Angel

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

‘No, he hasn’t, Henri. Anyway, I only saw him briefly, when I first arrived. We bumped into each other in the entrance hall as he was heading for the stables. Naturally, he was a bit sardonic, which seems to be his usual way with me these days.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean. He is the same with me, and with Collie, unfortunately. I do not know why he can’t be kinder to his sister. God knows, she’s been through so much these last few years. Ah well.’ He sighed, before remarking, ‘That is Guy, I’m afraid. Eternally self-involved, and with no thought for others and their feelings.’

  Henri took hold of Rosie’s arm and together they walked towards the stone bench.

  The count was a slender man of medium height, about five feet seven inches tall, with greying black hair, a pleasant, rather attractive, craggy face, and the slightly weather-beaten complexion of a man who spends a good deal of time outdoors, which he did. He was sixty-three years old, and had spent most of his life at the château, except for the years he had attended the Sorbonne in Paris.

  Immediately after he had finished university, he had returned to the Loire Valley, which he loved with a passion, and had learned more about running the estate from his father, who had started training him when he was a boy. The only son, he inherited Montfleurie upon his father’s death, when he was only twenty-four; a year later, at the age of twenty-five, he married Laure Caron-Bougival, his childhood sweetheart. His son Guy was born when Henri was twenty-seven, and Colette came along four years later. A widower for the past twelve years, he had not seen fit to remarry, despite the urging of Colette.

  Henri was bundled up in a shabby tweed overcoat, a little threadbare and worn, and, shivering, he pulled this around him as he and Rosie sat down on the bench together. Taking hold of her hand he squeezed it. ‘I’m so happy to have you home, Rosie. It does my heart good to see you, darling.’

  ‘That’s how I feel. I’m glad to be here. It’s been quite a year for me, because of the filming. In so many different ways I’ve hated being away from Montfleurie as much as I have, but it couldn’t be helped.’

  He nodded, then looked deeply into her eyes once again, and asked, ‘But tell me, how are you really? And I want the truth, you know. Nothing less will do.’

  ‘I’m not bad,’ Rosie answered, meaning this, but she laughed unexpectedly, a small, hollow laugh. She went on, ‘At least I’m okay when I’m working. I suppose I’m too busy to be anything else. But I don’t know—’ Breaking off, pausing thoughtfully, she shook her head and her mouth suddenly drooped dejectedly.

  He did not miss this. ‘What is it?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘When I’m at a loose end I seem to be so weepy,’ Rosie confided. The least little thing sets me off, and I’m always filling up with tears, on the verge of crying. And that’s not like me, feeling sad all the time. You ask me what’s the matter with me, and I can’t answer you. I don’t really know.’

  ‘I do,’ he murmured, tightening his hold on her hand. ‘You’re very unhappy, Rosalind. And the life you live is most unnatural for a young woman of thirty-one, if you don’t mind me saying so. You’re not married and you’re not divorced. It seems to me that you’re in… a kind of limbo. I truly believe you should do something about the situation which exists between you and Guy.’

  ‘Oh, but there’s no chance of a reconciliation!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘Not now. We’ve grown too far apart.’

  ‘But of course you have! I wasn’t talking about the two of you getting back together. I was talking about your separating. Permanently. I was talking about divorce.’

  Rosie gaped at him speechlessly.

  ‘Don’t look so thunderstruck, Rosie, people do get divorced, you know. Catholic though you both are, I think the time has come for you to take legal steps to dissolve your marriage to my son.’ When she remained silent, he thought to ask, ‘It hasn’t been a marriage for the past five years, has it?’

  ‘No… perhaps even a bit before that.’

  ‘Then what’s your problem?’

  There was a very long silence, and Rosie confessed in a whisper, ‘I’m afraid.’

  The count drew back slightly, staring, his eyes filling with puzzlement. ‘Afraid! You! I can hardly believe such a thing. What are you afraid of?’

  Rosie bit her lip, and looked down at their clasped hands, wondering how to explain what she felt. When she finally lifted her head she saw such concern in his kindly eyes, she knew she had no alternative but to tell him the truth. He would understand.

