Sins

by Gould, Judith

  'Hey, how's my Little French Girl?' he asked softly.

  She burrowed her head in his chest. 'How's my big brother?' Her voice sounded muffled.

  He shrugged. 'Getting old, I guess.' He pulled her away and studied her. 'You're looking good.'

  She smiled, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. 'Maybe it's because life is finally agreeing with me.'

  'I'm glad to hear that.'

  Hélène turned to Jeanne and held both her hands. 'Good, sweet Jeanne. You haven't changed a bit.'

  Jeanne laughed. 'You should have seen me when I was pregnant. You would have thought I was carrying a whale!'

  'How is Petite Hélène?'

  'It's too bad we couldn't bring her along, but she's being well taken care of,' Jeanne said as Edmond picked up the battered suitcase and began to lug it toward the exit.

  'I can't wait to meet her,' Hélène said with a smile. 'When you write, I read the letters over and over. I've kept each one. They cheer me up to no end.' Then her voice was serious. 'How is Madame Dupre? I sent her an invitation but she wrote that she is ill and couldn't come.'

  Jeanne nodded. 'She's been feeling bad for quite some time now. I'm not sure what's wrong with her, because she won't talk about it. But she doesn't look well.'

  'I hope it's nothing serious,' Hélène said in a worried voice.

  When they were out on the Boulevard de Vaugirard, Hélène signaled for a taxi.

  'Why don't we take a bus or the metro?' Edmond suggested. 'Taxis are so expensive.'

  Hélène allowed herself a laugh and shook his arm. 'Don't worry about money,' she said lightly. 'I'm about to become a very rich woman.' She gestured at the taxi. 'Hop in.'

  Jeanne exchanged glances with Edmond. He nodded imperceptibly and she climbed stiffly into the cab. Hélène climbed in after her and Edmond sat up front next to the driver. The driver looked at him questioningly. 'Where to?' he grunted.

  'The Georges V,' Hélène said.

  'Oui, mademoiselle.' The driver sounded impressed. He put the car in gear and they swung out into the traffic. Edmond kept staring out through the windshield, his eyes thoughtful.

  'It looks so different,' he said, twisting around to look at Hélène. 'There are so many people, so much traffic. All I've remembered were empty streets, velo-taxis, and wood-burning trucks.'

  Hélène smiled at him. 'Funny that you should say that. I'll never forget the day I first arrived. I thought exactly the same thing.'

  He turned back around to gaze out the windshield some more.

  Jeanne took Hélène's hand and shook it excitedly. 'Tell me about your fiancé.' She gave a lively little shrug. 'Is he handsome?'

  Hélène smiled slowly. 'No, but he is beautiful. I wrote to you that he is a pianist.'

  Jeanne nodded. 'And that can make a man rich?' she asked.

  Hélène nodded. 'He performs all around the world. He has played for General de Gaulle and Queen Elizabeth.'

  Jeanne shook her head in wonder. 'He sounds very important.'

  'He is important.' Hélène turned to look out the window for a moment. Much as she hated to, she would have to warn them that Stanislaw was not a young man. Otherwise, when they met him, their shock might be too evident. But she wouldn't tell them here in the taxi. It could wait until they got to the hotel.

  Jeanne looked wide-eyed around the suite. 'This hotel must be very expensive,' she said. 'Did you see the lobby? And the way the clerk looked at us? It's our clothes, Hélène. Don't you think it would be better if we went to another hotel? One more suitable to. . .to our station? We're not elegant like you.'

  'Nonsense,' Hélène said firmly. 'A little luxury never hurt anybody. Believe me, you'll get used to it very quickly. You are going to stay here, and tomorrow I will take you shopping.'

  Edmond paced the big room, his hands in his pockets. He looked thoughtfully down at the thick carpet. Then he squashed his cigarette out in an ashtray. He came over to Hélène, put his hands on her shoulders, and held her at arm's length. His voice was flat. 'You don't have to go through all this trouble and expense for us, Little French Girl. We're not used to living like this.'

  She met his eyes evenly. 'Please, Edmond. Let me do things my way. I'm going to become the wife of a very prominent man. This is the way we will have to live.'

  'Madame Dupre said you lived in a house. Can't we stay there?'

