Women have Hearts

by Barbara Cartland

  “I have to go there to stay with my uncle,” Yvette explained, “but I assure you I would much rather be going on to Cape Town.”

  Kelda thought it was rather indiscreet of her to tell her troubles so quickly to a stranger.

  But Monsieur Mendès asserted,

  “I would much rather you came to Dakar, because that is where I am going. But I can hardly believe that anyone as lovely as you would set foot in such a benighted place.”

  “Do you live in Dakar?” Yvette enquired.

  “Only temporarily, thank God. I am, as it happens, for the next three months Diplomatic Equerry to the Governor-General.”

  Yvette clasped her hands together.

  “But that is wonderful. I shall see you.”

  “You can be sure of that,” he smiled. “Who is your uncle?”

  “Lord Orsett.”

  Again the astonishment on Monsieur Mendès face was very apparent.

  “Lord Orsett? But he never has visitors and I most certainly never suspected that he had a niece who looks like you.”

  “Tell me about Dakar,” Yvette suggested. “As you can well imagine, I have no wish to go there when I might be in Paris.”

  “I can understand that,” Monsieur Mendès said. “I too will very much miss Paris, but thank Goodness I shall be back there in time for the spring.”

  “There will be chestnut trees blossoming in the Champs-Élysées,” Yvette said wistfully.

  “And pretty flowers in the Bois de Boulogne.”

  “There will be balls and parties,” Yvette continued in a rapt voice, “and I had planned how I would dance until dawn.”

  “That is just what you should do,” Monsieur Mendès said. “But how is it possible you are travelling to Dakar?”

  “Lord Orsett is my uncle by marriage and also my Guardian.”

  “I remember hearing that he had had a French wife,” Monsieur Mendès said. “I suppose that is originally why he came to live in Dakar, but then she must have hated it as much as you will.”

  “What shall I do?” Yvette asked him. “Tell me what I should do.”

  “I promise you one thing. I will do everything in my power to make your stay in Dakar as pleasant as possible.”

  “But you will be going away.”

  “Not until the middle of March and a great deal may happen before then.”

  The way he spoke made Yvette feel shy and she looked down so that her eyelashes were dark against her pale skin.

  ‘She is very pretty,’ Kelda thought to herself. ‘It is not surprising that he cannot take his eyes from her face.’

  She was wondering at the same time what Lord Orsett would say if they arrived in Dakar accompanied by a young man.

  It was obvious from that moment that Monsieur Mendès was bowled over by Yvette and she by him.

  “He is most charming, delightful and intelligent,” Yvette said when she and Kelda were undressing on the first night and on the second she sighed with a dreamy look in her eyes,

  “I think, Kelda, I am falling in love!”

  “Please, Yvette, please be careful,” Kelda begged her. “I am quite sure that it is unwise to be precipitate in such matters. We know nothing about Monsieur Mendès. Your uncle may not approve of him.”

  “I am quite sure that Uncle Maximus approves only of himself!” Yvette scowled. “But I will find out everything you want to know. Monsieur Mendès has asked me to meet him on the top deck tomorrow morning and, if it is not raining, we can sit somewhere sheltered and talk without being watched by those old pussycats who were staring at us at dinner tonight.”

  It was obvious, Kelda thought, that the elderly women at the Captain’s table should look with raised eyebrows at the way that Yvette and Monsieur Mendès were engrossed with each other all through the meal.

  He made no effort to speak to the lady on his other side and, as Yvette had Kelda next to her, she saw no point in dividing her attention.

  Kelda had therefore been left to talk to an elderly trader who she learned had often visited Senegal to buy groundnuts, which were, he now informed her, their only appreciable export at the moment.

  He was partly deaf and, although Kelda would have liked to ask him about Senegal, she found it somewhat embarrassing when she had to shout every question several times before he understood her.

  After dinner was over to Kelda’s consternation, Yvette and Monsieur Mendès suddenly disappeared.

