Christine didn’t answer. At the doorway he turned and looked back at her.
“I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. It isn’t my affair – but you said you wanted to do something with your life.”
Christine remained silent, her throat tight. It was odd that he should say she would make a good nurse, and it wasn’t quite true that she hadn’t thought of it.
Beth sighed over her desk, knowing that the design she had been working on was never going to come right if she couldn’t concentrate her mind on the job.
There had been unease in the house ever since Helene arrived, and Beth couldn’t help wishing sometimes that she hadn’t let Jack persuade her into giving the French girl a home. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Helene. In fact there were moments when she liked her very much– but there was no doubt that she had unsettled everyone. Even Henry didn’t seem quite himself. She had seen him looking at Helene oddly a few times, and for some reason that had made Beth anxious.
And then there was this unfortunate business of Miss Timpson. Christine was feeling guilty over it, and it wasn’t her fault at all. Beth sometimes felt that her daughter was rather too sensitive, too caring and she worried about her. She worried about Harry too. He didn’t write or telephone as often as she would have liked…
“Oh, Alex…” she whispered to the empty room. “If only you were here…. I need your advice, a shoulder to lean on…”
She missed him so much, not just the advice but the fun they had shared, the love…
Finding her eyes wet with tears, Beth took out her hanky and blew her nose fiercely, annoyed with herself for giving way to her feelings. She was being ridiculous. Christine was perfectly capable of looking after herself, and so was Harry.
If she couldn’t concentrate on her work, she would do better to walk down to the village and see how they were getting on with the sports day. And she could use the opportunity talk to the Vicar and his wife about the fete they were planning to hold at Penhallows at the end of the summer – either late July or early August, she thought.
It had become a regular event since the beginning of the war, most of the money raised going towards the war effort, but Beth had decided that some of it might be devoted to local causes this year and she wanted to ask the Vicar’s opinion.
Henry was listening to the radio when Christine went into visit him after returning from the sports day. He turned it off as he saw her but she caught the tail end of a news report.
“It sounds as if everything is going well for us now, doesn’t it?”
Henry nodded. “The Germans are weary, hungry and crushed,” he said with satisfaction. “It will be over in a matter of weeks now.”
“I’m so glad. Of course everyone said it was always a matter of time once the French marched into Paris at the head of the Allied troops last year, but even so it seems to have dragged on for ages doesn’t it?”
“Too long,” Henry agreed. “But that’s enough of gloom and doom, miss. So you’re going up to town for a few days then? Remind me to give you something – you can treat yourself to a new hat or whatever takes your fancy.”
“You spoil me, Henry.”
“That’s what having money is all about. So tell me, what are you planning to do while you’re away?”
“Oh, I expect we shall go to the theatre and perhaps a concert – and I might go to a film matinee if I get the chance. I rather want to see Judy Garland in that film, what is it called? Oh, yes, Me and My Girl I think.”
Henry shook his head at her. “You would be far better employed if you went to see John Gielgud in Hamlet.”
Christine smiled, knowing that he was only teasing her and that he listened to most of the popular music on his radio. He was particularly fond of George Formby and Gracie Fields.
“Did you know that they say there will be radios the size of a cigar box after the war? Much better than your old thing, Henry.”
“Everything is going to be perfect after the war,” he replied with a snort of disgust. “Houses for everyone and a land fit for heroes – but I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Christine laughed, bent to kiss his cheek and left him to rest while she went to change for dinner.
Simon seemed in a mellow mood that evening. He came to sit beside Christine in the drawing room after dinner, making an effort to talk to her. He was sympathetic over Christine’s feelings about the death of her music teacher, telling her that it was the way he had felt during the war.
“If men under your command got killed because of something you either did or didn’t do, you felt as if you had sent them to their deaths,” he told Christine as he joined her on a walk with the dogs later. “It didn’t matter that you had your orders or that there was often nothing else you could have done – the guilt was always with you. That’s the way it is in war and you have to get on with it as best you can.”
It was the first time he had unburdened himself to her. She wondered if he talked to Helene like this, and thought that he most likely did since she had experienced similar things out there.
“I could so easily have run after Miss Timpson. I just thought she wanted to be alone.”
“She probably did. It wasn’t your fault, brat.”
“I’m not a brat,” she said but she wasn’t angry with him. “In case you hadn’t noticed – I’ve grown up.”
Simon looked at her for several minutes and then the teasing look died out of his eyes. “Yes, you have. I’ve been too preoccupied to notice. I’m sorry if I’ve said or done things that hurt you, Christine – but I’ve been hurting pretty badly myself.”
“Yes, I know.”
He was silent for a moment, then, “I expect you do. I haven’t exactly made a secret of it – in fact I’ve been a damned fool.”
“I don’t think you’re a fool, Simon. You can’t help falling in love with someone…it just happens whether you want it to or not. You don’t have a choice.”