  'No,' Hélène said quickly. 'I don't live there anymore.'

  'Where do you live?' Jeanne asked curiously.

  Hélène smiled. 'I had an apartment, but I've just given it up. For the past few days I've lived here, in the hotel. After the wedding, I'll move in with Stanislaw. He has a house.'

  Edmond smiled good-naturedly. 'All right,' he said. 'We'll be good relatives. We'll do as we're told and try not to embarrass you.'

  Hélène looked at him gratefully. 'I. . .I have to tell you something,' she said.

  'I'm listening.'

  Nervously she clasped her hands in front of her and began to pace the room. 'I want you to know that I love Stanislaw. Maybe you won't be able to understand that. It's not like the love you both share. That's something I can only hope for, but I don't think it will ever happen to me.'

  Jeanne looked confused. 'What do you mean? Maybe if you. . .'

  Hélène shook her head. 'Please,' she said. She looked out the window at the traffic down on the Avenue Georges V. 'Let me finish. You see, Stanislaw and I respect each other. We'll be good for each other. Don't ask me to explain. I just know it.'

  'Why don't you just let us meet him?' Edmond said straightforwardly. 'We can form our own opinion.'

  Swiftly she turned around to face him. Her voice was guarded. 'I just want you to know something before you meet him. You see, you'll think that we can't possibly have anything in common. I just wanted to tell you that we do.'

  Jeanne and Edmond exchanged glances. Finally Jeanne came toward her and put an arm around her shoulder. 'What is it?' she asked softly. 'What's worrying you?'

  Hélène's face was impassive. 'Your reactions. You see, Stanislaw is not a young man.'

  Jeanne smiled and tried to put Hélène at ease. 'It's not like you're marrying your grandfather!' she joked.

  Hélène paled and threw Jeanne's arm off her shoulder. Her face was agonized. 'Yes, it is. You see, Stanislaw is seventy-two years old.'

  Hélène read through the telegram and sank slowly down onto the edge of the bed. For a moment she just sat there shocked. It can't be true, she thought dully. There must be a mistake. Slowly she read the concise message again. There was no mistake.

  REGRET TO INFORM YOU MADELEINE DUPRE DIED OF CANCER AT NANTES HOSPITAL THIS MORNING.

  There was a quick knock on the door. Hélène didn't look up. 'Yes?' she said weakly.

  The door opened and Jeanne sailed into the room. 'You're not even dressed yet!' she scolded. 'We're due at the chapel in half an hour!' She smiled. 'Hey, you're not nervous, are you? Edmond and I both think that Stanislaw is a fine man.'

  Hélène wiped her eyes and looked up at Jeanne. 'No, I'm not nervous,' she said in a small voice.

  'Then what is it?'

  Wordlessly Hélène handed her the telegram. Jeanne read it through and paled. 'How terrible! Who would have thought that Madame Dupre had cancer?'

  Hélène sniffed. 'She died on the day I'm getting married.' She thought for a moment and looked at Jeanne. 'She was. . .my savior. I think I should postpone the wedding.'

  Jeanne sat down beside Hélène. 'No,' she said firmly 'She wouldn't want that. Otherwise she would have let us know what was wrong. She was brave, can't you see that? She didn't want you to worry.'

  Hélène sighed and reached for a handkerchief. 'I suppose you're right, but all the same. . .'

  Jeanne patted her on the back. 'Come on, dry your eyes and get dressed. I'm responsible for getting you to the chapel on time.'

  5

  The white clifftop villa Stanislaw had taken on Cap Ferrat for their honeymoon
was magnificent. Palladian in style, it consisted of a two-story, fifteen-room main house and a connecting six-car garage. The roofs were terra-cotta tiles and all the windows were elegant glass arches. Tucked away among a Mediterranean forest of dark cypresses, umbrella pines, and overgrown hedges, it looked like a castle in the midst of a jungle. But that was only from the road. Within, it was a whole different story. Planted like a garden, the entire estate consisted of formal rose beds, expertly pruned topiary, and oleander-filled urns. It even boasted a climatically controlled greenhouse for orchids.

