Over a hundred people were present on an extremely hot day. There was a sea of top hats, parasols and wide-brimmed, flower-trimmed creations in pastel colours. Champagne flowed and long tables were set for luncheon with crystal and silver on white damask under the green awnings.
‘Your stepmother has managed to make this occasion one of the social events of the season,’ Joanna remarked with amusement as she glanced around. She and Lisette were now seventeen. Both of average height and wearing white dresses, they complemented each other’s good looks, Joanna with her flame-red hair and Lisette with her honey-fair tresses pinned up in the same fashionable style under a similar shady hat. Close as sisters, they spoke each other’s language with equal ease.
‘I think it’s the proudest day of my father’s life,’ Lisette replied, ‘although I know he would have preferred a quieter celebration. He looks worn out already.’
On the lawn Charles was moving among his guests. Not all of them had been at the church and he was welcoming new arrivals. He was not feeling well, finding the heat of the day exhausting. Although in spirit he was proud and happy, as well as more than relieved that Isabelle’s temperamental displays during pregnancy were at an end, he had not forgotten Lisette. Whenever their glances met he nodded smilingly to convey his equal pride in her.
She had wondered sometimes if he regretted the years that they had missed together since all would have been different if her mother had lived, but decided that was not the case. Before his marriage to Isabelle he had not needed her in his life. Now she had his long delayed paternal love to which she responded wholeheartedly and which made them such good companions.
Side by side she and Joanna wandered about the lawns, greeting those whom they knew and stopping to chat with others who were frequent guests at the château. Although some among them were married couples, Isabelle had a penchant for good-looking young bachelors and they had come on this occasion simply because she always gave good parties and the reason was immaterial.
Leaving Joanna in conversation with one of them, Lisette moved on. Then she paused abruptly, her gaze caught by a new arrival coming down the stone steps from the château’s terrace. In spite of the years between she had recognized him immediately. Well-dressed in a light grey suit and top hat, he was looking around for his host and hostess. It was Philippe Bonnard!
He glimpsed Isabelle first and smiled to himself as he made his way towards her. Ever since her first invitation he had been a frequent visitor to the château with others of his age group. She was such a party-loving person and fun to be with, for age was of no consequence when a woman was pretty, witty and, as in Isabelle’s case, voluptuously attractive as well. He had been told in confidence by two of his friends that while he was in Africa each had had an affaire with her, but neither her husband nor anyone else had ever suspected that she was not a faithful wife.
Lisette waited until he had greeted both her father and Isabelle. Then she became impatient in her eagerness to speak to him as other older people trapped him into conversation, giving her no chance to greet him on her own. When finally he broke away and hailed some of his friends she darted forward across the lawn and into his path before he could reach them.
‘How are you, Philippe?’
Surprised, he gazed with pleasure at the girl who had suddenly appeared in front of him. Young and smiling, violet-blue eyes dancing as if in on some secret joke, she was on the brink of becoming extremely beautiful. He racked his mind as to whom she could be, but was completely baffled. ‘Mademoiselle! A pleasure!’ he answered automatically.
She laughed delightedly. ‘I knew you wouldn’t remember me, but I’m not in the least offended. It was so long ago that we met on the train from Lyon just before you left for West Africa. I’m Lisette Decourt.’
His host’s daughter! He decided to be honest, shaking his head with a grin. ‘I have to confess I still don’t remember that meeting, but I’m very glad to meet you now, Lisette.’ He took her hand in the conventional manner and bent over it. ‘Perhaps we can get to know each other all over again.’
‘I should like that very much,’ she responded with equal frankness, fired through with happiness. He was as handsome as she remembered, but matured now with a man’s face and physique. It seemed to her, with a thought as heady as champagne, that she had been waiting all those intervening years for this reunion with him today. She introduced him to Joanna and others joined them, the time passing merrily.
It was as Philippe watched her laughing and chatting that he wondered why he had not met her before. She must have been home at times when there were balls and other social events at the château. Yet he could guess the reason. Somehow Isabelle had managed to keep her out of the way, not wanting her own mature beauty to be overshadowed by her stepdaughter’s fresh young loveliness. Yet perhaps by now Isabelle had realized that she had charms enough to dominate any scene for an admirer.
It was as Charles Decourt stood up at the central table to make a short speech at the end of the luncheon that the celebratory atmosphere of the day was shattered. With all eyes on him he started well by expressing his pleasure that so many had been able to celebrate this very special occasion with him and his wife, and then he faltered, his colour changing. Even as a doctor among the guests started to rise to his feet, Charles clutched at his chest, falling back across his chair and down on to the ground. People exclaimed in dismay and confusion reigned.
Lisette, who had been seated a little distance away with Philippe and friends, had sprung up with an anxious cry. Instantly she darted in her father’s direction, but found her way blocked by the sudden crush of guests also on their feet in alarm. Her way was completely blocked.
‘Please let me through!’ she cried desperately. Although they were quick to part she was too late. She reached him to find Isabelle, ashen-faced, standing motionless as she gazed down at the prone figure of her husband. The doctor was kneeling by him, but although he had loosened the fallen man’s collar and was trying to revive him it was obvious already that it was to no avail.
