The Devil in Love (Bantam Series No. 24)

by Barbara Cartland

  They had been concerned, upset, and unhappy, but they had not been bitter or cynical about it.

  “You speak as if you had just surmounted a personal problem and found that it did not affect you intrinsically.”

  Larisa decided that he was much more perceptive than she had imagined he would be.

  “That is true,” she said, “but perhaps my problem was not as difficult as it might have been because it was shared.”

  “With a man?” Comte Raoul asked sharply.

  “No, with my family.”

  “Then you are fortunate. My family is prepared to share nothing with me.”

  There was no mistaking now the cynicism is his tone and Larisa said without thinking:

  “It takes two to make a quarrel.”

  “In which case you cannot know my father.”

  “I daresay he is very difficult,” Larisa conceded, “everyone has told me so. At the same time, he has two great loves in his life—Valmont and Jean-Pierre.”

  “And one great hatred,” Comte Raoul added. “Me!”

  There seemed to be no answer to that, and as Larisa did not speak he said after a moment:

  “Well? What is your magic to cure or prevent such animosity? Surely a goddess has some solution?”

  “I think you should try to find one,” Larisa said, “both for his sake and for yours.”

  As she spoke she thought what a strange conversation this was to hold with a man whom she had only just met! The man whom she had been warned against who was to many people the personification of wickedness.

  Yet strangely she found herself feeling sorry for him.

  He might have all Paris at his feet, but this was his home and she knew, without Comte Raoul telling her so, that he anticipated that his arrival would not be welcomed and that he would be received with hostility.

  They were almost at the Chateau, and as they reached the bridge across the moat Larisa saw standing at the front door a very smart phaeton drawn by two magnificent horses.

  The coachman was in the yellow and black livery worn by the retainers of Monsieur le Comte, but it was far smarter and cut in a different style.

  There was another man in front of the phaeton who Larisa guessed from his appearance to be a valet.

  She knew that she was not mistaken when as they approached them the man jumped to the ground and lifted down a small brown and white spaniel.

  “There is your present, Jean-Pierre,” Comte Raoul said to the small boy on his horse.

  “A dog!” Jean-Pierre exclaimed, “a little dog!”

  He was in such a hurry to get down from the stallion that Comte Raoul only just caught him as he tried to jump down by himself.

  He put him on the ground and Jean-Pierre ran forward to where the valet stood holding the dog by a lead.

  “A dog! A dog!” Jean-Pierre cried, and put his arms around the animal’s neck without a touch of fear.

  “He is fond of animals,” Larisa said. “It was kind of you to buy it for him.”

  Comte Raoul looked at her with a smile.

  “I will be honest, Miss Stanton, and tell you that the dog was a present to myself which I found somewhat embarrassing, and I could think of no better way to dispose of it except to bring it to Valmont.”

  “It will certainly make Jean-Pierre very happy if he is allowed to keep it,” Larisa said.

  Even as she expressed the doubt she knew that if Jean-Pierre was determined to have the dog his grandfather would agree.

  She moved towards the little boy and bent down to stroke the dog’s head.

  “Un chien, Mademoiselle, un petit chien!” Jean-Pierre said with an ecstatic expression on his face.

  “I think we had better take him up to the School Room and show him to Nurse,” Larisa suggested. “Will you thank your father for the present and ask him what is the dog’s name?”

  “I have so far not christened it,” Comte Raoul said, “but as .he was given to me at Maxim’s, I imagine that ‘Max’ would be £n appropriate and easy name to remember.”

  Larisa had the feeling that he was deliberately trying to make her curious as to who should have given him a dog at Maxim’s.

  But she did not raise her eyes to his face as she took Jean-Pierre by the hand and said again:

  “Thank your father. Thank him very much,”

  “Merci! Merc.il” Jean-Pierre said automatically.

  “Why not say it in English?” the Comte suggested.

  Because she felt it was expected of her Larisa said: “Say ‘thank you’ in English, Jean-Pierre.”

