A Moment in Paris

by Rose Burghley

  Diana felt her normally pale skin growing a trifle hot. ‘I may have been dressed “atrociously” when you saw me yesterday, monsieur,’ she returned as smoothly as she could manage, ‘but I am not likely to disgrace you tomorrow night. And I am not accustomed to permit my employer to buy my clothes for me!’

  For the first time his eyes came alive with something like mischief.

  ‘In that case, it is highly possible you have not yet chosen the right employer. Or perhaps you have not exerted yourself sufficiently to please your employer.’ Then he stood up and signalled impatiently to the waiter. ‘I apologize for what I said about the dress you were wearing yesterday. Perhaps I was a little short-sighted. Today you are charming, and that hat is very charming.’

  He allowed his eyes to rest on it again for a brief moment. ‘Tres ravissant!’ Diana left the restaurant in the grip of the most conflicting sensations of annoyance. She was annoyed because he had recognized the modishness of her hat, but she was still more annoyed when she thought of his rudeness the day before. What right had he, in any case, to comment on her clothes? They took a taxi back to the house, but Celeste was in a state of near-panic at the thought of the dinner-party the following night, and wanted to drive straight to Madame Armand and see if she could provide her with something spectacular to wear for it.

  But Diana reminded her that she had a wardrobe full of new and expensive dresses for all occasions, many of which had not yet been worn.

  ‘But when Philippe makes his wishes clear and unmistakable I’m terrified to go against them,’ Celeste admitted, peering out nervously at the afternoon traffic through which they were being whirled. ‘If he wants me at my best, then I must be at my best! And you’ll have to help me go through everything I’ve got, and we’ll have a kind of dress parade up in my room, and you can have the casting vote.’

  ‘I’ll give you my opinion for what it’s worth,’ Diana answered soothingly. And then she touched the other girl’s hand. ‘But you mustn’t deceive yourself about your own good taste, you know. I’m sure it’s excellent.’

  ‘Are you?’ But Celeste’s eyes were huge and shadowy with doubt. ‘I like bright colours, but I look better in pastel ones. I adore black because it’s sophisticated, but Philippe says he doesn’t want me to look sophisticated and I should wear a lot of white.’

  ‘Then if you’ve a white dress it might be as well to wear that tomorrow.’ They flashed past gay boutiques, speciality and perfume shops, where the windows were already strip-lighted although the February dusk was only just beginning to creep down, and in the brilliance of flashing signs Diana glanced sideways at her companion and studied her thoughtfully. ‘You mustn’t be really afraid of the Comte,’ she said gently. ‘You’re going to marry him, and it will sometimes have to be what you like.’

  Celeste looked almost startled.

  ‘Perhaps when we’ve been married half a lifetime I’ll venture to have a few opinions. But just now it’s what he wants that goes.’

  Diana smiled.

  ‘He wants you. He’s in love with you. That should give you confidence.’

  Celeste, however, shook her head.

  ‘I haven’t had any confidence since I came to Paris, and sometimes I feel like a fish out of water. Now that you’re here it mightn’t be so bad.’ She in her turn regarded Diana consideringly. ‘At least you’ll be someone to talk to, and it doesn’t seem necessary to pretend to you. It’s people like Lady Bembridge who make me feel as if I was born dumb!’ But Lady Bembridge had retired to her own apartments when they got back, and they went straight upstairs to Celeste’s bedroom and started to go through her things.

  Hortense brought them a tray of tea—English afternoon tea with paper-thin sandwiches and little cakes—and although Celeste said she preferred coffee, and seldom drank tea, she looked pleased by the sight of the tray. Pleased and surprised.

  ‘Hortense approves of you,’ she told Diana, without bitterness. ‘Me, I have to ring and ring for anything I want, but on your very first day she makes up her mind that you’d like some tea. And she brings it with quite a pleasant expression on her face! That’s because you’re the type she likes to look after ... Someone terribly ladylike.’