“No…” He hunched his shoulders gloomily. “I should have known she wouldn’t marry me in preference to Jack. She thinks I’m just a charming boy…”
“You’re not a boy, Simon.”
“No, I’m not, but Helene likes to tease. It’s a part of her nature – part of the reason I feel the way I do about her. There’s something about her that gets under your skin.”
“But I thought she cared about you…loved you?”
“Helene cares for me, but that doesn’t mean she loves me – not in the way I love her. I think perhaps she’s been hurt badly…”
“What do you mean?” Christine looked at him curiously. “You’re not talking about her war experiences, are you?”
“I’m not sure what I mean.” He sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair as if in despair. “I just know I love her and if she chooses Jack…”
“You don’t think she will?”
What was Helene playing at, setting one man against the other? What did she hope to gain from it? Christine couldn’t see how she could do it – not if she loved either of them.
“Perhaps she has gone away to make up her mind,” she suggested. “Jack isn’t staying with her at the cottage. He is just taking her there because she wants a few days alone to think about things.”
“It’s what she said, but…” Simon looked rueful. “Why couldn’t I fall in love with you, brat? You wouldn’t have hurt me, would you?”
He just didn’t know that she was in love with him! Christine was astonished that he could be so blind. He imagined her hostility towards Helene was just because she didn’t like a stranger in her home.
“I’ve changed my mind about travelling up to town with you,” she said, and tucked her arm through his. “I should like that very much, Simon – if you would?”
“Yes,” he said. “Why not? It will save me brooding, won’t it?”
Christine hugged his arm. He was still her very dear Simon, and if he didn’t love her, he could still be her friend. She was surprised to discover that
it was starting to hurt less - so perhaps she was growing up at last.
Last thing that evening, she wrote out an invitation to her dance for Paul Crane and placed it on the salver in the hall for the post. It was foolish to fall out with friends over something silly, and she was going to send Paul an invitation even if he didn’t come.
Chapter Eleven
Clothilde 1939
Sometimes on her free day Clothilde liked to take a trip on the river, at others she would visit the Tuileries gardens or the Louvre museum, but mostly she preferred to wander round the shops or the market. Often she would end up at a café in Montmatre ordering coffee and pastries. That late spring morning she was lingering over her coffee and the newspaper. The news was disturbing, and she frowned over an article that said France was joining with other nations to form a league in case of attack. Was it possible that Germany and France would soon be at war, that German soldiers might one day march into the city again? She sighed and laid down her paper as Conrad came up to her table.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” She smiled at him, playing a game they had played before. “If you are hungry you can share my pastries.”
“Thank you.” He helped himself to a croissant and honey. “It seems a long time since that morning, doesn’t it?”
“So much has happened. I was a stranger in Paris then, now I feel as if I have always lived here.”
“I feel that, too, but sadly I shall be leaving at the end of the month.”
“I shall miss you,” Clothilde said. They were still friends, although no longer lovers. The affair had ended when Clothilde decided she wanted to become a venduse. She no longer sat for Conrad or any of the others, though she saw Conrad now and then for the sake of their friendship. “Where are you going?”
“Home.” He pulled a wry face. “I came here for two years to see if I could paint and stayed for nearly three, but now I have to go back and settle down to some real work. My father wants me to help run the family business so that he can take some time off.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only fair. I’ve had my time of freedom.”
Clothilde listened without comment. She did not try to convince him that he should continue with his painting. He was competent and he sold a few pictures to the tourists, but he would never be a great artist.
“It has been a good time for you. You will always remember Paris.”
“I shall always remember you, Clothilde. I loved you…” He held up his hand as she would have spoken. “No, don’t say anything. I always knew you didn’t love me – but I wanted you to understand that you were special to me.”
“You were my first lover – so far my only lover. I shall never forget you.”
“I wish you hadn’t left me.”
“It was time,” she said and smiled to soften her words. “We always knew it would not go on forever.”
She had been in no hurry to replace Conrad, though there had been offers from more than one man.
Conrad reached across the table for her hand and held it. “I am going to give you an address in America. I don’t care much for the look of things in Europe. If you are ever in trouble, Clothilde, look me up. I’ll always be your friend.”
She was touched by the sincerity in his voice and took the piece of paper he offered, tucking it inside her jacket pocket.
“Thank you. I hope you will be happy in America, Conrad.”
“It’s home.” He released her hand and sat back. “What about you? Are you happy? You look beautiful in that dress, but then you always did have a flair for clothes.”
“It was a dress that did not sell from last year’s collection,” Clothilde told him. “It had a fussy collar, which I removed. Now I think it looks better.”
“You have excellent taste. I hope your employers appreciate you?”
“I believe they do…” She gave him a wicked look. “Leon still wants to sleep with me, of course, but his Maman would not like that so I continue to refuse.”
“Is there someone else?”
“I told you, there has been no one else.”
Conrad arched his brows. “I find it impossible to believe that no one but Leon has asked…”
“They ask but there is no one I care for. Most men think only of themselves, what they want, but you were different.”
