The Changeling (61 page)

She looked at me mischievously. “Oh … I was talking about the dress.”

“It suits you,” I told her.

And I thought, she hasn’t changed one little bit. She has come home not so much to see us as to find a husband who will keep her in luxury for the rest of her life.

A few days later there was another visitor to the house. This was Jean Pascal Bourdon. He had written to Celeste to say that he would be in London for a brief spell and would like to come and see his sister.

When she told me this I immediately thought that this sudden interest might have something to do with the letter I was sure Belinda had written to him.

When she heard that he was coming, Belinda was very excited. She became pensive. She asked me a great deal of questions about him and brought the subject up with Celeste, who was somewhat noncommittal, so she turned back to me.

I told her that he was interested in wine and that the family owned a château in the Médoc. “That,” I said, “I believe, is the greatest wine-growing country in France … or one of them. I believe the place is called Château Bourdon and has been in the family for years. I think he has a small
pied-à-terre
in London, for he does not stay here in this house which might be expected, Celeste being his sister. It would be quite convenient for him. I believe he spends some time in Farnborough where his parents have their home.”

“In the court of the Empress Eugenie,” said Belinda, her eyes sparkling. “Celeste does not go there.”

“No, she never did … and they did not come here. In any case his father died a little while ago and his mother is too feeble to travel.”

“My grandparents,” murmured Belinda.

“I believe they are very formal. In any case you will see Monsieur Jean Pascal Bourdon when he comes here. He’ll be dining with us on Tuesday.”

I could see that she was already making plans. She was deciding what she would wear. She bought a book on wines and spent some time studying it. She was determined to impress him.

She wore the lavender dress with the pleats and piled her dark hair high on her head. She looked very arresting.

“I wish I had some piece of jewelry,” she sighed. “Pearls would look just right with this.”

“You don’t need any further adornment,” I told her.

“Lucie,
you
haven’t any idea.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Then I won’t interfere. I was going to say I have a pearl brooch which my father gave me.”

“Oh, Lucie … really! Show me!”

I brought it out and she pinned it on her dress. “It’s lovely,” she cried. “It’s perfect. Elegant simplicity, is it not? You’re going to lend it to me, I know.”

I nodded and she threw her arms about my neck, perfunctorily kissing me. Her thoughts were far away, thinking of the effect she would have on her father.

We went down to the drawing room together.

He was there with Celeste and rose as we entered. He was of medium height, with dark hair and lively dark eyes; he was handsome in a way, with well-defined features in a somewhat classic mold; he spoke English well with only the faintest trace of accent. He was elegant and suave, and there was something about him which slightly repelled me. I was not sure what, but I did know that whenever he was mentioned Rebecca’s attitude showed me clearly that she did not like him, and I think that this attitude of hers had sown seeds of mistrust within me.

“Here are Lucie and Belinda,” said Celeste.

He turned to us. “Lucie!” He took my hand and kissed it. “Enchanted,” he murmured. And then, “Belinda.” He took both her hands. “Why … you are beautiful. I think we should get to know each other, don’t you?”

Belinda sparkled. Her eyes danced. I, who understood her well, knew she was thinking that it was going to be easy to make a conquest of this man. I was not so sure. I felt I knew a little of him—not much, but enough to tell me that one could not take him entirely for what he appeared to be. He could not be easily understood. He was Belinda’s father and I imagined they might have similar characteristics in some respects. That might draw them together.

“Dinner will be served very soon,” said Celeste.

He looked at his sister. “Will there be guests?”

“No, I thought we might just be … the family.”

“Excellent idea. It is what I hoped.”

“Well, in a few minutes, I should think, we should go in. It will be the small room tonight.”

“Delightfully intimate,” he said.

His eyes were on Belinda—admiring, I thought, though one could not be sure with such a man.

“I am so pleased you have come home,” he said to Belinda.

“So am I,” she answered.

“You don’t look as though you have come from … what is it they call it? … the outback?”

“Yes,” said Belinda, “they do call it that.”

“Rather you look like a young lady of fashion.”

“What one is depends upon oneself,” responded Belinda.

“How right you are.”

“Belinda has told us a great deal about her life on the goldfields,” said Celeste. “It was very interesting.”

“You must tell me … sometime,” he said to Belinda.

It was an indication that they would meet again and that he was not particularly interested in goldfields. Belinda got the message. She was beaming. I fancied she was deciding that it was all going according to her plans.

At dinner there was an animated conversation, generally between Belinda and Jean Pascal. It was clear to both Celeste and me that he was delighted with her and amused and rather pleased to be presented with a grown-up daughter.

Belinda had always been without reticence. She talked animatedly, showing a lively interest in the château in France and the wine industry.

“It’s not far from Bordeaux,” he said. “Wine-growing country. Everything there is suitable for it.”

“It produces the best wine in the world,” said Belinda.

“We think so, naturally.”

“So does the whole world. I think it must be fascinating watching over the grapes … making sure that everything is all right. How wonderful!”

“It can be far from pleasant sometimes,” he told her. “There are forces to contend with … weather and disease.”

“But that makes it all the more exciting.”

“I am not sure that my work people would agree with that.”

“Well, if everything runs smoothly, it must be less rewarding when it all comes right in the end.”

“A philosopher, I see.”

“Well, it’s just plain common sense.”

