Beyond the Green Hills (23 page)

Robert and Emile leaving was a sign for the more senior guests to follow. The man from the Ministry of Finance and his wife said their goodbyes and Paul promptly asked Clare to dance. He was a splendid dancer, his footwork so precise and yet fluid they appeared to float round the floor without the slightest effort.

‘That was marvellous, Paul. I think I need another glass of water,’ she said, laughing, as they stopped in the middle of the floor and made their way back to the empty table.

‘Would you like some as well?’ she asked, as she picked up the jug.

‘No, my dear Clare. I never drink water when there is wine,’ he said cheerfully, reaching across the table.

Before he could turn back towards her, a figure appeared behind her chair. It was the young man with the dark hair and the even darker eyes.

‘Clare,’ he said, without more ado. ‘May I have the pleasure of the next dance?’

As she stepped on to the dance floor and he held out his arms to her, Clare knew she’d dance with no one else that evening. Before he had even spoken to her, she’d read a quiet determination in his manner. He would be discreet, as Marie-Claude had
observed. He would be courteous, as indeed he had been, in not approaching her till all possible duty had been done. But now that he had spoken she sensed he would not let her go.

They moved together easily. Less flamboyant than Paul, yet full of a pent-up energy, she sensed he was matching their steps before he spoke.

‘Let me introduce myself, Clare,’ he said smiling. ‘My name is Christian Moreau. I have been grateful to my dear uncle often enough, but never more than tonight. He said I would like you, an understatement worthy of the English.’

Clare laughed, could think of nothing whatever to say. But Christian needed no reply. He looked down at her, his tanned cheeks and dark hair so close she caught the hint of his after-shave, his eyes deep and intense.

‘We shall dance till the band goes home and then I shall take you to a nightclub in Place Pigalle. There we can dance till dawn. I think you will enjoy that.’

‘S
o, I am going to lose you,’ said Robert unexpectedly, as they settled themselves with coffee on the balcony of their hotel.

Although the evening was warm and pleasant, the few inhabitants of the dining room had not even stirred when Clare and Robert moved towards the balcony doors. They sat on in the stuffy gloom created by the heavy furniture and the rich velvet curtains, the hotplates on the sideboard, the candles on the tables, completely cut off from the long fingers of sunlight that picked out the sharp limestone crags and rich green foliage plunging down into the deep-cut valley below.

Swollen by unexpected late summer rain, a small tributary of the Tarn rushed noisily over its rocky bed, swirled vigorously beneath the cliff opposite their viewpoint and lapped gently on a beach of white pebbles directly below them.

‘Who told you that, Robert?’ she asked, puzzled, as she poured his coffee.

All through their meal, they had talked about the proposals in hand. Robert was not entirely sure the old-fashioned hotel could transform itself into a centre for climbing and water sports, but he had
listened attentively to the group of businessmen who were putting up half the money.

In the afternoon, he’d insisted on being driven round the surrounding area. Clare was intrigued by the rugged limestone country, the sudden gushing streams, the rich vegetation clinging to steep slopes. An empty landscape with few patches of cultivation except where the river flowed in a wider valley and cattle grazed in the rich meadows.

They’d stood looking across at the hotel from the other side of the steep valley, driven slowly through the nearby villages, visited a local viewpoint. Robert had agreed to make a decision before they left in the morning. Now, he asked her what she thought.

‘I think they have the right idea,’ she said. ‘So many people want to escape from the cities and be active, not just sit around. After all that’s what most of them have to do, most of the time, during working hours. Other parts of France have developed water sports and rock climbing, I know, but this place has both. And there’s good walking too, once they signpost the paths. That means you have a spread of activities. Safer than having just one. Even in sport and pastimes fashions change.’

He’d seemed particularly pleased by her comments, though he’d said little.

There was a comfortable pause. She decided to ask the question that had been in her mind all day. ‘Why did you bring me with you, Robert, when everyone speaks French?’

‘Do you want the professional reason, or the personal one,’ he replied, crisply.

‘Both,’ she replied, equally crisply.

‘Personally, I bring you because I don’t get bored if you are with me. Professionally, I know you’ll react to anyone who isn’t telling the truth. The first time it happened was when I thought Charles Langley might not be quite sound. You reassured me, and that enterprise has been a great success.’

‘But I might have been wrong,’ she said, suddenly anxious.

‘Of course, there is always that possibility, but your score so far is remarkably good. You must have realised by now that my job isn’t about money, it’s about risk, and people are the largest part of the risk. It’s my task to assess them. If I make a mistake it costs the bank a lot of money. If I am too cautious, that’s just as bad, the bank makes no money. The calculated risk is the heart of the matter. I told you once before that you have a gift for assessing people. You
always seem to know who is to be trusted. And I have learnt to trust your judgement.’

