Days of Winter (38 page)

Madame sank back into the pillows as Jeanette finally said what she’d been waiting to hear.

“So I’ve made my decision. If Monsieur Etienne wishes to marry me, my answer is yes.”

Tears came to Madame’s eyes. She had been genuinely touched—as well as relieved—by what Jeanette had said and the eloquence with which she said it. She reached out her arms to embrace Jeanette. “Oh, my dear, you can’t know what this means to me, how happy you’ve made me. I only regret that I didn’t appreciate you as quickly as Etienne. The loss is mine. But at least now I can understand why he loves you so much.”

And as she talked, Jeanette thought of what else she was withholding besides her relationship with Jean-Paul … that inside her womb lay his unborn child. Until this moment she hadn’t really considered the responsibilities of motherhood. But now the reality of it became frightening … and she wondered if she would be capable of Madame Dupré’s kind of fierce, self-sacrificing protectiveness of
her
child, and avoid the selfish behavior of her own mother. …

That night Jean-Paul went to his mother’s room to act out his self-appointed role.

“Mother,” he said, “I need to talk to you.”

“About what, Jean-Paul?”

“Well, although I realize you don’t consider it overworked, my conscience bothers me. About Etienne.”

Madame looked carefully at Jean-Paul. “I confess such sentiments do surprise me somewhat. You’ve never been, to my memory, especially concerned with Etienne—”

“That’s true, but I can grow too, Mother, and I too can be wrong. Etienne deserves some happiness in his life, as you have so often told me, and, frankly, while I probably will never truly like him—to pretend so would, after all, be hypocrisy—I realize the pain I have caused you by my attitude, not to mention him.”

“Truly, Jean-Paul?”

“Yes, Mother. It’s very sad to see a grown man so lonely. Etienne deserves better. …Now, I’ve thought a great deal about what you told me, I mean about Etienne’s feelings for this girl, which I must admit I didn’t take seriously at first, and I honestly think you should urge him to court her. After all, Mother, many men with physical handicaps marry and live happy, fulfilled lives. Why not Etienne?”

Delighted and grateful for his support despite her nagging skepticism, she said, “I’ve told him exactly the same thing but he refuses to listen.”

“Then you must make him listen, and stop feeling that his life is over. At twenty-five, it should just be beginning. …Of course, we don’t know how the girl will feel about him—”

“But we do,” said Madame. “She is devoted to him.”

“How do you know this?”

“She told me, Jean-Paul. I had a talk with her. …”

Jean-Paul pretended appropriate surprise. “Ah … well, then, that should make things easier. …All you need do is to tell Etienne that the girl can’t stay here any longer. …”

“For what reason?”

“Your reason is her confession to you when you questioned her about
her
reason for saying she wanted to leave … her confession that she loved him, that it had begun with his defense of her when she first came, and now after a summer had grown to such proportions that it simply wasn’t fitting that she continue to live under the same roof with him … and so, unfortunately, she would simply have to go. …”

“And you believe Etienne would be convinced, especially so soon after telling me his own feelings for her, which he felt could hardly be returned—just as he has felt about other women?”

“Mother, I believe it, regardless of the perhaps seeming coincidence. And the reason is, Etienne so badly needs and wants to believe it.”

“Oh, Jean-Paul, if only it could be …”

“Trust me, Mother, and trust yourself. I know it will be.”

“Dearest Jean-Paul, it seems I have been blessed by both my sons. …Now come here and let me kiss you.”

Jean-Paul, smiling, did so.

