Look Listen and Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She thought that what she missed most was his sense of humour.

  He would always see the funny side of any situation, however disastrous, and he told her many times of various faux pas that had been made in houses like the Rothschilds’ where people pretended to be more knowledgeable than they were.

  She walked into her small bedroom and saw at once there was a large parcel on the bed.

  She knew what it was and opening it was not surprised to find half-a-dozen canvases.

  They were all small but beautifully mounted and of the very finest material.

  ‘So the Duke had not forgotten,’ she thought.

  She remembered a little apprehensively that his condition had been that he should see the pictures she painted.

  She had thought last night the one she had already painted was finished, but when she took it to the window she could see a dozen details that might have been more skilfully executed.

  “I will go back at the same time to where I was yesterday,” she told herself, “to make quite certain the light is right.”

  There could be no question today of her being interrupted by the Duke, for he had gone with his party to luncheon at the Villa Victoria, which Miss Rothschild had named after the Queen.

  Tempera was quite certain the meal would be long-drawn-out over the superlative food for which the Rothschilds were renowned.

  ‘I am safe,’ she thought. ‘If the Duke is to see this picture, it must be right.’

  She picked up her large-brimmed hat and hurried down through the gardens, too intent on her mission to stop, as she had done yesterday, to watch the cascading water or look at the distant snow-capped mountains or the water garden.

  The flowers she had chosen to paint were now fully blown, but she thought she could improve on the translucence of the lily and make the roses look a richer pink.

  “Perhaps I am over-painting,” she worried a little later, remembering her father had always said it was a lamentable error into which many artists fell.

  Then she shrugged her shoulders and told herself that without doubt the Duke would only glance at her picture and consign it to the wastepaper basket.

  Deliberately she forced herself not to continue touching up the flowers, but to leave them as they were. Then she walked back towards the Chateau, enjoying the garden as she had not been able to do before.

  It was so lovely, so perfect, that she could not understand why anybody should wish to go elsewhere when they owned this oasis of perfection.

  Then she told herself there were quite a lot of things she should be doing for her Stepmother and she had spent enough time enjoying herself.

  She walked back into the house.

  Everything was very quiet, in fact the only sound she could hear was the buzz of the bees on the flowers climbing over the terrace.

  Everyone, Tempera thought, would be having a siesta, even Colonel Anstruther.

  Fortified by the conviction she walked into the Sitting Room and through the other door into the Duke’s Study. She put her painting down on the desk, and then as a thought struck her she picked up one of his pencils.

  On the back of the picture she wrote the Flemish proverb used by Jan Van Eyck, “Als Ik Kan.”

  He would understand that it was the best she could do. She was well aware how humble and inadequate it must look in a room embellished by some of the greatest masterpieces in the world.

  Having set the canvas where the Duke could not fail to see it, she looked first at the picture of the ‘Madonna in the Church’ and thought it was even more lovely than she remembered.

  Near it she found an exquisite little oil-painting by Petrus Christus. It was only 10” x 8”, a portrait of a young girl, and Tempera remembered that he was thought to have been a pupil of Jan Van Eyck.

  There were so many other pictures she wanted to examine but she felt that time was passing and she had no intention of being found by Colonel Anstruther or anyone else in what she was sure was the Duke’s private room.

  She took one last look at the portrait of the angel.

  “If I really looked like that I should be very, very proud,” she said beneath her breath.

  She turned towards the door, but as she did so she had a sudden impulse to take her own painting away with her. Suppose the Duke showed it to the other members of the house party? Suppose he held her up to ridicule about it? Suppose he talked and the other servants heard about it and they thought she was trying to draw attention to herself?

  Suddenly she thought she had been very stupid.

  She picked up the small canvas and holding it closely against her breast ran through the Sitting Room and up the stairs to her own bedroom.

  She looked at the empty canvases waiting for her and knew she had no right to accept them and still less right to be involved with the Duke.

  This was the last thing that should happen, and if he thought she had gone back on her word what did it matter? He would forget her and that was the best thing that could happen!

  Deliberately Tempera put the new canvases in a cupboard so that the housemaid who did her room would not see them, then she lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.

  Despite the fact that she had slept for several hours before her stepmother returned she was in fact tired and she drifted into a state that was half-dreaming, half-reality –

  She awoke with a start to be aware that whether it was a dream or a thought it had been of the Duke.

  ‘You are becoming obsessed by the man,’ she told herself sharply. ‘Just remember, the only person of importance is Belle-mère, and it is not going to help her if the Duke continues to think about painting.

  ‘I have behaved very stupidly,’ Tempera accused herself. When her stepmother returned she tried to make up for what she thought of as her deficiencies by being particularly attentive.

  All Lady Rothley wanted however was someone to listen to the compliments she had received at the Rothschild party, and only after she had repeated word for word all that had been said, did Tempera ask eagerly,

  “What did you think of the Villa? Was it very fine?” She knew that her stepmother forced herself to concentrate on what she had seen.

