Lost heritage (7 page)

Menais and Company traded internationally and there was a great deal of correspondence to and from England and America. It was that section of the work that fell to Charlotte's lot, while Mademoiselle Villeaux dealt with the rest. The initial idea, Charlotte suspected, had been Raoul's, for quite clearly Michel was much less enthusiastic about it; probably because it deprived him of his secretary's services for an hour or two each day.

Charlotte saw litde of the girl she shared her duties with, and on the few occasions when they did meet there was no exchange of pleasantries, for Annette Villeaux was not the kind of woman to make friends among her own sex. She was bold and sophisticated and about thirty years old, with dark hair and brown eyes and the kind of figure that always attracts attention. She was fully aware of her advantages and made the most of them.

It had crossed Charlotte's mind that perhaps Michel feared Mademoiselle Villeaux's physical attractions might lead to his cousin conmiandeering her permanently, but second thoughts decided it was improbable; Raoul was unlikely to be influenced by anything as basic as that. He valued the middle-aged Mademoiselle Duclair for her efficiency and for that reason would welcome her back.

In the nearly two weeks Charlotte had been there nothing had changed in the situation between Lizette and her husband. Michel Menais had never yet spent an evening at home with her; to everyone else he was charming, but his wife he virtually ignored.

There was so little similarity between him and Raoul that it was difficult to believe they were related at times. Michel was the elder by about ten or eleven years, shorter in build as well as inclined to corpulence, but he was still a good-looking man and fully aware of the fact. Curly brown hair gave him a deceptively boyish look at times despite his forty-odd years, and his brown eyes had none of Raoul's steely shrewdness.

Taking into account his taste for pretty women, which he made no effort to disguise, Charlotte found it hard to understand why he had married poor, colourless Lizette. Unless of course she had had other more practical qualities to recommend her. She had no idea of Lizette's background and if she had any family she had not been in touch with them since Charlotte's arrival. As far as she could see Lizette was a misfit among the self-confident Menais and all too aware of it.

It was her preoccupation with her employer's situation that had led to carelessness while she was typing one of Raoul's letters, and Charlotte was busy with an eraser when Raoul's voice cut abrupdy into her thoughts. Deep and quiet but tinged with impatience, it snatched her back to normality.

*Have you completed those letters, mademoiselle}^

*In just a moment, monsieur !'

His formality often tempted her to try and arouse the same kind of passionate response as on that first evening she was called upon to help, only so far she had lacked the nerve to attempt it. He glanced at his watch. *You have a 4ate?'

Gathering up the letters Charlotte carried them across to him for signing, standing there while he scrawled his big, bold signature across each one before handing tbem back. 1 hope to be seemg jean cordet,' she told him, and caught his eye before turning away.

Raoul said nothing, except to murmur a word of thanks, and Charlotte studied him secredy while she folded the signed letters and put them into envelopes. He was not only impossibly arrogant, but incredibly attractive too, though he seemed not to take advantage of it the way his cousin did. Sometimes she felt she could quite easily hate him, and yet when she sought for reasons for her violent reaction to him, she could never quite find one.

His long hands had a curious grace that she found fascinating, for they reminded her of the hands of an artist, and yet there was nothing of the dreamy artist about Raoul Menais. His face too, in repose, had a certain tranquillity that was never ever in evidence when he was conscious of being observed, and that too she foimd curiously fascinating.

He was a virile and sensually attractive man who conversely exhibited litde of his cousin's predilection for pretty women. She realised that she was judging him entirely on her own experience, but there was no other rule for her to judge by and, apart from that one brief slip, he had remained stricdy businesslike. It was a fact that sometimes rankled without her being fully aware of it.

As if he became aware of her scrutiny he looked across suddenly and narrowed his eyes in the way she was becoming all too familiar with. 'I have given a great deal of diought to you in the past week, mademoiselle^^ he said, and Charlotte stared at him for a moment too starded to know what to say.

^MonsieurV she ventured after a second or two.