  She could not ask anyone if they had seen them and, although she wandered restlessly from lounge to lounge there was no sign of them and after a while she gave up the search and retired to her own cabin.

  She was certain that Mrs. Gladwin would disapprove, but she told herself philosophically that ‘what the eye did not see, the heart did not grieve over’.

  Nevertheless, when after midnight Yvette came to bed, she remonstrated with her.

  “You might have told me where you were going,” she began reproachfully.

  “I did not know myself. Monsieur Mendès whisked me away to the writing room where nobody ever goes.”

  “I never thought of looking in there,” Kelda admitted.

  “We were hiding from you too,” Yvette said mischievously.

  “You know that you should do nothing of the sort,” Kelda remonstrated with her, but in a mild tone because she was quite certain that Yvette would not listen to her whatever she said.

  “I am enjoying myself,” Yvette said, sitting down on the side of Kelda’s bed and looking exquisitely lovely in a gown of coral pink with tulle of the same colour framing her white shoulders.

  “You are worrying me,” Kelda answered.

  “There is no need to worry,” Yvette replied, “and quite frankly I am beginning to enjoy the voyage and even the thought of being in Dakar, at least for the next three months, is not so upsetting.”

  “Suppose your uncle will not let you see Monsieur Mendès once you have arrived?”

  “I know what you are trying to say, Kelda, but then I have found out everything about him and I can assure you that he is very respectable.”

  “Well, that is a relief at any rate.”

  “His father is a member of the Chamber of Deputies and Rémy has decided to become a Politician. His family is not aristocratic as the members of the old régime, like my great aunts are, but they are well known and rich.”

  Yvette paused for a moment to add,

  “At least Uncle Maximus cannot say he is a fortune-hunter.”

  Kelda sat up in bed.

  “Yvette, you are not thinking of marrying him?”

  “He has not asked me yet,” Yvette replied, “but he will. He says he is in love with me and he is also impressed by who I am. I can further his Political ambitions if nothing else.”

  “And you think that is important to him?”

  “Not if he is really in love with me and he will be. Make no mistake about that, Kelda. He will be.”

  Kelda thought rather helplessly that she knew nothing about love.

  She was well aware from the confidences Yvette had made to her that she had already flirted with quite a succession of young men when she had been on her holidays in Paris. She had a feeling, however, that this was something more serious.

  Then she told herself that she was being absurd.

  Shipboard romances were notoriously fleeting and doubtless when they did reach Dakar Yvette would already be bored with Monsieur Mendès and be looking out for another man.

  The book she had been reading before she went to bed had told Kelda that there were practically no white women in Dakar, in which case she had thought that Yvette would have the choice of many men who would be only too thrilled to see anything so attractive from the world they had left behind.

  “Rémy Mendès is gaining experience,” Yvette was saying, “which his father thinks will be of great use to him when he too becomes a Deputy.”

  “So that is why he is going to Dakar?”

  “Yes. As he told me, as Diplomat
ic Equerry to the Governor and he has already held the same position in Algiers.”

  Kelda thought eagerly that she would have liked to talk to him about Algiers, since she had been there, but realised that as things were Monsieur Mendès would have no wish to talk to her when he might be talking to Yvette.

  “Of course my aunts in Paris were talking about my making a brilliant alliance with one of the great families of France. They were even thinking of the young Duc de Féneon.”

  “If that is true,” Kelda remarked, “then you must not involve yourself too closely with Monsieur Mendès.”

  “So if I am to live with Uncle Maximus,” Yvette said, as if she was working it out for herself, “I am not likely to come into contact with the Duc or anyone else.”

  “I just cannot believe that your uncle wishes to tie you down in Dakar for ever,” Kelda objected. “Perhaps he too is thinking of your future and so wishes to see you and talk to you about it.”

  She was well aware that French families made arranged marriages, especially when a girl was as rich and as well-born as Yvette.

