An Innocent in Paris

by Barbara Cartland

  “And you believed that?” Gardenia asked. “Pierre Gozlin must have told him very very much more important things.”

  “I am afraid so. I never did like that man, he is horrible.”

  The Duchesse shuddered,

  “Horrible, horrible,” she said repeatedly, “but for Heinrich’s sake I would have put up with worse.”

  “Do you mean,” Gardenia asked, her voice very low. “Pierre Gozlin thought himself in love with you?”

  The Duchesse gave a violent movement with her hand and her glass of brandy fell to the ground and smashed.

  “Don’t let’s talk of it,” she said. “I hated him, I loathed the very sight of him. Heinrich asked me to be kind to him as a favour. How could I refuse?”

  Her voice was almost hysterical.

  “We will not speak of it,” Gardenia said soothingly.

  She felt sick as she bent down to pick up the pieces of glass. Then she fetched her aunt a tumbler from the small toilet that connected the two wagon-lits.

  It was the early hours of the morning, but the Duchesse still went on talking. She told Gardenia about the Russian Grand Duke who had fallen so much in love with her that he offered her a magnificent Château and jewellery more magnificent than was owned by any European Queen, if only she would become his mistress.

  She added that he had attracted her and she had known how gay and fantastic her life would be with him. Yet her British middle-class respectability had made her force the Duc into marriage because she wanted a ring on her finger rather than diamonds around her neck.

  “You had the diamonds too,” Gardenia reminded her.

  “Nothing to what I could have easily had. Oh, dear! I hate to think of all my sapphires and emeralds being left behind!”

  “I don’t think it matters so much as being free,” Gardenia remarked.

  She had realised before that it was urgent that her aunt should be taken out of France and now the revelations that she had just listened to made it clear that if Aunt Lily was not shot as a traitor, she would be imprisoned for years, perhaps for the rest of her life.

  The Duchesse seemed hardly to realise the danger she was in. She was talking again of the Baron, a soft caressing note in her voice that was always there when she mentioned his name.

  “I will write to Heinrich as soon as we arrive in Monte Carlo. He will come to me and perhaps we will have a little holiday together while we decide what we will do in the future.”

  “Do you think he will be able to get away?” Gardenia asked.

  “Heinrich can manage everything,” the Duchesse said confidently. “But he will really be annoyed at having to leave France. He so enjoyed being in Paris and, of course, that Pierre Gozlin should have broken down and confessed will be a black mark against him. Actually we don’t know what that horrible Gozlin has said. He may not have incriminated anyone except me.”

  “The Baron has already left Paris,” Gardenia reminded her.

  “Yes, of course. I suppose they would think him guilty anyway.”

  “I am sure they would,” Gardenia answered, resisting an impulse to add a few words on what she thought about the Baron’s behaviour.

  It was nearly dawn when finally the Duchesse fell asleep.

  The brandy bottle was empty and she looked very old and very tired as Gardenia turned out the light and went to her own bed.

  She was unable to sleep but lay awake praying that they would get over the frontier, wondering what would happen if her aunt was arrested and they were taken back to Paris.

  ‘I will not leave her whatever happens, I cannot leave her,’ she told herself, knowing that her mother would have wanted her to be loyal and knowing too that it was against all her own inclinations and standards to abandon anyone in their hour of need.

  The train hurried on. As the sun rose, Gardenia realised that they must be near the sea, so she jumped up and dressed. She peeped into the next-door compartment, but the Duchesse was still asleep and Gardenia knew that the most dangerous time would be when they reached Nice. The train was bound to stop there for perhaps ten minutes before proceeding to Monte Carlo.

  The conductor brought her some coffee and asked if she wished to go along the corridor for breakfast. Gardenia shook her head. She felt as if she ate anything it would choke her and she was convinced that her aunt would want nothing after all the brandy she had drunk last night

  “What time do we reach Nice?” she asked the conductor.

  “In about half an hour, mamselle.”