  Diana had never felt quite so awkward in her life.

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ she said briskly, as she slid back a door of a built-in wardrobe. ‘I’m someone who has to earn her living ... not any more important than Hortense in the eyes of our mutual employer. Probably less important!’

  ‘But if he’d been going to marry you, and not me, Hortense wouldn’t have been so surprised,’ Celeste remarked with simple shrewdness.

  Diana merely looked at her, and lifted out a white faille evening dress.

  ‘This is really lovely! You could hardly wear anything more suitable than this tomorrow night.’

  But Celeste looked doubtful.

  ‘Do you really think so? What about this?’ And she lifted down a glittering thing of gold brocade.

  ‘It will be wisest to stick to simplicity,’ Diana advised hurriedly. ‘If the Comte likes you in white, then in white you can’t go wrong.’

  ‘Then I’ll wear this tonight,’ Celeste said, tossing the gold dress on to the bed. ‘We’re going to some new night spot where I’ve never been before, and before that we’re dining with two of his friends.’ She shivered. ‘I’m scared of his friends. They talk French like lightning amongst themselves, but to me they speak the most beautiful English that makes me ashamed of not being able to speak it back to them.’

  ‘Don’t worry! That’s what I’m here for ... to help you with your English.’ Diana turned towards the door, but as she did so her expression grew thoughtful and she turned back.

  ‘Do you go out every night? Don’t you ever have a quiet evening at home here, watching television or something of the sort?’

  Celeste smiled with rather brittle amusement.

  ‘Never. That would bore Philippe to tears, and it would bore me, too. He likes lots of variety and change, fresh people, and being entertained. We wouldn’t know what to talk about if we just sat at home.’

  Diana couldn’t conceal a faint concern, but Celeste suddenly sparkled at her.

  ‘However, we do get romantic sometimes ... as I told you.’

  Diana decided there would have to be a few alterations if she was to earn her altruistic salary, and she said quietly: ‘if I’m to be of any help to you we’ll have to have regular hours for working together, and that will mean getting up reasonably early in the morning, and working to a sort of schedule. If necessary I’ll have to speak to the Comte and point out to him that he can’t expect you to be fresh enough to assimilate anything if he drags you round Paris night after night.’

  Celeste’s eyes widened. ‘But that would be a sort of criticism of his arrangements. And he loathes criticism in any shape or form.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’ll have to speak to him.’

  The following day, Hortense brought her a message from Celeste saying that she was staying in bed until lunch time; so Diana decided to put her free morning to some practical use with regard to her own wardrobe.

  Hortense loaned her a sewing machine, and she got to work on a dress that had seemed very fashionable when she bought it three years ago, but was hardly the correct line for an up-to-date occasion. It was of heavy red silk—lovely Italian silk— and inside it was a label that would have surprised Celeste. Diana ripped it out and began the re-fashioning, and Hortense knelt on the floor at her feet and adjusted the hemline for her.

  Afterwards Hortense bore the dress away and pressed it carefully, and when she returned it to Diana she was looking as pleased as if she was to wear it herself.

  ‘It is beautiful, mademoiselle,’ she declared. She stroked the rich silk. ‘Nothing could be better for your hair and skin, and you have obviously the clever fingers. Madame Armand might feel a little pang of envy!’

  Diana laughed at her.

  ‘I have seen one
or two of Madame Armand’s creations, and they are so exquisite that I shall feel tempted to take advantage of every patch of shadow this evening. Mademoiselle O’Brien is wearing something that she designed especially for her—a dream of a white dress, like a white fairy-tale. Wait till you see her wearing it!’

  ‘Wait till you see Madame Armand,’ the maid returned dryly. ‘She is the most beautiful woman in Paris, and beside her Mademoiselle O’Brien will look as if she was nothing!’

  Diana turned to her in surprise.

  ‘But she isn’t coming here tonight, is she? I didn’t know she was to be one of the guests.’

