The Chainmakers (15 page)

What was she thinking of? Where was her mind wandering? She was not going to think of Sandley Heath. The old life was far away, and she would never return to it. Her life had changed so completely since she came to France that she knew she could never again be comfortable in the restrictive poverty of her home. But then, had she ever been comfortable there? She realised she had not. Until she came to La Maison Blanche she had never known what it was to be at ease, to be free, to have fun. At High Cedars she had seen something of the sheer delight of conversation with intelligent people, as they pitted their wits against each other in argument, and it was the same here. Every evening she listened to the artists as they debated every subject under the sun over their dinner and wine. She listened, she learned, and she loved it.

A frown crossed Anna's brow as she finished the floor and surveyed her work. She would have to write to Clancy, and her father, and to Will. She had sent a few letters home, letters of the kind they would expect to receive, letters which gave no information other than assurances about her health and comments on the weather.

She went out to the yard to empty the floor bucket. The sun was strong and warm on her face and arms and she stopped a moment, trying to draw to herself the character of this lovely place. She wanted to keep it, to fix in her memory forever the warmth of the old pink stone, the noisy clucking of the hens and the cheerfulness of the small flower bed, the scent of Therese's herb garden.

Would she ever return here? Surely she would. Robert had spent his summers here for some time, and her life was undoubtedly bound up with him for ever. She felt a little thrill of happiness at the thought. For the last two weeks they had made love any way and anywhere they could, any place they happened to be. In Robert's room or in hers, having crept along the landing trying not to make the floorboards creak. They had made love with ever increasing passion and variety, in the hayloft and in the fields, in the woodlands under the trees, and yesterday they had taken a last picnic to the hillside overlooking the beach near Locquirec, and had found the little hollow they both remembered with affection. Impressions of their passion filled Anna's mind, and she hugged her secret joy to herself with delight.

For a moment she wondered with a degree of apprehension what Florence would make of their love, but quickly decided Robert's mother would probably be delighted, she had after all spoken of Anna as 'one of the family'.

The grey stone tower of Notre Dame seemed ethereal in the moonlight, as the boat wound its way slowly down the Seine. As Sylvie had declined to join them Anna found herself sandwiched between Alphonse and Jacques near the stern, and gazed around her in rapturous enjoyment. She still could not get used to the beauty of the city, for she had not realised until she came to Paris that it was possible for a city to be beautiful. In her experience the more buildings there were, the more ugly and dirty the place became. Jacques had tried to explain to her that many parts of Paris were indeed filthy, poor and overcrowded, but Anna did not wish to listen.

'I believe you,' she told him, 'But I do not wish to see those parts. I know what they will be like. Where we are living now is so lovely, the trees, and the museums and galleries, and the Tuileries Gardens...'

Her enthusiasm for the city had touched his heart, and because Robert had been busy much of the time Jacques had taken upon himself the duty of escorting Anna to several places she wished to see. To his surprise he had found himself involved in a personal journey of rediscovery, seeing Paris through Anna's fresh and enthusiastic eyes. Most of all she delighted in the spacious elegance of the large town house the artists had taken for a month, and Jacques often caught sight of her examining a piece of furniture or fabric, or even a kitchen implement, with undisguised curiosity and appreciation.

He smiled now, as Anna tugged his arm, pointing at the squat tower of Notre Dame. She chatted happily, spilling out details of the long climb the day before, when she had persuaded Therese to join her in braving the steps and their own fright, to see the big bell and the view from the top.

'From here you can hardly see the gargoyles,' she bubbled, 'Look, at the top... there on the corner... I stood right next to that one and gave him a hug. He was so deliciously ugly!'

She sighed with contentment, recalling the fun of the ugly faces and strange shapes, the wonderful view over the city and the joy of feeling you were at the top of the world. She turned to Jacques confidentially.

'Jacques, do you know what was the best memory of all?'

'What?' he said gravely, his eyes twinkling above the huge bush of beard.

'When we were up there, right at the top looking at the view, I suddenly could smell lavender. It was impossible but I could smell it. Therese could smell it too. Then we realised what it was. There was a lavender seller on the square in front of the church, he had a big cart piled high with it, and the scent was wafting up, all that way to the top.'

'I see, and that was your best memory?'

'It was... I can't explain. It was... touching, the scent of lavender up so high...'

'And the church itself, didn't impress you?'

'The building, yes of course. So old, and so beautiful. But inside...' Anna giggled as if slightly ashamed. 'It's a bit... a bit... over decorated... you must remember I am a Chapel person, we do not agree with ornamentation, I felt quite strange in there... quite wicked!'

'Really? How dull Chapel must be!'

'No it isn't.' Anna responded seriously. 'We do not believe in praying to pictures and statues like the Catholics, we only pray direct to God, from our hearts.'

Jacques, who had been brought up a Catholic, felt it his duty to defend the Faith. 'We don't worship pictures Anna, or statues either. They are symbols, that is all.'

'Pictures and statues don't mean anything,' she replied. 'They are not God.'

