A Moment in Paris (9 page)

‘I didn’t mean, of course, that you had really forgotten Celeste
... I
haven’t forgotten her since we left the chateau this morning. But we ought not to have behaved as we—have behaved—knowing that you are engaged to be married, and particularly as I happen to be an employee of yours!’

A suggestion of tenderness stole to his lips.

‘So far as I am concerned, Diana, my dearest,’ he told her, ‘you are not an employee. You ceased to be that at our second meeting, when you wore an enchanting green hat and defied me at lunch. After that you became the woman I love!’

‘But...’ she stammered, ‘but that isn’t possible! You can’t love two women at the same time—’

He regarded her gravely.

‘There is no question of my loving two women at the same time. I have never been anything but mildly amused by Celeste, and frequently I have felt so highly critical of her that even the amusement was swamped. But I decided to marry her as the result, you can call it, of a whim. She was pretty, and helpless, and rather stupid, but I could do a lot for her; and as I had no desire to marry for normal reasons that seemed good enough. I knew that my relations would be horrified, and of course they were!’

She stared at him, astounded.

‘But why should you want to shock your relatives...?’

He shrugged.

‘Sometimes it is a relief to be perverse, and I have heard so much about settling down and providing myself with an heir. According to my godmother it was simply a question of picking upon a suitable young woman. But as a suitable young woman failed to come along ... I picked on Celeste. And it does not please anyone,’ he concluded slowly, ‘that she will one day be the mother of my son, if I am to be blessed with a son.’

Diana turned quickly away, her face burning scarlet. She was conscious of a sensation like acute revulsion—she felt sick inside. That he could make love to her, and then talk about Celeste bearing him a child!

He spoke with immense seriousness, his eyes never leaving her face.

‘If you were not English, my heart, our situation might resolve itself. But as it is ...’

‘As it is I ought to go home to England ... or at least, back to Paris.’ She moved a step towards the barn door. ‘That’s what I must do...’

But his attitude changed yet again, and he caught her fiercely by the arm.

‘If you do that I won’t be able to bear it!’ His fingers pressed into her hard. ‘Diana, you must never talk about going back to England, and you will not return to Paris until I—we all go!’ There was a slight, pleading break in his voice. ‘If I have offended you I beg you to forgive me, but don’t talk about leaving me. There is so much that I want to do for you ... I
must
do for you and that small brother of yours!’

But she said as if she was suddenly infinitely weary and still battling with acute distaste: ‘You mustn’t think that we are your concern, Philippe, because we’re not! I can do all that is necessary for Jeremy, and I’ve become very used to looking after myself. I don’t want anyone to interfere in my life!’ She avoided his eyes, because she knew their wounded expression would wound her too, and snatched away her wrist. ‘And now if we’re not to have everyone wondering where we are, we’d better go back. And I’m thinking of Lady Bembridge as much as Celeste.’

He followed her out once more into the sweet coolness of the morning, and unhitched the horses from the corner of the barn. As he helped her into her saddle she still avoided looking at him, because she was so acutely conscious of his touch and his nearness that she had to bite her lower lip hard, as if she was preventing it from trembling.

Philippe looked up into her face as he put the reins into her hands, and he said three words:

‘I love you!’

And then he swung himself astride his own mount, and somewhat grimly led the way back to the chateau.

Celeste was not only up but looking out for them when they got back to the chateau. Lady Bembridge had not yet made her appearance, but—ironically, as it now struck Diana, after the revelations of the morning—Celeste was carefully dressed in soft blue wool, and she somewhat naively confessed that she was planning to be very active in future, and get the better of her laziness.

‘You said that you wanted me to work hard ...’ She peeped at Philippe under her long eyelashes, and the eagerness in her voice made Diana feel acutely uncomfortable. ‘You said that you wanted us both to work hard,’ with a glance at Diana, ‘so I thought we’d kinda get started ...’

For the rest of the day they duly studied elocution and etiquette, but Diana’s heart wasn’t in it.

She made an excuse quite early to go to bed, and Philippe preceded her to the door and held it open for her. The night before she had climbed the stairs in a state of misery because he seemed to have no time for her at all. Tonight, after one quick look up into his eyes that provided her with the exquisite sensation that she was actually caressed by him, she climbed them in such a state of mental perturbation and chaotic feeling that she reached her room long before she was aware of it, and knew that she would lie awake for hours and think of nothing but him.