  It was something she thought of as unpleasant, almost barbaric, but she had never said so to Yvette, not wishing to upset her and knowing that as far as she herself was concerned there would be no chance of marriage either arranged or otherwise.

  She felt, however, that in the circumstances she ought to prevent Yvette from falling in love with a young man who had not been approved of by her relations, but how she could do that she had no idea.

  The following day and the day after she found herself either sitting alone in the Saloon or on deck unless she sought the company of the Methodist Minister and his wife.

  It was quite obvious that none of the other passengers considered her important enough even to bother to make her acquaintance.

  This, Kelda knew, was due to her clothes.

  She had brought with her only the grey cotton gowns that she had been made to wear at the Seminary and as a rare concession to the cold Mrs. Gladwin had provided her with a thick black wool cape that covered her completely.

  On her head she was made to wear the same black straw bonnet that had been modelled on those she had worn at the orphanage. It was exceedingly unbecoming, hiding her face and tied under her chin with cheap black ribbons.

  Black gloves and sensible elastic-sided boots completed her ensemble and everything else she possessed went into one small bag that was so shabby even the porters and Stewards looked at it with disdain.

  Kelda wasted no time being sorry for herself as she had no idea that she had anything to be sorry about.

  She could hear the sea, she could feel the wind and indeed she knew with an irrepressible gladness that they were steaming towards the sunshine.

  She felt as if she had been cold with the constriction in her heart from the moment her father and mother had died until now when she was escaping from the prisons that she had been incarcerated in.

  She was intelligent enough to know too that, having for the first time for eight years not only enough to eat, but a choice of food contributed to this new feeling of happiness.

  It was also an inexpressible luxury not to have to rise at five o’clock in the morning as she had done both in the orphanage and at the Seminary.

  “I shall get fat,” she told Yvette, “if I do so little and eat so much. It is something I have not been able to do for years.’

  “Well, I feel as if I never want to eat anything again,” Yvette replied, “and that is another reason why I think I must be in love.”

  By the time they were through the Bay of Biscay and moving down the West coast of North Africa, Yvette was no longer thinking that she was in love.

  It was obvious that she was from the brightness of her eyes and the radiance that seemed to emanate from her whenever she and Rémy Mendès were together.

  Kelda gave up begging her to be careful and not to display her affections too obviously. It was a waste of words and she knew when Yvette came into her bedroom at one o’clock in the morning what had happened.

  “I am engaged, Kelda! And Rémy and I are going to be married in Paris at Easter!”

  Kelda gave a little gasp.

  “But supposing Lord Orsett will not allow you to marry each other?”

  “Why should he stop me?” Yvette asked her. “I intend to be the wife of the future Prime Minister of France and even Uncle Maximus must be a little impressed by that.”

  “Suppose he is angry because you have made such an important decision without asking him first? He may not approve of Monsieur Mendès.”

  “Rémy says that he will follow in the footsteps of his father, who is very important in the Political world and, now we have talked things over, I find that he is very much richer than I thought he was. We will have a house in Paris and a Château on his father’s estate, which is enormous. Oh, Kelda, I am so happy.”

  She spoke in an ecstatic tone that made Kelda’s arms go out towards her.

  “I am so glad, dearest, I am really,” she said. “It is just that I think I am as frightened of your uncle as you are.”

  “I am not frightened of Uncle Maximus anymore now. Rémy says he will look after and protect me and love me for the rest of our lives. What more can I want?”

  “What indeed,” Kelda agreed.

  At the same time she was worried.

  Everything she had heard about Lord Orsett made her feel that he was not going to like decisions made without his approval, especially one that meant his niece would be staying with him for a very short time.

  “We shall go to Paris at the beginning of the year,” Yvette was saying, “because I intend to have a magnificent trousseau and that exercise, as you know, takes time.”

  “We?” Kelda questioned.

