*You don't understand. Monsieur Raoul,' she told him, choosing her words carefully. *I wasn't speaking entirely without—without grounds. I had dinner in Paris with Monsieur Cordet last evening and at the same restaurant- '
*You saw something that you found not to your liking,' he guessed, and the slight curl on his lip suggested he found her indignation as naive as Annette Villeaux had done. The grey eyes had a bright glittering look when he fixed them
on her flushed cheeks so that Charlotte felt rather as if her own morals were under debate rather than those of Michel Menais and his secretary. 'Are you so unworldly. Miss Kennedy, that you have never before seen a man dining with a woman other than his wife?'
So discreedy worded, Charlotte thought, and cast her gaze around the big room rather than look at him. Tm not as naive as you imply, monsieur^ she told him, *but in this instance I—^well, I felt for Madame Lizette.*
*You feel so deeply for Madame Lizette?* The narrowed gaze was so horribly disconcerting and she seemed unable to avoid it somehow.
*I like her and I feel a—a certain loyalty to her,' she insisted. *She is my employer, after all. I know that in France '
*In England too, mademoiselle V he insisted firmly. Trance has no monopoly in the keeping of mistresses, and I doubt if you would consider it your business to interfere if one of your countrymen showed a preference for the company of his secretary! Feel sorry for the wife if you must, but have the goodness to keep your pity within the bounds of discretion; especially where my family is concerned!'
Charlotte's st(Hnach curled sickeningly as she listened to him, and she looked up at him with her dislike showing plainly in her eyes. *You have no more pity for Madame Lizette than—^than that woman who just left does!' she accused, then gasped in alarm when a strong hand gripped her wrist and held on tighdy for a moment, long hard fingers digging into her flesh relendessly.
'What it is I care about does not concern you any more than what my cousin does, mademoiselle The matter is none of your business and you have no right to interfere in it—^less still to discuss it with another member of the staff! Do you understand me?'
*I understand you perfecdy, monsieur !' Charlotte's voice
cracked with bitterness, but she tried in vain to free her wrist * You'll have me thrown out if I don't toe the line; that was what you threatened me with last night, wasn't it?'
*And I meant it, ma fille^ do not doubt it!' . Charlotte gave another anxious pull at her captive arm, looking up at him with bright defiant eyes. The worst thing that he could do was carry out his threat, and somehow she had a secret conviction that he was not going to do that.
'Would Madame Menais let you?' she taunted, and caught her breath when Raoul swore vehemently in French.
He pulled her close, so close that the muscular strength of his body sent small rippling shivers along her spine, and held her there for a moment while he looked down into her flushed face. His mouth looked hard and cruel and it was instinct that made her half-turn her head away when he brought his face down to hers.
*You play a dangerous game,' he murmured against her cheek. *There is little Mademoiselle Villeaux could teach you about the art of provocation, but take care that you do not play it too well, mademoiselle ! I have no wife to consider and, as a Frenchman, I would feel it ungallant to refuse what was so tantalisingly offered!'
Charlotte struggled against the strong hands that held her so firmly, but struggling, she discovered, added to the eroticism of the situation. She could not hope to free herself and his eyes had a deep, gleaming darkness that aroused dangerous responses from her. From the comer of her eye she saw his mouth come closer and instinctively closed her eyes.
*I am a man, ma fille,^ he said between clenched teeth, his breath hot on her cheek. 'Which is something you seem to forget!'
Whether or not she had intended to object, Charlotte was never sure, but he put one large hand to the back of her head and brought her face round to him, then pressed his
mouth hard over hers until she was breathless. There was nothing of love or even gentleness in the kiss, just the sheer determination to dominate, and yet Charlotte was unable to do other than respond to it.
He let her go slowly, his mouth lingering on her soft lips, reluctant to leave them, it seemed, and when he looked down into her flushed face there was a curious look of surprise in the grey eyes. Charlotte said nothing, nor did she move for the moment, her brain spinning with a whole gamut of emotions it was difficult to define.
