Brilliance (2 page)

When Charles finally put aside the newspaper his daughter was reading a book and he turned his gaze to the passing scenery. He was unaware of sharing his daughter’s hopes that he would soon have an heir. He detested his nephew, who would otherwise inherit the château and all the land appertaining to it. Maybe he should have remarried earlier in his widowhood, but none of the women he had enjoyed for a while, even though many of them had been intelligent and charming, had been a match for the wife he had loved and lost.

Then recently, when he was fifty-five, he had met Isabelle, a widow, beautiful and enchanting, whose late husband had left her well provided for, which meant she had had no mercenary aims towards him as had been the case with so many others that had crossed his path. She had been like a light coming into his life, although at first he had not recognized it as falling in love for only the second time in all his days. It was still a wonder to him that she cared nothing for the twenty years between them and had agreed to marry him when he proposed only six weeks after their first meeting. After all, he was not the man he had been in his youth. His hair, although still fair in colouring, was thinning fast and his enjoyment of good living had added jowls to his jaw and a burgundy hue to his cheeks. Worst of all, his once-trim waistline had thickened to a paunch. Fortunately his tailor was a master of the flattering cut to a waistcoat and Isabelle never stopped praising his distinguished appearance. He smiled to himself in anticipation of seeing her again.

Already wearied by the monotony of the journey, his spirits lifted when the train halted at a station and he recognized an amiable business acquaintance, accompanied by his tall son, about to come on board. He tapped on the window and attracted their attention.

‘Monsieur Bonnard!’ he said heartily as they entered the compartment. ‘And Philippe! How are you both? This is an unexpected pleasure!’

Lisette was introduced and she moved up to let Monsieur Bonnard sit opposite her father in the window seat and the two men immediately started talking together. She and Philippe sat across from each other, he idly watching the station disappear. She guessed he was at least eighteen and did not expect him to be friendly. Youths of his age thought themselves too important to notice little girls. There was a superior air about him, his hair thick, blue-black and well groomed, and he had the kind of lean good looks and dark-lashed eyes that made her think of a prince in a storybook illustration.

She had not realized she was staring at him or that he was aware of it until he turned his head suddenly. Regarding her quizzically with very clear, dark brown eyes and a wide grin of amusement, he caught her completely off guard.

‘So where have you sprung from, wide-eyed Lisette?’

She blushed with embarrassment. ‘Lyon.’

‘Why there? Have you been on holiday?’ He obviously thought she lived with her father at the château.

She explained briefly, thankful that he did not look bored at what she was telling him. ‘So from now on I’ll be with Papa at the château. He also has an apartment in Paris. That’s where I was born. So I’m hoping to visit there sometimes.’

‘Lucky girl! Paris is the only place to be.’ He compressed his lips bitterly. ‘I’d not live anywhere else if the choice were mine.’

‘Why can’t you?’ She thought he looked as though he could conquer the world if he so wished.

‘I’m about to go abroad to one of our colonies in West Africa. The Ivory Coast of all places! A stinking fever hole and I’m to oversee the shipping out of the tusks of murdered elephants! What a fate for them and for me! But my father thinks it’s time for me to learn how to take over his business interests there.’ Privately he knew that was not the only reason. He had become involved with a girl of whom his father had not approved and this was a way of ending the liaison once and for all.

Lisette supposed that with such resentment over leaving France churning within him he found it a relief to let it out to a congenial listener, but she was enchanted by his opening up to her as if she were his own age. School lessons had taught her about France’s colonial territories and until he had mentioned those poor elephants Africa had seemed like a magical continent to her with all its wonderful animals living in forests or roaming the plains. But then it was still wonderful away from the cruelties of mankind.

‘It’s always hard to leave home,’ she said consolingly. ‘I know, because I’ve just done it. But perhaps you will like Africa more than you expect. There will be so much that is exciting to see.’ She remembered what Monsieur Lumière had said to her. ‘Such a change will be an adventure.’