'Of course not. But I can't agree they mean nothing.' Seeing she did not understand he continued, 'Have you ever had your photograph taken Anna?'

'No,' she said, mystified. 'But I have seen photographs.'

'Well, imagine you have a photograph of someone, a person you love dearly, your mother perhaps.'

'Oh yes! I always wished I had a photograph of mother...'

'Imagine you have. It is in a nice frame on a chest in your home, where you see it every day. It is a comfort and a reminder. One day someone comes to your house, picks up the photograph, takes it from the frame and tears it into pieces. How would you feel?'

'Dreadful, that would be awful...'

'Of course. Because the photograph, the image, means something to you. In the same way our paintings, icons or statues in the Church mean something to us, because they remind us of what we love.'

Her face was a picture. 'Is that true? You don't actually worship those things?'

Jacques laughed. 'Of course not, any more than you Chapel folk live on bread and water like the Catholics say!'

'Oh Jacques!' Anna squeezed his arm. 'You have been so good to me, you and Therese. I wouldn't have seen, or understood so much if you hadn't helped me. Robert has been so busy...'

'Yes,' Jacques said drily, 'I suppose you can call it that.'

He glanced to the prow of the boat where Robert sat with some English friends, recently arrived in Paris. The party was in full swing, and centred around an extremely attractive fair haired young woman, who was holding Robert's arm and laughing. As they watched Robert raised his champagne glass to her and took a sip.

'Delphine is in good form tonight,' Anna said a little acidly. She resented the way Delphine Braybrook had monopolised Robert since she and her mother had arrived to take up residence only two doors away from their own house. She seemed to expect him to escort them everywhere, even shopping. 'Delphine and her mother take up a great deal of Robert's time,' she added.

'Yes... they are old friends I believe,' said Jacques. He tugged at his beard. 'Anna, you must not take Robert too seriously... he is great fun, you know that of course, but not... not...'

He tailed off, dismayed by the look of innocent enquiry in her big eyes. 'How do you mean, not take him seriously?'

Jacques couldn't do it. 'I just mean, he's a great one for fun, but... you couldn't expect him to... to ever buckle down to real... work.' He gave a slightly nervous laugh. 'Perhaps I'm wrong. I didn't think he would finish that picture of you, but he did. It's very good too. He's never finished one before when he's been in France, at least as far as I know.'

'Oh yes, it is good isn't it? I can hardly believe it is me! Florence... his mother... will love it.'

Anna smiled happily at Jacques, and turned her attention to admiring more of Paris by night. She was not worried about Delphine Braybrook. Hadn't Robert come to her room last night and held her in his arms as tenderly as ever? Hadn't he told her that Delphine and her mother were a damned nuisance? Their love affair was as passionate and close as ever, even though since they came to Paris it had become increasingly clandestine.

As the boat drew towards the small wooden jetty where they were to embark and visit "Le Poste" restaurant for dinner, Robert made his way towards them, followed by Delphine. He winked at Anna and stopped to chat to Jacques, reminding him of the last time they had dined at "Le Poste". Anna could not help but stare at Delphine. Apart from her beauty, she seemed to exude an air of confident condescension, from her perfectly coiffured head to her soft lilac leather shoes. These matched exactly her superbly cut skirt and jacket, and Anna almost gasped aloud as she noticed the diamond brooch which Delphine had pinned at the neck of her lace blouse. Everything she wore was of outstanding quality, and Anna, who had dressed very carefully for the evening, in her best skirt and a new cream blouse, began to feel like a country bumpkin.

Seeming to feel Anna's gaze, Delphine met her eyes and a slight frown shadowed the beautiful face. Anna gave a wide smile and said quietly 'Good evening Miss Braybrook,' and Delphine inclined her head regally. As they began to embark she said in a loud clear voice, 'Why have you brought servants with you Robert?'

Robert stopped, frozen in the act of handing Delphine from the boat. He said nothing, and Delphine, having gained the wooden jetty, continued in the same tone, 'That girl... Anna whatever her name is... surely you're not intending she should eat with our party?'

Robert coloured, and said quickly, 'Anna is not a servant Delphine. She is our model, and a friend.'

'Oh, really?' Delphine sounded quite amused. 'I never understand you artistic types, I thought a model was a servant per se, if not something worse!' Her eyes raked Anna from head to toe and her expression clearly implied that she couldn't be blamed for thinking that someone who dressed like a servant was one.

Anna, trembling with mortification, felt Jacques squeeze her elbow. 'Come ma petite, don't take notice. You are with me.' He handed her from the boat, and gave a slight bow. 'I am very honoured to be your escort.'

His kind smile made Anna's eyes brim with tears, and she trembled as she said quietly, 'I think... I think perhaps I should go back to the house...'

'Non! Absolutely not!' Jacques said fiercely. 'You must not give way to such ...' he searched for a word, 'unpardonable rudeness. You must not give the satisfaction, ma petite.'

He took Anna's hand and tucked it into his arm. 'We shall go in, they have an excellent chef here and you must try something different. You have a good palate, and must give me your impressions...'