Hélène trembled. She looked away. 'I couldn't stay at home, madame. So I came here. I tried to let myself in quietly. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.'
'That's all right. I heard noises and came down to investigate.' Madame Dupre came close and examined Hélène's face. Her elegant features suddenly contorted with rage. Her voice was sharp. 'Who did this to you? You look as if you were beaten!'
'Please. . .' Hélène begged. 'Don't make any trouble.'
'Trouble!' Madame Dupre snorted. 'Somebody certainly made trouble, but it wasn't I!' She looked at Hélène. 'Well?' she demanded. 'Was it one of the boys?'
Hélène shook her head slowly.
Suddenly Madame Dupre's eyes widened. 'Don't tell me it happened at home!'
Hélène nodded.
Madame Dupre frowned crossly. 'Was it your aunt?'
'Please. . .' Hélène's voice was a small, timid whisper.
'All right, we won't talk about it, then.' Madame Dupre shook her head. 'But tell me—is this why you wanted the job so badly? To get away?'
Hélène nodded again. 'I had to get away from home, madame. I was trying to save up to get my own apartment.'
Madame Dupre wrapped her arms around Hélène. 'You poor girl! Don't worry, you won't have to go back. And you won't have to spend your money on an apartment, either. You must use it to get to Paris!'
Hélène nodded. 'But where will I live?'
'I know just the place.'
Hélène looked at her questioningly.
Madame Dupre smiled and pointed at the ceiling. 'Upstairs, in the garret. There's an old iron bed up there and a few sticks of old furniture. It will be your own room.'
Hélène brightened. 'Really, madame?'
Madame Dupre nodded. 'Come with me. I'll get you some sheets and pillowcases. Tomorrow you can go back to your aunt's and get your things.' She wagged a warning finger. 'But don't you go alone!' she said sternly.
'Non, madame. I'll have my brother's fiancée come with me.'
'Bon. It is settled, then. Come along. Let us see how you like your new room.'
They went up two flights of stairs. The garret was on the third floor, right under the beams of the eaves. The roof was steep, and they could stand up only in the center of the room. It smelled musty and the air was full of dust. Clotheslines crisscrossed it from one end to the other.
'You'll have to clean it up a bit,' Madame Dupre said as she threw open one of the little dormer windows. 'But it should be comfortable enough.'
Hélène nodded. 'I don't know how to thank you.'
Madame Dupre shrugged. 'It's nothing. Just try to get a good night's sleep. And take tomorrow off.' She clapped the dust off her hands and walked over to the door. 'Good night, Hélène.'
'Good night, madame.'
Hélène waited until Madame Dupre's footsteps disappeared down the stairs. Then she walked over to the open window and looked out. Over the rooftops she could see down to the dimly lit quay where the fishing boats tied up. Right now, it was strangely deserted, with barely a boat in sight. Beyond it, the bay was dark, melting into an equally dark sky. She smiled to herself. From up here she would be able to see Edmond's ship when the fleet came in.
Jeanne flapped the dust rag out the window and made a face. She coughed and turned to Hélène. 'Sprinkle the floor with some more water before you go on sweeping. Otherwise we'll be choking to death!'
They were dressed almost identically, in Jeanne's old housedresses, with scarves tied around their heads.
Jeanne shook her head and giggled. 'If we don't look like two housewives.'
Hélène smiled and bent down as she carefully swept out a corner with the horsehair broom. 'Once it's cleaned up, it should look rather nice.'
Jeanne looked around the garret. 'It's certainly big enough for one person,' she said in an impressed voice. 'And just think! It's a place of your own.' Her voice suddenly became angry. 'At least you'll never have to go back to those horrible people anymore!'
Hélène sighed and sank down into a broken chair. 'I can't tell Edmond the truth though, Jeanne. That hurts me, because we've never kept any secrets from each other. But I'm scared. . .'
Jeanne looked over at her. 'I know. You don't have to worry about me—I won't breathe a word. But what are you going to tell him?'
'Part of the truth, at least. That I couldn't bear living with Tante Janine any longer. That this place is very convenient, since I only have to go downstairs to go to work. That I'm just biding my time till I go to Paris.'