  Swallowing, she said in a low, almost inaudible voice, ‘I’m afraid of losing you and Collie and the girls. You’re the only real family I have, have had for years, and I love you all very much. I couldn’t bear it if I had to go away, if I couldn’t call Montfleurie my home, if I couldn’t ever come back to be with you all.’

  ‘That’s not likely to happen, my dear,’ he said swiftly, wanting to reassure her.

  ‘But if I am divorced from Guy, I won’t be part of the family any longer.’ Much to her own irritation, tears sprang into her eyes and trickled down her cheeks before she could check them.

  Henri fumbled in his suit pocket for a handkerchief, gave it to her silently, and waited until she had dried her eyes.

  Once she had composed herself, he said, ‘We all love you, Rosie. And I always have, right from the beginning, when you first came here with Collie, long before you married Guy. And you will always be another daughter to me, whether you’re married to him or not. Even if you marry someone else, my feelings for you won’t change. How could they? I don’t love you because you’re my son’s wife, I love you because of all the things you are, the wonderful person you are, Rosie. I love you for you yourself. And remember this: Montfleurie is your home, no matter what happens, for the rest of your life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  He put his arm around her and drew her closer to him. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with Guy, I won’t even attempt to analyse him.’

  Henri de Montfleurie stopped and shook his head, and then added in a saddened voice, ‘All I know is that I fathered an idiot. Yes, I admit it, I have a fool for a son. How he could behave towards you the way he has is quite beyond me. I’ll never understand it. Nor will I ever understand his total disregard for Montfleurie, which one day will be his, God forbid! I hope I live a very long time, so that I can make it safe for the next generation, because God knows what will happen to it once he inherits. It will go to rack and ruin, I’ve no doubt, unless I take steps to forestall that in advance, make some sort of provision for the future. It worries me considerably these days, in view of his behaviour.’

  ‘But why can’t you leave Montfleurie to Collie?’

  ‘I could under the Civil Code—the Napoleonic Code, the law created by him—if she were my only child. A girl can inherit under French law. However, I cannot bypass my son in favour of my daughter. That’s most assuredly against the law. If Guy dies without an heir, the estate and the title would pass to Collie then, or to her offspring, Lisette. But forgive me, my dear, for digressing in this manner, discussing my worries like this. Now, just let me reinforce what I said a moment ago. You are like a daughter to me, and nothing will ever change that fact.’ He drew away to look into her face. ‘Will you do something for me?’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Will you go to see Maître Hervé Berthier when you return to Paris? You’ve met him you know, he was here several years ago for dinner. He’s an excellent lawyer, one of the best in France, and a good friend. We go back for years. Please, Rosie, go and talk to him, and finally make a move to free yourself from Guy. He does you no good. For my part, I promise you my total support, and my love.’

  ‘All right, I will. I’ll go and see the lawyer. I suppose there’s nothing else left to do really, and thank you, Henri, for the lovely things you’ve said. You’re like a father to me, and I couldn’t bear it if… if… if you and Collie stopped being part of my life.’

  ‘We’ll always be your family, my dear, and by t
he way, that brings me to Kevin. How is he? And is he joining us for Christmas as he promised?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I did ask him again, but he’s started a new job with the New York Police Department, something to do with the Crime Intelligence Division, which investigates the Mafia. I understand they’re targeting the Rudolfo family, one of the most powerful crime empires in New York, and he’s caught up with that.’

  ‘Dangerous work,’ Henri murmured. ‘But then Kevin seems to thrive on danger. It’s a pity though, since it’s so worrying for you.’

  ‘I wish he’d get a desk job, or do something else to earn a living, but he won’t. He once wanted to be a lawyer…’ Rosie left her sentence unfinished and made a small grimace.

  Henri smiled at her. ‘Kevin’s stubborn, like you, Rosie, and we all know a leopard doesn’t change its spots very easily. But what about Nell Jeffrey? You told me on the phone that they had become involved with each other. Cannot she influence him?’

  Rosie laughed and shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I had hoped she might be able to persuade Kevin to come for the holidays, that they would both come to France to be with us here. But I guess he has to work, from what she says anyway.’