  “Good morn-ing!” Jean-Pierre replied.

  Then pulling the dog by the lead he ran up the steps and into the house.

  “A great achievement, Miss Stanton!” Comte Raoul remarked.

  She knew that his eyes were twinkling and he was deliberately trying to provoke her.

  Larisa half expected that as Comte Raoul was there for luncheon she and Jean-Pierre would eat in the School-Room.

  But when she told Nurse that Comte Raoul had arrived the old woman became extremely excited; at the same time she insisted that they should both go downstairs to luncheon.

  “If Monsieur le Comte does not want you, he will say so,” she said. “In any case I think it is better you should be there.”

  “Better?” Larisa queried even while she knew the answer.

  She found Monsieur le Comte and Madame Savigny in the Salon with Comte Raoul.

  She thought that Monsieur le Comte was looking particularly aloof and disdainful until he saw his grandson. Then his eyes softened and he held out his hand as Jean-Pierre ran across the room to him.

  “Dog! I have a dog!” the little boy cried.

  “So I have heard,” Monsieur le Comte replied. His lips tightened as he added:

  “Your father knows very well I have never allowed dogs in the Chateau—they are destructive!”

  “I am sure we can keep Max in the School Room,” Larisa said quietly.

  Monsieur le Comte gave her a look as if her intervention was quite uncalled for. Then before he could reply luncheon was announced.

  They sat down in the big, Baronial Dining-Hall and Jean-Pierre was as usual too intent upon his food to take much notice of anything else.

  Larisa could feel the tension between father and son although Comte Raoul seemed at his ease, and there was no doubt that Madame Savigny was pleased to have him there.

  “It is too long since we have seen you, Raoul,” she said. “Here at Valmont we might be a million miles away from Paris. No-one tells us what is going on. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “But of course,” Comte Raoul replied. “Paris, Aunt Emilie, is very gay. There are a great many visitors to our city and they all want to be entertained in the typical Parisian manner.”

  “And that, I suppose,” Monsieur le Comte remarked, “means spending money.”

  “Naturally, Father,” Comte Raoul answered, “the Theatres, the Restaurants, the Cafes Chantants, and of course the Folies-Bergere, all are expensive!”

  Larisa saw the expression of disgust which crossed the face of Monsieur le Comte, and she realised that Comte Raoul had seen it too because he said quickly in a very different tone:

  “But I am not here to talk about Paris, Father, which I know always annoys you, or indeed to distress you with my extravagances, but to tell you how you can make money.”

  “Make money?” Monsieur le Comte ejaculated. “Yes, indeed, and it is a proposal which I think will interest you.”

  There was a serious expression on his face. Larisa had the idea that he had opened the subject while they were at the luncheon-table because in that way he could force his father to listen to him.

  She felt that what he was about to say was of tremendous importance, and he needed the support of his aunt.

  “What is it? What are you talking about?” Monsieur le Comte enquired.

  “We have grown wine here on our Estate for generations,” Comte Raoul replied. �
��Many years ago we grew a little champagne, but for the last fifty years at any rate we have concentrated on our ordinary wine.”

  “Which is good—exceptionally good!” Monsieur le Comte said aggressively.

  “I agree with you, Father, but as you must know even year champagne is becoming more and more popular. I have at the moment the opportunity of buying a vineyard.”

  He paused, his eyes on his father’s face.

  “It is near Epernay, in what is known as the ‘Champagne Country,’ and has in the past produced an excellent quality champagne. But is has been mismanaged, the owner has died, and his family no longer wish to carry on. I have, for one week, the first refusal of five hundred acres!”

  There was silence for a moment and then Monsieur le Comte said:

  “I am supposed to guess what you intend to do about it?”

  “I am suggesting that we should do something about it, Father. It is, I believe, a splendid investment and we should get big returns almost immediately on our money. Because my friends wish to do me a favour, we can buy the vineyard for a very reasonable sum and this year’s harvest alone should pay back a great deal of the original expenditure.”

