“Ah … and that satisfies you, does it, her appearance?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it doesn’t satisfy me. A governess is a governess, and a guest is a guest, and she is neither. I believe she will be a bad influence on the children, and I wish her to leave as quickly as possible, the moment she can be replaced.”
Etienne was beginning to get angry. “I have no wish to defy you, but I don’t think you realize how important this young woman can be to the children. I do. And until such time as I find her unfit, she will remain. We really should be grateful that she came to us when she did. I’m convinced that she understands the children’s upset, and can help them to overcome it.”
Madame Dupré’s shoulders sank back into the chaise. “You’ve never spoken to me in that tone of voice in your life, Etienne. I’m surprised at you … why are you being so protective of her? What can she possibly mean to you …? I do believe she has bewitched you.” Her voice was quivering.
Etienne dug his fingers into the edge of the desk. His patience was almost gone. He looked his mother in the eye. “Never … never say anything like that to me again. Twice you’ve suggested that my intentions might be personal. They are not. Now, the subject is closed. …”
Etienne left the room. Madame Dupré began to cry. She loved Etienne more than all the others. True, she loved them all, but he was special. It was she who had brought him into the world deformed, something for which she could never forgive herself. From the moment of his birth she had questioned herself: had she committed some terrible sin to call for this punishment from God? And now Etienne was angry with her, something she could not bear. …
The four of them sat at the round table in the center of the playroom having dinner. All afternoon Lucien and Nicole had ignored Jeanette, and it was no different now. They just sat there, toying with their food, although they were very hungry, hoping Mademoiselle would press them to eat, at which time they’d begin their refusals. But Mademoiselle had no such intention. She and Desirée enjoyed their meal enormously.
“Isn’t this delicious?” Jeanette said, smiling at Desirée.
And Desirée, her mouth full, answered, “Yes, mademoiselle.”
“That’s a good girl, you’ve almost finished your dinner.” Desirée
Desirée smiled back. “Thank you, mademoiselle.”
Jeanette removed Desirée’s plate, went to the serving cart and came back with two small crystal bowls of fresh strawberries. “Look,” she said, placing the bowls before them. Lucien and Nicole, who loved strawberries, pretended not to notice. Lucien, incensed by mademoiselle’s indifference, elbowed his plate off the table, at the same time trying to pretend it was an accident. He waited for her reaction.
Jeanette picked up the broken plate along with the food and merely said, “Accidents will happen.” This was not what Lucien wanted her reaction to be. If only she had spoken harshly or had spanked him, he could have gone to Uncle Etienne.
Jeanette couldn’t help laughing. She picked up Desirée in her arms and whirled her around the room. It was at that exact moment that the door opened, and Jean-Paul Dupré entered. Quickly, Jeanette put Desirée down and composed herself. Desirée ran to her uncle.
He picked her up, kissing her on both cheeks. “My little darling, you look as delicious as the strawberry stain on your chin.” He wiped it away with his handkerchief.
“Uncle Jean-Paul!” Nicole screamed out.
“Nicole, my little one,” he said, picking her up in his other arm and kissing her. She placed her arm around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said.
“You’re still happy to see me, although you saw me only last night?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, my two beauties, you shall see me often. Now, come. Let us have a nice chat.”
Jeanette was spellbound. Jean-Paul’s presence had taken command of the room. She couldn’t move. It was as though the portrait downstairs of Marshal Dupré had come to life. The resemblance was almost frightening. She was awed, overcome … he was so handsome, so urbane. …She had no words to describe what she was feeling … as though she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her heart raced. She felt things inside herself she hadn’t known she could feel. Her feelings embarrassed her … gave her a sense of guilt as, all of a sudden, thoughts of her mother, of what they’d said about her, came into her mind, and were banished immediately.
Jean-Paul was now looking at her, and saying, “Forgive me, mademoiselle, I am Jean-Paul Dupré. You must be the new governess.”
“Yes, sir. I am Jeanette Hack.” She stammered slightly.
