.”

“Then,” said Ursule to me, “perhaps you should beware.”

“Katie has formed a friendship with his son Raoul,” went on my father. “She has been over there today. He sent the carriage for her. I’d like to tell him to keep away.”

“Oh, you must be more diplomatic than that,” said Ursule. “In any case you with Lenore and Katie are leaving for Paris tomorrow, so you will all be out of harm’s way.”

I was interested to hear what they had to say about him. In fact, it is all I remember of that last evening with Ursule and Louis.

The next day we left for Paris.

The Countess was there. Grand’mere and Cassie were still in London.

“Why,” cried the Countess embracing me. “You look rejuvenated. What has happened to you?”

I found myself flushing.

“I enjoyed seeing the place,” I said.

“We went to the chateau,” Katie told her. “There was a falcon there and ever so many dogs … little puppies some of them. They have an oubliette which they push people into when they want to forget them for ever more.”

“I wish we had one here,” said the Countess. “Madame Delorme has brought the mauve velvet back. She says it is too tight. She could be the first one to go in, if I had my way.”

“If you leave them there they will die,” said Katie.

“Good idea!” replied the Countess. “But we want to hear all about this visit.”

Katie burst into a vivid description of the vendange.

“The best one was at the chateau. They danced in the tubs, Countess. Great big tubs and the juice was all over their feet and legs. But they scrubbed them before they started. It was a purple mess.”

“As Madame Delorme’s velvet will be by the time we have altered it to fit her increasing bulk.”

She talked a great deal about what had been happening in the salon during our absence, and I noticed that she kept watching me as though she thought I was harbouring some secret.

I had not been back three days when there was a caller at the salon. The Countess received him and came hurrying to me, beaming.

“A gentleman to see you. He wouldn’t give his name. He said he wanted to surprise you. What manners! What an air! Who is this man?”

“I had better go and see,” I said; but I knew before I saw him.

He was smiling at me almost sardonically.

“My dear Madame Sallonger, I was in Paris and I coald not return to Carsonne without looking you up.”

The Countess was beside me, bubbling over with excitement.

“The Countess of Ballader,” I said. “The Comte de Carsonne.”

“Well, I am delighted to meet you,” said the Countess.

“And I you, Countess.”

“You would like some refreshment?” she said. “A little wine?”

”The Comte is a connoisseur of wine,” I said.’ ‘He produces his own. I don’t think we have anything suitable for his palate.”

“Whatever you offered me,” he said, “would be nectar. I am so happy to be here in Paris.”

“A favourite city of yours, Comte?” asked the Countess.

“At the moment… my favourite.”

She left us together, smiling secretly. I turned to him.

“Please look pleased to see me,” he begged.

“I am so surprised.”

“Are you? Surely you did not think I would allow you to escape so easily.”

”It is not a matter of escape.”

“Forgive me. An ill chosen expression. I am delighted to see you. “You have a very elegant establishment here.”

“One must be elegant in Paris.”

“I accept the compliment on behalf of the city. While I am here I am going to show you a good deal of it.”

”I have been here some time, you know.”

”I know. But I am sure I can surprise you.”

”I have no doubt you will attempt to do that.”

The Countess returned with a bottle, some glasses and wine cakes. “Come into the sitting room,” she said. “It is more comfortable.”

She poured the wine into two glasses. “Now,” she went on, “I am going to leave you two as I am sure you wish to talk together.”

“How kind you are,” said the Comte.

She gave him a dazzling smile. I could see that she was a little fascinated by him and that she had decided that he was for me. Her profession had fitted her for selecting husbands for the unmarried in her circle and she was already planning for me.

She quite clearly did not know the Comte.

“What a charming lady,” he said.

“Yes. I have known her for some years. She used to bring people out, as they say. That is, she prepared them for presentation at Court, and helped them to find the right husbands.”

“What a useful lady she must be!”

“She no longer does that, of course. She is now one of the directors of our salon. How long are you staying in Paris?”

He smiled at me, lifting his shoulders. “Who can say? So much depends on … circumstances.”

“Where do you stay?”

“I have a place in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore just before it becomes the Rue Saint-Honore” at the Rue Royale.”

“I know the place.”

”It has been the family’s Paris residence for about fifty years. Our old hotel was burned down during the Revolution.”

“Are you in Paris often?”

“When business … or pleasure … brings me here.”

I heard Katie’s voice. She was arguing with the Countess.

”Your mother is busy.”

Katie peeped round the door. “Oh,” she cried in delight. “It’s the Comte.” She ran forward and held out her hand to be kissed.

The Comte responded gracefully.

“Where is Raoul?” she asked.

“Alas, he is in Carsonne.”

“Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

“I have important business here and he has his duties in Carsonne.”

“That’s a pity.”

“I will let him know what you said. He will be gratified.”

Mademoiselle Leclerc came in. She was obviously looking for Katie.

“This is Mademoiselle Leclerc, Katie’s French governess,” I said.

I was ashamed of the twinge of annoyance I felt as I saw his eyes upon her—assessing her, I thought. She was very pretty and younger than I. I noticed the effect he had on her; she flushed and her eyes seemed to brighten. One would never be sure of him, I thought.

Mademoiselle Leclerc said she had come to take Katie for a walk.

“Go along now, Katie,” I said.

”Shall you be here when I come back?” she asked the Comte.

“I hope to be,” he said.

She looked pleased and went off with her governess.

”What an enchanting child she is,” he said. “She could only be yours. I should like her to see more of Raoul.”

I was still thinking of the governess.

“So while I am here,” he went on, “I shall show you Paris.”

”As I told you, I am no stranger to it.”

”I mean the real Paris … which only a native can show you. I can think of so much I want you to see.”

I was wonderfully happy during the days that followed. I knew that I was falling under his spell and I told myself I need have no fear. I was not an innocent girl. I would always remember the sort of man I was dealing with … polished, worldly, looking for new sensations and fresh woods to conquer. I would always remember that and pride myself on my common sense.

But everything seemed different when he was around. He was indefatigable in his attempts to please me and the days were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions … too delightful to set aside. I could be happy and carefree as I had not been for years, catching his moods, but always at the height of my pleasure I was aware of the warning voice. Every now and then the image of Heloise lying in the shallow water came to me. There was my mother, too. She had loved recklessly and unwisely. I could understand their feelings. It would be easy to give way to moments of recklessness with a man like this.

But mostly I gave myself up to the sheer enjoyment of those golden days. I learned a great deal about him. There was a serious side to his nature and his life was by no means given over entirely to sensual pleasures. He was deeply knowledgeable. He was something of a connoisseur of art. He was well versed in his country’s history and to be with him was to share that interest. His love of his country was fierce—and yet he was essentially critical which made discussion especially interesting. I felt I was learning a great deal about many things, including myself.

I looked forward to our meetings. I knew my father was anxious but I assured him he had no need to fear. He did though. The Countess was in a fever of excitement. She was completely fascinated by the Comte. He knew exactly how to treat all women and to adjust his attitude to what he believed would please them best.

He brought presents for Katie, flowers for the Countess. He deferred to my father. He was anxious to be on good terms with the entire household. It was part of his strategy.

He took us to the opera to see Orpheus in the Underworld. He told me it was a particular favourite of his because of the fun it poked at the gods. It was a delightful performance and we all enjoyed it. Even my father was laughing; and when we drove home the enchanting music was ringing in my ears. I told myself that it would be among my favourites ever after.

The Countess was eager that I should enjoy my expeditions. I said I should be working, but she would not hear of it.

“We can manage perfectly well,” she insisted. “After all, we did while you were away. This is just an extension of your holiday. Plenty of time for work … later.”

Those days sped by at an incredible rate. I knew I should never forget them. Paris is one of the most delightful cities in the world, and under the guidance of the Comte it was an enchanted place. Sometimes Katie accompanied us; but more often we were alone.

We climbed to Montmartre, he holding my arm as we mounted the steep streets. We visited the Cathedral, that rather bizarre oriental building which has always been so much a landmark of Paris. He talked of St. Denis, the patron saint of France, and the martyrs who had been put to death here. He showed me the great bell—Francoise-Marguerite or La Savoyarde de Montmartre which was nine feet tall. He made me listen to its unusual timbre. I had been here with my father when I first came to Paris but everything seemed to have acquired a new and exciting quality now. I was seeing much which I had seen before without noticing. He brought a new light to everything and that which had been insignificant had become of absorbing interest.

His sense of the past was ever-present. He talked sadly of the Revolution which had destroyed the old way of life, and bitterly of the masses and of his ancestors who had suffered at their hands. Only extraordinary good fortune had saved his branch of the family.

“The blood lust,” he said, “the bile of envy … the desire to destroy because this one has something which that one lacks.” He took me to the Conciergerie, into the vaulted Salle Saint Louis called the Salle des Pas Perdus on account of the fact that those condemned to die passed through it on their way to the guillotine. He was grim when we saw the cell in which Marie Antoinette had spent her last days. “Subject to humiliation inflicted by petty tyrants,” he said with venom.

Then I saw a different side to him. He was surprising me all the time.