  Monsieur le Comte did not speak and after a moment Comte Raoul went on:

  “I have brought with me plans, reports, and an expert’s estimation of the potential of the vineyard for the next five years.”

  Still Monsieur le Comte did not reply and his face seemed expressionless.

  Comte Raoul continued:

  “The world-wide demand for champagne from France increases. Last year nearly twenty-five million bottles were sold. Yet only twenty percent of what is bottled is exported. Great Britain is France’s biggest customer, followed by Russia!”

  “And who drinks it?” Monsieur le Comte asked, speaking for the first time. “Fools and wasters like yourself! Evil livers, spendthrifts, gamblers! Wine is good enough for the true Frenchman like myself. I shall continue to drink what my grandfather and his grandfather before him drank.”

  “You can drink what you like,” Comte Raoul said, “but why not improve the family exchequer, which you always tell me is impoverished? You have the chance to own a vineyard in the very heart of the Champagne District, knowing that you can sell every bottle before the crops are even picked!”

  “No!”

  The monosyllable rang out in the Dining-Room and now Monsieur le Comte’s face was no longer expressionless.

  “Do you think I would listen to any of your wildcat schemes?” he asked. “Do you think I would sink to associate with the type of people that you call your friends? Do you think I would trust you with the Valmont money, which I have kept from running through your fingers and from being thrown away in the gutters of Paris?”

  As he spoke Monsieur le Comte pushed back his chair.

  “There is no more to be said on the matter,” he remarked and now his voice was cold and icy.

  He was turning towards the door when Comte Raoul spoke again.

  “In which case, Father, I shall buy the vineyard myself!”

  It seemed that his words arrested Monsieur le Comte. His eyes met his son’s and he asked as if he could not help himself:

  “And how will you manage to do that?”

  “I shall borrow the money, Father, on the prospect of my inheritance. That at least you cannot keep me from having!”

  An expression of anger contorted Monsieur le Comte’s face.

  For a moment Larisa thought that he would either lash out with his tongue at Comte Raoul or even step forward to strike him.

  Then with what was a tremendous effort at self-control he turned and walked from the Dining-Room.

  Later, when Larisa had taken Jean-Pierre up to the School-Room for his rest, she went as usual to Madame Savigny’s Sitting-Room.

  It had become a habit for her to have an hour’s talk with the old lady while Jean-Pierre slept, and she found, as she expected, that Madame Savigny was waiting for her.

  She was sitting in her usual chair, and as Larisa entered the room she was wiping her eyes with a small muslin handkerchief.

  “You must not be upset, Madame,” Larisa said sympathetically.

  “It is always the same,” Madame Savigny said helplessly. “Whenever Raoul comes home—and I do so long to see him—he upsets his father and they have these terrible fights which make me so unhappy.”

  “Try not to disturb yourself,” Larisa begged.

  She sat down beside Madame Savigny.

  “It is foolish of me to cry,” the latter said, “but I hate angry voices and cross words. My brother has always been the same if anyone disagrees with him.”

  “It is fortunate we are not living in ancient times when, if he were a King, he would say ‘off with his head!”

  Madame Savigny smiled as Larisa had intended her to do.

  “You are right!” she said. “That is exactly what he would say to poor Raoul.”

  “Who is talking about me?” a voice asked from the doorway, and Comte Raoul came into the Sitting-Room.

  “You look as if you two are intriguing,” he said as he crossed the room.

  He had changed from his riding-clothes for luncheon, and Larisa thought it would be impossible for any man to be more elegant or more dashing.

  It was not the clothes themselves. There was nothing flashy about them. It was just the air with which he wore them, and he himself was so inexpressively vital that everything he touched seemed to vibrate with him.

  Larisa rose to her feet.

  “I will leave you,” she said quietly to Madame Savigny.

  “Oh no, dear! Do not go,” Madame Savigny begged.