He nodded, clearly approving what he saw. Well, this time at least Etienne had brought a little spring into the house, not some old crow. The closer he observed Jeanette, the better he liked her. In the proper setting, she could be beautiful. In fact, she was already. He couldn’t understand why his mother had objected earlier, although her perspective was hardly his own. …“I hope you’ll be happy here,” he said, and after Jeanette managed to get out that she was sure she would be, she backed out of the room, leaving him to have his “chat” with the children.
In her room she went immediately to her bathroom and turned on the cold water, splashing her face, hoping, praying, that her extraordinary reaction to Monsieur Jean-Paul had not been as obvious as she feared it had been.
With mademoiselle gone, Jean-Paul summoned Lucien, who was overjoyed at seeing his uncle, and quickly launched into the list of complaints he had given his grandmother. Jean-Paul listened patiently. When Lucien had finished, he said, “Lucien, sit down. Let’s discuss this man-to-man. It’s no one’s fault that Mademoiselle Valeriese left, least of all Mademoiselle Hack’s.”
Lucien seated himself near his uncle’s chair as Jean-Paul continued. “Now, Lucien, I understand your feelings. In my own work, in the diplomatic service, I find a lot of things I don’t agree with, and many that I dislike. Being a diplomat, though, teaches a man that it’s easier to catch flies with honey. Do you understand what I mean?”
Lucien tried to think it over, not really understanding how all this really applied to him and the new intruder. “But Uncle, she’s been so mean to Nicole and me. How can I be nice to her? She just likes Desirée.”
“Well, I understand why you would take a belligerent attitude-”
“Bel-liger-ent …?”
“Yes … angry. However, let’s consider something else. When she’s inconsiderate, what would happen if you were nice … and treated her with the greatest respect? Perhaps she would feel guilty, and treat you like Desirée. Usually when you’re nice and kind to someone, they treat you the same way.”
“No, Uncle, I know she won’t.”
“Maybe not, but I would suggest you try. If she continues to be mean, then we can talk again and discuss a different strategy. Doesn’t that make good sense?”
Reluctantly …“All right, I’ll try … but if she doesn’t change, will you send her away then?”
“We’ll see, but first you do your share. Is that agreed?”
“I’ll try.”
“Very good. That’s the most any man can do.”
When his visit was over, Jean-Paul knocked gently on Jeanette’s door. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and tried to compose herself. It was no use. She opened the door, not daring to look up into his face.
He smiled. “We’ve had a lovely visit,” he said, “and now I’m leaving. But I want to welcome you and tell you I hope you’ll enjoy the children as much as I know they’ll enjoy you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she answered, in a voice that sounded almost aloof, and far from what she felt. She was also grateful to him, knowing he had told a lie, knowing all too well what Lucien must have said about her. He smiled, bowed his head slightly and left.
It was difficult to keep her mind on the children, but when her attention returned to them, she did notice a slight change in Lucien�
��s attitude, not quite so defiant as it had been. And if Jean-Paul had straightened out a few things with Lucien, could Nicole be far behind? Thank you, Monsieur Jean-Paul.
When they were told to get ready for bed, the two older children obeyed. Then Jeanette attended to Desirée. She listened to her prayers (which had been underscored in black ink on Mademoiselle Valeriese’s list). She kissed and held the child for a few moments, then gathered up the blankets and tucked her in. “Sleep well, my little one.”
She next went to Nicole, who was already kneeling, her elbows on the edge of the bed, her hands poised under her chin, looking up toward heaven. When she had finished her prayers, Jeanette tucked her in. Someday she’d be able to kiss her good night, but not this evening. It was too soon. “Sleep well, Nicole. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle.” It was brief, but she too was not hostile as before. Like brother, like sister …
Lucien was already in bed. “Lucien, have you said your prayers?”
He remembered the lecture Uncle Jean-Paul had given him about winning the flies with honey. “Yes,” he said. “I can say them by myself, thank you.”
“Oh … I see. Well, in that case, I hope you sleep well. Good night.” Jeanette left the room without another word, almost smiling to herself.
