Baker's Woman

by Tess Enroth

  On their first day in Alexandria, Sam went to book passage on a steamer for Marseilles. And later that day he received a message sent by the British Consul in Cairo saying Sam had been awarded the Victoria Gold Medal. The honor had been decided on some time before anyone knew what his mission had accomplished or even if he were alive to accept the honor. It was an extremely generous show of confidence, Sam thought, and it fueled his impatience to publish his journals and prove his merit.

  Meanwhile he wanted to be sure they were prepared for the new life, for circumstances bound to be more public. Sam knew that soon, wherever they went, they might encounter curiosity as well as serious interest in their adventures. He decided he must prepare Florence for this, not merely tell her about it but help her to feel confident and at ease. His first step was to see to her wardrobe, and he engaged the concierge to make appointments with dressmakers, makers of shoes and handbags, and milliners to come to their rooms for private fittings. These purveyors of the finest in women’s wear could help Florence to choose whatever she liked, including a basic wardrobe suitable for travel by ship and train to Paris. Once in Paris, they could go shopping together, for he knew the places to go if not styles, and perhaps Adrianna, too, would be there to guide her. Sam had his own fittings in tailors’ and cobblers’ shops, and between appointments, dropped into clubs and hotel public rooms to enjoy the camaraderie of men. In bookstalls, cartographers’ shops, and libraries he sought all manner of reading material and returned to their rooms laden with his purchases.

  They adapted easily to the luxuries of the hotel and the fashionable city. Breakfasts on the balcony and walks on the promenade were accompanied by their uninterrupted conversation, almost as if they had just begun to know each other. All their early yearnings returned with stunning impact, reviving romance and passion that years of fatigue, illness, and privation had muted. And they were joyfully aware of their fulfillment.

  The European community had learned of their return before they reached Alexandria, so Sam was only mildly surprised to receive a hand-delivered note from Louis Ronsard. He had come recently from France to his villa on the rivage and was impatient to meet with his old friends. He asked Sam to name the day and hour when he might come to their hotel and take them both to his home to dine at his table. Sam asked Florence when she would like to go, and she replied she was ready any time now that she had such lovely gowns to wear. He laughed and set a date for the next evening.

  When Sam opened the door of their suite, Louis stood there, looking young, handsome, and elegant, exactly as Sam remembered him. Louis remarked in true diplomatic fashion on the changes he saw in Sam.

  “Sam, dear friend, how fit you look! Africa has made you into the very image of a distinguished professor.”

  “Indeed, dear Louis, I am ancient and grizzled.”

  “Certainly not ancient! But faces reflect our experiences, and you have seen wonderful sights and have met inconceivable challenges. You look, may I say, quite imposing?”

  “You see effects of time and weather and, perhaps, of the difficult times as well as the many pleasurable ones. ‘Though much is taken, much abides.’“

  “Sam has come to agree with me,” Florence said as she entered the room, “that he does indeed have much in common with Tennyson’s ‘Ulysses.’“

  Although waiting eagerly to see her, Louis was caught off- guard by her casual and talkative entrance. She radiated ease and warmth, and he strode across the room to kiss her hand.

  “Madam Baker, Florence, you cannot imagine my delight in seeing you again!”

  “And I, in finding you here, Louis. Monsieur Delorme told us you were in France.”

  “And so I was. I have been here some weeks, but it was only a few days ago that I learned you were actually right here in Alexandria. No one had news of you for two years or more,” Louis paused and looked into Florence’s eyes, “and I cannot describe my distress on hearing people discussing your possible fate, dire stories that emerged from their imaginings.”

  “And do you find Florence much changed, Louis?”

  “Yes, Sam, I do,” he said, with his eyes still on Florence.

  “She has emerged from her experiences with a new presence, one might say, an air of confidence. Clearly, she has triumphed over adversity,” and lowering his voice, added, “and remains a very beautiful woman.”