Raoul continued to look at her without responding for a while and Charlotte tried hard to still the sickening urgency of her heartbeat. He was leaning back in his chair and the grey eyes had the dismayingly steely brightness that was so hard to face, especially when her mind lighted inevitably on her main reason for taking the post she held.

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^ *You do yourself an injustice if you imagine you are so _ quickly forgotten,' he told her, and kept his eyes on her still, ^although it has taken me some time to recall the first occasion on which we met. Did you not realise that sooner or later I should remember where I had seen you before, mademoiselle^

Charlotte wanted to look away, but there was something hypnotic about his gaze and she sat there mesmerised by it and slowly shaking her head. It had not for a moment occurred to her that he would remember bumping into a strange girl in the lobby of the hotel in London, but when she thought about it it was inevitable, sooner or later, as he said.

*I didn't expect you to remember that,' she confessed, and was appalled to notice how unsteady her voice sounded.

*0r you hoped I would not remember?' Raoul pressed relendessly. 'Who was it you came to see on that occasion, mademoiselle? Or does the question embarrass you, perhaps?'

*It does embarrass me!' Charlotte agreed, remembering how hopefully she had gone to the hotel in search of the man she hoped would prove to be her father. She could, hardly tell him the truth, not at this point, and yet she could not immediately think of another reason; it was one of those moments when the mind goes completely blank and refuses to come up with a logical answer. In the circumstances she resorted to indignation as a defence. *I don't think I have to answer questions about something that happened before I came into your employ. Monsieur Raoul, and you have no right to ask me!'

Above the steely grey eyes his black brows glowered at her and Charlotte fought down a sense of panic as she got to her feet. *I think I have the right in the circumstances, mademoiselle. The men at that conference were not only fellow delegates, some of them were business rivals too, and

there are certain matters ' He waved an impatient hand,

but continued to make his case. *If you were in that hotel in your capacity as secretary to one of the delegates *

*I wasn't!'

*It is too much of a coincidence that you turn up once more at the same hotel only two days later to apply for the post of companion-secretary to my cousin's wife. Which is, I might venture to suggest, the kind of post that most young women of your age would not consider because of the duties involved. When such a coincidence happens. Miss Kennedy, I am suspicious—I am very suspicious!'

*Oh, but you're wrong!' Charlotte protested, and stared at him in dismay. She could not have anticipated such a situation when she resorted to subterfuge in an effort to trace her family background, and she was at a complete loss for the moment. *You're very wrong, Monsieur Raoul, I swear it!'

She started nervously when he got to his feet and came across the room on those long legs, soft-footed on the deep pile of the carpet. *Then why, mademoiselle^ he demanded, looking down at her. *I will not believe that someone as efl&cient and as pretty as you needs to pander to the whims of a sick woman for her living.'

*I like Madame Lizette!'

The defence of her employer was instinctive and impulsive, but it did not impress Raoul and he still looked down at her narrowed-eyed as she stood with one hand holding tighdy to die edge of the desk. *When you applied for the post,' he reminded her, *you did not know Madame Lizette, you did not even know you were to work for her; Grand'mere told me how disappointed you were to discover she was not to be your employer. So, I repeat, mademoiselle, I am interested in your reasons.'

Charlotte glanced past him at the door. All she could think of to do in the circumstances was to offer a half-truth

and hope he would let her go. *I—Fm hoping to find someone,' she ventured.

*In this house?' The black brows frowned ominously. *How can that be?'

Warily Charlotte sought for something that would not involve her too deeply or too soon. *I don't know,' she confessed. *He—it's possible that I could be wrong—it was a long time ago.'

'If you have been honest with me then I am confident diat you are wrong, mademoiselle V Raoul declared without hesitation. *We have no one in this household who is likely to have been your lover—a long time ago!'