Lucien lay staring up at the ceiling, and suddenly the tears began to pour. …He turned over and buried his head in the pillow. He had been so wicked to Mademoiselle Hack, he had treated her cruelly. Uncle Jean-Paul had said it wasn’t her fault that Mademoiselle Valeriese had to leave. No one was to blame, least of all Mademoiselle Hack. In a way he’d known that, but he longed for his old governess, he’d loved her so. And now he was without his mother and father. He cried for a long time before he finally fell asleep.
As Jeanette was about to undress in her room, there was a soft knock on the door. She wondered who it could be. Etienne? Jean-Paul? A shiver went through her. She composed herself, smoothing her hair, adjusting the collar on her dress, took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. It was Etienne. First she was disappointed, then delighted. She was comfortable with Etienne, and safe from her inner self, not like some bumbling, fumbling schoolgirl, tongue-tied with her first crush. “Good evening, Monsieur Dupré,” she said, holding the door open.
“Good evening.” He came in, hobbled across the room and sat down.
“The children have already been put to bed. …”
“Yes, I thought they would be. I came to ask you how the day went.”
“All things considered, I think quite well.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, especially after your brother left. I felt an immediate lessening of tension on Lucien’s part. I think your brother was very helpful.”
“No doubt.” He might have known it Jean-Paul, always the arbiter, always the winner. …
Jeanette noticed the touch of resentment on his face and a slight bitterness in his voice. Apparently she had said something that disturbed him, but she couldn’t know what. She changed the subject. “Mr. Dupré, may I take my day off on Saturdays? I usually attend memorial services for my father then. Saturday is the Sabbath for us.”
He was brought back from his thoughts of Jean-Paul. “Of course. That can be arranged without any problem.”
“Oh, thank you. Mademoiselle Valeriese’s list says that the children attend early mass on Sunday. That too will be no problem.”
Etienne returned her smile, but it was edged with sadness. Monsieur Dryfus had told him that Jeanette, too, had recently suffered a great loss. “I’ve known of your father’s death from the beginning. …” He stood up abruptly to leave and on his way out told her that the piano would be delivered the next day. “Good night, mademoiselle,” he said.
“Good night, monsieur.”
A lovely man, she thought, as she went to her bathroom and let the bath water flow into the tub. She undressed and stood nude in front of the long mirror attached to the door and looked at her body. As thoughts of Jean-Paul, not Etienne, came rushing into her mind, it was like discovering herself for the first time. She was really too thin; her breasts were too small and flat, not at all like the voluptuous Madeleine’s. She lifted them, trying to imagine how they would look fuller, concluding that she simply was not sensuous … but suddenly, that was very much what she wanted to be … full-breasted and voluptuous. Starting tomorrow she would eat more, much more. …She toyed with her hair, piling it on top of her head. If she tried a little harder, she decided, she could be quite pretty. Well, she would try. …
The bath water had almost reached the brim of the tub. She turned off the taps just in time to avoid a disaster. She drained some of it, got in and lay back, dreaming of how it would feel to be loved by a man like Jean-Paul. It would, she decided, be heaven. But before her fantasies could take her very far, they were replaced by logic. He undoubtedly had his pick of the most beautiful women in Paris, and here she lay, hopelessly flat-chested and pale by comparison with those women. …She was a nobody, a governess. Thank God one’s thoughts belonged only to oneself, and she would never need risk the amusement he would surely feel if he even suspected hers. …
She got out of the tub and wiped herself dry. Then put on a fresh cotton nightgown and got into bed, trying to think of something, anything, to divert her mind … she thought about Aunt Deborah and Uncle Leon … about Madeleine. …But Jean-Paul came back, again and again, and for the first time in her life she knew, she acknowledged, the stirrings of desire. She wanted him beyond belief.
