The French Wife

by Diney Costeloe

  Reading this, Pierre was extremely worried. It would be disastrous if Rupert Chalfont turned up at Belair before he had met and talked with Hélène. He took his worry to Agathe, who agreed with him that Rupert must not appear in St Etienne until everything had been resolved.

  ‘If he met with Monsieur Barnier…’ Her voice trailed off at the thought of such an awkward encounter.

  ‘We must write to Annette and let her know that he’s on his way and where he will be staying,’ said Pierre. ‘She can go to the hotel and meet him, and between them they can decide the best way forward.’

  ‘A letter may take too long,’ Agathe said. ‘One of us needs to go.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Pierre flatly. ‘Monsieur St Clair has told me he needs me to drive him to Versailles tomorrow to visit Captain Georges. I believe he plans to stay overnight.’

  ‘Perhaps I might go,’ Agathe said thoughtfully. ‘I have not taken my day off yet this month, so perhaps I can ask Madame if I might take it tomorrow.’

  Pierre agreed that it was worth a try and Agathe went to see Rosalie in her parlour.

  ‘I’m afraid it is not that convenient, Madame Sauze,’ she said. ‘My husband is going to Versailles to see our son and is planning to bring the whole family back here for an extended stay. I shall need you to oversee the preparations for their arrival.’

  ‘I quite understand, madame,’ Agathe said, ‘but I would only need one day. I hope to attend a funeral in Paris tomorrow, and would be back by tomorrow evening.’

  ‘I see.’ Rosalie didn’t look best pleased. ‘Is it someone close to you?’

  ‘My cousin,’ improvised Agathe, ‘but we were brought up together as children and so are… were very close.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you must go, but I do expect you to be back tomorrow night.’

  ‘Certainly, madame, that will be no problem. The funeral is at midday. I shall take an early train and be there in plenty of time.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Rosalie agreed. ‘I don’t think Captain Georges and his family will be arriving until the evening of the day after, but I rely on you to leave instructions before you go and oversee everything when you get back.’

  Agathe thanked her and went to tell Pierre that she had leave to go.

  The following morning she went to the station. As she walked onto the platform she saw Simon Barnier getting into a first-class compartment. Instinctively she ducked back out of sight, pulling her hat down to shade her face before hurrying across the platform to board the train herself. She could only hope that if he were looking out of the window, he would pay no attention to an elderly lady getting into a third-class carriage further up the train. She was anxious that he should not recognise her. She sat back into her seat and closed her eyes, thinking. Why was he going to Paris? she wondered. It could of course be for any number of reasons, but she was disconcerted by his presence on the train.

  When they finally arrived in Paris, Agathe waited in her carriage until she saw Simon Barnier walk past and greet a young man hovering on the platform. Only then did she step down from the train and make her way out of the station. As she emerged into the street, looking for the omnibus stop, she almost walked straight into him. Simon Barnier was standing at the kerbside while the young man summoned a fiacre. He turned with an angry, ‘Look where you’re—’, only then seeing who it was and saying, ‘Madame Sauze. What can bring you to Paris, I wonder?’

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Barnier,’ she replied. ‘A funeral, I’m afraid.’

  His eyes drilled into her. ‘Not in search of your niece?’

  ‘My niece, sir?’

  ‘The maid Annette.’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Agathe. She was tempted to say more, but at the last moment held her peace. Better to say too little rather than too much.

  At that minute the young man appeared with a fiacre. ‘You’ve taken your time, Eugène,’ snapped Simon. He looked back at Agathe. ‘I’m surprised that Madame St Clair can spare you to come to the city with her son and his family arriving so soon.’

  ‘I’m only here for the day, sir. I shall be returning on the evening train.’

  Simon climbed into the cab and was driven away, moments later disappearing round a bend in the road.

  I wonder how Monsieur Barnier knows so much about what’s happening at Belair, mused Agathe. I only heard of Georges’s arrival myself yesterday. He must have someone in his pay, keeping watch on the family. She found the idea didn’t surprise her; after all, he had tried to suborn Annette while Rupert was there.