'Good. Then our stories will match.'
Suddenly Hélène came over to Jeanne and embraced her. 'When we first met, you told me that you wanted us to be friends,' she said softly. 'Well, I want you to know how happy I am that we are.'
'I know,' Jeanne replied. She gave Hélène a squeeze. 'But we'd better get working. Edmond will be back on shore this weekend. We want him to be impressed when he sees this place, don't we?'
Hélène nodded. She was studying Jeanne.
'What are you staring at?' Jeanne asked.
Hélène smiled and turned away. 'Nothing,' she said vaguely.
But that wasn't quite true. She had been studying Jeanne's height and build and figure. Her seamstress mind instinctively appraised it and sized it. Tonight, after Jeanne left, she would begin designing her wedding dress. After all, the wedding was only four months off.
There was a knock at the door.
Hélène turned toward it. 'Come in,' she called.
Madame Dupre came in carrying a wooden tray covered with a napkin. 'I thought you both might use some lunch,' she said with an apologetic smile. 'I took the liberty of making you a little something.' She set the tray down on the bed. Then she looked around. 'Good gracious! I never thought this place would clean up so well!'
'We've barely started,' Hélène said.
'Perhaps you should take up interior decoration instead of fashion.'
Hélène smiled. 'That's stretching it a bit, I'm afraid. But I have a feeling about this place.' She gave the room a proprietorial look. 'I guess everybody does about the first place of their own.'
'Yes,' Madame Dupre said. 'I'll never forget mine. A small room with peeling wallpaper. Chinese flowers. . .' She made a limp gesture with her hand. 'Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to an old woman rambling on. I'll leave you two in peace.' When she reached the door she turned around. 'Oh, Hélène. . .'
'Oui, madame?'
'I got a letter from the Comtesse de Léger this morning, confirming her fittings. I don't believe I told you.'
'No, madame.'
Madame Dupre sighed. 'Every year the Comtesse goes to Paris and orders an entire wardrobe from the couturiers. Unknown to everyone but me, she never wears her good clothes except for special occasions. She has me make a copy of each of the garments she buys. This way she has an identical— cheaper—wardrobe to 'wear around the house.' This project usually takes me four weeks. I close the shop for the duration, since the work is done at the de Léger chateau.' She paused. 'I always take my best seamstress with me. I am planning to take you.'
Hélène's eyes shone. 'I'd love to go, madame. When is it?'
'The entire month of September.'
Hélène's face fell.
'What's the matter? I thought you'd be pleased.'
'I am. It's just that Jeanne and Edmond. . .' Hélène turned around and looked desperately at Jeanne. 'They're getting married then, and—'
Jeanne interrupted. 'Hélène, I want you to go,' she said firmly. 'Edmond and I will postpone our plans. We'll marry in December instead.'
'But—'
'Quiet! This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You've never been in a chateau, have you?'
Hélène didn't answer. She didn't want to remember back that far, not to a Nazi-occupied chateau on the Loire, and Catherine and Marie. . .
'Besides, who knows?' Jeanne said lightly. 'You might meet a handsome Comte.' She glanced at Madame Dupre. 'The
re is one, isn't there?'
'Oh. . .yes. But he's married to the Comtesse. However, he does have a rather handsome young son, the future Comte. His name is Hubert, I believe. Yes, Hubert de Léger.' She looked thoughtfully at Hélène. 'Actually, he's only a year to two older than you are.'
10
The sky was cloudy and looked like rain when Hélène and Madame Dupre got off the train in Bordeaux. They were met on the platform by an elderly white-haired man in a dark blue uniform with brass buttons, gleaming high boots, and a visored cap. He recognized Madame Dupre instantly and clicked his heels smartly, giving a low bow. He gestured to her luggage.
Madame Dupre smiled. 'Bonjour, Andre. Yes, those are ours.'
Quickly the suitcases were loaded onto a trolley and Andre led the way out to the parking lot, where an old black Citroen limousine was waiting. Andre held the rear doors open for them, stowed the luggage in the trunk, and then got in behind the wheel. As they drove off, Hélène pressed the velour seat with her hand. It was firm but soft. She smiled to herself. This was luxury indeed.