  “If you leave on my account, Miss Stanton,” Comte Raoul said, “I shall feel guilty.”

  “I thought perhaps you would wish to speak with your aunt alone,” Larisa explained.

  “What I have to say can be listened to by both of you.”

  Comte Raoul sat down in a chair and bent towards his aunt.

  “Have you no influence with Father, Aunt Emilie? This is a really tremendous opportunity and actually I brought the idea to him as a kind of peace-offering. He always cries poverty, and the vineyard, I know, will make a really large amount of money.”

  “If you had not suggested it, Raoul, perhaps he would have considered it,” Madame Savigny replied. “But you know what he is like where you are concerned.”

  “As I have not seen him for so long, I had forgotten how virulent he can be,” Comte Raoul sighed. “If does not seem possible in this day and age that medieval feud could go on between father and son forever.”

  “Your father has always been the same,” Madame Savigny said.

  “Which is no consolation at the moment,” Comte Raoul remarked. “I want that vineyard and I intend to have it!”

  “But how?” Madame Savigny asked.

  “I shall find the money—I shall beg, borrow or steal it, as I have had to do in the past.”

  “You are quite certain it will be a success?” Larisa asked.

  “I know a lot about champagne,” Comte Raoul answered, “and not only because I drink it!”

  “When was the making of champagne first discovered?” Larisa asked..

  “The champagne-vine known as ‘Vitis Vinifera’ has been cultivated in Europe since the days of the Phoenicians.” Comte Raoul replied.

  He added with a smile:

  “Has nobody told you that the wine which is so intrinsically connected with frivolity, gaiety, and beautiful women owes its existence to a monk?”

  “To a monk?” Larisa exclaimed in surprise.

  “He was a Benedictine called Dom Perignon who in 1668 was appointed Chief Cellarer of a Monastery on the Mountain of Rheims called Hautvillas.”

  “How fascinating!”

  “It occurred to him,” Comte Raul continued, “that it might be possible to develop the natural sparkle in the wine and he embarked on experiments which lasted for twenty years.”

  “And
he succeeded?”

  “In 1690 he achieved his ambition of producing a bottle of truly sparkling champagne.”

  “Many people must have been grateful to him.”

  “They were! Champagne was introduced in the fast, extravagant, improper reign of the Regent, Philippe. Due d’Orleans! The orgies of the Palais Royal were as notorious as my own!”

  Comte Raoul smiled disarmingly and went on:

  “At a party near Paris given in 1716 by the Due de Vendome, twelve luscious girls scantily dressed as Bacchantes presented every guest with a pear-shaped bottle of champagne!”

  “And they liked it?” Larisa asked.

  “By the end of supper the success of sparkling champagne in France was assured! The Abbe de Chaulieu wrote: ‘Hardly was it served, than from my mouth it passed into my heart!’ ”

  Larisa clapped her hands.

  “What a tribute!”

  “It not only warmed their breasts!” Comte Raoul said, “it filled their pockets.”

  “If I had any money of my own I would help you buy your vineyard. Raoul,” Madame Savigny said.

  “I know you would, Aunt Emilie, you have always supported me and found excuses for me even when I was at my worst!”

  “I never believed all the things they said about you,” Madame Savigny said gently.

  “You can believe most of them!” Comte Raoul replied. “At the same time, I am now getting older. I want an interest apart from the frothy frivolities of Paris. I hoped—it was stupid of me, I know—that Father would buy the vineyard and let me run it for him.”

  “And now?”

  “I will buy it myself. I shall buy it, but it will not be as easy as it might have been! And it will not at the moment, as I had hoped, become part of the Valmont Estate.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Madame Savigny said in a quavering voice:

  “You still—care for Valmont?”

  “Care for it?” Comte Raoul asked. “It is mine and a part of me. Make no mistake, Aunt Emilie. Whatever Father may say, one day I shall live here. One day I shall be able once again to think of it as home.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Larisa walked into the School-Room having changed for dinner.