  ‘Madame Armand is always one of Monsieur le Comte’s guests when he gives a strictly formal dinner party,’ Hortense replied. ‘Before Lady Bembridge, his aunt, came to live here she frequently acted as his hostess on all sorts of occasions, and no one could look better receiving guests than she does. She is tres charmante!’

  ‘I see,’ Diana said.

  ‘Of course. Monsieur le Comte has known her all his life. They were children together, you understand? And it is natural that he should fall back on her for assistance when he is without a hostess.’

  ‘Of course,’ Diana agreed. ‘Very natural.’

  She dressed that night with a great deal of care, and when the time came for her to go downstairs she was quite satisfied with her appearance. She had a slender but perfectly proportioned figure, and the red dress clung to it in all the right places. The sheen of the silk was like the sheen of her red-gold hair. And she wore a necklace of finely-graded pearls that were all that was left to her of her mother’s jewellery, and although they might have been safer in a bank, she never let them out of her possession.

  It was at the moment Diana descended the wide staircase that the Comte came through the arch that led to a truly splendid library. He was wearing white tie and tails, and for a moment she found herself gazing at him rather foolishly, as if he—like the hall chandeliers—had the power to dazzle her.

  He gazed back and, after taking in every detail of her dress, became interested in the pearls encircling her white throat.

  ‘Those would appear to be good,’ he remarked.

  Diana touched them almost guiltily, as if she had the sudden feeling that she had no right to be wearing them.

  ‘They are good,’ she replied. ‘They were my mother’s.’

  His eyes seemed to grow so dark that, unable to resist the temptation to meet his full regard, she had the sensation that she was being willed into a dark abyss where so many strange emotions rioted that she knew a sudden weakening of her limbs.

  ‘Did your mother have red hair and a white skin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then she was wise to leave you her pearls.’

  For a moment she didn’t know what to say; in fact she found she couldn’t say anything at all. And then as he escorted her into the salon, she plunged into speech. ‘Monsieur, may I talk to you?’

  ‘Of course. Our guests will not be here for another twenty minutes at least—you and I are both early—my aunt has not joined us, and I do not expect Celeste to join us until the very last moment, so say whatever you want to say. Has it anything to do with Celeste?’

  ‘Yes.’ He indicated a chair, and she dropped down on it. ‘It is entirely to do with her. You see, monsieur, you have engaged me to help her overcome certain—defects—and unless we work together continuously there is not likely to be very much result.’

  ‘No?’ he said.

  ‘If we could devote a few hours each morning to certain helpful subjects, and perhaps an hour or so in the afternoon, then it’s quite likely we would make good progress. Mademoiselle O’Brien is not at all affronted by the idea of receiving instruction at her age, but if she is to spend every evening dining and dancing out ... well, she cannot possibly be fresh enough the following day to try serious study. It wouldn’t even be fair to expect it of her.’

  ‘So what do you suggest, mademoiselle? That I deny myself the pleasure of her company?’

  She felt a hot tide of slow colour rise up in her face. ‘Perhaps if you could be content with ... with taking her out once or twice a week only. But the main thing is that she should go to bed early...’

  ‘Instead of coming home with the milk?’ But there was no humour in his voice. ‘Miss Craven, for a young woman you are very thorough, but your thoroughness doesn’t appeal to me in the least. I cannot consent to so arrange my life that it will fit in with your plans, and you will have to do the best you can with Celeste without resorting to the extreme length of tying us both up to some fanciful schedule.’

  ‘But—’ and she looked dismayed—‘how can I? I mean, if I am to get any results at all...’

  ‘You mean that the material is so poor that it will take all your endeavours to produce the results you imagine I require?’

  ‘No, I ... no, of course not!’

  ‘I am very glad that is your considered opinion.’ His face was suddenly hard and cold as a rock.

  ‘You are the sort of young woman who irritates me ... infuriates me!’ he went on to tell her. ‘There is nothing suitably humble about you, although you have to earn your own living. I pay you a salary, yet already you are prepared to argue with me about the method by which you shall earn it, and you wish to turn this household upside down in order to gratify some whim of your own!’