  In addition, there was an enormous pool pavilion set a hundred meters back from the house. Like the villa, the pavilion was Palladian. Outside it, terra-cotta greyhounds sat gracefully in niches built into the walls. Inside, it had a generously scaled living room decorated with detailed moldings and sleek dark wicker furniture,

  The pool, poised near the edge of the cliff, was enormous, with rounded edges and a water fountain at each end. Its clever design presented the viewer with an optical illusion: surrounded by a raised marble coping on all sides except for the seaside, it appeared far calmer than the sea below but seemed to be a part of it.

  Between the pool and the pavilion stood a relic of antiquity, a giant marble head of Apollo. From his pedestal he gazed out to the distant cliffs at the other side of the bay.

  The house came with a staff of five. There were the Gaudets —a housekeeper/gardener couple—two maids, and a cook.

  Madame Gaudet welcomed Hélène and Stanislaw when they arrived. She was a stern elderly Breton dressed in somber gray and white. Hélène immediately got the impression that she ruled the house with an iron hand. The first thing Madame Gaudet did was to show them around. Throughout the tour Hélène was busy making mental notes.

  She grasped the layout of the house immediately. There were two identical hallways on both floors. These were located off one central circular staircase that divided the house into symmetrical halves. The staircase was located under a large frescoed rotunda.

  The public rooms were on the ground floor. One look told Hélène that the living room was perfectly suited for Stanislaw. It had two huge black Bechstein grand pianos and plenty of shelf space for his music library and recording equipment. The tall, arched French doors opened out to both the front and back gardens. No matter how hot it got, the room would always remain cool and comfortable. It had good cross ventilation and would catch the breezes coming in off the sea. Like sentinels, rows of potted palms were lined up between the doors.

  The room next to it was the formal dining room—huge, marble-floored, and liberally hung with crystal chandeliers. The table would seat thirty. Fine for a banquet, Hélène decided, but hopeless for an intimate dinner for two. Depending on the weather, they would take their meals either in the greenhouse like breakfast room or out on the terrace.

  All the bedrooms were on the top floor. Hélène noticed at once that their luggage had already been brought upstairs and deposited in their rooms, the suitcases serving as discreet announcements of who would sleep where. She wondered whether it was Stanislaw or Madame Gaudet who had been responsible for that. Or was it that rich people slept in separate bedrooms?

  The bedroom staked out with Stanislaw's suitcase, to the left of the rotunda, was cool beige decorated with overstuffed suede furniture. French doors led to a large balustrade balcony overlooking the pool pavilion and the sea and cliffs beyond.

  Hélène's suitcases were in an even more luxurious bedroom directly across the hall. It was the biggest bedroom she had ever been in, and it was entirely pink. The walls were covered in pink silk and the carpeting underfoot was thick and soft and pink. The enormous bed was canopied with miles of pink silk, and so was the silk-skirted vanity. A crystal chandelier gleamed overhead, and there were two down-filled pink couches with matching armchairs.

  Hélène walked over to the windows. The curtains were pink, and even the view of the front garden was—what else could she have expected? she asked herself—pink: a massive round bed of roses in bloom. Vases of these same roses stood on the nightstands that flanked the bed.

  Madame Gaudet threw open four white doors set in the pink walls. Hélène inspected them. Three opened into walk-in closets, the fourth into a pink marble bathroom. It was the most lavish bathroom Hélène had ever seen.

  Overcome, she sank down into one of the pink sofas.

  'Like it?' Stanislaw asked eagerly.

  Hélène sighed and nodded. He wanted so desperately to please her.

  She got to her feet and signaled for Madame Gaudet to leave. The housekeeper nodded and silently left the room. When the door closed behind her, Hélène stepped toward Stanislaw. 'Separate bedrooms?' she asked gently.

  He looked away. 'I thought you'd want that.'

  She reached up, touched his chin, and turned his face toward hers. 'I want us to share the same bedroom,' she said softly. 'I want to sleep with you.'

  'I am an old man,' he whispered uncomfortably. 'I. . .I no longer need to. . .' He made a quick gesture with his hands. 'To do that.'

  Hélène looked deep into his eyes. 'Why do you think I married you?' she asked. 'I want to be your wife in every way.'

  'But I am old.'

  'That doesn't matter. You are my husband.'