  ‘What a shame, but never mind. Perhaps you will be able to inveigle them into coming for a visit at Easter. That’s always such a nice time of year in the Loire Valley.’

  ‘Yes, it is, and I’ll speak to Nell again. Perhaps she can talk Kevin into it. I hope so.’

  A silence fell between them and they sat staring ahead, enjoying these few moments.

  A flock of birds rose up in flight, wheeling and turning against the white clouds, a graceful, moving band, resembling a black velvet ribbon flung high into the pale sky. They flew on, higher and higher, up above the slate-grey turrets of Montfleurie, then they suddenly wheeled away, formed a great arc above the rooftops of the house, heading south for hotter climes.

  Clouds scudded across the remote and fading sky, which seemed suddenly full of movement and changing colours: blue turning into grey tinted with amethyst, lilac bleeding into burnt saffron, and along the rim of the far horizon, scarlet and orange streamers of light glowed like distant fire. Across the river the trees clustered on the bank were suddenly dark, inchoate shapes, bluish-green and hazy with evening mist as the light changed once more and twilight finally descended.

  ‘How beautiful it is out here, Rosie, so very tranquil,’ Henri said.

  ‘My mother used to call this time of day the gloaming.’

  He smiled and patted her hand, and helped her to her feet. ‘I’m glad we had this little chat. When I saw you disappearing down the path a while ago, I thought it was a good opportunity to talk to you alone. But now we had better go in; it’s turned unexpectedly very chilly, icy almost.’

  Together, hand in hand, Rosie and the count walked back to the great château poised on top of the hill.

  They were in step and in tune with each other, understanding each other as they always had, and as they always would. The silence between them was easy, comfortable, companionable.

  Just before they reached the château, Henri came to a standstill and turning to her, asked, ‘Have you still not met some nice man?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t!’

  ‘What a pity! I hate to see you alone, and lonely. And so unhappy, my dear. Don’t you think I know what that’s like? To live as you do?’

  ‘I know you do, Henri,’ Rosie responded. She hesitated uncertainly, then asked, ‘How is Kyra?’

  She felt him stiffen next to her, and even though the light was dim and fading rapidly she noticed the sudden tightening of his jaw. ‘She’s well,’ he said at last. ‘At least, I believe she is. She’s away.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rosie said, surprised. ‘But she’s coming back for Christmas, isn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied in a muffled, unhappy voice, and increased his pace up the hill.

  Rosie decided to leave well alone, and so she asked no further questions, hurrying to keep up with him.

  Suddenly he began to chuckle and he stopped again, and remarked in a teasing tone, ‘I think it’s about time you went out and found yourself a gentleman friend. Otherwise I’ll have to do it for you.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible!’

  ‘No, I’m a Frenchman, remember? And even though I’m old, I’m eternally romantic, like most of my countrymen.’

  ‘You’re not old! You’re special. And no other woman I know has ever had a father-in-law like you.’

  ‘I trust you mean those words to be complimentary, Rosalind de Montfleurie.’

  ‘Bien sûr!’ she exclaimed. And she was relieved that his good humour was restored. But as they walked on she could not help wondering if something had gone wrong between him and Kyra, the Russian woman. Perhaps Collie would tell her later if this was so, for she was bound to know. Kyra was her friend and shared many confidences.

  A short while later, Rosie and the count went into the château, still hand in hand, and she felt better than she had in a long time. Somehow the future no longer looked quite so bleak.

  NINETEEN

  Much later, after she had bathed, redone her make-up and put on her favourite red wool dress in readiness for dinner, Rosie took a small hatbox out of the armoire and left her suite of rooms.

  Walking to the far end of the long, carpeted corridor, she stopped in front of Lisette’s bedroom door, knocked, called out, ‘It’s Auntie Rosie,’ and went in.

  Yvonne, who was kneeling on the floor buttoning the back of Lisette’s brown velvet frock, glanced up. ‘Hello, Rosie. We were just about to come looking for you.’

  ‘I beat you to it!’ Rosie laughed, and crossed the room, holding the hatbox behind her back so that Lisette would not see it. ‘I thought we’d all go down to dinner together.’