  Pierre had told her to go to the market, where Annette would be working on Benny’s stall.

  ‘It will give you a chance to speak to her without Hélène knowing anything about it. You must tell her to go to the hotel and find Rupert. Warn him not to come here. What they decide to do… well, they’ll have to decide themselves, but make sure Rupert understands what has happened and that if he is going to try to see Hélène, he must move softly, or that will be the end of any chance he has.’

  Agathe found Annette looking after Benny’s stall and the two women greeted each other in delight.

  ‘I’ve come with a message,’ Agathe told her. ‘Rupert’s had your letter and is coming to Paris. He should arrive any time, but if he’s not here yet, you’re to leave a message for him at the Hotel Montreux.’ She gripped Annette’s hands. ‘Whatever happens, don’t let him go to St Etienne.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he’ll want to,’ Annette said. ‘He’ll want to see Hélène and she’s here.’

  ‘Still, we need to leave him a message as soon as possible. When will you go?’

  ‘As soon as Benny gets back,’ replied Annette. ‘I can’t leave his stall unattended.’

  While Annette and Agathe were talking in the marketplace Rupert Chalfont was renewing some of his acquaintances in Paris. It was nearly nine months since he had been there, on his way to Lucas Barrineau’s wedding. His hope that there would be a message from Annette or Pierre when he arrived had been disappointed, and rather than wait around in the hotel, he sent Parker with a note to David Bertram, with whom he’d been at school and who was now an attaché in the British Embassy. Parker soon returned with a reply, saying David was delighted to hear Rupert was back in Paris, had immediately suggested that they lunch together and had suggested Le Chien Dansant, a restaurant in a side street close by the embassy and a favourite with them both. It was a bright spring day, the sort of day that clothed the city in sunshine and lifted the spirits with the promise of summer, and Rupert decided that the walk would do him good. He was in no particular hurry as he made his way towards the restaurant in the street off the Rue du Faubourg St Honoré. His thoughts were filled with Hélène. How long before he learned where she was? Before he saw her with his own eyes? As he turned into the side street he was unaware of a well-dressed gentleman coming towards him. He reached the restaurant, seeing the familiar dancing dog sign above the window, and pushed open the door to enter.

  Simon Barnier had slowed to a standstill, hardly able to believe his eyes as he saw Rupert Chalfont enter the restaurant a little way ahead.

  Surely he must be mistaken. Why would Rupert Chalfont be here in Paris? He should be home in England looking after his new wife, not dining in restaurants in Paris. Perhaps it was not him. Slowly he walked past the window and glanced in. A man was just getting to his feet to shake hands with his guest, and that guest, Simon was quite certain now, was Rupert Chalfont.

  ‘Eugène,’ he said, turning to the young man, who was still with him. ‘Did you see the tall man who went into Le Chien Dansant?’

  Eugène nodded. ‘Who is he, monsieur?’ he asked.

  ‘Never mind who,’ snapped Simon, ‘but I need to know where he is staying. Get André straight away. I want him followed. Tell André to find out where the man is staying and then come and report back to me at the hotel. Go, now.’

  Eugène scurried off in search of André, while Simon wandered slowly past Le Chien t
o the entrance of an apartment building a little further up the street from whose shelter he could watch the restaurant to make sure that his quarry didn’t leave before his tail was in place.

  Once André had arrived and was installed in the apartment building’s porch, Simon left him, not wanting to be seen or recognised by Rupert when he finally emerged.

  Due to his unexpected vigil, he had missed both his lunch and his appointment with the young lady whom he visited on his trips to Paris, and he knew she would not be best pleased. Mademoiselle Angélique knew how to please him, her erotic person and ingenious games providing him with the release he needed from time to time. He had assumed that once he was married to Hélène there would be no need of further visits to Mademoiselle Angélique; he would simply use Hélène in the same way – teach her what he liked and expect her to provide it whenever he chose.