Tears burst from Lisette’s eyes as she flung herself down on her knees beside her father, throwing herself across his chest.
‘No, my dear papa! No! No!’ she sobbed.
The doctor stood to take Isabelle’s limp hand in his. He was deeply distressed, for Charles had been both friend and patient for many years, and he spoke compassionately to her.
‘My deepest regrets, Madame Decourt. Let your husband be carried into the château at once.’
Wordlessly, she handed her filmy chiffon stole to him and he folded it over the dead man’s face.
A shocked silence had fallen over the whole gathering. Lisette was barely aware as somebody gently disengaged her to hold her close while Charles was lifted up by three of the footmen. As he was carried across the lawns and up into the château, Isabelle followed with her head bowed and Lisette, feeling stunned and still being supported, went too. Joanna had run forward to take her hand in sympathy and kept pace with her. Behind them the company began to disperse, everybody with grave expressions and many of the women weeping.
Indoors Lisette turned to nod her tearful acknowledgement to her escort and saw that it was Philippe, his expression concerned, but he spoke to Joanna.
‘Take care of her,’ he urged.
‘I will.’
The following days went by in semi-darkness with blinds closed and a cascade of letters of condolence. Lisette received a personal letter from Philippe, which she appreciated since his name was also on the list of those who had written to her stepmother too. Isabelle was dignified and composed in her mourning, not once shedding a tear. At the funeral she was elegant in a new black gown designed by Monsieur Worth and an exquisite hat, its veil fine enough not to completely hide her gently grieving face.
Lisette went through the funeral in a distressed daze. The church was packed with mourners, for Charles Decourt had been liked and respected by all and had many friends. Philippe
was there and when he spoke to Lisette outside the church after the service she thanked him for his assistance on the afternoon her father had died.
He shook his head dismissively. ‘There’s no need for thanks.’
She studied him gratefully for a moment. ‘It was the second time in my life that you stepped in to help me when I was shocked by bereavement and desperately sad.’
He looked surprised. ‘Was the first time on the train where you say we met?’ When she nodded he added, ‘Perhaps one day you’ll refresh my memory.’ Then he stepped back, for other people were waiting to speak to her.
During the following weeks Joanna was Lisette’s constant companion. Other people mostly stayed away out of respect during the conventional period of intense mourning. Isabelle, although she thought she looked particularly elegant in black, spent most of her time ordering new clothes in purple and various shades of lilac for when she could once again emerge into society with the outward trapping of the later stages of mourning.
Lisette was on her own one morning, sketching a particular rose in the circular sunken garden where a fountain played in a goldfish pond. She was missing her father deeply, not fully able to believe yet that he had truly gone from her. She kept thinking of things she would have liked to tell him and was unable yet to stop expecting to hear his footsteps coming in search or her or the echo of his laugh, for they had laughed a lot together.
She looked up under the brim of her hat. Somebody was coming along the path to disturb her peace, but it would not be Joanna, for she was going elsewhere today. Then she felt her heart give a leap of pleasure. Philippe had appeared on the steps, clad in a well-cut linen jacket and white trousers, swinging his straw boater in his hand.
‘There you are!’ he exclaimed in smiling greeting, coming down to her. ‘Let me see what you’ve been doing.’ He took her sketchpad from her and studied her drawing. ‘This is good.’ Then he flicked through the other pages to study her watercolours. ‘You are very talented.’
‘I doubt that you are qualified to judge,’ she remarked dryly, taking her work back from him.
He sat down on the seat beside her, crossing one long leg over the other. ‘Your stepmother told me where to find you. Now I’ve seen a sample of your work I fancy having my portrait painted.’
‘By me?’ She burst out laughing before realizing poignantly that it was the first time she had laughed since before the tragedy at the garden party. ‘Now you are being absurd!’
‘You would not agree?’
‘Of course not!’
He sighed in mock regret. ‘I would have liked gazing at you for hours on end while you put my likeness on paper.’
Suddenly she felt unsure of herself as well as of him. She and Joanna had flirted often enough, but it was almost as if there was a greater depth than was usual in what he was saying to her.
‘I’m pleased to see you again,’ she said quickly, ‘but why are you here in the middle of the week? Shouldn’t you be at work? There must be many things needing your attention.’
‘I’ve sold the business.’ His face became serious. ‘I was not cut out for the career I was forced to follow. For the first time in my life I’m a free man. So I hope we can see each other often.’
She hoped the same. ‘How are you filling your days? Do you find them long?’
‘Not at all. I’ve been playing tennis, meeting friends, going to concerts and plays. I’ve taken up golf, which is becoming extremely popular with many of my friends.’
His words made her realize how closely she had been confined since the funeral, Joanna and other girlfriends being her only visitors until today. ‘Is it difficult to learn?’
‘Not the basics. The skills are a different matter.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I had a talk with Madame Decourt up at the château before coming to find you. I wanted to know if I had her permission to invite you out one day. She agreed on condition that we’re not on our own, but as you’re still in mourning she thought it would not be appropriate quite yet.’