Then Raoul dropped his hands and stepped back far enough for her to feel oddly unsteady without his support, so that she reached back to grip the edge of the desk behind her. His long fingers spread for a second only in a curiously apologetic gesture, then he shrugged back his broad shoulders and turned from her, striding across to his own desk.
*There is a great deal of work to be done,' he told her in a voice that barely altered in timbre from its normal pitch, and he gathered up some papers on his desk without looking across at her again. 'Let us begin, s*il vous pMt, mademoiselle V
Charlotte reached for her notebook automatically, but her hands shook quite alarmingly and she glanced across at him, not quite believing he could simply return to normal
so easily. *You ' she began without really knowing
what it was she meant to say, and Raoul raised his head, his eyes shadowed by their thick lashes and unintelligible.
*If you wish me to apologise. Miss Kennedy, I will do so,' he told her with a suggestion of sarcasm. Is that what you —demand?*
Meeting his eyes for just a moment, Charlotte managed to convey her reproach, then she bent over the noteboc^ on her knee, the pencil poised and a fall of long tawny hair partially hiding her face. *I don't demand anything, man-
sieuTy^ she told him in a slightly unsteady voice, *and you certainly have no need to apologise for kissing me. As Fve already told you, Fm not as naive as you seem to think, and Fm quite aware of your reason for doing what you did/
*So?* Raoul's long fingers hovered resdessly over the papers on his desk, then he shook his head. Terhaps you will enlighten me at some time,' he said in a firm cool voice. 'In the meantime, mademoiselley may we proceed?'
CHAPTER FOUR
It was a relief when Mademoiselle Duclair was declared fit to return to duty in two days' time. The fact that Raoul was suspicious of her, even though he was on the wrong track, made it necessary for Charlotte to take extra care whenever she was with him, and she felt restricted enough as it was. If she was to find out anything about her background she had to ask questions, and in the present climate, asking questions was evep more difficult than usual.
The first occasion on which she began to see light arose quite by accident. On her way downstairs to collect the mail one morning she met Celine Bouchet, coming up with Madame Menais' morning coffee, and exchanged a few words with her as she usually did.
It had occurred to her once or twice that Celine was probably the one person, other than a member of the Menais family, who could tell her all she wanted to know, but asking her was simply not possible. Her years of service with the Menais had bound her too closely in loyalty to the family she worked for to make gossiping about them even thinkable.
Lizette often slept late in the mornings, particularly after a resdess night, and on those occasions Charlotte left
her to sleep and found odier things to do until she woke. Usually she fetched the mail and sorted it ready for Lizette to deal with when she was ready, and it was on one of these Occasions that she met Celine on her way to Madame Menais' bedroom with her regular morning coffee.
She was obviously feeling less than usually composed this morning and she followed her greeting with some murmured complaint about a tradesman, using both French and English, so that Charlotte gained only half the mforma-tion. Some crisis in the running of the household, ap-parendy, and it was quite automatic for Charlotte to offer to relieve her of the tray she carried.
Rather to
her surprise the offer was accepted, although quite clearly Celine considered it quite an honour, and gave her firm instructions on the right way to perform the ritual of taking Madame her coffee. *Knock two times before entering,* she instructed, and seemed as if she was already having second thoughts about entrusting Charlotte with die errand. 'Madame does not always hear the first summons and one must make allowances. Comprenez?^
TVL remember, Celine,' Charlotte promised as the tray changed hands. *Don't worry, I'll be very careful.'
The weight of the tray was unexpected, but she took it carefully and without spilling anydiing from the cream jug or coffee pot, both of fine porcelain set on the heavy silver tray along with a matching cup and saucer and a pile of mail. Celine must be very fit for her age to carry it up the stairs every morning of her life.
She did as Celine had instructed her, and knocked twice on the door of the old lady's bedroom, dien opened it and, not without difficulty, manoeuvred the big tray in through the opening. It was rather Uke walking into anodier century, for Madame Menais had obviously kept most of the original furnishings and the richness of it took Charlotte's breath away at first sight. The bed was enormous; a four-
poster with a deep canopy of figured brocade, and heavy brocade curtains swept back by long gold tassels. It gave the impressicm of being a smaller room within the big one and was very impressive.