  Gardenia roused her aunt and she groaned.

  “My head is splitting open,” she complained and then asked, “Why are we here? Where are we going?”

  “We are going to Monte Carlo,” Gardenia replied. “Don’t you remember?”

  The Duchesse closed her eyes again.

  “I remember now, I pray that Heinrich is all right.”

  Gardenia found the cachet faivre, which luckily Yvonne had remembered to pack and with the help of two of them and another glass of brandy she managed to get the Duchesse on her feet.

  The effort was worthwhile, for after one glance in the mirror the Duchesse realised just how ghastly she looked and sat down to make up her face, mascara her eyelashes and paint her lips.

  Exactly on time the train rattled into Nice Station.

  Gardenia held her breath. There was the usual chatter and noise from the platform. But no one disturbed them. A few minutes ticked by and Gardenia felt her tension relax.

  If Aunt Lily had been going to be taken off the train, the Police would have been waiting. Nevertheless she felt her tension disappear as finally the train began to move again, slowly steaming out of Nice Station.

  Gardenia drew up the blinds, feeling that now at least she dared look out at the sunshine and at the sea so vividly blue that it made her just gasp with delight. She had never imagined anything could be so beautiful.

  She stood at the window looking at the Villas with their gardens full of bougainvillaea, at the groves of orange and lemon trees, at the people splashing in the sea and little boats with their white sails speeding across the water.

  “I had no idea Nice could be so lovely,” she said to her aunt.

  The Duchesse did not answer. She was busy putting the last touches to her face.

  “I look a hag,” she said, more to herself than to Gardenia, “but at least no one in Monte Mario will notice anything unusual about me. You must be careful, Gardenia, not to mention to anyone why we have left Paris.”

  “I am not likely to,” Gardenia answered. “I am not proud of it.”

  “No, of course not,” her aunt said, “but we don’t want people to think there is anything unusual in my coming to Monte Carlo so late in the Season. I shall just say I have been ill – no, people will know I have been well. I shall say you have been ill, that will be our story.”

  Gardenia longed to ask if it really mattered, but she knew it did matter to her aunt and she thought perhaps it was best for the Duchesse to try to behave as though things were quite normal. Sooner or later, Gardenia thought with a little shudder, if there was a trial, people were bound to know what had happened. Then she thought that perhaps, as State security was concerned, it might be all hushed up. Pierre Goziin would never be heard of again, but the Duchesse could never be able to go back to France.

  “Aunt Lily,” she asked suddenly, “are you sure, as you said last night, that you have no money outside France, no securities or property in England?”

  “Alas!” the Duchesse answered. “Everything I possess was my husband’s and naturally, as he was French, we invested only in France.”

  “Then what are we going to live on?” Gardenia asked.

  Just for a moment the Duchesse looked defeated.

  “The Baron will arrange everything,” she said. “We must just trust him, Gardenia. After all, if it comes to that, the German Government owes me a lot of money. I have never taken much from them all these years, only the chinchilla cape, my sabl
es and one diamond ring. They must still be in my debt.”

  Gardenia said nothing. She had an uncomfortable feeling that, once the Duchesse was no further use to the German Government, they would not worry about her unduly. She was not trouble making to say so to her aunt, things were difficult and depressing enough without her adding to them.

  They crossed the frontier and there was just a perfunctory inspection.

  The train halted and French officials walked down the corridor, glanced at their passports and proceeded to the next compartment. Gardenia felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was all over in a few seconds and then the train came puffing into the smart Station of the tiny Municipality of Monte Carlo and they were safe!

  It was only a few minutes before a large and comfortable motor car transported them to the Hôtel de Paris. The Hotel Manager was waiting in the hall and there was no disguising his delight at seeing the Duchesse.

  “This is indeed a tremendous surprise, madame,” he greeted her. “But something must have gone wrong, we did not receive a letter making your reservations.”

  “You did not get a telegram from me, Monsieur Bloc?” the Duchesse enquired.