  Sam was aware of the intensity in these last words and saw Florence lift her chin to deliver a reply.

  “Truly, Louis, Sam and I have enjoyed great adventures. I suppose adversity would describe a few occasions. I feel the stronger for them. The sun and years left more visible effects, too, and I don’t mind in the least. We saw sights beyond any I had ever imagined. I do recall your advice to Sam in Khartoum, and while I believe it was well-meant, it was needless, as it turns out.”

  “And for that I am happy, too,” Louis replied.

  Florence’s speech was longer and stronger than Sam expected, and he saw Louis look a bit dashed by its hint of reproof. Sam had once thought Louis might take Florence from him; now he knew that wasn’t possible, and surely Louis knew it, too.

  “So, shall we have a sherry?” Sam asked.

  “It is not a long drive to my villa, so perhaps we should toast your return there.”

  The scents of the nutmeg trees and Poinciana wafted across the terrace, and the surf whispered in soothing cadences. In sconces on the walls and silver candelabra on the table, candle flames flickered as servants moved silently to remove and replace plates and wine glasses. Their conversation soon bridged the chasm of years since they last dined together.

  Sam described their struggle in navigating the Sudd and their dismay at the sight of Gondokoro; Florence spoke of how much she enjoyed Johann’s company aboard the dahabiah and of his dying all too soon. Sam described the mutinies and told of the one instigated by Ballaal, the incident from which he had omitted Florence when he wrote in his journal, but now, in particularly vivid detail, he described her brandishing his pistol to bring the men to order. It was overly dramatized, she thought, but, nevertheless, she was grateful. When Louis asked her how she felt about using a firearm, she had no recollection of thinking at all when she had done it.

  “I never thought how I should or did feel about it. When it was necessary, I just did it.”

  Louis laughed, and shook his head.

  “I see you are astonished, Louis, so I must emphasize that Florence is not a screamer.”

  “I never believed she would be, although I am sure she often had ample cause.”

  “Cause, yes, for a lesser woman. And had I known what lay ahead, I might have heeded your advice,” Sam confessed, “but I didn’t, and now I very much doubt I’d have reached the lake without Florence. Frequently, she saved the day and more than once, my life. She is as reliable as any man and much better company, too!”

  “And even to this day, I prefer that you not talk about me as if I were not present. I feel like a child who has somehow managed to behave well.”

  “Very well, let us hear more from you, Florence,” Louis said. “Were you ever sorry you went?”

  “That is too outrageous an idea to consider. I did go. And I came back. Regret is not in my nature. We saw much that was strange, sometimes hideous or threatening yet always we saw incredible beauty everywhere in Africa.”

  “How about encounters with crocodiles and rhinos?”

  “I preferred them to tsetse flies or puff-adders.”

  Florence hungrily read the books and papers Sam brought, and sometimes she lay on the chaise and savored her idleness. When Sam spoke of England and his family and wrote letters to them, she no longer felt anxious. She felt secure now in Sam’s love and knew it was childish to think his love for others diminished his love for her. She could not foresee how she would behave in the company of his family, did not know what they might expect of her or how her days would be spent, yet she knew she would learn what must be learned, do what must be done. How could th
e future hold anything stranger than she had confronted in Africa?

  One day as she hesitated on the walk beside the busy street, a calash stopped directly in front of her, and Louis Ronsard swung down to greet her with a sweeping bow. She returned his smile, recalling his splendid appearance when first he’d welcomed them to Khartoum.

  “Florence! What a pleasure! I was thinking about you, wondering if I might call unannounced. Where is Sam?”

  “He is writing letters. I was restless, so I came out.”

  “May I take you wherever it is you mean to go?”

  “I don’t really have a destination. I already have such a wardrobe — it’s silly to buy anything more.”

  “Well, then, come for a drive with me.”

  His hand was warm on her waist as he gracefully avoided her wide skirts and guided her toward the carriage step. In a low voice he spoke to his driver, then seated himself at her side.

