Every Mother's Son

by Val Wood

  Daniel found himself blushing as Chérie made herself comfortable and then gently scratched under his chin with her forefinger. She murmured playfully into his ear and he guessed that she might be commenting on his bristles. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left home and was now quite bearded.

  ‘It’s getting very warm in here,’ he told Charles over the top of Chérie’s head. ‘Do you think we ought to be leaving?’

  ‘It might be a good time, for I have had an invitation to go upstairs and I think that is what your mademoiselle might be suggesting to you too. Do you want to?’

  ‘Want to what – go upstairs? Do they mean—’

  ‘I rather think so!’ Charles laughed. ‘And I’m not sure if I’m ready for love.’

  ‘They’re not suggesting love.’ Daniel tipped Chérie off his knee and stood up. He gave a short bow and indicated that they were leaving. Chérie pouted and purred, patting his cheeks with her fingertips and pretending that she was heartbroken. He blew her a kiss and turned away. ‘Are you coming?’

  Charles was kissing Nanette on her cheek and she also was trying to persuade him to stay. ‘It’s a pity,’ he murmured as he too turned away to leave. ‘But yes.’ He gave a sudden laugh as they walked out of the door and into the busy street. ‘Oddly enough, my father warned me to watch out for seductive young women.’

  ‘Did he?’ Daniel was surprised. Charles’s father seemed to be such a sobersides. Fletcher hadn’t warned him away from women. He probably thought I could make up my own mind about them, and of course I can; and it isn’t that I didn’t find Chérie attractive. She was beautiful and no doubt experienced in the seduction of men, but he didn’t want to go upstairs with her for the simple reason that he felt it would be a betrayal.

  Chérie was fair-haired and blue-eyed and he guessed that if he could have understood her she would have been charming and witty, but when he looked at her he saw someone else, someone who had similar colouring, a wide smile and eyes that sparkled with humour, and was completely unattainable. Beatrice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They became lost, but eventually found their way back to Madame Boudin’s house. She was sitting on a stool outside her door, smoking a small clay pipe, with a glass of red wine on the ground beside her. Her neighbour was with her. They seemed to have had a pleasant evening for they were very convivial.

  ‘Bonsoir, mesdames,’ Charles greeted them, and Daniel followed suit.

  Madame Boudin asked if they would like a glass of wine and Daniel suggested to Charles that they should accept, to be sociable. When she went inside to fetch the bottle and glasses they sat on the doorstep.

  It was a dry mild night, the sky full of stars and the air smoky from fires; they could hear the low murmur of voices coming from some of the shops that were still open, and laughter from nearby taverns.

  They were both silent until Charles said softly, ‘I have no experience with young women. I don’t really know many, except for the daughters of my parents’ friends.’ He hesitated. ‘Tonight was the first time I have kissed a girl.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Onny lasses at school ’year afore I left, and really …’ He laughed. ‘They were ’ones who were doing ’kissing. I’d rather have kissed my hosses, to be honest, until …’ It was Daniel’s turn to pause. ‘I didn’t want to kiss anyone until I was seventeen, but then I’d have liked to.’

  ‘So who was that? Whom did you want to kiss?’

  ‘Mmm, nobody you’d know.’

  ‘Someone living nearby?’ Charles insisted.

  ‘Yeh,’ Daniel said. ‘A farmer’s daughter. But she wouldn’t look at me.’ Then he added, giving Charles a clue, ‘She looks rather like Chérie.’

  ‘Well, you can have your pick here, it seems.’ Charles didn’t notice the lead. ‘But I think I’d rather wait until someone special comes along.’ He turned his head as Madame Boudin came back holding a bottle and two glasses and they both stood up again.

  They sat for another half-hour, drinking wine, looking up at the stars and listening to the sounds around them, and then someone nearby began to play an accordion and their hostess and her neighbour started to sing, and although Daniel didn’t understand the words, the plaintive elderly voices and the evocative music seemed wistful. A longing for something unattainable ran through it, reflecting Daniel’s mood.

