Seeking Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Amis,” cried Marina, suddenly remembering, “nous avons perdus amis.”

  Although poorly expressed, the man seemed to understand and nodded.

  “Ah, bien! Je comprends. Vous ne savez pas ou ils sont?”

  Ellen looked at her Mistress in dismay. “Do you understand what he is saying?”

  “I believe so.”

  While she was talking to Ellen, she suddenly noticed out of the corner of her eye, a young girl with long dark hair who appeared to be looking for someone. Just behind her was a smartly dressed older couple.

  When the girl caught sight of Marina and Ellen, a look of relief crossed her face. Walking towards them, Marina suddenly recognised her.

  “Monique!” she called, jumping up from the trunk. “Ah, Marina. I am so sorry we are late. The wheel broke on our carriage just as we were leaving the house and we had to get it, ’ow you say, mended?”

  The girl embraced Marina fervently. She was tiny and elegant with masses of black hair that hung loosely down her back. Marina was quite surprised, as she had believed French girls to be so sophisticated – yet, here she was – wearing an ingénue’s hairstyle!

  Monique spoke almost perfect English with a charmingly accented voice and her eyes sparkled like jet. Marina thought her very attractive, much more so than she remembered.

  “It is so good to see you again, Monique,” she replied, “I was worried that you were not coming.”

  “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Fullerton.”

  Monsieur and Madame Solange now came up to Marina and kissed her on both cheeks. Marina was slightly taken aback as it was some time since she had last been in France and she had forgotten the etiquette.

  “I must apologise for our lateness,” said Monsieur Solange, with a short bow.

  “Monique will have told you of our misfortune.”

  “Yes, she has,” replied Marina, “but I am just glad that you are here. I am afraid that I do not speak French very well and we were having difficulty making ourselves understood.”

  “Ah, but you will soon pick up our language,” put in Madame Solange.

  Marina was slightly in awe of the woman. She must have been a considerable beauty when she was younger and still carried herself with a certain pride.

  “I do hope so,” said Marina.

  The station official had now returned so Monsieur Solange explained to him that the English lady was now being looked after.

  “You must be hungry,” said Monique, slipping her arm through Marina’s, “we did not have time for breakfast before we left and so I am certain that our staff will have prepared something for us when we return.”

  “That sounds delightful,” replied Marina, eagerly anticipating her French breakfast. She remembered the last time she had been in Paris, how they had eaten many delicious pastries and thick, creamy butter. And the coffee. So different from London.

  Before long they were on board the carriage, heading for the Opera district where the family lived. Marina had a clear memory of the house with its white stone frontage and elegant proportions.

  She hoped that Ellen was not getting too cold sitting up on the box with the coachman. There had not been enough room inside the carriage, and in any event, the Solanges were sticklers for etiquette. However relaxed they might be, servants did not travel with their Masters.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your Mama,” said Monique, as they made their way through the busy streets. “Yes, it was a terrible shock,” murmured Marina.

  “But of course, she would want you to go on living your life – perhaps we can persuade you to leave your mourning clothes behind. You will not find many young girls in Paris wearing such vêtements. We do not believe in keeping ourselves miserable because of the dead. Life is for the living.”

  Marina gave her a look of horror – she remembered what Albert had said about the French not being ones to dwell on gloom, and she was quite shocked at Monique’s straightforward approach.

  “Ah, but I can see I have offended you,” countered Monique. “I must apologise, but we French do not have the same views on mourning as the English.”

  “It is quite all right,” answered Marina, “but nevertheless, I shall continue to wear black until the proper mourning period has elapsed.”

  “You must not mind Monique,” added Monsieur Solange, “she thinks of nothing but pretty clothes and cannot imagine not being able to wear them. We will not force our customs on to you, Marina. Your Papa is a good friend of mine and I know how difficult it has been for both of you.”

  Marina looked away miserably.

  ‘He has not said anything about Papa sending me away,’ she thought, ‘It is obvious he did not tell the Solanges the real reason why he has packed me off to Paris.’

  Her mood suddenly plunged into the depths and she fell out of the conversation.

  ‘I wish Ellen was with me,’ she thought, ‘she would understand. I suddenly feel quite alone. The Solanges are nice people, but I am not sure I am going to understand their ways.’

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the carriage suddenly drawing to a halt outside the Solange’s house. It looked as elegant as ever. Almost as soon as they stopped, the front door opened and what seemed like a crowd of servants descended upon them.

  A young footman began to unload the luggage while another helped Ellen down from the box. A tall, thin butler with steel-grey hair came to greet them and welcomed Marina to the house. He muttered something to Monsieur Solange and immediately his face lit up.

  “Tres bon,” he exclaimed. “Mesdames, breakfast awaits us.”

  “You will, of course, wish to go to your room before eating?” suggested Monique, indicating to one of the waiting maids that she should take Marina upstairs.

  “Marie will take care of you and your every need while you stay here.”

  Marina was about to thank her when she caught Ellen’s furious expression out of the corner of her eye.

  She hesitated for a moment and then replied, “Thank you so much but Ellen will look after me.” She could see that Ellen was most put out at the suggestion that she would not be looking after her Mistress while they were in Paris.