They rode slowly through the narrow streets of the town. Hélène pressed her nose against the window. Bordeaux was much larger than Saint-Nazaire. In a way, it seemed part of a different country. The stone houses were large and ornate. Some of them even had balconies. There were many shops and cars. They passed a bustling open-air marketplace where bright umbrellas and awnings had been set up over tables piled high with cheeses, breads, fruits, and vegetables. She could see intricately braided heads of garlic hanging from the vegetable stalls.
They drove through the dark tunnel like arch of the Great Clock Tower.
This was a bizarre building. On its facade, high above the arch, was a big square clock. And even higher up, in another arch flanked by stone turrets, hung the big bell, proudly silent after its morning's cry that harvest time had come once again to the vineyards of Bordeaux. When they drove back out into the daylight, Hélène twisted around in her seat and looked out the rear window. After a moment, she could see the clock on this side. Its giant gold- colored hands read five-thirty.
Soon they left the town behind and headed north. Green pastures, vast pine forests, and timeless villages flew past in a blur. They had to slow down whenever the road cut through the villages, and then Hélène would catch sight of ancient stone houses and window boxes overflowing with pale pink impatiens and deep red geraniums. Often the countryside opened up into gently sloping hills that looked as if someone had run a comb through them. These were the vineyards that were the heart and soul of Gascony. After they had traveled a while longer, Hélène turned to Madame Dupre. 'How much farther is it?'
Madame Dupre patted her hand. 'Another hour and a half. So you just relax. The de Léger chateaux are in the Medoc.'
Hélène perked up. Her voice was incredulous. 'Are? You mean there is more than one?'
'There are two.' Madame Dupre settled back comfortably. 'There are the Chateau Hautecloque-de Léger and the Chateau Loustalot-de Léger.'
'And both of them are real castles?'
Madame Dupre nodded. 'Both of them, and each with its own vineyard. But the Comte and the Comtesse live in the Chateau Hautecloque. It's the larger and by far more luxurious one.' She smiled slightly. 'Also, it's the more prestigious.'
An hour later, they arrived at the edge of the de Léger estates and Madame Dupre pointed out the sights. These vineyards were by far the biggest they'd yet come across. The gently sloping hills seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon.
'It's the single biggest vineyard in all of France,' Madame Dupre said.
Hélène nodded. She was speechless. Never had she seen so many furrowed slopes in her life.
'Look quickly! There on your left!' Madame Dupre pointed to the window on Hélène's side of the car.
Hélène turned her head and gazed out. All around, workers were swarming through the chest-high rows of vines, bending over and picking grapes, looking up at the ever-darkening sky with worried eyes. She noticed that a complex maze of paved roads crisscrossed the vineyard. And in the distance, bathed by the tranquil waters of a large moat, was a sprawling château. Medieval stone turrets and crumbling retaining walls merged nicely with the elegant additions of the Renaissance.
'That is the chateau Loustalot-de Léger,' Madame Dupre said. 'What you see all around it are more than two thousand acres of grapes.'
'It's so. . .so enormous!' Hélène said.
Madame Dupre nodded. 'Two years ago the chateau produced almost two million bottles of wine. Can you imagine!'
Hélène shook her head in awe. 'The de Légers must be very rich,' she said.
Madame Dupre smiled but said nothing. Yes, she thought. They were very rich indeed. But the Comtesse had inherited the typical shrewd frugality of the French. Instead of spending an additional ten thousand francs at the couturiers' for a second wardrobe, she was having copies made for three thousand. It was unbelievable. A woman worth multimillions went out of her way to save seven thousand francs!
'And the chateau Hautecloque-de Léger?' Hélène asked. 'What about it?'
'It is a little farther to the north. It covers only two hundred and thirty acres. We'll be there soon.'
Just as they got there, heavy splatters of raindrops were starting to fall. Andre grunted and mumbled something about the grapes. He slowed the big car down and they drove through the gates of the chateau.