Madame Menais herself sat propped with fat feather pillows, looking so much smaller than she normally did that for a moment Charlotte did not recognise her. A lacy bed-jacket was draped about her shoulders and her grey hair was slighdy dishevelled, and with her elegant hands bereft of their rings she looked so much more ordinary that Charlotte found the sight of her unexpectedly touching.
^Bonjouvy Madame Menais!'
She carried the huge tray across to the bed while the old lady watched her with mildly curious eyes, then her thin brows drew together, as if the reason for the substitution suddenly occurred to her. *Good morning, child; is Celine unwell? I do hope not.'
*0h no, madame, she's perfecdy all right.' Charlotte slid the loaded tray across the old lady's knees and breathed a sigh of relief to have delivered it without mishap. Standing back, she explained her taking on Celine's almost sacred chore, hoping it was not going to be taken amiss. *There was some kind of crisis in the kitchen, I believe, Madame Menais, and Celine accepted my offer to bring your tray up for you, that's all.'
Madame Menais too sighed her relief and scanned through the pile of letters on the tray while she spoke. *I am very pleased to hear it,' she said, *I am convinced that the entire Menais menage would fall in to ruin if C61ine was taken ill.' She looked up and smiled and it was clear that she did not expect Charlotte to depart immediately. *I expect it would be Monsieur Renaud who is causing the crisis in the kitchen, the man is most unobliging, but Celine declares that he provides us with more palatable meat than any of the other butchers, and I have to believe her.'
•I think she did say something about Monsieur Renaud,' Charlotte agreed, not averse to a few minutes' conversation as long as Lizette did not wake in the meantime and require her services.
•You are settling down here well?' Madame Menais asked, pouring herself coffee^ Tou get along widi Lizette well? She is very pleased with you, I know, she has said so.'
The unexpected appreciation from Lizette was more welcome than Charlotte would have beUeved, and she smiled her pleasure. I'm glad, madame; she said. *I—well, I like Madame Lizette and we do get along very well together.'
Madame Menais's normally sharp eyes had a gende look as she eyed her over the rim of her cofifee cup. *You are a soft-hearted child, Charlotte,' she said, *and Lizette responds to kindness and understanding. I beUeve you are good for her.'
*Thank you, madame.^
It was gratifying to know that she was appreciated and even more so to learn that she did something to make Lizette a litde happier, however Utde it was. *It will be easier for you, of course, when Mademoiselle Duclair returns next week,' the old lady went on. Then you will be better able to concentrate all your abilities on Lizette's cause, although you must have free time, of course.' The shrewd eyes quizzed her good-humouredly for a moment. *You have free time, do you not, Charlotte?'
•Oh yes, madame, Madame Lizette is very good about letting me off in the evenings. Once Mademoiselle Duclair comes back and I don't have to work for Monsieur
Raoul '
Her voice trailed off when she became aware diat the old lady was looking at her with raised brows and a half-smile about her lips as she shook her head. *What is there about my grandson that you find so hard to bear, I wonder?'
she mused as she sipped her coffee. *It is the master rather than the task that you find so difficult to handle, is it not, child?* Charlotte hesitated; it was not an easy question to answer truthfully in the circumstances, and the old lady put down her cup and studied her for a second or two. *He has given you no cause to dislike working for him, has he, Charlotte?' she asked.
*0h no, Madame Menais, of course not!' She denied it quickly, perhaps too quickly, for the old lady had narrowed her eyes again in much the same way that Raoul did.
*You are a pretty girl,' she said sofdy, and almost as if she spoke to herself. 'Raoul is not as immune as he sometimes pretends to be to lovely young women, and working
for him ' She sighed and picked up her coffee once
more. *Ah well, you have settled well, and no doubt you have made friends?'