  Now, he returned to the Pension Marguerite, where he stayed on such visits, and thought about the day. First, there was the housekeeper, Madame Sauze. She was Annette the maid’s aunt and she was in Paris for one day. Then he’d seen Rupert, the foppish Englishman who had deserted Hélène last autumn. What were they both doing in Paris on the same day? Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence? There had to be something going on, something to do with Hélène. That old woman must know where she’s hiding, he thought. Perhaps she’d known all along. Well, once André had done his stuff and discovered where Rupert was staying, Simon could plan his next move. He only hoped that André made a better job of following Rupert than he had when he’d tried to follow Hélène from the Avenue St Anne. Simon had been furious when he’d heard that André had had her in his sights and then had somehow managed to lose her when he had been attacked by some cutpurse and left sprawling in the gutter, clutching his private parts.

  Simon still wanted Hélène, to own her and bend her to his will. When she finally came back home she would be ruined, having run away and lived who knew where and with who knew whom. Her reputation would be in the gutter. Her only way back was to allow him to forgive her and marry him after all. He had been patient, and now here was that damned Englishman again.

  *

  The damned Englishman and his old friend David had a leisurely luncheon at Le Chien Dansant. The food, Rupert decided, was even better than he remembered. As always he enjoyed the French dishes that passed across the table, and the wine that accompanied them – so much more interesting than the plain English fare offered in restaurants at home – and it was some considerable time later that they left the restaurant and made their way back towards the embassy.

  ‘If you’re going to be in Paris for any length of time,’ said David as they paused to shake hands, ‘you must come and dine with us one evening. Christine would love to see you again, especially now you’re Sir Rupert.’ He saluted him with a mock bow and went into the embassy, leaving Rupert to walk back to the Hotel Montreux to see if any messages had been left for him.

  An hour later André was able to report to Eugène that the man he’d been set to follow was staying at the Hotel Montreux off the Boulevard St Germain. A chat with one of the ostlers and an exchange of five francs had elicited the fact that the man was indeed Sir Rupert Chalfont and that he had come with his man and a quantity of luggage which seemed to indicate that he was not planning to return home in the near future.

  Entirely unaware of anyone’s interest in his movements, Rupert wandered into the public lounge and sent Parker to ask if there had been any messages for him while he was out.

  Moments later Jacques Rocher came in carrying a folded note on a tray.

  ‘A young woman, Sir Rupert,’ he said. ‘Not the sort of clientele we encourage, but when she said she had a message for you and we knew you were expecting one, we gave her admittance and took charge of her note. She said she has to speak with you, but as you weren’t here, we sent her away and told her to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Pity you sent her away, Rocher. I need to speak to her.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Rupert, but I wasn’t to know, and it doesn’t do the hotel any good to have the likes of her loitering about outside. Anyone seeing her might think it was a bawdy house.’

  Rupert sighed. ‘If she comes here again, ask her to wait. If I’m not here and you can’t allow her to wait in the hallway to deliver her message, you must take her into the servants’ quarters and permit her to wait for me there.’

  Chapter 47

  Annette’s note had not given Rupert the address of the apartment where she and Hélène were living; all she had said was that as he had arrived in Paris he should come to the market at St Eustache the next morning and find her at the poulterer’s stall. She might tell him where Hélène was then. Rupert had to accept that his approach to Hélène must be carefully managed and meeting Annette was the first step. He knew he couldn’t assume that Hélène would be pleased to see him; indeed, she might refuse to meet him at all. All he did know was that though he was aching to see her, he would have to wait. So that evening he stayed in his suite and played backgammon with Parker, with André keeping a fruitless vigil in the street.

  In the morning Rupert was just finishing his breakfast when Rocher announced that he had a visitor. Thinking it must be Annette, he asked Rocher to bring her into the dining room and to bring more coffee. He looked expectantly at the door and was amazed to see, not Annette, but Simon Barnier walking into the room. He paused in the doorway, staring at Rupert with an implacable hostility.

  Rupert got to his feet and, speaking amiably, said, ‘Monsieur Barnier, what a surprise to see you here. How do you do?’

  ‘None the better for seeing you, Chalfont!’