  Tears welled up in his eyes. 'My dear Hélène,' he whispered, 'you are a good woman. I do not deserve you.' Gently he squeezed her hand. Her skin felt soft and young between his old, wrinkled fingers. It made him feel the difference in their ages and it saddened him.

  Hélène disengaged herself from him, reached down, picked up her suitcases, and marched across the hall with them. He followed her. One of the uniformed maids was already in his bedroom unpacking his luggage. She gave a curtsy.

  Hélène shook her head. 'No, thank you,' she told the maid. 'I prefer to do it myself.'

  'Very well, madame.'

  When the maid had gone and Hélène was in the middle of unpacking, she said suddenly, 'Stanislaw, what do you say we give the servants an extended paid vacation? I want you all to myself. Let's just be us two here. Alone. On a real honeymoon.'

  He thought about it for a moment. Unpacking suitcases was one thing; running a fifteen-room villa without help was another. 'It's a big house,' he said at last. 'And the grounds are tremendous. Are you certain you can handle it?'

  She smiled with eagerness. 'The weeds may grow and dust may collect on the chandeliers, but I want to give it a try. Please.'

  He shook his head. He wondered if he would ever get to understand her; every other woman he had ever known could not be pampered enough.

  He took her in his arms and looked into her eyes. They caught the light coming in through the French doors and shone like polished amethysts. She wanted so much to please, he thought. And those eyes—how could he refuse those eyes anything? Well, if taking care of him was what she wanted, then that's what she would get. He smiled. 'Tell them to take a vacation.'

  She stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then, like a delighted child who had been given a toy, she was off to dismiss the staff.

  An hour later they watched from the living room as the staff piled into two black taxis. The maids were chattering happily, but Madame Gaudet gave one last disapproving look toward the house. This was her domain, her stern eyes seemed to say. God only knew what condition the place would be in when she returned.

  As the cars disappeared around the circular drive, Hélène looked at Stanislaw and let out a breath of relief. 'Now I finally feel like I'm at home.'

  He laughed. 'Me, too. I'm glad they're gone. To tell you the truth, there was too much help buzzing around all over the place. I would never have been able to concentrate on my music.'

  Her eyes flashed mischievously. 'Today / won't let you concentrate on it,' she said. 'In another few hours it will be dark. In the meantime, I'll go prepare us a light supper. Then we'll drink champagne. And afterward. . .'

  Hélène tugged gently at Stanislaw's hand as s
he led him through the garden to the pool pavilion. Both of them had changed to belted bathrobes. The temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up. The air was scented with roses, oleanders, and pine. In the pavilion niches, the greyhounds were in deep shadow.

  Holding hands, they stood wordlessly by the edge of the pool, watching as the sun set. The water fountains were turned off and silent, and the sky overhead was red and orange as the sun dropped down the burnished horizon like a blazing fireball. Far below, a lone sailboat raced across the bay.

  Hélène slowly released Stanislaw's hand. She untied her robe, letting it fall around her ankles. She was completely nude, her firm breasts silhouettes against the sky. Proudly she threw back her shoulders and felt the wind rushing against her nakedness. A strange new strength coursed through her.

  Stanislaw stared at her. She could hear him breathing heavily as she undid his robe. The champagne had done its bit. It had softened the edge of his inhibitions.

  She took a deep breath. In the sunset his naked body did not look old at all. In fact, it glowed with vitality, and even his snow-white hair seemed golden blond.

  She reached out to touch him. There was a look of anguish in his eyes. 'I. . .I don't know if I still can,' he said quietly.

  Intuitively she understood. He was afraid. Afraid of being rejected; afraid of being humiliated. And above all, afraid of not being able to function as a man any longer.

  She looked deep into his eyes. 'Sssssh,' she whispered solemnly. She reached up and strummed a gentle finger across his lips. 'Don't say a word, my husband. Don't say anything.'

  Tenderly she began to run her fingertips across his back. He began to tremble. Without looking, she could sense the beginnings of passion rise up within him. Now was the moment, she knew.

  6

  The weeks on Cap Ferrat flew. Hélène learned a great deal about Stanislaw, and he about her. At first they were slightly nervous, but realized that this was only natural and accepted it. For a while their politeness to each other verged on awkwardness, but slowly they dropped their guard and began to enjoy each other's company.