  When the music and singing finished he turned and smiled at Madame Boudin, gently clapping his hands, and she patted the top of his head understandingly.

  They said good night to the two women, and Daniel added ‘Merci, madame’ to Madame Boudin, who nodded affectionately at him.

  The next morning they ate a hearty breakfast of eggs and ham and drank strong coffee, and clutching their street maps they set off towards Paris and their day of culture and sightseeing. They headed down towards the Louvre and the Tuileries, but the Louvre wasn’t open yet so they wandered off to look at the gardens.

  Daniel read in the guide that the Tuileries had had a chequered history. The gardens had been designed in the sixteenth century and continued to be developed right up to the time of the French revolution, when Louis XVI was imprisoned in the Tuileries Palace with his wife, Marie Antoinette, and their son. In the present century the Emperor Napoleon I carved up some of the land to make a new street and used the lawns for military parades, and following the Franco-Prussian War the Communards flew their red flag over the palace. When the army arrived to move them out, the Communards burned down the palace, leaving it in ruins, which was how it was now as Daniel and Charles stood gazing at it.

  ‘They didn’t want anyone else to use it and so they burned it to the ground,’ Daniel said. ‘Sacrilege, wouldn’t you say?’

  Charles agreed that it was. ‘But it will be rebuilt eventually. The people will speak, surely? It’s their garden now and open to everyone.’

  They returned to the Louvre. Charles was excited to be visiting, Daniel less so; he had little knowledge of art but was prepared to be open-minded. He was astounded by the size of the building, and had thought it would be filled only with paintings; he hadn’t expected to see displays of Greek, Etruscan and Roman antiquities in such good condition in their glass cases.

  Charles was overawed by the collection of drawings and paintings and pointed out to Daniel a picture by the English artist, Reynolds, of a small fair-haired child depicting Innocence, and another of young ladies in a garden. Then: ‘Look here, Daniel. That could be you. Man with a Glove. By Titian. There,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I always knew you were of Italian stock.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Daniel stared hard at the portrait, which he admitted was very fine. ‘He looks like a gentleman.’

  ‘The eyes,’ Charles said. ‘His eyes are like yours. He is an aristocrat, it’s true, or at least that’s what it says in the catalogue, but it could be you!’

  Daniel grinned and shook his head, and they moved on to look at other paintings until they came to da Vinci’s portrait of the Mona Lisa. Charles was in raptures over her beauty. ‘Look at how the artist has captured her stillness, her calm, and that soft sweet smile. She’s the kind of woman I want to marry. I know now what I want to do with my life.’

  And I know what I want to do with mine, Daniel thought as he followed Charles up and down the galleries. Or at least I know who I’d like to have in my life, but I also know it’s impossible. Charles is wrong about that portrait of a man with a glove. He’s nothing like me; he’s not even like those schoolboys who came to Charles and Beatrice’s party and thought they were such gentlemen, although they weren’t. This man with a glove is cultured; he’s got breeding. Charles has it too but doesn’t know it, and I’ll never have it. Not in a million years.

  After several hours they became tired and hungry and Daniel eventually said, ‘Enough! We’ll never see everything in one day; it’s so big, and I’m starving!’

  ‘So am I,’ Charles said. ‘Let’s go, but I’ll come back one day.’

 
‘We’ve onny one more day in Paris,’ Daniel reminded him, ‘and we must walk along ’Champs-Elysées to see Napoleon’s arch. Then ’next day we’re off to Switzerland and Beatrice.’

  ‘Oh, Beatrice won’t mind if we’re a day or two late,’ Charles said airily.

  ‘She will,’ Daniel contradicted him.

  ‘Do you think you know my sister better than I do?’

  ‘As well as,’ Daniel answered back. ‘I’ve known her as long as you and you know she’ll be waiting for us.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ Charles said gloomily, adding, ‘but she won’t begrudge us a few more days sightseeing in Paris, surely?’

