The Wings of Ecstacy

by Barbara Cartland

  Renée seemed almost to snatch the tip, saying as she did so,

  “Merci beaucoup, M’mselle!”

  When she had left her, Zena put her head round the door of the sitting room to say to her brother,

  “You must remember to tell me the things I have to do as a – commoner. That was the first time I had ever tipped anyone.”

  “Well, remember you must tip for any service, however small,” Kendric told her, “and if you do forget, the French will not be slow in reminding you.”

  The way he spoke made Zena ask,

  “What did last night cost you?”

  “I had to pay my share everywhere we went,” Kendric replied, “and it came to more money than I expected. It is doubtful if you will be able to visit Worth.”

  “I would rather visit the restaurants and dance halls,” Zena replied, “and don’t forget I have a little money with me and of course my jewellery.”

  “If you sold any of that you would be mad!” Kendric exclaimed. “If anything was missing, it would be noticed as soon as you returned and there would be an inquisition! You would soon find yourself confessing everything we have done.”

  Zena gave a cry of horror and disappeared back into her bedroom.

  She put on the bonnet which went with her gown and thought, as she looked at herself in the mirror, that with her red lips and her darkened eyelashes it would be difficult for anybody in Wiedenstein to recognise her.

  ‘Nobody will ever know,’ she told her reflection consolingly.

  As she did so, she heard the door of the sitting room open and Renée’s voice saying,

  “A gentleman to see you, monsieur!”

  Zena’s heart gave a leap because she knew who it would be before she heard the Comte’s deep voice,

  “ Good-morning, Villerny, I see you slept late.”

  “Yes, very late,” Kendric replied, “ and thank you for taking my – ”

  He hesitated and Zena held her breath.

  She knew that without thinking and perhaps because he was sleepy, Kendric had been about to say ‘my sister’.

  Then he substituted ‘Zena’ and as he said the rest of the sentence she moved into the sitting room.

  The Comte, looking even more impressive than he had last night, was standing at the window beside Kendric.

  Because the sunshine was behind him, she felt that he was enveloped in light.

  “Bonjour Monsieur!” she said demurely.

  The Comte turned to face her and she thought from the expression in his eyes that he appreciated her gown, her bonnet and her skilfully painted face.

  “Good-morning, Zena,” he said. “There is no need for me to ask you if you slept well! You look like spring itself!”

  “ That is how I feel,” Zena replied, “ but poor Kendric has a headache and therefore has no wish to accompany us.”

  “I am sorry about your head, but it is not surprising. If you drank the champagne at that low dance hall in Montmartre, it is only by a miracle you are alive!”

  “I was foolish enough to drink at least two glasses,” Kendric said, “but I was thirsty.”

  The Comte smiled in what Zena thought was a slightly superior manner and she said quickly,

  “Kendric was saying just now that we should not have gone to such a place.”

  “You certainly should not have done so,” the Comte answered, accentuating the first word.

  “You are preaching at me in a somewhat obscure fashion,” Kendric interposed. “I must leave you or I shall be late for my own luncheon date.”

  He rose and, as he walked towards his bedroom, Zena said,

  “What time will you be back here? When shall I see you again?”

  “I will be back before dinner,” Kendric said carelessly. “I have not yet decided where we shall dine. I have had various invitations, but I have not yet answered any of them.”

  “I was hoping,” the Comte said, “that you and Zena would dine with me.”

  Kendric reached his bedroom door and turned round.

  “May I leave the invitation open until later today?” he asked.

  He did not wait for an answer, but smiled at his sister and went into his bedroom. Only as Zena turned back to the Comte did she see that he was looking surprised.

  Because she felt he might ask her questions and she did not want to answer, she said,

  “Shall we go? It seems a pity to be indoors when the sun is shining.”

  She picked up the handbag which matched her gown and started to put on her long kid gloves as she walked ahead of the Comte towards the door.

  He hurried to open it for her and as he did so, he said.

  “Shall I tell you how lovely you are looking or shall I wait until we are at the place I have chosen for us to have luncheon?”

  “I am quite prepared to wait,” Zena replied, “but I find compliments embarrassing and I would much rather you did not make them.”

  As they went out of the apartment closing the door behind them, he asked,

  “If what you have said about compliments is true, then you are very different from any other woman in the whole of Paris!”

  “I have always heard that compliments from Frenchmen are too glib to be sincere,” Zena said, “and I am beginning to think that is true.”

  The Comte did not answer, and as she went through the door into the street, she saw in surprise that there was not an ordinary voiture waiting for them, but a very elegant private carriage with a coachman on the box and a footman to open the door.

  Zena stepped into it and sat down on the soft cushioned seats.

  “This is very grand!” she exclaimed.

  “It is a very much more suitable conveyance for you than those in which we travelled last night,” the Comte replied.

  She wanted to ask him if he owned it or had hired it, then thought that would seem impertinent, but as if again he was reading her thoughts the Comte said,

  “I have borrowed it from one of my friends and I am glad you appreciate it.”