She had been provided with a delightful tower room—in fact, a luxury suite, with her own private bathroom—that overlooked the courtyard, and had a splendid view of the mountains in daylight. Tonight the atmosphere beyond the windows was as clear as crystal, and as cold as a knife blade, with moonlight lying in serene beauty on the surrounding snowy peaks.

But that didn’t prevent footsteps sounding in the courtyard after she had stood in the wide window of her sitting-room for less than a quarter of an hour, and those footsteps paced up and down for a long time after that. Once she thought she caught the glow of a cigarette end in the darkness immediately below her, and she had the feeling that eyes were on her window, and watching it ... watching as if compelled!

‘Oh, Philippe!’ she whispered, and wanted to throw open her window and beg him to come in out of that petrifying cold, but as she had no real proof that he was out there she did nothing of the kind.

It was possible—very probable—that he was downstairs in the warmly lighted, sensuously heated salon with Lady Bembridge and Celeste ... Celeste, whom he was to marry!

It was even possible Lady Bembridge had gone to bed, and he was alone with Celeste! Celeste smelling like a Dior rose!

But she didn’t think so—perhaps because she couldn’t bear to think so!

By the time she went to bed at last she had begun to wonder about another woman who must once have figured quite prominently in Philippe de Chatignard’s life, and that was Denys Armand.

He had said that no suitable young woman of whom his family could approve had come his way. But Denys was free, and would definitely be considered suitable; and according to Hortense she and the Comte had once been very close friends indeed.

And it had been easy for Diana to guess, on the one occasion that she saw them together, that Denys was rather more than slightly interested in Philippe.

And she would make an elegant Comtesse. Why, then, hadn’t Philippe picked on her, instead of linking his whole future with someone like Celeste, who, although she could possibly make it for him, could also mar it ... badly!

The next day Denys—as if Diana’s thoughts of her the night before had given her the power to materialize unexpectedly—arrived at the chateau accompanied by Robert Sherman, the American friend of the Comte.

Apparently, as Madame Armand was a mutual friend Sherman had offered to give her a lift south as she too had been pressed by Philippe to stay at the chateau as soon as she could tear herself away from Paris and her elegant salon.

It was just before lunch that the car turned in under the archway and drew up before the windows that fronted the courtyard. Denys, looking like the very breath of Paris itself in a honey-gold suit of sheerest wool and a little honey-gold hat to match, climbed out of the rakish, sports-type car driven by the American, and fairly hurled herself upon Philippe.

‘It is so good to see you once more,
cherie
!’
she told him, as if it was at least a thousand years since they met. Her great dark eyes were radiant with her delight. ‘You told me I could come whenever I could manage it, and so here I am! Indebted to Mr. Sherman for a most entertaining drive!’

Mr. Sherman was one of those long-legged Americans who have literally to uncurl themselves when they emerge from a car, and he had very bright and amused blue eyes. His face was brown and relaxed, the mouth quirking up a little at the corners with humour, and although he was by no means good-looking, he was attractive. And possibly still on the right side of forty, Diana decided.

Celeste, when she emerged from the house and stood shyly behind her fiancé, took no notice of him at first; and then he turned to her deliberately and gripped her hand. He had very large hands, and hers looked very small swallowed up in one of his huge fists, that was brown like the rest of him, as if he spent a great deal of his time in the out-of-doors.

‘This is a pleasure!’ he declared, as he pumped her hand up and down and looked at her admiringly. ‘I don’t mind confessing that it was the thought that we would meet again that made me eager to accept the Comte’s invitation.’ He glanced sideways at the Comte, as if he thought it necessary to explain. ‘You can’t keep a flower like this shut away from the sun, you know, Comte! The world wants to see her ... appreciate her! And that’s what we people who produce motion pictures—or have a hand in producing them—do for the world. We give it something to appreciate!’

‘Like Celeste,’ Lady Bembridge murmured. ‘You know, Philippe,’ she added, ‘I’d no idea you were jeopardizing public interest when you asked Celeste to marry you. You really ought to see to it that she doesn’t sacrifice herself entirely by becoming a mere Comtesse instead of a film star! And if what Mr. Sherman says about her is true...’

But Philippe directed a look at his aunt which made her voice die into silence, and Diana was certain she had never seen him look quite so idly annoyed.

‘Celeste is not jeopardizing anything by withdrawing from the life she once led,’ he declared. ‘And she will make a far better Comtesse than a film star! And now shall we go inside?’

During lunch. Denys managed to woo Philippe back to his normal state of good humour when nothing was actually displeasing him, and by the end of lunch he was smiling at her in a very relaxed manner—relaxed and indulgent.