  “No, we have heard nothing,” he replied.

  “Really! I shall discharge my secretary just as soon as I return to Paris!” the Duchesse exclaimed. “I told him to wire you just as we were leaving. We came on an impulse because my niece has been feeling so unwell. I think she must have picked up one of these new-fangled germs we hear so much about. Anyway I said to her, ‘Gardenia, we will go to Monte Carlo. The sea, air and the sunshine will put you right in no time’.”

  “I promise your Grace it will do that,” Monsieur Bloc agreed. “By very good fortune, and because it is a little late in the Season, your Grace’s favourite suite is available.”

  “Aunt Lily, we don’t want a suite,” Gardenia whispered, feeling that the expense was more than they dare incur.

  The Duchesse brushed her aside.

  “That will be delightful,” she smiled. “You know I like that particular view and being able to have my breakfast on the balcony.”

  “Let me take you up, Your Grace,” Monsieur Bloc suggested, “and if everything is not to your satisfaction you have only to mention it, you know that.”

  The Duchesse was all graciousness and soon they were ensconced in an enormous suite overlooking the sea. The bedroom, sitting room and a much smaller room for Gardenia were all expensively luxurious.

  The Duchesse tipped the baggage men and rang for the waiter.

  “I am exhausted, Gardenia,” she said, sinking down in one of the satin-covered chairs. “I think a bottle of champagne is what we need.”

  “Oh, Aunt Lily, do listen,” Gardenia begged. “We have a few hundred francs left of what Monsieur Groise gave us and nothing else ‒ nothing at all. These rooms must be exorbitantly expensive, we cannot afford them.”

  “Don’t you worry, dear child,” the Duchesse said confidently. “I am writing to the Baron today, but, if it makes you happier, I will send him a telegram. Give me a telegram form from the desk and bring me the little black book in my dressing case. It will have the Baron’s home address in it and the code we use when we write to each other.”

  “Is it safe?” Gardenia asked.

  “But of course,” the Duchesse replied impatiently. “The Baron thinks of everything. His wife is jealous, he suspects that she might open his letters and she would certainly read his telegrams, so we have our own ways of communicating with each other.”

  The Duchesse gave a little laugh.

  “She has never suspected, the stupid woman.”

  The Duchesse wrote out the telegram and, because Gardenia was so anxious it should go off at once, she took it downstairs to the Concierge, rather than entrust it to a pageboy.

  The Concierge promised to send it off immediately.

  When Gardenia came back to the suite, she found that the Duchesse was undressing.

  “You will have to help me, dear, I am afraid. I am so lost without Yvonne. I want a bath, then we will go down and have some luncheon.”

  “Don’t you think you ought to go to bed?” Gardenia enquired.

  “Yes, dear, but we will have luncheon first and this evening we will go to the Casino. I know you will be shocked, but I am really looking forward to it. An unexpected holiday is always exciting and there is nothing that will cheer me up more than having a little gamble.”

  “But, Aunt Lily, you cannot afford it!” Gardenia cried.

  “Nonsense. How much did you say we had left?”

  Gardenia fetched the money from her handbag and counted it out. She counted it twice.

  “It is not as much as I had thought,” she said. “The tickets were very expensive and then I had to pay for the brandy on the train and that came to quite a lot. I am afraid, Aunt Lily, I hardly know how to tell you, there is only eighty-two francs here.”

  “Ridiculous,” the Duchesse replied crisply. “There must be more!”

  “There isn’t.”

  The Duchesse thought for a moment and then she rose and went to her jewel case.

  “Take this bracelet,” she said, “and then go to the jeweller opposite the hotel. Ask for Monsieur Jacques. Tell him that you have come from me. Say I have arrived in Monte Carlo unexpectedly without having had time to arrange Letters of Credit. Tell him it was because of illness. He will not ask you any questions, he is very discreet. And say that I want to borrow money on the bracelet. Tell him I want five thousand francs, he will give it to you.”