He had been good to her and she loved him in her way, but it was better not to love too much. To love was to be hurt; she had learned that lesson well.
“Would you come back to me if I stayed here for a few more months?”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments, then shook her head. “You must go home, for your father’s sake and your own – but I shall always remember you.”
“As I shall remember you.” He reached into his breast pocket, handing her a small box. “I wanted to give you something to remember me by, Clothilde.”
“I need nothing.”
“You never did – but I like to give, and I want you to have it.”
“If it pleases you.” She shrugged and accepted the box, glancing at the gold bracelet he had given her. “It is lovely, thank you.” She smiled at him. “Would you like me to sit for you one last time?”
“Yes,” he said. “One last time…”
Clothilde was smiling as she left Conrad’s studio. He was still the most considerate, the kindest of men. She would always be grateful, she thought looking at the bracelet he had given her as a parting gift.
Leon had tried to give her expensive presents at the beginning, but she had refused them all. It was not that she disliked Leon, perhaps she liked him too much to take him as a lover. She wanted him to remain her friend, but he was growing impatient.
Leon was waiting for her when she got back to her rooms that afternoon. He had bought wine and flowers for her, and he looked at her eagerly like a young puppy waiting for a pat on the head. It was not the first time she had found him waiting for her, and she knew he wanted her to ask him in.
She unlocked her door, which was at the top of an outside flight of crumbling stone stairs at the back of a shop selling leather goods, and allowed him to follow her inside. She had one large room, which was used for living and sleeping, her bed covered by a bright red throw-over and arranged with cushions to double as seating. Leon sat in a high-backed wooden rocking chair by the hearth, watching as she put her shopping away in the tiny box of a kitchen at the far end.
“Why don’t you let me rent a decent place for you?”
“Because I am happy here,” she replied without looking at him. “My friends come and go as they please. I do not need more.”
“You won’t let me give you anything because you are afraid I shall demand too much in return.”
“You gave me a job,” Clothilde said and opened the bottle he had brought, pouring some of the rich red wine into two glasses. She gave one to him and perched on a soft cushion at his feet, sipping from her own. “I do not want to lose my job. I like working at the House of Leon.”
“You could still work there.”
“Not if I was your mistress. The other girls would be jealous, and your Maman would not like it.”
“Maman likes you,” Leon said. He put down his wineglass and bent to touch her hair. “I love you, Clothilde. Marry me and you won’t have to work.”
“But I like to work.” She rose to her feet and moved away from him. “I am cooking chicken in wine tonight. You are welcome to stay and eat with me and my friends – but only if you promise not to keep asking if I will marry you.”
“Don’t you love me at all?” He looked so crestfallen that she laughed.
“I care for you,” she assured him. “You are my friend, Leon, and I want it to stay that way. If we were lovers we might quarrel and then we should part, and you would no longer be my friend.”
“Conrad is still your friend.”
“But he is not jealous of my other friends,” Clothilde said. “Tell me truthfully, Leon – would you
mind if one day I took another lover after I moved in with you?”
“You know I would. I want it to be just you and me for always.”
“Then it is best we remain friends.” She unwrapped the chicken, which an obliging butcher had jointed for her. “Are you staying for supper?” He nodded, looking a little sulky but resigned. “Then let us talk of something else. Have you been busy at the showrooms today?”
“Maman has important clients coming tomorrow,” Leon said. “Madame Picard and her granddaughter. They are choosing a whole new wardrobe for the girl. Maman thinks it is in anticipation of a wedding.”
“That sounds as if there could be a big order for us if things go well?”
“Maman will serve them herself and she wants you to show the collection, Clothilde. The girl is a little younger than you, about eighteen or so, but has your colouring. Maman says you will know exactly what will suit her best – you are the most successful venduse she has ever had at the salon.”
Clothilde nodded. She was not yet nineteen, but everyone thought her older and she did not deny it. She felt older than her years, and sometimes she wondered if she had ever been a child.
“I shall look forward to meeting Madame Picard and her granddaughter,” she pouted at Leon. “Do not sit there looking so miserable. Come and help me prepare the food. I have more friends coming soon and it will be a happy night.”
He made a wry face as he got to his feet. “Why do I adore you? You keep me like a puppy running at your heels.”
Clothilde was surprised to see a man with Madame Picard and her granddaughter, but then the girl addressed him as Father and the mystery was solved. She was aware that he watched her closely as she modelled the gowns for his daughter and mother, but as he seemed to show a great interest in Mademoiselle Picard's choice, she did not take much notice of his intent gaze.
She knew that the showing had gone well for they stayed more than two hours, and Madame Robards was excited after they had left.
“Everything…” She crooned in tones of delight, her short fat body bouncing lightly across the room as Clothilde returned after changing into her own clothes. “They took everything you showed them, Clothilde. Monsieur Picard told his daughter that what looked well on you would suit her. He remarked on how similar you were in height and colouring.”
Chateau Despair Page 16