He quoted her derisively and Charlotte flushed, her fingers tautly white as she gripped the edge of the desk. 'I didn't say anything about a lover, monsieur^ and you have no right to interrogate me about matters that don't concern you! I won't be bullied and I won't '

*You will give me a satisfactory answer,' Raoul declared dirough tight lips, *or mon dieuy I shall throw you out of this house now—before another minute has passed I'

*You can't!' Her cry was as much anxious as defiant and she let out a quite involuntary cry of protest when his fingers closed about her wrist and held tighdy. *Let me go!' She tugged at her captive arm frantically. *Let me ^o I'

'Would it not be well to do as the lady asks, mon brave V

Charlotte turned her head swifdy when she recognised the voice and realised in the same instant just what interpretation Michel Menais was putting on the scene. He stood just inside the door of the office for a moment, his round handsome face smiling good-humouredly, then he started shaking his head as he came across the room towards them, his brown eyes twinkling, as if he enjoyed ±e idea of discomfiting his cousin. Looking at Charlotte's flushed face and downcast eyes, he nodded towards the door.

*Your way is clear, Mademoiselle Kennedy; my wife is asking that you see her before you prepare for your evening out.' He flicked a dark brow first at her and then at Raoul, and smiled. *You are seeing Jean Cordet, are you not? A good-looking young man who will go far.' He winked an eye when Charlotte glanced at him doubtfully. *If he is careful not to make enemies in the wrong places, eh? You should warn him of that!'

*Oh, mon dieu; tais-toiy Michel!' Raoul turned his shadowed grey eyes on to Charlotte once more and let her ease her wrist from his fingers. *You may go, mademoiselle* he told her, but something in the tone of his voice as well as his eyes told her that she had not heard the last of the matter.

In the meantime she fled thankfully, and went in search of Lizette. *Thank you, monsieury' she said as she turned to go, but addressed her thanks to Michel, not to Raoul.

Jean Cordet was a perfect escort. He was attentive, prone to extravagance and fun to be with, and Charlotte enjoyed his company. She had been right to suppose he would make further dates after that first one that Raoul spoiled for them, and this was the third time in a formight he had taken her to dinner, besides taking her for an exploratory drive into the country one week-end.

The drive to Paris through the evening light always set her mood for the evening, and she could still anticipate dining and dancing in the most romantic city in Europe with the same thrill of excitement. That was the title claimed for his home town by Jean, and Charlotte could find no reason to deny it

Driving along under the darkening sky and drawn by the lure of twinkling lights and die soaring skeleton of the Eiffel Tower, Charlotte put that earlier discomfiting scene with Raoul firmly out of her mind. She had a good-looking

escort and the prospect of an evening in Paris before her; she could afford to forget all about Raoul Menais.

*We shall go to a little place I know of,' Jean promised with a brief wink as he drove along a narrow, ill-lit street 1 on the west side of the city. *You will like it, Charlotte, I promise.'

'I always do,' Charlotte told him contentedly, and smiled.

*Ah, Charlotte!' He reached for her hand and lighdy kissed it.

The restaurant turned out to be tucked away in a back street and looked at first glance to have been left behind in the last century. Imitation candles under glass shades gave it an air of intimacy, and the variety and richness of the smells from the kitchen immediately put one in the mood to indulge the appetite and think nothing of the consequences. A small group of musicians played more or less in harmony and added to the slight air of decadence suggested by gilt and red plush and waiters in long white aprons.

It was contrived, but it was cleverly contrived and achieved its object by setting a mood that was perfecdy suited to a quiet dinner for two. No table, Charlotte noticed, was set for more than two, and she found it quite impossible not to speculate on how many of the couples already sitting there were illicit twosomes. It had that kind of an air about it, and it was fun as well as very French.

*You like it?' Jean asked as they began their meal with a dish of hors-d'oeuvres that included anchovies, stuffed olives, minute portions of pat6 and some kind of highly spiced sausage.

Charlotte intended to try every item on the dish and she nodded enthusiastically. It's a fantastic place,' she said, glancing around the dimly lit room. 'I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see Toulouse-Lautrec come in at any minute!'

She laughed at her own fancy and shook her head, but Jean seemed to be in sympathy with her mood, and he reached over to cover her hand with his own.

*It has atmosphere, eh?' he asked, and leaned slighdy towards her as he spoke. *It is very '