  Because she thought that he was insinuating that because she was of no Social importance she usually travelled behind inferior horses, Zena longed to tell him she was used to Royal Carriages and that her father’s stable was famous in Wiedenstein.

  Then she told herself that if the Comte had the slightest suspicion of who she was the whole excitement of being alone with this man who treated her as an ordinary woman would be changed.

  After the formality of the Court and the way the Countess, the Statesmen and the Courtiers spoke to her, it was fascinating to find the Comte addressing her as she supposed Kendric addressed Yvonne and the other women he associated with.

  Because she too was for the moment free of Royal restrictions, she smiled at the Comte and said with a little lilt in her voice,

  “It is very exciting to be in Paris and to be with you. Please tell me where we are going.”

  “To a small restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne which has only just opened,” the Comte replied, “and has not yet become fashionable. The big ones where we would see all the world and his wife are not for us, not today at any rate.”

  She looked at him enquiringly and he said,

  “I would like to go to them to show you off, but I might meet friends who would want to talk to me and to you, and today I want a tête-à-tête where there are no interruptions, except for the song of the birds.”

  “It all sounds very romantic!” Zena enthused without thinking.

  “That is exactly what I intend it to, be!” the Comte agreed in his deep voice.

  Chapter Four

  Afterwards Zena was to think that her luncheon in the Bois with the Comte were the most enchanting hours she had ever known.

  The restaurant he took her to was small in a little one storey house which was surrounded by a garden filled with shady trees.

  There were only about a dozen tables among the flowers, and the proprietor, who was also the chef, took the orders himself and spent a lon
g time explaining which speciality would be the best for his customers on that particular day.

  His wife, buxom in black, made out the bills and their two sons were the waiters.

  There was a happy atmosphere about the whole place and to Zena it was something she had never experienced before and felt despairingly that she would never do again.

  When the Comte had ordered and the wine was brought in a bucket filled with ice, he turned to smile at her and said,

  “Now all we have to do is to enjoy eating what I am sure will be an extremely good luncheon, and being – together.”

  The way he spoke made Zena feel excited and she answered,

  “I am enjoying every moment of my visit to Paris and you know I want to thank you so much for looking after me last night.”

  “I am determined that you will not go to such places again or meet the dregs of Paris,” the Comte replied, and there was a hard note in his voice.

  Zena did not reply and he went on,

  “I intend to speak to the Vicomte about it and I hope you will not try to prevent me.”

  Zena gave a little cry.

  “Please do not speak to Kendric!” she said. “He was, I think, a little ashamed of himself this morning, besides feeling ill from the bad champagne he drank and, as I was with you, I did not mind seeing how those other women behaved.”

  “All the same,” the Comte said, “you are too good for this sort of thing.”

  “I am glad you think so.”

  “What I cannot understand,” he went on, “is why de Villerny brought you to Paris in the first place if he did not intend to spend his time with you.”

  Zena looked away across the garden.

  She was afraid this was one of the questions the Comte might ask.

  She knew that it must seem strange, if she was Kendric’s Chère Amie, that he should be prepared to leave her at the dance hall without even saying goodnight.

  Now, because she thought that anything she might reply would make matters sound even stranger than they were already, she said quickly,

  “Please – can we talk about more – interesting things? It is so exciting to be here with you and it is something I will want to remember when I have gone home.”

  The Comte stiffened.

  “You are thinking of leaving?”

  “We shall have to go in a day or two.”

  “You mean the Vicomte will have to leave. But surely you are not compelled to go with him?”

  “If he leaves, I must leave,” Zena said firmly, “but I do not want to talk about it. I want you to tell me about yourself. Do you realise I have no idea where you live or even where you are staying in Paris?”

  The Comte smiled.

  “I am glad it is of interest to you. I am staying in Paris in a very beautiful house on the Champs Elysées belonging to the Duc de Soissons. I wish I could show you his pictures. He has the most famous collection in France.”

  “I would love to see them,” Zena said, “and while I am here I must visit the Louvre. I always think Fragonard and Boucher painted the most romantic pictures anyone could imagine.”

  “You have obviously seen some of their work already,” the Comte enquired.

  Zena looked at him almost defiantly.

  “We are not entirely uncivilised in Wiedenstein.”

  He laughed softly.

  “So you are a patriot! I like people to be patriotic and proud of their own country.”

  “I am very proud of mine,” Zena said, “even though it is small and not a great nation compared to France or Prussia.”

  “And yet it is at this very moment of considerable importance in Europe,” the Comte said. “Do you know why?”

  “Of course I do,” Zena replied. “If Prussia invades France, which many people are afraid may happen, then Wiedenstein, like Switzerland, must be neutral, which may be difficult.”

  She spoke positively because she had heard her father and the other Statesmen in Wiedenstein discuss this subject so often.