  “It was rather overcrowded,” she said, “and very rich, rather like a surfeit of paté de foie gras”

  Tempera laughed.

  “You are quoting someone else. You did not think of that yourself!”

  Lady Rothley smiled.

  “It was the Duke, as a matter of fact. It is what he said as we were driving home. Then Lord Eustace looked at me and said meaningfully ‘Some patés are so delicious that one can never have enough of them!’”

  It was hopeless, Tempera thought, to try to get any further impressions from her stepmother and there was no use in plaguing her.

  Instead she listened to all the gossip that Lady Rothley had accumulated about the distinguished people staying in the vicinity and in Monte Carlo, until it was time for her to rest.

  “There is another party tonight,” she yawned, “and I suppose we shall not be back until dawn, because wherever we dine we always go afterwards to the Casino.”

  Her eyes brightened as she added,

  “Perhaps I shall win again.”

  “You are not to play unless the Duke plays with you,” Tempera said quickly.

  “There are other gentlemen who are even richer.”

  “We are not concerned with them,” Tempera replied in a hard voice. “Whatever you do, Belle-mère, keep beside the Duke and remember the men who pay you these compliments will remain here when we have returned to London.”

  “I have not forgotten,” Lady Rothley promised lightly, “but Tempera, it is so wonderful to be made a fuss of, to know that men are looking at me with that ‘swimmy’ expression in their eyes and that they are longing to touch me.”

  She threw herself back against the pillows and said,

  “There are times when I really feel quite passionate, which is something that has never troub
led me before.”

  “Then concentrate it on the Duke,” Tempera said.

  She pulled the curtains over the open windows as she spoke.

  “Try to sleep, dearest,” she said as she walked towards the door.

  “I shall, after all that food and drink at luncheon,” Lady Rothley yawned. “It was delicious but it has made me very sleepy.”

  Tempera shut the door quietly and she was thinking as she walked towards her own bedroom that if her stepmother continued to eat and drink so much, her new gowns would soon need letting out.

  But it was impossible to find fault when Lady Rothley was ready to go out to dinner in another gown, looking as if she had stepped straight out of a Titian picture.

  Her white shoulders were framed in tulle, and her waist, tightly laced by Tempera, seemed almost to divide her anatomy in the approved manner.

  Tempera had already learnt from Miss Briggs and Miss Smith that the ladies were exceedingly jealous of Lady Rothley, especially Lady Holcombe.

  She was considered a beauty, but her red hair and slanting green eyes were completely eclipsed by Lady Rothley’s shining brilliance.

  “Try to rest as you did last night,” Lady Rothley said affectionately before she left her bedroom. “I feel it is very selfish of me to make you stay up so late, but I will make it up to you, dearest Tempera, when I am a Duchess.”

  “Cross your fingers!” Tempera laughed. “You know it is unlucky to boast.”

  Lady Rothley kissed her stepdaughter and Tempera tidied the room, took the things she had to wash, then went to her own supper.

  The two elderly maids were more disagreeable than usual.

  “It’s getting too hot for me,” grumbled Miss Smith. “As I said to her Ladyship this morning, it’s too late in the year to be coming to the South. We should have come soon after Christmas when those winds were biting into us and the Castle was my idea of hell!”

  “I rather enjoy the heat,” Miss Briggs said, “but only if I don’t have to work. The mere idea of a hot iron makes me shudder!”

  Miss Smith leant confidentially across the table.

  “I understand that for a few centimes there’s a woman in the house who will do all our pressing for us.”

  “That’s good to know,” Miss Briggs said. “Is it the same one who does the washing?”

  Miss Smith nodded.

  “I thought you would have known about her if you have been here before.”

  “I didn’t mention her because I thought she might have left,” Miss Briggs said quickly.

  But she looked so guilty that both Miss Smith and Tempera knew she had deliberately kept the information to herself.

  “I gave her a blouse of her Ladyship’s to do,” Miss Smith said, “and it was back in an hour looking absolutely perfect!”

  “I see I must renew my acquaintance with her,” Miss Briggs said in such an artificial tone that it was obvious she had done that already.

  Tempera however was quite certain that she and her stepmother could not afford to spend money on anything she could do herself.

  Some of the fifteen pounds which Lady Rothley had won last night could well be expended on materials with which she could make her stepmother new nightgowns and on ribbons and lace to further furbish the older gowns she had worn before.

  Tempera was sure that such things would be far cheaper in France than in England and she thought that as soon as she had the opportunity she would ask Colonel Anstruther if there was any chance of her going into Beaulieu or, better still, Nice.

  She had learnt from the other maids that a Landau often took the staff shopping.

  By the time she had finished washing her stepmother’s underclothes and had put them in a spare bathroom to dry, the last vestige of the sun was sinking and the lights on the mountains were very beautiful.

  Tempera remembered how lovely the moonlight had been on the sea last night when she had looked out of the window.