  As they drove along the seafront, Louis turned his back on the view to look into her eyes. A breeze lifted the brim of her hat and, instead of securing it with the ribbons, she removed the flower-trimmed straw and held it on her lap.

  “May I put the top down?”

  “Why not? It’s no use to try to look like a lady.”

  “But your brown face is quite stunning, my dear. You are like no one else. Must I tell you how lovely you are?”

  Florence didn’t reply and could not return his gaze.

  “Forgive me, do I embarrass you? Why avoid my eyes?”

  “I don’t know why. It’s not you, not your fault, you make me feel—”

  “Don’t stop, Florence, what do I make you feel?”

  “I’m sorry – I don’t know- valuable – fragile, which I certainly am not.”

  “Oh, my dearest, you are valuable- most exquisitely so!” His arm across the back of the seat dropped around her shoulders, and with his other hand at her waist, he gently pulled her to him. It felt natural to lift her face to his, to wonder how those smooth lips might feel. But the hunger in his eyes brought her to her right mind, and she turned her cheek.

  “I cannot say what I feel, Louis. But I don’t feel it is right, being so close. I must think about it.”

  To her relief, he sat back with a sigh and folded his arms across his chest.

  They were near the end of the coast road and the gates to the viceroy’s palace, where Sam had brought her on their first day in Egypt. Farther on, she realized, were the gates to Louis’ villa. When the driver reined in the horse and turned to ask if he should drive on, Louis answered, no, but to stop by the sea. There, Louis put his hand on hers, and still she could not look into his eyes.

  “Thank you, Louis, you are most understanding.”

  “We are very near my house, Florence.”

  His voice was deep and gentle. She looked at the sea and knew he must feel her trembling.

  “I want you to be with you, Florence. Will you come to my house?”

  “Oh, no, Louis. No. Don’t ask that.”

  “Will you tell me when you are ready, when I may love you?”

  “I can never tell you that, Louis. You know that.”

  Florence heard her own breathless refusal, heard her words sounding tentative rather than final.

  He tapped the driver’s shoulder, but kept her hand in his as the carriage turned back toward the hotel.

  “I will wait for you tomorrow, after two o’clock at the entrance to the public garden. Please, Florence, come to me.”

  She couldn’t look into his eyes, couldn’t speak. She felt his hands lift her from the step of the calash, and she did not look back as her feet carried her through the lobby to the elevator cage. She tidied her hair, put on hat and gloves and, as she approached the door to their suite, bit her lower lip.

  The room was dark and empty, and she felt momentary relief, but it soon dissolved, and she paced from room to room trying to think calmly about her feelings and the afternoon’s events. She could find no starting point, no orderly way to assess her own behavior or Louis’.

  How could she have allowed – or caused – Louis to behave so? How could she be so aroused by a man other than Sam? Was she an inconstant woman, vain and foolish? Had she led Louis to believe she would fall into his arms at the first chance? Did he truly care for her? She had thought him a friend – not like Johann, not one she might talk with- but Sam’s friend.

  Good Lord, she thought, this is as tawdry as a scene from that Balzac book. She had betrayed Sam, although he would never suspect her of such a thing. Louis’ intentions must have been there all along, and that alone surely would disappoint Sam. He must never know, yet the thought of the three of them in one room was more than she could endure.

  In fact, it was no use to think about it. What was done was done. She would not see Louis alone again.

  She poured a sherry and went onto the balcony and breathed deeply, but the scent of Poinciana brought Louis back to her. The warm air recalled the caress of his breath on her skin, and she put down the sherry and went to the bedroom. She looked at the clock and wondered where Sam had gone and if she should order dinner. At that moment she heard a key in the lock, and a boy laden with packages preceded Sam through the door.

  “Florence, my dear, I apologize for being so late. I lost track of time, and, as you see –” Sam stopped in mid-sentence to pay the boy and close the door – “I found these books. You look worried dearest, are you upset?”