  Then as the Comte did not speak, she went on,

  “I cannot bear to think of the Prussians marching into France. Suppose they tried to destroy this beautiful City?”

  “I feel exactly the same way,” the Comte said, “and I wish you could speak to the Emperor as you are speaking to me.”

  “Papa says he is under the thumb of the Empress who is great friends with the Foreign Minister who hates Bismarck so bitterly that he is longing to fight him.”

  She spoke without thinking, then she gave a sudden exclamation,

  “I have just realised that the Foreign Minister is the Duc de Graumont – and that is your name!”

  “That is true,” the Comte replied. “But the de Graumonts are a very large family and I am only a very distant cousin of the Duc.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Zena stammered,

  “Perhaps I have been – indiscreet. I apologise – please forget what I have – said.”

  Even as she spoke, she realised that an apology was quite unnecessary.

  It would have been very reprehensible for the Princess Marie-Therese to have made such remarks, but anything Zena Bellefleur said or thought was not of the least consequence.

  “I hope we may always be frank with each other,” the Comte answered, “and I was just thinking that it is quite unnecessary for you to be clever as well as beautiful.”

  Zena gave a little laugh.

  “What you are really saying is that you like women who are pretty dolls – playthings which are easily discarded when you have no further use for them.”

  She was thinking of how Kendric thought that the only important thing about a woman was that she should be pretty.

  Once when Zena had asked him what he talked about with his dancer had replied scornfully,

  “Talk? Why should I want to talk to somebody like that? All that mattered was that she was pretty and I wanted to kiss her.”

  Now, as if the Comte realised she was thinking of Kendric, he said,

  “What do you talk about when he is not making love to you?”

  Zena felt herself stiffen and instinctively she felt insulted that he should say anything so personal to her or suspect that she allowed any man to talk of love as he had done last night.

  Then once again she remembered who she was supposed to be.

  “We were not talking about Kendric,” she said aloud after what seemed a long silence, “ but about you.”

  “But I would much rather talk about you,” the Comte replied, “and, before you interrupt me, I am going to say again that I have never met anybody so lovely or so enchanting.”

  Enchanting was the right word for everything they said and everything they did, Zena thought as they drove home.

  They had sat over luncheon until everybody else had left the restaurant, then sitting in the comfortable open carriage which Zena now guessed belonged to the Duc de Graumont they drove along the side of the Seine as far as Notre Dame.

  Then they returned through the small narrow streets of old Paris until they reached the impressive boulevards which had been built by Baron Haussmann.

  It was so beautiful and so exciting that it seemed quite natural that the Comte should hold her hand while Zena looked around her.

  She thought perhaps she should prevent him from doing so, but to do so seemed rather childish and so they drove side by side and hand-in-hand until the horses drew up outside her apartment.

  “May I come in?” the Comte asked. “And if de Villerny is back, I can ask if he has made up his mind whether you will dine with me this evening.”

  “Please do that,” Zena replied, “and I do hope Kendric says yes.”

  “You cannot possibly want it as much as I do,” the Comte smiled.

  The concierge gave them the key of the apartment which meant that Kendric was not yet back and they went up the stairs to the first floor.

  The Comte opened the door for Zena and they went into the attractive sitting r
oom where the sun was shining through the windows.

  “Kendric is not yet returned,” Zena explained unnecessarily, “but I hope you will wait here with me.”

  “I have every intention of doing so,” the Comte replied.

  Zena put down her gloves and handbag on a chair, then pulled off her fashionable bonnet.

  Then, as she turned, she found that the Comte was standing just beside her and as once again he had his back to the sunlight he looked, as he had this morning, as if he was enveloped with light.

  They stood looking at each other and Zena had no idea how it happened, whether she moved or he did, but some strange power that was outside themselves and their minds drew them together.

  The Comte’s arms went round her and, as she looked up at him wonderingly, his lips came down on hers.

  She had never been kissed, but she had often thought that if she loved somebody it would be very wonderful, and the feeling of the Comte’s lips was indeed wonderful, but so much more.

  They were magical, enchanted, and his kiss seemed an extension of the strange sensations he aroused in her ever since they had first met.

  And yet, in a way she could not explain to herself, although her feelings had been strange, they had yet been part of her dreams, and what she had always sought.

  Now as his arms tightened around her and his lips became more insistent, she knew this was what she had always wanted in life and it was, although she was afraid to admit it – love.

  It was love that had nothing to do with position or advantage, but was instead the meeting of a man and woman who belonged to each other and while their hearts and their spirits merged there was no need for words.

  The Comte drew her closer still and now Zena felt as if her whole body vibrated to his and a rapture that was inexpressible seemed to run through her like the warmth of the sun and sweep up through her breasts to move from her lips to his.

  The room swung round them and she felt as if her feet were no longer on the ground, but that the Comte was carrying her on a shaft of sunlight into the glory and wonder of Heaven.

  Only when Zena felt as if she was no longer herself but his, and it was impossible to think but only to feel, did the Comte raise his head.