  ‘But we must wait for Maman,’ Lisette said, her face puckering up worriedly. ‘We can’t go down without her. She won’t be long, Auntie Rosie, she’s gone to change her dress and comb her hair.’

  ‘Of course we’ll wait, darling,’ Rosie replied. ‘I wouldn’t dream of going downstairs without her.’ She smiled at her niece as she leaned towards her. ‘I have a present for you, honey.’

  The child’s bright smile lit up her small round angelic face, brought a sparkle to her dark-brown eyes which were so like her grandfather’s. They grew larger in her face as excitement and anticipation took hold. ‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘What is the present? Oh please tell me, Tante.’

  ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

  ‘Did you bring it from America?’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Un chapeau! It must be a hat!’

  ‘Goodness me, however did you guess so quickly? You are a clever little girl,’ Rosie exclaimed, then said in a teasing tone, ‘Somebody must have told you about it. A little bird, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh nobody told me, Auntie Rosie. Really they didn’t,’ Lisette said, suddenly looking solemn. ‘But you promised me you’d bring me a hat from America. Don’t you remember? You promised me in August.’

  ‘That’s so, I did promise, and here it is.’ Rosie brought her hands from behind her back and offered the hatbox to the child.

  Lisette stepped forward and took it from her. ‘Merci beaucoup! Merci beaucoup!’ She opened the hatbox swiftly, her plump little hands fumbling with the strings, and took out a small perky hat made of dark-green felt, banded in red-and-green plaid ribbon and sporting a bunch of bright-red cherries on one side. Très joli!’ she exclaimed, and hugged her aunt, then dashed across to the armoire and opened the door. After placing the hat on her head, she stood back, admiring it in the armoire mirror for a few seconds.

  ‘It’s so beautiful I’m going to wear it to dinner,’ Lisette announced, and beamed at her aunt and Yvonne.

  Yvonne exclaimed, ‘It is beautiful, but you can’t wear it to dinner.’

  ‘Why not?’ the five-year-old demanded, giving Yvonne a piercing look.


  ‘You know very well we never wear hats indoors,’ Yvonne answered.

  ‘I do,’ Lisette countered.

  ‘That’s not true!’ Yvonne exclaimed, her voice rising an octave.

  ‘But it is, too! In a café I’ve worn my hat.’

  ‘The dining room at Montfleurie is not a café,’ Yvonne pointed out, and shook her head. ‘And you know very well it isn’t, Lisette. Don’t be such a silly girl.’

  ‘But we eat food there,’ Lisette argued.

  Repressing her laughter, Rosie interjected, ‘Yvonne is right, darling. You can’t wear a hat indoors.’

  ‘But I did in the hospital, didn’t I? Maman told me I did.’

  Rosie and Yvonne exchanged glances, and Rosie said, ‘Yes, and you look very pretty in this hat, it really suits you, Lisette. But I do think you must put it away now. You can wear it tomorrow. I’ll take you with me when I drive down to the village, and we’ll go to the café for an ice cream. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  The child nodded and smiled. But, none the less, the hat remained firmly planted on her dark curls, and by the look on her face she had no intention of removing it.

  Rosie said, ‘Come on, Lisette, let’s go and put the hat with the rest of your collection. Do you have any other new ones you want to show me? If you do, I’d love to see them.’

  ‘I have two new ones. Come on then!’ Lisette, still wearing the green felt hat, ran into the adjoining playroom where her toys and books were kept. It was here that her large and unique collection of hats was arranged on a series of long shelves lining a wall.

  Lisette had always adored hats and rarely went outdoors without one, not even when she was simply playing on the grounds of the château.

  Long ago, her mother and Rosie had concluded that this love of hats had started just after her birth. She had been a premature baby and had been in an incubator for eight weeks in the Paris hospital where she had been born. While she was in the incubator she had worn a tiny wool cap to keep her head warm. When Claude and Collie had brought their little daughter home to their Paris apartment they had removed the cap. Immediately the baby had begun to shriek, and had continued to do so for over an hour. Eventually it had struck Collie that she was obviously unhappy at being deprived of the wool bonnet. And so Collie had finally put it back on her head, and Lisette had stopped crying immediately.