The next morning Madame asked Etienne to come to her room. She hadn’t slept well, worrying, despite Jean-Paul’s assurances, over Etienne’s reaction to what she would say to him. She reminded herself, though, that what she had to say was, after all, the truth, regardless of how startling it might be to Etienne, and this, together with, as Jean-Paul had wisely said, Etienne’s desire to believe, would work in her favor. Still …

When Etienne was seated in front of her, she told him simply and directly everything that Jean-Paul had said, adding—also the truth—that while at first she hadn’t liked Mademoiselle, she had learned to admire her for her way with the children, and that she herself had had intimations of Mademoiselle’s feelings toward him on more than one occasion … seeing her on returning from the birthday picnic with him was one in particular that she recalled … and only his own long-standing misguided conviction that no woman could love him because of his infirmity had kept his eyes shut to what was developing right in front of them. Rushing along, not allowing him to interrupt despite the look of growing amazement on his face, she said that it truly was a pity that Jeanette could never reveal her true feelings toward him. …she’d only confessed them to her after she’d pressed her about her statement that she was leaving despite her well-known devotion to the children. …

When Etienne finally found his voice, and his mother allowed him to respond, he shook his head, still incredulous. “Mother, you are telling me that Jeanette actually said she felt toward me in a way … that she could find it at all possible to love me—”

“That, Etienne, is exactly what I am saying, and it is the truth. All I can pray, for the sake of your happiness, is that you are able to accept it.”

“Oh, Mother, you know how much I want to accept it. And, of course, she
must
stay, especially now. …Forgive me, Mother, I still can’t quite believe it, but if it is true, if it
can
be true, then all I can say is that I thank God …”

Deeply moved, and relieved, Madame embraced him as he thought about the impossible that seemed to have happened, and told himself that if it was really true … and he was increasingly willing to believe it … then this evening, after dinner, he would ask Jeanette to become his wife. …

During the day he watched her with a new intensity, hoping at the same time it wasn’t as obvious to her and others as it seemed to him, feeling weak with hope, and fear, at the same time. She did talk to him often, and, yes, she did indeed seem unusually warm … and responsive … to him. All through dinner he could hardly restrain himself as she met his glances … no question of it, why hadn’t he noticed more earlier …? and even smiled diffidently. If anyone had asked him what he was eating, or even who was there besides Jeanette, he’d have been hard put to answer.

Nonetheless, the meal was especially festive, since Madame had instructed Clothilde to spare no effort or attention. It had been a very long time, indeed, since Madame had felt such true happiness. And with this happiness, she had another surprise in store for Etienne. She had thought all day about which ring he should present to his beloved. She had looked over carefully the gems in her jewel box, her eyes wandering back and forth. At last she made her decision. The large emerald surrounded by diamonds would be perfect. This would make the engagement binding. She had already begun to make arrangements for the wedding … at least in her mind. …She wanted the nuptials to take place as quickly as possible in case Mademoiselle should have second thoughts, which she quickly dismissed as unthinkable. Still, she would see that it took place soon after their arrival in Paris.

After dinner the family went as usual to the sitting room for coffee and brandy. Soon Jeanette, with the children, took her leave on cue from Jean-Paul. Then Madame invited Etienne to her room, where she gave him the ring.

“Mother,” he said, “I still can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“Believe it, my son. God has a way of rewarding those who deserve it, and He has singled you out. He hasn’t forgotten you. Now, my dear, stop wasting your time with me … there is somebody far more important waiting, I would guess, to hear a very important proposal. …” And saying it, she hugged him, and then watched him leave, tears clouding her eyes.

Etienne waited outside until the lights in the children’s bedrooms were turned off, then impossibly nervous, knocked at Jeanette’s door.

Her face lighted up when she saw him. “Good evening, monsieur, won’t you come in?”

“Thank you … but would you mind if we went outside for a bit …?” And offered his hand, which she took with some hesitation, not wanting him to feel that she was being too forward.

The leafy patterns of the willow tree danced around them on the lawn. The evening was balmy and cool. When they reached the willow, Jeanette sat down.

Etienne was determined not to wait any longer. “Jeanette,” he said, “as is hardly a secret, I don’t have Jean-Paul’s gift with words so I’ll say this the only way I know how. …Until today I had no idea that you … that you cared for me. God knows, I still find it difficult to believe. …”

Her heart was pounding as she began the charade. …“Your mother has told you …? But she promised—”

He reached for her hand, remembering the special quality of
Clair de Lune
the night she’d played it. “Dearest Jeanette, she didn’t really betray your … confidence. I’d never have known, you’ve never stepped out of your role of governess … but she felt she had to tell me when you said you were going away … and why. After all, she knew how I felt about you too and—”

“Monsieur Etienne, what can I say—?”