His knowledge of art was profound as I discovered when we visited the Louvre. He showed me new aspects of pictures I had seen before. He was fascinated by Leonardo da Vinci and we stood for a long time in the Grande Galerie while he discussed the Virgin on the Rocks. Of course he had much to say on the Mona Lisa which had been in the country since 1793; and he told me how Francois Premier, who had cared deeply for artists, had brought Leonardo from Italy that he might have first claim on his works. “He was an artist manque, “he said, “as perhaps I am. But I am afraid there are a good many manques in my life.”

“One which is not, is the wisdom to know it,” I told him.

Such happy days! I shall never forget them. Each morning there was a fresh adventure. This, I told myself, is the way to live. But I reminded myself a hundred times a day, it was ephemeral. There had to be an ending … soon.

But I clung to each moment, savouring it to the full. I had an uneasy feeling that I was becoming his victim as he had all the time intended that I should. I had lost sight of that fact in discovering new sides to his nature.

We went to Pere-Lachaise—so much a part of Paris. I had often wondered who Pere-La Chaise was and he told me that he was the fashionable confessor of Louis XIV and that the cemetery was so named from his house which had stood where the present chapel now did. We looked at the monuments and the graves of the famous.

“A lesson to us all,” he said. “Life is short. The wise make the most of every moment.”

He pressed my arm and smiled at me.

I very much enjoyed the open spaces. I loved the elegance of the Pare Monceau which seemed to be full of children with their nurses and unusual statues of people like Chopin with his piano and figures representing Night and Harmony, of Gounod with Marguerite. The children loved them and when I took Katie there she was loath to be drawn away from them.

It was one day when we were together in the Jardin des Plantes that I realized these halcyon days were almost over. We sat on a seat watching the peacocks and I remembered once saying to him that in certain moments one realizes that one is completely happy. This was such a moment.

I said to him: “I shall have to go home soon.”

“Home?” he said. “Where is home?”

“London.”

“Why must you go?”

“Because I have been away so long.”

”But is not Paris your home, too?”

“One can only have one real home.”

“Are you telling me you are homesick?”

“I just have the feeling that I must go. It is a long time since I saw my grandmother.”

“I hope you will not go just yet. These have been pleasant days, have they not?”

“Very pleasant. I am afraid I have taken up a lot of your time.”

“That time has been spent in the way I wished it to be. You know that, don’t you? These meetings have been as agreeable to me as I hope they have been to you.”

“I will be frank,” I said. “You have a motive, and it may be that you are wasting your time.”

“My motive is pleasure. I find it and that is never a waste of time.”

I was silent. I could hardly refuse him that which he had not asked for … except in a subtle way.

“Why are you pensive?” he asked.

“I am thinking of home.”

“I cannot allow that. Where would you like to go tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I shall prepare to go home.”

“Please stay. Think how desolate I shall be if you leave.”

”I fancy you would quickly find some other diversion.”

“Is that how you think of yourself… a diversion?”

“No. It is what I intend not to be.”

“You know my feelings for you.”

“You have made them plain.”

“You have enjoyed our excursions?”

“They have been most illuminating.”

“You will miss them when you go away.”

“I daresay I shall. But I am very busy in London. There will be so much to catch up with.”

“And then you will forget me?”

“I shall think of you, I am sure.”

He took my hand. “Why are you afraid?” he asked.

“Afraid? I?”

“Yes. Afraid, you … afraid to let me come too close.”

“I think I may be different from most of the women you know.”

“You are indeed. That is one of the things about you which I find so attractive.”

“So therefore I do not react as you are accustomed to expect.”

“How do you know what I expect?”

“Because I realize the sort of life you have led.”

“Do you know me so well?”

“I think I know you well enough to deduce certain things.”

He gripped my arm. “Don’t go,” he said. “Let us get to know each other … really well.”

I knew what he was suggesting and I was ashamed that it presented some temptation. I shook him off angrily. A love affair? It would be torrid, wildly exciting … until it burned itself out. Such an adventure was not for me. I wanted a steady relationship. A few weeks… perhaps a few months … of passion were no substitute for that.

Suppose he had suggested marriage? Even then I should have hesitated. My common sense told me that I should have to think very dispassionately before I entered into any form of relationship with him. But of course he was not suggesting marriage. He had married once for the sake of the family, and he wanted his freedom now … no encumbrances. He had a strong and healthy heir. He had done his duty to Carsonne. No more marriage for him. He would be free.

I thought: Why have I let this go so far? Why have I allowed my emotions to become involved? I had and I greatly feared that I could be overwhelmed by him.

I looked at the proud peacock, his beautiful feathered tail arrogantly displayed, and the pale little peahen trotting along behind him.

Somehow that gave me strength.

Never. Never, I told myself.

I stood up. I said coolly: “I think it is time that we were going.”