  “Not at all, just thinking whether to order dinner so it would be ready when you arrived. What did you bring?”

  “Books. I went out to post letters, stopped in the library. Then I walked back a different way and came upon a whole street of book shops, new and old books, journals of all sorts, full of news we’ve yet to catch up on. Do order dinner while I wash the dust from my hands.”

  “Oh, Sam, I can’t wait to see! It’s wonderful – you are wonderful!”

  Sam was on his way out of the room and could not have seen the tears that filled her eyes.

  In the morning Sam took the train to Cairo to close his account at the bank and to call on the Consul who had taken so dim a view of Sam’s plans for taking Florence on the expedition. When he was gone Florence sorted through the pile of periodicals and, finding little to interest her, turned to more satisfying reading. Shortly after noon, she left the room to lunch in the dining room and then to walk in the hotel gardens. The path took her near the fence, and she caught sight of Louis’ calash waiting at the gates to the public gardens, where he must have a clear view of the hotel entrance. Fearing he must also be able to see her in the garden, she went as quickly as she could to a more secluded sector. But it still seemed too public a place, and she slipped through a side entrance and crossed the lobby to the lift.

  She bathed in aromatic oils that soothed her, then settled herself on the balcony to dry her hair and read a novel. The orphaned Jane Eyre managed to become a governess, as she herself might have done. However, she often had to interrupt the story to open her dictionary and make sure she understood every word.

  Although contexts, as well as the sounds of words like flicker or trickle were usually clear enough, some words demanded an exact definition, and often she felt ashamed for having forgotten her Latin. She had to look up words like confabulate and extricate even though she doubted anyone actually ever said confabulate.

  A quick rap on the door broke her concentration, and she crossed the room, twisting her hair in a coil and checking the fastenings on her dressing gown.

  “Who is it?”

  “Please open the door, Florence.”

  “Louis.” She opened the door just a crack and said, “Sam isn’t here, as you must know.”

  “Please, Florence, I can’t stand in the hallway.”

  He pressed firmly against the door and shouldered his way in. She stood back as he walked over to a table and laid his hat beside the bouquet Sam had sent up that morning.

  “At least offer me a drink. I’ve been
waiting for two hours in the hot sun.”

  “You ought to have realized that I didn’t want to see you – and you should not be here.”

  She expected to see anger in his eyes but instead his face reminded her of the way Sam’s had looked on the first night in Bucharest. The look spoke of a hunger she hadn’t understood when Sam had chosen to walk away, when he had done so in deference to her innocence. Now, she knew she had no innocence to protect her, for she had shared Louis’ desire yesterday. She hoped that if now she could be direct enough with him, Louis might honor her commitment to Sam and walk away.

  “Louis, listen to me. When we first met, you may have thought things were not right with Sam and me, perhaps that I wasn’t being treated fairly.

  But you were wrong and that was a long time ago. Sam and I are happy together, and I have never considered any other way to live. I didn’t mean to let you think otherwise. I don’t understand my momentary impulse, but it did not mean I would betray Sam. All I can do now is ask you to accept my apology.”

  Hoping to hide her agitation, she walked to the French doors and adjusted the shutters.

  “Florence, at this moment, the sun is silhouetting your body and setting your golden hair on fire. You are more desirable than you can imagine. It’s impossible for you not to attract me. You cannot blame yourself for being beautiful.”

  “You must leave.”

  “Please, not yet, Florence. I’m not a beast – I won’t force myself on you. May we sit and talk?”

  Calm but wary, Florence gestured toward a chair and seated herself on the far side of a low table while Louis paused at the sideboard to fill two glasses with sherry. Although she wished she were more properly clothed and her hair done up, she was determined to bring this awkward situation to an end.

  “Once I was angry with Sam,” Louis said, “for planning to take you into God knows what dangers. I thought I might rescue you.”

  “I’d chosen to go with Sam. He gave me choices every step of the way. Sam has never forced me to do anything.”