“Only what you said to my mother … that you do care for me—”

“Oh, but I do, I truly do,” and she started to cry, not, as he assumed, out of relief, but because she really did care for him—even if not as he thought … and as she wished. Yes, if only she
did
love him, if only this deception she despised weren’t necessary. …

“Jeanette, I love you. If you can accept me for what I am, and am not”—he half-smiled—“I give you my word … no, I give you my love, and my life—”

“I’m not really worthy of—”

“Don’t say that, please … not when I’ve finally gotten up the nerve to ask you to … to marry me. Will you …?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, but he could hear a muffled “Oh yes, Etienne, yes …”

Gently he lifted her head and tilted her face so that their eyes met … eyes that were even lovelier, if possible, he thought, glistening as they now did with tears. He wiped them away, then slowly, hesitantly at first and then with a boldness that surprised himself, took her in his arms, felt the loveliness of her, and kissed her for the first time. When he finally released her, he took out his mother’s ring and slipped it carefully on her finger, looking at her intently as he did so.

“This is my life, my life with you, and the circle means it will never end. I promise you that, darling. And even though I will never be able to give you enough—”

“Please, Etienne, you have already given me more than enough, more than … everything.”

They sat there for a while, his arms around her, around the world. And then it was time to go back, and before leaving her at the cottage he embraced and kissed her again, and, nearly beaming, said he doubted he’d sleep a minute that night, but didn’t care, didn’t, in fact, want to. It would be too awful to wake up and find this had been a concoction of his imagination. No, he wouldn’t risk that. …

Later, when they’d finally parted and she’d gone to her room, she lay down on her bed and let her feelings flood out, at the same time telling herself that at least she did care for him, and that she’d do her best to make him happy, but along with it came the thought that had been there before … that she might, indeed, be her mother’s daughter … a thought interrupted by the emergence from the shadows of the man who had arranged this strange new turn in her life.

“You seem to have done very well,” Jean-Paul said, “judging from the ecstatic expression on the face of my dear smitten brother. Can you doubt that you have done him a favor, not to mention, of course, ourselves …?”

“Please, Jean-Paul,
please
go away. Not tonight. I can’t see you tonight after—”

“Oh come now, Jeanette.” He went to her and gently lifted her shoulders, his voice quiet and calm. “There’s hardly reason for remorse, although I wonder if perhaps you didn’t overplay your role just a bit. Please remember, my darling, who the real man in your life is. …”

She looked at him, shook her head. “Oh, God, Jean-Paul, what we’re doing is wrong, it’s sinful. How can we live with such deception? How can I hurt Etienne, the finest man I’ve ever—”

“Please, darling”—and his face tightened momentarily—“I think you will find it easier than you think … that is to say, you’ve already made him the happiest man in the world. You didn’t, I’m sure, actually say you loved him, you’re too careful and honest for that.”

“No, but I didn’t say that I didn’t love him either. He
believes
I do, and that is the deception.”

“Yes, and it is what we agreed to. Now, my dearest, when we return to Paris I won’t be going to Algiers. I’ll stay close to you, and after you and Etienne marry, things will work out and all the difficulties you imagine will adjust themselves. Trust my judgment. I tell you again you have no reason to feel remorse or guilt … you have made Etienne a happier man than he ever dared hope to be, given him what no other woman would.” He took her in his arms, stroked her hair and lifted her face so that their lips met. “What matters most, let’s not forget, is the child,
our
child … never forget that. Or me.” And then he quickly, skillfully proceeded to make certain that she did not.

O
N THE THIRD OF
September the house on the Boulevard Victor Hugo became once again the address of the Paris Duprés. Provence seemed very far away as a frenzy of preparation for the wedding began. There were fittings to be arranged, lists to be made up, menus to be planned, all under the supervision of Madame. New arrangements had to be made for the children since Jeanette was no longer their governess. She was now living in one of the bedrooms on the second floor, down the hall from Madame.