Diana had little or nothing to say to anyone, and she was glad that they all seemed so preoccupied—Celeste with her fellow-countryman (and he most certainly with her!); Philippe with his friend of long standing, who was beautiful enough and seductively charming enough to have any man she chose eating out of her hand; and Lady Bembridge, who concentrated on feeding her poodle tit-bits.

Much later that day Madame Armand sought out Diana in her own room, and apologized charmingly for breaking in on her privacy.

‘But I wanted to let you know that I still have a certain amount of hope for Philippe,’ she confided. ‘At the moment he is suffering from an
idee fixe,
but I think I can shake it if I work hard enough. I’ve a feeling I’ve arrived at rather a critical period in his affair with that girl...’ She plainly found it unpleasant to make use of her name, and she laid a delicate stress on the word affair. ‘And that is all to the good!’

‘Oh—yes?’ Diana said, and hoped the words didn’t sound too stilted as she turned from her mirror.

Denys Armand, her toilet for the evening completed, and looking ravishing in tight black silk and some highly spectacular rubies, smiled at her with her rather doe-like brown eyes, and the red lips that parted easily over small, perfect teeth.

‘Of course, it is perfectly understandable that a man will want to make love to a girl like that...’ Again declining actually to identify Celeste. ‘She is full of sex appeal, and that assumed helplessness of hers appeals to the essentially masculine in someone like Philippe. She is an adorable kitten whom he would do well to install in a frivolous apartment where he can visit her as often as he pleases ... once he is married to someone quite different! But in order that he shall not quite ruin his life he
must marry someone else
!’

Diana put down the brush with which she had been adding to the shine on her hair and found that she could say absolutely nothing. She was too revolted ... too filled with revulsion to formulate even a word.

‘Don’t you agree with me, Miss Craven?’

Diana shook her head, spraying herself mechanically and too lavishly with perfume that Celeste had bestowed on her only the week before ... and she put the bottle down hastily as if it had stung her.

‘The Comte’s affairs are nothing to do with me,’ she answered at last, in an unnatural voice. ‘I understand that he intends to marry Miss O’Brien as soon as possible, and ... that is all I know!’

Denys stood up, and laid an exquisite be-ringed hand lightly, and almost affectionately, on her shoulder.

‘That is all any of us actually
knows
... that he plans to marry her quite soon! But leave this to me, my dear. I have weapons that I shall make use of, and I shall save him from such supreme stupidity! If necessary, I shall save him from himself!’ And with a much wider, curiously brilliant smile, she turned towards the door.

Diana felt as if the concerns of the Comte Philippe de Chatignard had become too much for her altogether when she went down to dinner that night. According to Denys, it wasn’t his honour that was so much involved, but the charms of Celeste that he couldn’t resist!

And, in addition to Celeste, there was Madame Armand herself ... very different, very
soignee,
very chic. Had she made up her mind long ago that Philippe should marry her? And was she broad-minded enough to overlook Celeste? ... so long as she was merely a part of his background!

During dinner Philippe’s eyes dwelt on Diana constantly and thoughtfully, but she was armouring herself against them and him; and by the time coffee was served she had more or less made up her mind that this was a situation she must escape from at all costs. To remain where she was in the employ of a man who thought he could make love to her occasionally while going ahead with his plans to marry someone else—and, unlike Denys Armand, she had every confidence that he would marry Celeste, for there was something about her that appealed to him strongly—was, or would prove to be, demoralizing in time, and in any case it was a sign of weakness—the weakness of one who hungered for crumbs, although perfectly well aware that she could never be invited to the main course!

When they went back into the salon she played piquet with Lady Bembridge until the latter decided to get on with her needlework, and then Diana said good night to her and made for the door. But, as on the night before, and the night before that, Philippe was there to hold it open for her and he said quite deliberately before he touched the door-handle: ‘You will ride with us tomorrow morning, Miss Craven? Madame Armand, Mr. Sherman and myself will be in the courtyard about six.’

But she answered politely enough: ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer to have breakfast with Celeste.’ She smiled across at the American girl. ‘It’s cosier, if you have no very great objection to my being lazy.’

‘Don’t pester her, Philippe,’ Madame Armand said quickly, as the Comte’s lips grew thin and compressed. ‘It isn’t everyone who enjoys exercise, and
I
shall be in the courtyard at the very moment that the sun rises!’ she added, catching him by the arm and drawing him back into the room.