  ‘Nothing of the sort, monsieur,’ she answered. ‘I merely want you to have good value for the money you are paying me.’

  His eyes snapped.

  ‘And you wear pearls that are likely to throw into insignificance the necklace my fiancee will wear tonight ... or at least, are comparable with it! That is not the sort of thing one expects from an employee granted the privilege of mixing with her employer’s friends!’

  Her hands went up to her throat, and with unsteady fingers she undid the clasp of the pearls.

  ‘I’m sorry, monsieur, I had no idea they would give offence. I will take them off at once,’ she said.

  He uttered an exclamation which was very French, and very impatient, and ordered her to stop behaving like a little English fool; but she clutched the string of pearls tightly in a cold, moist palm, and started to move towards the door.

  But at that moment Celeste came bursting in, somewhat unceremoniously, looking flushed and flurried, but lovely as a white and gold dream in the Armand creation. She noticed Diana’s dress at once, and said impulsively how it suited her, and then saw that she was clasping a handful of pearls.

  ‘I’m taking them back upstairs to my room,’ Diana said. ‘Because the clasp has broken,’ she invented. ‘You look almost too beautiful,’ she added truthfully.

  Celeste was greatly relieved, but she appealed nervously to Philippe.

  ‘Will I ... do?’

  He made no attempt to move towards her, but he inclined his head after a moment of cool scrutiny.

  ‘Yes, little one, you’ll do!’

  ‘Come back quickly,’ Celeste called after Diana as she left the room. ‘I don’t want to be without you when the others arrive, and I’m so nervous already I could scream.’

  ‘You must copy Mademoiselle Craven’s example,’ Philippe said to her, as he held out his hand. ‘She refuses to be separated from her poise even when she is sorely tried!’

  Celeste gazed at him with her huge violet eyes.

  ‘Why, what has tried her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he answered, ‘of any importance. Ah!’ he exclaimed. ‘I hear a car drawing up outside. That will be the first of our guests.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The dinner-party was a great success, and Diana was glad that she didn’t yield to the urge to refuse to go down from her room again once she had put her pearls away. For, without her, Celeste might have gone to pieces, especially when Denys Armand came gliding into the great main salon, swathed in tawny gold satin, and smelling deliciously of violets.

  She had pansy dark eyes, and her dark hair was swept to the top
of her head and ornamented with a kind of diamond chaplet. Every time she moved the diamonds sent out shafts of fire.

  She slipped her hand inside her host’s arm and said how lovely his little fiancee was, and then she smiled with extraordinary sweetness at Celeste and said that she was proud she was wearing one of her favourite models. ‘So unsophisticated—perfect for you.’

  After dinner, while coffee was being circulated Madame Armand came and sat near Diana, and deliberately opened a conversation.

  ‘I am sure it is an excellent thing for Mademoiselle O’Brien to have you with her for a while,’ she said, eyeing the unmistakable quality of Diana’s dress, and then concentrating on the patrician lines of her face. ‘You are so very soignee that you will be good for her.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Diana answered, and wondered why the other woman was wasting any time at all on her: the governess-companion.

  The reason became apparent after another, definitely barbed remark.

  ‘I am sure you realize that Monsieur le Comte’s fiancee is just a bit of a surprise to us all. It is not that she is American—I have many very valuable American clients—but she is not, how would you say? completely of our world. A slight difference of upbringing, which, perhaps, you will overcome...? A little lack of knowledge, which could be a cause of embarrassment! But of course, she is quite, quite charming!’

  ‘Quite charming,’ Diana agreed, and wondered whether Madame Armand had any idea that in her lustrous eyes there was a cool spark of enjoyment (even a kind of appreciative relish!) as she discussed the unfortunate defects of the Comte de Chatignard’s future wife. Diana felt a spark of anger begin to ignite and spread inside herself.