  “Oh, but Ellen is your personal maid, is she not? Marie will answer to Ellen and do all the menial tasks – lighting fires, ironing clothes and so on. She will prepare Ellen’s meals for her too. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Marina had only to look across at Ellen’s beaming face to know that she was thrilled at the prospect of her sudden promotion. She had never had anyone to boss around, apart from the odd nursery maid when Marina was very small.

  “Oh, very,” smiled Marina.

  “Ah, bon, now Marie will show you to your room. She does not speak English, but she understands a little.”

  The tiny, blonde-haired maid curtsied to both Marina and Ellen, before leading them upstairs. Marina gaped in awe at the fine paintings and rich hangings she encountered on the way.

  The room that Marie showed Marina and Ellen was magnificent with high ceilings and elegant furnishings. There was a four-poster bed with blue silk drapes.

  Ellen had a room next door to hers with an interconnecting door. As the trunks and luggage began to arrive, Ellen wasted no time in issuing orders to the bewildered maid, who obviously could not understand her Irish accent.

  “Over there, you silly girl,” snapped Ellen, as Marie began to pile Marina’s clothes into a chest of drawers.

  “Perhaps Marie could launder this dress,” suggested Marina, aware that war was about to break out in front of her.

  Ellen handed it to the girl, who promptly tried to hang it up.

  “Pour laver,” said Marina, in bad French. “Ah, oui, c’etait tres cher, n’est-ce pas?” Marina nodded her head vigorously.

  “What did she say?” asked Ellen, bewildered.

  “She asked if it was expensive and I said yes. I am certain she is accustomed to laundering Monique and Madame Solange’s gowns, so I feel confident that she will d
o it well.”

  “She had better, miss,” snarled Ellen, with a stern expression.

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Monique poked her head around the door.

  “Ah, you are ready. That is good because I am very hungry.”

  Marina left Ellen to struggle with Marie and joined Monique. As they walked downstairs, Monique told her that they would be going to the theatre that evening.

  “We French do not like to rush dinner, so we are having a large meal now and will not eat again until after the performance. The servants will give us a morsel or two before we leave, but I would suggest that you eat as much as you can now.”

  “Oh, I did not think we would be going out in public. I am still in mourning for Mama.”

  “Oh, bouf to such rules! Would your Mama really want you to be in Paris and not to enjoy yourself simply because she wasn’t here?”

  ‘Goodness,’ thought Marina, ‘I am not used to such points of view – it is really quite shocking. But Monique is right in thinking that Mama would not want me to stay at home. She loved the theatre.’

  “Oh, but I have said something wrong again,” cried Monique in distress. “I keep forgetting how you English are!”

  “No, you are right, Monique. Mama would want me to enjoy myself and not sit around moping when I am in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I will come tonight, of course. I have an evening gown that is embroidered with jet beads that will be quite acceptable, I am certain.”

  “Mais oui, cherie,” replied Monique, “and now, we eat.”

  The dining room was filled with the most tantalising aromas – the servants had laid out an enormous buffet of pastries, cold meats and a plate of tomatoes. Marina looked at them in bewilderment.

  “Marina! How you have grown.”

  Marina turned round to find a tall handsome young man standing before her. She looked and barely recognised the boy she had played with as a child.

  “Simon?” she asked, unsure that it was he. She certainly did not remember him being quite so good-looking as a child.

  “Enchanté, ma chère Marina, it is good to see you again.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. Marina felt a thrill run up her arm and blushed.

  “I am afraid I did not recognise you for a moment.”

  “But it has been a long time, n’est-ce pas? I was, I think, thirteen, the last time we met?”

  “And I was ten,” added Marina smiling.

  “How time goes, yes? And you have grown into a beautiful lady!”

  Marina blushed again and in an attempt to divert attention away from herself, began to pile her plate with pastries.

  Simon did not leave her side throughout the meal and constantly asked her questions and flattered her at every turn.

  Marina’s mind was in a whirl as he was certainly very different from the gentlemen that she had met in England. Somehow, Simon seemed so much more sophisticated, even though he was only three years older.

  After eating so many starchy pastries, coupled with the effects of a long journey, Marina suddenly felt tired.

  Yawning, she excused herself from the table. She noticed that Simon leapt to his feet and pulled her chair out for her.

  ‘What lovely manners,’ she thought, as she left the Solanges to chatter loudly amongst themselves.

  Ellen was waiting to help her when she returned to her bedroom.

  “I am glad that you are taking a nap, miss, I will have your dress made ready for you by the time you awake. The butler has told me that there will be a light meal served before the theatre at five o’clock.”

  “Thank you, Ellen. I would suggest that you rest yourself if you can.”

  “I have precious little to do, miss, now that Marie has taken so much off my shoulders. I had the most delicious sweet rolls for breakfast just now. I have never tasted anything so wonderful.”

  “They are called brioche,” Marina told her dreamily. She was still thinking of Simon and his thick black hair and startlingly blue eyes as she slipped off her shoes and lay down on the bed.