Clare sat listening to the rush of water and the cheep of sparrows that had found the crumbs beneath a nearby table, waiting for Robert to explain why he thought he was about to lose her. As he seemed reluctant to return to the subject, she prompted him gently.

‘Madame Japolsky says you have asked for a long weekend in lieu of your extra hours and that you have booked a ticket to Toulouse.’

Clare laughed.

‘Honestly, Robert, you are impossible. I shall only be gone three days. Christian wants to show me his
part of France. He says his parents have never met anyone from Ireland and they keep asking him to bring me to see them. I promised ages ago I’d fly down the first long weekend you could spare me,’ she explained. ‘I would have told you,’ she added gently.

Yes, you would. But I see you do not understand why I think I am about to lose you.’

‘No, I don’t.’

Something was upsetting Robert, but she couldn’t work out what it was. Certainly, she’d made no secret of her growing relationship with Christian. He knew they’d spent every possible minute together in the last three months and that he’d flown to Greece to share a week of the fortnight’s holiday she and Louise had already booked.

‘Being in love suits you,’ he said abruptly. ‘It makes your eyes shine. But I am impressed. However much you may think of your handsome admirer, you still manage to keep your mind on your work. A most unusual feat for young women in love, in my experience. But that’s only one of the problems it produces.’

‘And what are the others?’ she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

‘They tend to be extravagant. But again, you’d never be guilty of that. Your
housekeeping bills wouldn’t feed a mouse,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘Robert!’ she said laughing, ‘How on earth did you guess that? I sometimes can’t believe how little I spend. I don’t have time to go shopping, even if I wanted to. And I so often have meals while we’re
working, I hardly ever have to cook at home,’ she went on. ‘But how
did
you guess?’

‘I didn’t,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I monitor the accounts of all our young staff. I know it seems an intrusion, unpardonable were it not done for their own protection. Many young people are overwhelmed by the salaries we offer. Jewellery, evening gowns, sports cars. Monitoring the account gives me early warning of the weaknesses I may expect.’

‘And what are mine?’ she demanded, grinning at him.

‘Abstemiousness. You are too hard on yourself. You should relax a little. You look as if you’re saving for a rainy day when the climate is perfectly dry,’ he said crisply. ‘Were I not about to lose you to a wealthy young man, I’d offer you some advice on investment. But you’ll hardly need that in
his
situation.’

‘Robert, do you think I’m going to elope with Christian?’ she asked, laughing. ‘Christian has never mentioned marriage. I know he loves me and I love him too, but we’ve never talked about getting married. Not yet, anyway. We’ve only known each other three months and, apart from that week in Greece, we’ve only met when we’re both free, which isn’t often.’

It was true their free hours didn’t often coincide, but when they did, their time together was very exciting. From that first evening when they had danced and talked all of the short night, had walked the empty streets and up the steps of Sacré-Coeur to watch the sun rise over the stirring city, to the
weekend in the French Alps when they had first become lovers, lying naked, the doors of their room opening to a balcony that framed rugged peaks still dusted with snow, sharp outlines against a star-filled sky, there’d seemed a kind of magic in every meeting.

‘Clare, my dear. Christian Moreau comes from a privileged background about which I know relatively little. But I have known Emile a long time. I can assure you that a man like Moreau will not ask you to marry him until you have met his parents. It may seem a little old-fashioned. Or you might say it is a matter of courtesy to them. They will certainly not object, of that I am quite sure. I think your weekend at Moreau’s château will almost certainly involve his proposing to you, and, in the circumstances, I imagine you are rather unlikely to refuse him.’

Clare did not sleep well that night. At the time, she thought it was the sound of the river beyond her open window. Its noisy flow seemed to enter all her dreams, an insistent presence, like an unanswered question continually repeating itself.

She woke at six with a headache and couldn’t go back to sleep again. Given the long drive to Avignon and how difficult Robert could be in the mornings, a headache was not to be recommended. She took two Anadin and had a long, leisurely bath. As she lay soaking, feeling the tension drain out of her, she heard Louise’s voice, so clear and sharp.

‘If
you marry Christian your children will be
French.’

She’d said it suddenly, when they were sitting under an olive tree above the stadium at Delphi sharing a melon.

‘But, of course,’ she laughed. ‘They could hardly be anything else.’