  ‘Did you know I was staying here,’ enquired Rupert, ‘or is our meeting here pure coincidence?’

  ‘I heard you were here,’ replied Simon, ‘and I came to find out why.’

  ‘I wonder whom you heard it from?’ He paused to allow Simon to answer, but as no answer was forthcoming, he went on, ‘And why I have come, of course, is no business of yours.’

  ‘It is if it has anything to do with Mademoiselle Hélène St Clair, my fiancée.’

  ‘Your fiancée!’ echoed Rupert. ‘Allow me to congratulate you. When will you be married?’

  ‘The date will be set very soon,’ answered Simon, ‘if that is any business of yours.’

  ‘That is surprising news,’ responded Rupert. ‘I had heard that Miss Hélène was away at present.’

  ‘Indeed! And who told you that?’

  ‘Probably the same person who told you that I was staying here,’ replied Rupert smoothly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, much as I’d like to chat some more about mutual friends, I have business to attend to, which as I mentioned before has nothing to do with you. I’ll bid you good day, monsieur.’

  Simon remained in the doorway, barring Rupert’s path, but as Rupert simply walked towards him he gave way, allowing him to leave the room.

  ‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Chalfont,’ Simon snarled as he passed. ‘You had your chance, but now she’s mine. You’re a married man and you’re in no position to approach her. You sully her reputation by even thinking of speaking to her. I should have known yesterday when I saw that old bag of a housekeeper coming to Paris that she was up to something. Coming to a funeral indeed! What Hélène’s parents will say when I tell them that Madame Sauze has known where their daughter has been all this time, I can’t imagine. Out on the street if she were my housekeeper.’

  Rupert made no reply until he reached the foot of the stairs, when he turned back, smiling enigmatically. ‘How fortunate that she isn’t,’ he said.

  When he came downstairs again ready to go and meet Annette in the market, Parker was waiting for him in the hall.

  ‘Just thought you’d like to know, sir, that I saw the man who just left speak to a young man outside. A young man with red hair, which he keeps covered with an old cap. Not a gentleman, dressed in corduroy trousers and a sackcloth jacket. He slipped away to the sta
ble yard, and your gentleman returned to the fiacre he’d arrived in and drove off. The other man is still in the yard.’

  ‘Good work, Parker. I imagine he’s been left as a tail. We’d better use the trick we used in Padua.’

  ‘Right-ho, sir. Just give me the word when to start.’

  ‘Oh, I think we might as well get on with it, but don’t forget there might be two watching us, so keep your eyes peeled. If you think it’s clear, meet me at St Eustache church as soon as you’re sure you’re not being followed.’

  Parker grinned. ‘Got us out of a tight spot in Padua,’ he said. ‘Should work here, too. I’ll go round to the stable now. Our friends don’t know about me, so shouldn’t be any trouble.’

  Minutes later, as he waited in the hotel hallway, Rupert heard an altercation in the stable yard. Shouting and the grunts and bellows of a fist fight; a horse was whinnying and there was the crash of hooves on cobbles, followed by more and louder shouts as the hotel’s ostlers joined the fray.

  Rupert made no effort to go and investigate, but slipped out into the street and vanished into a side alley. Parker would eventually be explaining how he had seen the man with the red hair sliding his hand into the saddlebag of a mare standing ready, waiting for her owner to set out.

  Redhead was denying everything, but he had been detained by the ostlers, who wanted no thieves other than themselves in their yard. After more shouting, and threatened fisticuffs, Jacques Rocher made his way outside. Hearing it was Sir Rupert’s man who had seen the thief and caught him red-handed, he had him searched. When nothing was found on him, Rocher told his men to throw him out of the yard with a farewell boot in the backside and an instruction never to show his face at the Hotel Montreux again.

  ‘I am so sorry that you should have been involved in such an uproar, Monsieur Parker,’ Rocher said as they went back into the hotel. ‘You obviously caught the thief just in time, before he actually managed to take anything from the saddlebag. But with nothing in his hands or pockets we had to let him go. I hope Sir Rupert was not incommoded?’