  Gardenia longed to refuse and to say that it was something she could not possibly do, it sounded so embarrassing!

  But she felt she had to look after Aunt Lily and anyway they could not possibly manage with the money they had. Five thousand francs would keep them going for a good long time, she thought.

  She put the bracelet in a safe place and unpacked her aunt’s luggage. She found that in the hurry Yvonne had forgotten quite a few things, but she was so determined not to mention them in case her aunt should want to purchase replacements.

  It took such a long time getting the Duchesse dressed after her bath, finding her a gown, hat, gloves, bag and shoes that she grew impatient when she learned that Gardenia wished to change too.

  “We shall have to have a lady’s maid,” she declared. “I will tell Monsieur Bloc to engage me one tomorrow. I cannot think why you bothered to unpack, you could have rung for the chambermaid and she would have done it.”

  “I know,” Gardenia said, “but I thought she might think it strange the way things were jumbled into the trunks. After all you have been here before and she would not have expected Yvonne to pack without layers of tissue paper.”

  “What a sensible girl you are,” the Duchesse exclaimed. “I am so glad you are with me, Gardenia. This would have been far harder to bear without you.”

  “You really feel like that?” Gardenia asked, being glad that her aunt should want her.

  “Of course I do,” she said affectionately. “This is all a terrible shock to me, Gardenia, but I think you understand I have to keep up a brave front. So I must not let the world know that anything has happened. The Baron would not like that, he always says that appearances are very important.”

  “Well, he would be proud of you. I thought last night you were going to collapse.”

  “I am made of sterner stuff than that, my dear.”

  She poured out what remained of the champagne and drank it

  “Hurry, Gardenia. While you are changing I will go down the stairs and find out who is staying here. Even though it is the end of the Season there are sure to be some of my friends left. Then we will have luncheon in the dining room, which was done up last year in King Edward’s honour. You will see how magnificent it is. Hurry, child, hurry!”

  It seemed to Gardenia that she was hurrying for the rest of the day. After luncheon the Duchesse insisted on going for a drive before she went to rest and then Gardenia helped he
r to undress and into bed.

  As soon as that was finished, there was the visit to the jeweller, an ordeal which was not as frightening as Gardenia had expected. Monsieur Jacques was all smiles and willingness to help once he heard the Duchesse’s name.

  “Five thousand francs?” he said. “Well, I will be honest with you, mamselle, for anyone else we would not advance such a large amount, not even on a bracelet of this value. For the Duchesse it is different. She is a very valued customer and I am sure it is only a question of a few days before her affairs are in order.”

  “We came away in such a hurry,” Gardenia explained, “the banks were closed.”

  “I quite understand,” the jeweller smiled.

  He put the new notes into an envelope and handed them to Gardenia with a bow and, thankful that things had not been worse, she hurried back to the hotel.

  The Duchesse was asleep and for the first time Gardenia was able to go to her own room and realise just how utterly weary she was. She slipped into the bed and it seemed to her as though her eyes had hardly closed when there was a knock on the door and the chambermaid told her that the Duchesse required her presence.

  Aunt Lily was sitting up in bed.

  “Did you fetch the money?” she asked eagerly.

  Gardenia gave her the envelope.

  “Five thousand francs. Well, that is something at any rate.”

  “It rather depends how much we are paying for these rooms,” Gardenia said hesitantly.

  “Don’t fuss, Gardenia. You are becoming a bore about the money. Everything will be all right as soon as the Baron gets my wire. If he cannot come immediately, he will understand the plight I am in and will send me some money.”

  Gardenia only hoped that her aunt was not being overconfident.

  “I suppose you realise the time,” the Duchesse said. “It is seven o’clock. You must get dressed, Gardenia. Wear your best dress tonight as the first impressions are always essential. People are very smart in the Casino. I will wear the black sequin. I saw Yvonne had packed it. I hope she remembered the ospreys that I always wear in my hair.”