‘I don’t think I could have French children,’ Louise went on. ‘I thought about it once, when there was this wonderful Frenchman,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Before I met you,’ she added. ‘I thought about taking the children home to my parents, showing them the places I love. I just couldn’t do it. I could teach them Italian, that’s easy with children. But I couldn’t teach them to
be
Italian. It wouldn’t be right anyway. Could you do it?’

Clare was grateful for the Anadin and the bath. The headache had eased by the time they left and the drive to Avignon was pleasanter than she expected. Robert was silent and preoccupied most of the way, leaving her free to take in the detail of this unfamiliar and fascinating countryside. He told her he had an afternoon engagement and they were being entertained by some local businessmen in the evening.

‘What will you do this afternoon?’ Robert asked as they finished an unusually silent lunch. ‘You’ve read all the documents, I expect.’

‘Yes, I did that before we left Paris,’ she said. ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to do here since I started learning French.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I’m going to find the “pont” in “Sur le pont
d’Avignon”. Only I’ve been told they didn’t dance
on
the bridge, but under it.’

‘I shall be back by six-thirty. I would enjoy your company but I wouldn’t wish to inflict this duty upon you. I am going to visit my eldest sister. She moved to Provence for the good of her health and now complains about the heat,’ he said tartly, as he rose from the table.

Clare went to her room, changed her costume for a blouse and skirt and her high heels for walking shoes. She put some money in the pocket of her skirt, picked up a street map at reception and headed for the river.

She walked briskly, grateful to be by herself, outdoors on such a lovely, warm September day. How long was it since she had been free to walk in comfortable shoes, without a handbag, or briefcase, or a pile of documents under her arm? A light breeze tempered the warmth of the afternoon, but in a short time she began to perspire.

‘What’s the hurry, Clare? You’d think you’d a train to catch,’ she said to herself sharply, as she came down to the river bank. She found a summer seat and sat down gratefully. For a little while, she did nothing but watch the river flowing, fast and deep, sunbeams glancing from its slightly rippled surface.

‘Marry him. Now?
This
year.
Next
year.
Sometime.
Never
?’

She’d been completely taken aback when Robert had said that Christian was sure to ask her to marry him, once she’d met his parents. It had never occurred to her. It was one thing sharing thoughts
about marrying a man from another country with Louise, but quite another actually to be faced with the prospect so suddenly. Besides, she’d been so bound up in their loving, the pleasure of sharing all that they did, she’d never thought beyond their next meeting.

Marrying Christian would mean leaving Paris, of that she was certain. Christian loved the city as much as she did, but his home was in the south, north-west of Toulouse, a region she’d never visited. His family had been wine growers for generations. How they’d amassed the wealth that clearly impressed Robert, she had no idea. Christian seldom spoke about his work or asked about hers.

Christian knew Paris very well. He’d been to school at Henri Quatre, on the Left Bank, then gone to the Sorbonne. He knew parts of the city as well as she’d known every hedgerow and tree, every path and lane, in the few square miles of her own world.

‘Where shall we go now? Do you like sculpture? Good. Then we will go to the Rodin.’

She could hear his voice, feel his arm round her waist, his hand in hers, his lips brushing her cheek, as they visited all the places she’d not had time to see in this busiest year of her life. They’d sailed up to the top of the Eiffel Tower, had dinner on a river boat that chugged past her own apartment, driven to Versailles and carried candles in the Catacombs.

He’d insisted she saw everything she’d ever heard of, or read about, and he would be her personal guide. A very knowledgeable guide he was too. Not only could he tell her the history and significance of
every building they viewed, but he had that same passion for French literature she’d first met in Henri Lavalle. He’d read everything she’d read and much more. There seemed to be no limit to his experience and enjoyment of French culture. Whatever she mentioned, he responded to it with enthusiasm, sweeping her along, cherishing her with his love, enfolding her in the richness of his world.

‘Hallo, doggy,’ she said, her reflections interrupted by a young spaniel who came trotting purposefully along the river bank wanting to be friendly.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked, fondling his ears and looking for a disc on his collar. ‘Conker,’ she read. ‘And you are too,’ she said, stroking his gleaming chestnut coat.

She thought of Ginny, of those fresh August mornings, when she’d taught her to ride, walking her round the small paddock at The Lodge, Andrew and Edward perched on the gate, teasing and encouraging her.

Conker barked at her. It was not a hostile bark, more a communicative noise. Clare looked at him closely, not sure exactly what it might mean. An invitation to play, perhaps?

‘Come on, hop up here beside me,’ she said, patting the summer seat encouragingly.

Conker obliged immediately, leaned forward and licked her nose. She hugged him, close to tears, quite unable to resist his good-naturedness or the memories that flooded in upon her.