Hélène leaned down and peered up through the arcs of glass that the thumping windshield wipers were clearing. She caught a blurry glimpse of a large stone plaque on top of the gate. Carved in relief were a lion and a salamander supporting a crest between them. The crest of the de Légers.
They rode down a long poplar-lined drive. To either side of it was the vast park attributed to Le Notre, the landscape architect who had designed the gardens of Versailles. Even through the heavy sheets of rain Hélène could see the chateau Hautecloque-de Léger. She took a deep breath. It was unlike any chateau she had ever imagined. There were no towers, no turrets. This was an elegantly noble building, and yet there was a haughty coldness about its perfect symmetry. It consisted of a narrow pavilion flanked by two wings that had larger pavilions at each end. It was three stories high, its steep dark roofs rounded off to support lanterns. In the center was a sweeping marble staircase.
They drove around the building and pulled up to a small door in the back. Andre produced a huge black umbrella, hurried out, held their doors open, and kept them covered as they ran to the building.
A fat red-faced woman dressed in white flung the door open and they rushed inside. Andre hurried back to the car.
Hélène looked around. They were in a massive kitchen. Copper and steel pots and pans hung from the walls and ceiling. At a wooden table, a young girl with her sleeves rolled up was expertly kneading dough. Hélène couldn't help but feel a certain disappointment that they hadn't pulled up to the majestic staircase in the front.
The fat woman was obviously a cook. After she closed the door, her face broke into a cheerful smile and she wiped her large hands on her apron. 'Bonjour, madame,' she said in a friendly voice. 'Did you have a pleasant journey?'
Madame Dupre returned her smile and brushed some raindrops off her sleeves. 'Bonjour, Therese. Yes, the journey was fine until the rain began.'
Therese lifted her red hands in despair. 'This weather! We have had such a dry summer, and now all this rain! It is not good for the poor grapes.' She shrugged her shoulders philosophically and sighed. 'I suppose you cannot hope for every year to be good.'
'I suppose not,' Madame Dupre said.
'The Comtesse has instructed me to put you in your usual room,' Therese said. 'Is that all right with you?'
Madame Dupre smiled. 'That will be fine, merci.'
'Then I will take you upstairs at once. I'm sure you're anxious to wash up and change.'
Madame Dupre looked at Hélène. 'Come along. Our luggage will be brought to us.'
Hélène follow
ed them up a steep staircase to the servants' quarters. They were located on the top floor of the chateau, under the gently rounded roof. Their rooms were identical, connected through an adjoining door.
Hélène sat down heavily on her bed and looked around miserably; the plaster walls were cracked and the furniture was comfortable but plain. There was one circular window so low to the floor that she would have to bend down in order to look out.
Once again Hélène couldn't help but feel a bit resentful. She had expected a stately suite with a canopied bed and rich furnishings. She bit down on her lip. She must be careful to say nothing. The chauffeured limousine aside, it was obvious that they were considered slightly superior to the rest of the servants but far below the lordly station of the de Légers.
Late the next afternoon the Comtesse summoned them to the Embroidered Room. A liveried manservant led them through the house and down a stone staircase. This staircase, unlike the servants', was delicately carved with fruits and flowers. Hélène saw that the interior of the chateau was lordly indeed. The rich architecture was well-preserved, looked almost fresh and new. Everywhere there were seventeenth-and eighteenth-century paintings, Flemish tapestries, Chinese lacquered commodes, and Aubusson carpets. The exquisite furnishings were of the Louis XV style. 'All genuine!' Madame Dupre whispered.
Hélène let out a cry as the manservant opened the giant double doors of the Embroidered Room. The walls were covered in red-and-gold-painted moldings set with the fanciful needlework panels that gave the room its name. Again, the furnishings were Louis XV bergeres and fauteuils. But there were no paintings in the Embroidered Room. Instead, Chinese and Japanese porcelains were everywhere. There were blanc-de-chine figurines, covered vases, and mandarin dolls. A delicate table held a lavish arrangement of flowers. Seated on an embroidered settee behind it was the Comtesse de La Brissac et de Léger.
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