He had shot an angry glare in his father’s direction, but at her encouraging words he looked back at her with an indulgent smile that seemed to warm her through. ‘You’re a kind little thing, Lisette. Pretty, too. Nobody else has attempted to understand my feelings or tried to help me see things in a better light.’ Then mischief danced in his lively eyes. ‘Maybe when I return from Africa, grey haired and burnt to a frazzle, you’ll take pity on me again and marry me.’

She blushed like a sunset, suddenly shy in the knowledge that he was teasing her, and was saved from making any reply by her father turning to address him. After that he was caught up in the male conversation for the rest of the journey and she took refuge in her book.

It was not until farewells were said in the hissing, steam-billowing atmosphere on the platform of the Gare du Lyon that Philippe spoke to her again.

‘
Au revoir
, Lisette. Wish me luck.’

‘I do!’ she answered fervently. Then, to her delight, he took her hand and bowed over it as if she were grown up. At her father’s side she looked over her shoulder at him as they went their separate ways, but he did not look back and she knew he had already forgotten her.

Outside the station it was pelting with rain, but her father’s carriage and pair was waiting for them and their luggage was soon strapped on to the back of it. Lisette could not see much of Paris apart from sodden awnings and deserted cafe tables as they were carried away through the city. Now and again her father pointed out places of historic interest, but the rain slashing across the windows impaired her view. Eventually the city was left behind as they drove into the countryside. By the time they arrived at their destination the evening sun had come out from the clouds for the last hour of daylight. It bathed the pale walls of the château with a watery glow that cast diamonds into the many windows and across the wet lawns. The château was not the grand edifice that she had expected, but to her delight was a charming mansion set among trees and formal flowerbeds with a welcoming air about it. A sense of excitement rose in her, for she was sure that something of her mother’s presence would still linger in the rooms she was soon to explore.

As soon as Charles entered the portals of his home he could tell by the buzz of voices coming from the Blue Salon that his wife was entertaining again. Handing his hat, gloves and cane to a manservant in the spacious entrance hall, he sighed deeply. He was tired from the journey and had hoped for a peaceful hour or two alone with Isabelle after her meeting with his daughter. Unfortunately Isabelle thrived on being surrounded by company, never tiring of parties and balls and soirées, involving him in a social round that never ceased. Yet he had learned early in their marriage that it was best to go along with her plans and not to cross her, for her displays of temper – never revealed before their marriage – were hard to bear and hurt him deeply.

Lisette, having removed her coat and hat, composed herself for the meeting with her stepmother, hopeful that everything would be as her father had promised. As double doors were opened for them she noticed how he straightened his back and added a certain jauntiness to his step as if to throw off his years as he entered the silk-panelled salon. She followed in his wake. At least a dozen people were present, every one of them nearer his wife’s age than his, and yet it was apparent immediately from the greetings that he was well acquainted with them all.

Isabelle had sprung up from her chair at the sight of him, a delighted expression on her face. With a rustling of her taffeta gown and a swing of pearls she rushed towards him with a radiant show of affection.

‘Charles! What a wonderful surprise! I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!’

She was of medium height, full-breasted, with a narrow waist and the clear ivory skin that so often complements dark red hair, hers being glossy and abundant. Her slim hands, sparkling with rings, fluttered about him like joyous little birds as she kissed him in greeting.

Lisette observed his doting expression. She wondered if her presence was forgotten, but he turned to draw her forward with his hands on her shoulders and kept a gentle hold as he addressed his wife and everybody else in the room.

‘It gives me great pleasure to present my daughter, Lisette.’

Isabelle arched her back prettily as she flung out her arms, effusive in her welcome. ‘Darling child! Welcome home!’

Lisette could see that she was meant to go forward into that waiting, bosomy embrace, but somehow found herself remaining rigidly where she stood as if glued to the floor. She sensed that the woman’s display was entirely for the benefit of the onlookers and knew intuitively that there was no warmth in it for her. Then her grandmother’s training in good manners came to the fore and she bobbed a curtsey, voicing an adequate acknowledgment.