There was litde doubt of the meaning behind the word as Madame Menais used it, and Charlotte felt a slight warmth in her cheeks as she nodded agreement. 'Yes, madame, I've had dinner several times with Monsieur J^an Cordet from the pubhc relations office.'
Madame Menais smiled knowingly. *Ah, oui ! The^ood-looking young man who^at beside you on the ffight from London!' Apparendy the association had Madame Menais' approval whether or not it had her grandson's, for her bright sharp eyes were twinkling as she took note of Charlotte's face. *But I will not tease you, ma chere, it is unkind to make fun of the romantic years of youth and I do not like to be unkind to those I like.'
*Thank you, madame*
Charlotte had never had cause to change her opinion of Madame Menais, and she thought she never would. She liked her as much as she liked Lizette, but for quite different reasons. Reminded of Lizette, she glanced at her
wristwatch, a gesture that the old lady noted and remarked
(Ml.
*Before you go, Charlotte, will you please hand me a botde of tablets that you see there on the table. Old age advances without one always realising it,' she added with a rueful smile, then turned when Charlotte appeared at a loss. *There, child, just behind the photograph of my son,
you see?'
Charlotte reached round behind a framed photograph of a young man that stood on the bedside table, taking notice of it curiously as she did so, for it bore little resemblance to Mcmsieur Bernard, RaouPs father and Madame Menais' son. His hair was curly and the eyes deep-set; much more like Michel than Bernard, and he also had the same smiling and slighdy sensual mouth and full face as Michel.
It was sheer impulse that made Qiarlotte speak as she did when she replaced the bottle of tablets. *I would never have recognised Monsieur Bernard from this photograph,' she said. 'He's changed a great deal, hasn't he, madameT
The old lady turned her head and she was frowning so tfiat Charlotte knew she was wrong before anything was said. 'Bernard?' she asked.
I'm sorry, Madame Menais,' Charlotte told her. *I was being rather personal; of course people change as they get
older.'
Madame Menais reached round and took die heavy silver frame in both hands, regarding the subject for a moment before she spoke. *In fact this is a very good likeness,' she said, 'but you are wrong to think it is Bernard, child. This was my younger son, the son of my second marriage—this
wasRaoul.'
Charlotte's heart gave a thud that threatened to choke her and th
en felt for a moment as if it had stopped beating altogether while she strove hard to control the chaos of reactions diat spun through her brain. *Raoul--Raoul
Menais?' she asked, and the old lady smiled agreement, seemingly unaware of the slight huskiness in the voice that asked the question.
'Another Raoul Menais,' she agreed. *My grandson was named for him, although there the resemblance ends.'
Charlotte recalled the use of the past tense and regretted the possible need to reopen old hurts. Tm sorry, madamey
she apologised. *I didn't realise he was—I mean ^ She
used her hands in a gesture of appeal. 1 wouldn't have mentioned anything about him if Fd known.'
Madame Menais looked at her for a moment, then smiled understandingly. *But of course you would not, Charlotte, you are not an unfeeling child, but it is long since over and one cannot weep for ever.'
It was almost like receiving encouragement, and the temptation was too great even if it meant inflicting more hurt Charlotte's gaze clung to the handsome face in the silver frame with almost the same longing as the old lady's did. *He's—he was very good-looking,' she ventured, 'but more like Monsieur Michel in appearance than Monsieur Bernard.'
Obviously the wound was old enough to have healed, for the old lady seemed quite willing to talk about him, and Charlotte clung to every word avidly. 'Bernard is not a true Menais, of course,' Madame Menais said. 'When I married Monsieur Menais he adopted Bernard as his son, but then nine years later Raoul arrived. Oh, he was such a beautiful child,' she remembered soft-voiced, 'and so—^wanted. I beheve that I spoiled him as no child was ever spoiled before!'
'Naturally enough in the circumstances,' Charlotte suggested, but Madame Menais was shaking her head in apparent disagreement.
'Perhaps too much; that is not so good.' Madame Menais made the admission with a touch of regret. 'Perhaps if he
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