  “You are coming with me,” Yvette said. “You know I could not do without you and you will love Paris as I do.”

  “What will your relations say?”

  “We don’t have to be concerned with my relations anymore,” Yvette replied sweepingly, “only with Rémy and Rémy is very grateful to you for the tactful way you have behaved.”

  *

  The next day, after Yvette had been with Rémy all the morning, she came bursting into Kelda’s room just before luncheon.

  “Rémy has an idea,” she enthused, “and I think it is very sensible.”

  “What is it?” Kelda asked putting down the book she had been reading.

  “It is that you should change your appearance!”

  “Change my appearance?” Kelda repeated stupidly.

  “I told Rémy who you are,” Yvette went on, “and he is sure he has heard of your father. Anyway he is very impressed that he had lectured to the Geographical Society, which is very highly thought of in France.”

  Kelda then wondered curiously what was coming next.

  “Rémy is appalled,” Yvette continued, “at the horrible way you have been treated by Mrs. Gladwin and the clothes you have been made to wear. He says that we will need your support and help in facing Uncle Maximus, so you must look like someone of high standing whose opinion will carry weight.”

  “How can I do that?” Kelda asked, not understanding what Yvette was trying to tell her. “He says that men like Uncle Maximus are tremendously impressed by appearances. He has made the suggestion, and I should have thought of it before, that I should dress you in my clothes to look like the lady you are.”

  “B-but I could – not do that,” Kelda said quickly and without thinking.

  “Why not?” Yvette asked.

  “Because they are your clothes – they belong to you – and so what would Mrs. Gladwin say?”

  Yvette laughed.

  “Mrs. Gladwin is hundreds of miles away and personally I could not care what she says. I have heaps of dresses with me and Rémy is right, Uncle Maximus must look upon you as an equal otherwise he is not going to listen to anything you have to say.”

  “I doubt if he will listen to me anyway,” Kelda said
humbly.

  “It is important that he should do so, at least Rémy thinks so. After all I have been sent out to Dakar in your charge.”

  “Even if I do look different,” Kelda said after a moment, “do you not suppose that Mrs. Gladwin has told him exactly who I am and what position I occupy in her school?”

  “I am sure she has done,” Yvette said with a mischievous smile, “and you will remember that as we were leaving she gave me a letter to take to Uncle Maximus. It is a pity that he will never receive it!”

  “W-what – do you mean?”

  “I am going to tear it up this moment and throw the pieces out of my porthole.”

  “You cannot do that!” Kelda exclaimed. “It is a personal letter.”

  “I am sure it is full of lies, but neither of us will ever know for certain because I am not going to read it and I will not let you read it either. It would only make you feel miserable.”

  She went from the cabin as she spoke and Kelda heard her rummaging about in the next cabin.

  “I have found it!” she cried after a moment.

  There was the sound of tearing paper and then she came back into Kelda’s cabin with a waste-paper basket in her hand.

  “I am not going to open my porthole tonight, but it is all in here in minute pieces, which I am going to throw into the sea at first light. Then no one will ever know, not even the fish, what the dragon wrote about you.”

  Kelda looked at her wide-eyed.

  “I am sure it is – wrong.”

  “On the contrary, it is right,” Yvette contradicted, “and, as Rémy thinks it is right, there is no argument about it. You are free, Kelda, free of that horrible old woman and everything that has happened in the past since your father and mother died.”

  “I-I cannot believe it,” Kelda sighed and she felt the tears coming into her eyes.

  Yvette suddenly threw her arms around her and kissed her.

  “I love you, Kelda,” she said, “and, if I am starting a new life, then so are you. We are all going to be very happy. I am going to bed now and tomorrow we are going to start planning my trousseau. I want to look lovely, absolutely lovely for Rémy.”

  *

  The following morning, as Kelda got out of bed wearing the stiff harsh calico nightgown that had been provided for her by Mrs. Gladwin, Yvette came into her cabin.