  ‘She will,’ Daniel repeated with a grin. ‘Don’t underestimate her or you’ll get ’sharp end of her tongue. She’s waiting.’ And besides, he thought, I can’t wait to see her again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Beatrice paced up and down her room. What was keeping them? She had been sure that they would be close behind her and already in Switzerland. But then she recalled that Charles had proposed that they might go to Paris first, and that, she decided, must be where they were. They wouldn’t want to miss it, not two young men on their own.

  It’s not fair, she thought. Men have so much more freedom than women. She heaved an exasperated breath. But I’m going to change that. I have only one life and I’m not going to miss any opportunity just because I’m a woman. She opened the window, letting in a cool draught of mountain air, barely noticing the view of meadows and mountains and the blue of the sparkling River Aare below her, which she had come to know so well. Down on the left bank of the river, Interlaken would be warmer, but in this mountainside château the residents felt the effect of the snow still lingering on the peaks.

  It was her own fault that she was waiting; there had been no need for her to be here. She had finished her course of deportment, the art of conversation, the appreciation of fine art and its history. Staying on hadn’t been Beatrice’s original intention, but on hearing that Charles and Daniel’s plans were fact and not merely pipe dreams she had asked her parents if she might continue for another term. The academy principal, Madame Carpeoux, had been surprised but wasn’t going to turn down the extra fee, and had written to say that Beatrice was very welcome to stay on and that any new young ladies would benefit from her accomplishments and experience.

  She stopped her pacing and sat down on the easy chair by her window. One of the perquisites of being older than most of the pupils was that she now had a room of her own rather than having to share. To a certain extent she had more freedom, too, and this was what she was considering now.

  I must try to stay calm and not be as hot-headed as I tend to be, she thought. If I’m to contemplate freedom then I must take into account that whatever I decide to do must not reflect badly on Madame Carpeoux or the academy.

  She gave some consideration to the question of how Charles and Daniel would come. Would they travel by rail from Darlingen and then by steamship on Lake Thun? Interlaken was situated between Lake Brienz to the east and Lake Thun to the west and was mostly German-speaking. It’s no use worrying, she told herself. They’ll come as and when they choose and I must be ready.

  The bell rang for afternoon tea, and she paused at the top of the staircase to watch the chattering young women who had recently arrived hurrying down or hesitating as if unsure what to do or where to go.

  One of the uncertain ones, a girl of about sixteen, looked about her as if searching for a companion and caught Beatrice’s eye. ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle,’ she said in halting French.

  ‘Hello,’ Beatrice replied. ‘Have you just arrived?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The girl seemed to be relieved to be speaking English. ‘Only today. I wasn’t able to come for the start of term as my grandmother was ill and there was no one available to bring me earlier. My French isn’t very good, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It will get better,’ Beatrice assured her. ‘As will your German.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I don’t know any German.’

  ‘I’m Beatrice Hart. What’s your name?’ Beatrice asked, leading the way down to the sitting room where tea was being served.

  ‘Anne Percy. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Hart. Are you a tutor here?’

  ‘No, no. My brother and cousin are travelling in Europe, so I decided to stay for another term and perhaps join them for a few excursions.’

  They found a vacant table and sat down. Anne Percy looked around nervously. ‘I don’t know anyone,’ she said. ‘Everyone will have paired off by now.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you,’ Beatrice told her. ‘And you may always come to me if there is anything you don’t understand.’

  Tea was served in the English style with a silver teapot, a milk jug and a sugar bowl; there was sliced lemon on a china plate, and a selection of small sandwiches, bread and butter and cakes.

  ‘You see, just like at home,’ Beatrice told her. ‘Would you like to pour?’

  ‘Oh! Mama does it at home.’

  Beatrice smiled. ‘But your mama isn’t here now, so pretend that I’m your guest. Everyone takes it in turn to be hostess, to pour the tea and offer refreshment. It’s all part of the tuition.’ I’m astonished that they don’t know how to do it, she thought. Mama taught me at an early age. We used to play that I was she and I rang the bell for afternoon tea and poured the tea and offered cake when it was brought.

  ‘I’ve slopped it into the saucers,’ Anne said in an anguished whisper.