‘I thank you for your kind words,
Belle-mère
.’

Yet the damage had been done. Isabelle had caught the child’s wariness and her vanity was deeply offended. Everyone said she could charm a bird out of a tree, but embarrassingly this unwanted newcomer had failed to respond and in front of everyone present!

With her smiling expression unchanged, Isabelle came forward to put an arm about Lisette’s shoulders and parade her around the room for a greeting and a word or two with everybody. Yet it was not long before the housekeeper was summoned and Lisette was given into her care.

‘Do you remember my mother?’ Lisette asked eagerly as the housekeeper led her up the wide staircase.

‘No, I was not here when your mother was still alive. I came here when the present Madame Decourt employed all new staff after she and your father returned from their honeymoon.’

‘I’d like to see the room that was my mother’s.’

‘Then you must ask your father about it. I don’t know which one it would have been.’

Lisette found that her own room, which was a good size and wallpapered in pale green stripes, was light and airy with windows that gave a view of the château’s tennis court and a wooded glade. There was a desk for her studies, shelves for her books, and a comfortable chair with cushions. A mahogany wardrobe offered plenty of space for her clothes. A half open door revealed a marble bathroom, which was an individual luxury that she had never encountered before, for her grandmother’s house had been comfortably old-fashioned. The housekeeper did not stay, having sent for a young maid named Berthe.

‘I’m your personal maid,
mam’selle
,’ the girl said upon arrival, her frilled cap framing a neat little face that matched her appearance. ‘I’m new here, but I’ll do my best. I’ll start with the unpacking and from now on I’m to see to your clothes and any mending and brush your hair and so forth.’ The words had all come in a rush and her cheeks had flushed scarlet.

Lisette was nonplussed. She had never had her own maid before. Her grandmother had thought she should grow up learning to do everything for herself. ‘That’s nice,’ she said awkwardly. Then they smiled at each other and the tension melted away.

While Berthe unpacked the trunk Lisette arranged her own books and set out the keepsakes she had brought from Lyon, including a photograph of her grandmother that had been taken by Monsieur Lumière. Aristocratically featured, Madame Decourt sat in a high-backed chair with her graceful beringed hands resting in her lap. Her hair was as smooth as if painted on her head, with an arrow-straight parting in the middle, and she wore a black lace gown designed by Monsieur Worth, with pearls in her ears and ropes of them around her neck. Lisette suppressed a sigh.

When two menservants had carried away the emptied trunk and valises, Berthe unbuttoned the back of Lisette’s bodice and left her in her petticoats until it was time to dress for dinner as she always had done with her grandmother.

With her arms folded under her head, Lisette lay on her bed and thought about her stepmother. There was something smooth and catlike about Isabelle. Although normally very fond of cats, she felt that it would not take very much for her stepmother to show claws and fangs if displeased, and for her father’s sake as much as for her own she wanted to avoid that. She was not sure why she felt such an urge to protect him against any possible upset, but she had the feeling he had had to overcome Isabelle’s opposition in order for her to come here. Then her thoughts turned to the youth on the train. She hoped with all her heart that he would be happy in Africa.

Although she put on one of her best velvet dresses, Lisette ate a lonely meal downstairs as her father and Isabelle had gone out to dine with friends. That night she cried herself to sleep, overcome by a great wave of homesickness as she yearned with a deep and desperate aching in her heart for her adored grandmother and their time together that had gone for ever.

In the morning Lisette found that her query to the housekeeper about her mother’s room had been passed on. Isabelle explained matters well out of her husband’s earshot.

‘The whole château was quite dreary when I paid my first visit here, Lisette. So I persuaded your papa that bathrooms should be installed for every bedroom in the new fashion and decorators move in while he and I were away in Italy after our wedding. It’s why nothing is left as your mother would have known it. As for her bedroom and boudoir, those are mine now, but you may view them whenever you wish.’

Lisette thought how pointless that would be since every sign of her mother’s presence had been eliminated.