  *

  Ellen woke Marina at half-past four.

  She had slept very deeply and had dreamed about her mother. In the dream she was in Paris with her and was showing her the beautiful apricot-coloured gown she often wore and was saying that Marina should wear it.

  The dream was so real, that when Marina woke up, she felt the most terrible sense of loss when she realised that her mother was no longer with her.

  ‘I must not cry,’ she told herself, as Ellen bustled round and tightened her stays. ‘I must not ruin this evening by dwelling on my sorrow – it would be rude to the Solanges.’

  As Ellen put the black silk dress over her head, Marina wished that it was the apricot gown instead.

  ‘But that has probably been thrown out with the rest of Mama’s things,’ she thought, sadly.

  From downstairs came the sound of the gong.

  Marina sighed and, looking in the mirror, pinched her cheeks.

  Even though she was dressed in black, she looked lovely. Her skin was like alabaster next to the dark silk and her eyes were bluer than ever.

  Adjusting the crepe frill on her cuffs, she walked downstairs and into the dining room. Monique was already seated, dressed in a beautiful dark-red satin gown. Seeing Marina enter the room, her eyes lit up.

  “You look so beautiful,” she cried, clapping her hands in delight. “You will put me to shame.”

  “Oh, Monique, I could never do that – and your dress is so lovely.”

  “Thank you, Papa bought it for me last week. I begged and pleaded with him to have a dress made at Monsieur Caron’s and finally he relented.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes in a coquettish gesture and primped the front of her gown. Monique was certainly very enchanting and she knew it.

  “Allow me,” said Simon, rushing up to pull out a chair. Marina could not help herself from blushing again.

  Simon was so gallant. When she compared his to the oafish behaviour of Albert, she found it hard to believe that the latter had any French blood.

  “We hope you will enjoy the play, Marina,” said Madame Solange as she sipped her highly flavoured broth. It is a comic piece by Molière, who is one of our greatest playwrights.”

  “Yes, I have heard of him,” replied Marina, breaking off a piece of French bread. “Papa used to be quite fond of the theatre –”

  She trailed off – she was about to add “before Mama died”, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Perhaps he will come and visit you here?” suggested Madame Solange, hopefully. “It is always a pleasure to have his company.”

  “I think it unlikely, madame,” responded Marina, sadly. “Papa has much to occupy himself in London. He has not even been to visit our house in Rye for ages.”

  “That is indeed a pity. An attractive man like your father should not be moping around. He must get on and start living again.”

  “Madame, as you know, in England, there are complicated rules that govern mourning –“ began Marina.

  “Why make life so complicated?” asked Madame Solange, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I do not understand this.”

  “Maman, we should respect Marina’s wish to remain in mourning,” broke in Simon suddenly.

  “Bouf! I would not want you two to go around with long faces when I die,” replied Madame Solange. “I want you to wear red and go to lots of parties.”

  Both Monique and Simon began to laugh. Marina looked at them in horror. How could they laugh so at the prospect of their mother dying?

  “You must forgive us,” said Monique, noticing her friend’s look of horror, “Maman has always said she wants a big party when she dies! That is the way our family have always done it.”

  “Well, it is quite foreign to me,” commented Marina, a little stiffly. She was not certain that she liked their attitude one bit.

  “Enough. You are upsetting our guest,” interrupted Mons
ieur Solange, who, up to this point, had remained silent.

  “Pardon, Papa, excusez-moi,” answered Monique, suitably contrite.

  The conversation ground to a halt while they ate their light meal.

  The tension was finally broken when the butler came in to announce that their carriage would be ready in fifteen minutes.

  “I am so looking forward to this evening,” said Monique, rising from the table.

  “You must allow me to take you into the theatre,” murmured Simon in Marina’s ear as he helped her from the table.

  “Thank you,” she replied, blushing once more.

  *

  Simon remained close to Marina. As they drove in the carriage to the theatre, he asked her lots of questions about London and how the young gentlemen amused themselves.

  “I hear it is very fashionable to speak French in London at the moment?” he remarked. “I read something in the paper, I believe, about how young men are conversing solely in French when they go to their Clubs.”

  “Oh, ladies are not allowed inside those places,” answered Marina, demurely, “so I could not possibly comment. However, you are right. Papa, Mama and I dined at Simpsons not so long ago and there were plenty of people pretending to have long conversations in French. I am told that it is quite the vogue and that even the Prince of Wales himself prefers to speak in French at dinner.”

  “That is certainly a compliment to us,” smiled Madame Solange.

  “Here we are,” cried Simon.

  Marina could have sworn that, during the journey, he had inched closer to her. She felt unnerved by his warmth next to her and the faint smell of cologne that hung about him.

  She stole a glance at him as they waited for the carriage door to be opened. He was certainly a very good- looking young man. There was something very neat and well-groomed about him that Marina had not seen in most Englishmen.

  She had noticed that his hands and nails were immaculate and liked the way that his strong, brown hands curved around as if he were about to take up the reins.

  ‘I wonder if he likes to ride,’ she mused, noting that he sported incredibly long eyelashes for a man. ‘He would be just too perfect if he did!”