  ‘Then ring the bell,’ Beatrice pointed to the little silver bell on the table, ‘and ask for clean ones. You’re not the only one; listen.’

  Tinkling bells were being rung at several tables as flushed young faces turned towards the maids for assistance.

  For a few days Beatrice cultivated Anne, becoming her mentor and introducing her to other young ladies, and then she approached Madame Carpeoux with a suggestion.

  ‘My brother and cousin will be calling on me very shortly, as I mentioned, madame. They are travelling through Switzerland, and I would like to go into town and buy presents for them. Would it be possible, rather than having a compagnon from the teaching staff with me, for me to chaperonner a small group of young ladies into Interlaken? We could walk by the lake and perhaps take tea in one of the hotels or restaurants.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Madame Carpeoux enthused. ‘You must insist that they speak French between themselves and to shopkeepers unless German is spoken.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of taking the young ladies shopping,’ Beatrice said innocently. ‘But yes, it would be excellent tuition for them,’ she agreed, as if it hadn’t been her idea all along.

  ‘But you must take a maid, to carry parcels if nothing else. How many mesdemoiselles were you thinking of?’

  ‘Four would be a good number and it would mean that they would also become better acquainted, n’est-ce pas, madame?’

  ‘Indeed they would. Excellent! When would you like to go?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Beatrice said firmly.

  The following day was sunny and warm, and after luncheon the little group stepped into the open-topped carriage for their journey down the hillside to Interlaken.

  They alighted by Lake Thun and Beatrice gave instructions to the driver to collect them at a certain hotel at five o’clock. He fingered his top hat and drove away.

  The town was full of visitors come to enjoy a cruise on the water and the view of the Jungfrau, visible from the lakeside; even in the warm weather it was still covered in pristine snow that glistened so brightly that some eyes had to be averted.

  ‘Can it be climbed?’ Anne Percy asked. ‘It’s very high.’

  ‘It can be climbed, but we haven’t the time today, mademoiselle,’ Beatrice joked, adding, ‘I understand that it was climbed for the first time about seventy years ago. Does anyone know what Jungfrau means?’

  The young ladies shook their heads, but the maid Jeanne, whose English was limited, said, ‘Maiden, mademoise
lle.’

  ‘Yes, bravo, Jeanne. Well done.’ Then she added impishly, ‘Or virgin,’ and smiled as they all giggled and blushed.

  She led them along the lakeside, where one or two young gentlemen strollers tipped their hats at the group of young ladies, and then she steered them towards the shops and hotels.

  ‘I’m going to give you an hour to yourselves,’ she said. ‘You may look in the shops and purchase items if you wish. Keep together and do not speak to any gentlemen who might approach you. Jeanne will come with you and you must be back here by three o’clock. No later, do you understand?’

  They were all eager for freedom and promised that they would be on time. They trotted off chattering animatedly, and when Beatrice had seen them on their way she entered the establishment that sold climbing equipment and outdoor wear.

  She was greeted by a shop assistant and told him that she would like to look at walking boots and socks. She sat down on a stool and unbuttoned her boots.

  ‘For yourself, Fräulein?’

  ‘Ja, bitte.’ She spoke little German, but enough to make herself understood, and told the assistant that she needed sturdy leather boots that were soft inside and several pairs of woollen socks, plus a rucksack. He looked at her curiously, as if this was an unusual request, and as she looked around she saw only gentlemen trying on boots. Surely, she thought, there are women who walk up the mountains even if they don’t attempt the Jungfrau.

  She said as much to the assistant, who assured her that they did sell outdoor clothing for ladies as well as men, and then added graciously, ‘But not normally to such elegant young ladies as yourself.’

  She smiled, realizing then that her time at the academy had not been wasted after all. She had grown up considerably since leaving home for her finishing education.

  The boots and socks, together with the gloves that the assistant recommended, were wrapped and put inside the new grey rucksack, and then the assistant said, ‘Ah! Fräulein, you must have a hat to keep your ears warm. When you climb the mountains the air is much colder than down in the valleys.’