She was brought up sharply by an outburst of cries from Desirée. Jumping out of bed, she ran to the child, picked her up, and held her close. “It’s all right, my little one, it’s all right. Jeanette is here and nothing can hurt you.” She carried the child to her bed … comforting and soothing her. And there Desirée slept, close in Jeanette’s arms all night
Lucien’s attitude began to show signs of a definite change, and Uncle Jean-Paul continued to talk to him. By the end of the month he had capitulated. Jeanette responded in kind, knowing that what he needed most in the world was just to be loved. Sometimes she gave him even more attention than the others, when she felt the situation called for it.
One evening after she’d listened to his prayers and gathered the blankets around him, Lucien looked up at her, his large brown eyes soft and no longer guarded. Sensing the moment, how difficult it was for him to make the first overture, respecting his pride, Jeanette sat down on the edge of the bed, and slowly, tentatively, took his hand in hers. In a moment, he reached out and hugged her. She kissed him on the forehead as he clung to her, tears in his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d been embraced by someone soft who smelled of sweet-scented soap … by someone like his mother. In that moment all the pent-up feelings came tumbling out, and from that time on their friendship truly began.
On Saturdays the children now missed her terribly. Lucien would remain silent, somewhat sullen, staying for the most part in his room. When she returned in the early evening they ran to her joyfully, as though she’d been away for a week. Each time she brought them a gift, not expensive, but a reminder of how much she loved them.
One Saturday she returned with toy instruments. A drum for Lucien, a piccolo for Nicole, and a horn for Desirée. She had begun to give them piano lessons, and now they could have an orchestra as well.
Jeanette played the piano, Lucien beat the drum in time to the simple French song she played while Nicole hummed into the piccolo and Desirée blew the horn. They loved it and begged for more. It was more fun than they’d ever had with Mademoiselle Valeriese. The concert came to an end abruptly when Jean-Paul walked in. He began to laugh at the sight. Jeanette had been embarrassed. After shakily greeting him, she was forced to go to her room in order to stop trembling. No matter when she saw him, he brought out the same incredible feeling. …It was sheer misery.
When the children had been put to bed she felt very restless. Wanting to talk to someone,
she went downstairs to the kitchen. Clothilde, the cook, had just finished her chores. When she saw Jeanette she was surprised, especially since it was Saturday. Jeanette had never come to the kitchen at this time of night She had liked Jeanette from the very beginning. She wasn’t like that so superior Mademoiselle Valeriese, always trying to put on airs as though she were born to the purple, the very idea. This one was modest along with a spirit Clothilde admired. Clothilde knew how she had conquered the children and how Monsieur Etienne had been her champion when she was hired. Yes, she liked this one more than just a little.
Jeanette returned the older woman’s affection. True, Clothilde tended to rule the other servants, her word was law and few disputed her. She not only had seniority, but in her mind this house was her birthright. She was a woman of violent likes and dislikes; there were no in-betweens. She loved Madame, was completely devoted to her. Although they were about the same age, for all her hard labors Clothilde didn’t look her fifty-five years, whereas Madame, for all her luxurious living, looked much older. Of course, Clothilde had noticed the abrupt change in her mistress almost from the day her husband, Marshal Dupré, had died. …
“Sit down and have a cup of coffee,” she told Jeanette now. And for a while, they drank in silence, Clothilde peering over the rim of her cup, observing Jeanette. Finally, without any preamble, she said, “You’re lonely tonight, yes?”
“I suppose, a little.”
“Well, that’s natural, a young girl on a Saturday night with no boyfriend. Why do you come back so early on your day off?”
“I like it here … besides, I have nothing else to do—”
“You have no friends?”
“Well, one, a dear friend—”
“Ah, a young man, and you come home so early? What kind of a romance is that?”
“No, my friend is a girl, her name is Madeleine. I spent the afternoon with her.”
“Ah ha. I see. But I think you come home for more than one reason.”
Jeanette’s heart jumped. Had Clothilde discovered her need to see Jean-Paul, not to miss the possibility of seeing him for a moment in the evening, which was when he usually came. …But then she reasoned, how could she? She’d said nothing.
Days of Winter Page 24