She answered levelly. ‘My father has left a gap in my life that can never be filled, but he would not have wanted either my stepmother or me to shut ourselves away just because we grieve. He loved life too much himself. Already Isabelle has resumed her shopping trips.’
He knew where Isabelle went on those shopping trips. Returning with a few small parcels covered everything.
‘And,’ she continued, smiling, ‘I see no reason why I shouldn’t come to watch you play golf. I’d enjoy it and perhaps have a try myself.’
He clapped his hands down on his knees triumphantly. ‘Then be ready tomorrow morning. I’ll come for you at half past ten.’
When Lisette went back indoors for lunch Isabelle was already seated at the table.
‘So, Lisette,’ she said, unfolding her napkin and laying it delicately across her lap. ‘You have your first suitor.’
‘I would hardly call Philippe that,’ Lisette replied, taking her chair. She did not want to discuss him with Isabelle. ‘He’s just a friend.’
‘He asked my permission to call on you. That has only one meaning. He hopes eventually to make you his wife.’
Lisette caught her breath. ‘But he hardly knows me!’
Isabelle cast her a sly glance, a secret smile on her lips. ‘He told me that the two of you first met six years ago when you were with your father on the train. That obviously gave weight to his request, which I granted.’
‘I was only a child then!’ She wished Philippe had not told Isabelle about that meeting, which was now quite special in her memory.
‘I realize that, but he is an entirely suitable young man well worthy of your consideration. Polished. Well-educated. Plenty of money. He is remarkably good-looking and a fine figure of a man.’ She could have added that being married to wealthy elderly men – and she had had three such husbands – had its disadvantages, and to have somebody young and virile as well as rich was a bonus beyond measure.
In spite of Lisette’s intense joy that Philippe had such strong feelings for her she shook her head in denial. ‘I don’t want to think of marriage for a long time yet.’
A light lunch of fish in a delicious cream sauce was being served and Isabelle waited until the servants had left the room at her dismissive gesture before she spoke again. ‘Nonsense! There’ll be a stream of suitors wanting to call on you before long. Your grandmother made you heiress to her fortune and your father’s will has added to your coffers again for when you marry or come of age, whichever comes first.’ Then just before she put a forkful of the fish daintily to her mouth, she added, ‘Be thankful that Philippe has no need to concern himself with your money when he has more than enough of his own.’
Lisette frowned angrily. ‘I certainly won’t marry anyone who thinks first of my money and then of me!’
‘Then keep Philippe in mind,’ Isabelle advised sagely. ‘You could not do better.’
If anything, Isabelle’s advice would have finished any romance with Philippe before it had even begun, but she liked him far too much for that and did feel now that he had been an intricate part of her life since that meeting on the train. She wondered with a private sense of joy if they were indeed destined to be together until the end of their days.
Three
It was not long before Lisette realized that she was as deeply in love with Philippe as he seemed to be with her. Unbeknown to her, other would-be suitors did ask her stepmother for permission to call on her and, in spite of what Isabelle had said, none of them had mercenary motives. They saw Lisette as a lively, pretty and intelligent girl to whom they were genuinely attracted, admiring her for many reasons, not least for radiating her own happiness that drew others into its glow. But Isabelle refused their requests.
For reasons of her own she had decided that Lisette should marry Philippe and nobody else. Fortunately her stepdaughter appeared to be set on the same idea. Philippe would also benefit from the marriage, for although he had money of his own s
he had heard he had been gaming recklessly over past months. She truly believed that marriage to Lisette would divert him from further excesses. She smiled with satisfaction.
The first time Philippe kissed Lisette was in the arbour of a conservatory where they had slipped away during the interval in a concert being held in the home of one of her stepmother’s friends. Instantly she clung to him ardently, surprising and delighting him with her passionate response.
‘I love you, Lisette!’ His voice throbbed with desire.
‘I love you too,’ she answered joyously. ‘I think I’ve adored you ever since you first spoke to me on the train.’
He laughed softly in his pleasure. ‘What a romantic little thing you are, but I love you all the more for it.’ They kissed again and then he drew her across to a seat by some potted palms before he went down on one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Lisette? I swear I’ll love you all my life!’
For her it was a dream come true, but she did not answer him at once. It was not in her forthright nature to keep him on tenterhooks, but she had to be sure that he truly meant the magical words he had spoken. She took his face between her hands to look deep into his eyes. The truth of his declaration shone in them. She no longer had any doubts. He would love her until his last breath.
‘Yes!’ she said softly, her face bright with happiness. ‘Oh yes, Philippe!’
He sprang up to sit beside her and produced a small box from his pocket, which he opened for her. A beautiful diamond and sapphire ring sparkled dazzlingly at her. She watched almost in disbelief that this should be happening to her as he slid it on to her finger. Then he kissed her again and she linked her arms about his neck as he pressed her to him in a close embrace. When they drew apart she laughed joyously in her happiness and he grinned, rising to his feet and taking both her hands to draw her up with him.
‘Let’s tell your stepmother the good news,’ he said exuberantly.
Brilliance Page 3