  She decided that tonight she would take the opportunity when the Chateau was empty to walk along the edge of the cliff and look out to sea with the whole vista of the coast beneath her.

  She had seen from the windows that there was a path and that the edge of the cliff was protected by a low brick wall which was covered with bougainvillaea.

  It would be impossible for her to go that way in the daytime because the path could be seen from the terrace, but now there was nobody about except the servants and she had learnt that Colonel Anstruther always retired to bed early.

  It was a very warm night and Tempera took off the black gown she had worn during the day and which she thought constituted a uniform suitable to her position.

  Instead she put on a pale mauve muslin which she had made herself after her father’s death.

  It was very plain, but it had a frill of white chiffon round the neck and it made her look very young.

  Then in case it grew cold she took over her arm a light woollen shawl, slipped out of the house unobserved and started to walk along the cliff’s edge.

  As she did so the last remaining glow of the sun faded and now there was that translucent moment between dusk and night.

  The first evening star glittered overhead and there was a strange luminosity over the world, as if the night cast a magic spell over sleeping mortals.

  The fragrance of flowers was very strong and every step she took made Tempera feel as if she walked into a strange enchantment she had never known before.

  Now the path grew narrower and passed between bushes covered with scented blossoms, and steps climbed upwards through what was a tunnel of greenery.

  Finally Tempera found herself on a platform of marble with four exquisite Grecian pillars supporting a flat roof. There was a wrought-iron balustrade to prevent one falling over the precipice which was a sheer drop onto bare rocks.

  There was a seat on which one could sit looking not only towards the sea, but also right towards the high cliffs above the Port of Villefranche and left towards the heights of Eza.

  It was all very lovely and Tempera gave a little sigh of utter contentment as she sat down.

  She felt omnipotent, as the gods and goddesses must have felt as they contemplated the human world below Mount Olympus.

  She looked up at the stars and said a little prayer of thankfulness that she had been brought quite unexpectedly to this enchanted place.

  She knew that this was a moment when she must look, listen and feel as her father had taught her to do.

  This was the sort of scene the great Masters had tried to capture, and yet however great their genius even they could not accurately portray the utter perfection of nature.

  It made Tempera feel as she had when she looked at the ‘Madonna in the Church’, as if the beauty of it pierced into the very depths of her soul and evoked a response that was different from anything she had ever felt before.

  How long she sat there in a reverie that was half-prayer, half an ecstasy, she had no idea.

  The last vestige of daylight was swept away by the sable darkness of the night and the moon, a silver crescent against the sky, shone out to add its mystical light to the glory of the stars.

  They seemed to dazzle Tempera’s eyes, and when suddenly she heard a step and there was a dark shadow between her and the sky she looked up in a bemused manner, not certain if it was real or a part of her imagination.

  “I thought I would find you here,” said a voice she recognised. “I could not believe that anyone who paints could resist this view.”

  Tempera did not answer.

  She felt for a moment as if it was right for the Duke to be there, and yet somehow too far away in the distance for her to hear it clearly a voice told her that she should rise and leave.

  He sat down beside her and she turned her face to look at him, then because she was shy looked away again.

  “And who do you think could paint such beauty?” he asked gently.

  Because he compelled her to speak Tempera answered him honestly,


  “I think only Turner could do it justice.”

  “You are thinking of ‘Moonlight at Greenwich’.”

  “Yes, but this is far more lovely.”

  “I agree with you and perhaps Turner was better at sunrises.”

  “’Sunrise with the Sea-monsters’,” Tempera murmured. Suddenly a thought struck her.

  “If everybody has – returned – her Ladyship will – want me.”

  She would have risen but the Duke put out his hand and laid it on her arm.

  “Nobody has returned except myself,” he answered. “I dislike gambling and prefer to look at the moonlight.”

  The touch of his hand gave Tempera a very strange feeling.

  It was almost as if it was part of what she had been feeling in her soul, something that throbbed in her heart. It was not only a feeling, it was thought and yet much more than thought.

  Because her own thoughts frightened her she said after a moment,

  “I have to – thank Your Grace for the – canvases.”

  “Have you finished your picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “I half-hoped to find it waiting for me.”

  Tempera did not answer and after a moment the Duke said,

  “You intend to let me see it? It was a condition I imposed, if you remember.”

  He took his hand from her arm as he spoke and Tempera had an absurd feeling that she wanted to ask him to let it remain there.

  Then she said after a moment,

  “I p – put the picture on your desk this afternoon, but I – took it away again.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought the pictures in your room were – looking at it scornfully.”

  “I do not believe there was ever a great Master who scorned a willing and dedicated pupil.”

  “I cannot quote you an instance,” Tempera replied, “but I am certain they were very scornful of those who were – presumptuous.”

  “I am sure that is something you would never be.”

  Once again Tempera thought this was a very strange conversation and one she should not be having with the Duke.

  “I want to see your picture now that you have finished it,” he said, “and I shall feel that you have broken your word if you do not give it to me tomorrow.”