“There are things you do not know of, Belinda. Why, some ten years ago the vine louse destroyed most of the grapes in France. That was a far from exhilarating experience, I can tell you. Just imagine the wretched creatures getting to the vines underground and sucking the sap at the roots. There is only one way of getting rid of them, and that is to flood the grounds.”

“How terrible!” said Belinda. “But how fascinating! Do tell us about Château Bourdon. Is it really a castle?”

“Not on the scale of Blois or Chambord—much, much smaller. There were many castles in France and they were not all destroyed during the Revolution. Bourdon is a medium-sized château. It is rather pleasant. It is set in attractive country and our own vineyards are quite extensive.”

She clasped her hands and gazed at him ecstatically.

I thought he was rather attracted by his daughter, but I was not sure, for he was the sort of man who would hide his true feelings under a cloak of sophistication. No doubt he was seeing all sorts of traits in her similar to his own.

He did bestow some attention on me.

He asked me what I intended to do, and I told him that as yet I was unsure.

“Lucie has suffered a great shock,” said Celeste. “She needs time to recover.”

He nodded sympathetically.

“My dear Lucie,” he said. “I feel for you. Celeste has told me how brave you have been. I must apologize for bringing up this subject on a happy occasion, but when it is so much in our thoughts it seems unnatural to make a studied effort not to mention it. I feel deeply for you … and my sister. I do indeed. But you have to grow away from it.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Belinda will help you, I’m sure.” He turned to her. “I am so glad you came home, my dear.”

“We are glad too,” said Celeste.

“Now we are going to make you put the past behind you,” he went on to me. “Are we not, Belinda?”

“Of course we are,” said Belinda. “Lucie and I are very special friends.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and I am sorry to have introduced such a somber note to our happy evening. However, I just did not want you and Celeste to think me hard-hearted.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Tell us more about the château,” pleaded Belinda.

He did so cheerfully. It had been in the possession of the Bourdons since the days of Charles the Wise and that was in the fourteenth century. It was a typical French château. “There are hundreds of them throughout France,” he went on. “Most have the rounded towers at each end which come to a point at the top.”

“They have been described as pepper pot towers,” I said.

“A good description. Gray stone … with that medieval look. It has been restored in places, of course, so you will find touches of later centuries here and there, but nothing has been done to it for the last hundred years. Such places are built to stand forever. We even survived the Revolution. I hope you will see it one day.”

Belinda exuded satisfied excitement. It was better than she had expected, I was sure. There
was
a similarity between them and I felt they would understand each other—a fact which made communication between them easy.

She was delighted with her father, and I had the impression that he was not displeased to discover he had such an exhilarating daughter.

It was late when he left the house. Belinda came to my room and sat on my bed.

“What an evening! I have never known one like it.”

“Well, it is very rare for a young woman of your age to come face-to-face with a father whom she has never seen before.”

“Do you think he liked me?”

“Like might be too strong a word. I think he found you … interesting.”

“
I
thought he liked me. He kept talking to me and watching me.”

“You kept talking to him and watching him.”

“Do you think he’ll take me to Chateau Bourdon?”

“I don’t know.”

“And to the court at Farnborough?”

“It might be rather difficult to explain an illegitimate daughter in formal society.”

“You beast, Lucie.”

“I’m only stating a fact. The French are very formal and I should imagine particularly so in royal circles … though in exile; but I should not think that detracted from the formality.”

She looked momentarily downcast and I went on, “Yes, Belinda, I think he was impressed. I feel absolutely sure that he will want to see you again … soon.”

She put her arms round my neck and kissed me.

“You’re an angel,” she said.

“I’m glad of the remarkable transformation. All this for just stating the obvious.”

“Yes,” she said musingly, “I think he liked me, too. He also likes you, Lucie.”

“He likes all young women, providing they are not outstandingly unattractive. But daughters would come into a different category. Yes, I am absolutely certain that he was not displeased with his daughter and I have a feeling that he will want to see her again … very soon.”

On that note she said good night and went to her own room.

He did come again. In fact he allowed only one day to pass, during which Belinda’s mood changed from despair to hope, and then he arrived.

It was obvious to me that he was rather amused to discover a grown-up daughter, and Belinda was just the type of whom he could be proud. She was vivacious and, if not exactly conventionally beautiful, very attractive. She had something more than beauty. Leah’s charm had been her gentleness which had given her the look of a madonna—particularly in the days when we were young and I had often seen the tenderness in her eyes when they rested on her daughter. But there was nothing of the madonna about Belinda. Hers was a flamboyant charm; she was a little mysterious, promising all sorts of excitement to those who went along with her. As soon as she entered a room one was aware of her; the atmosphere changed; she had some special quality. Even here, to this house of mourning; she had brought some relief from gloom.

I was glad for her sake that Jean Pascal Bourdon was ready to recognize her as his daughter. He was the sort of man who, if she had been unappealing, would have gone away and forgotten all about her. But he was intrigued by this dazzling girl who had suddenly presented herself to him. I guessed he was thinking the situation rather piquant.

He had never married. I wondered why. I had heard that he had intended to marry someone connected with the royal house of France, some relation of the Emperor Napoleon III and the Empress Eugenie, but of course the ’70s debacle had put a stop to that. Jean Pascal was not the man to attach himself to a falling star. At least that was the impression I had and which I realized had been given to me by my sister Rebecca. She had clearly not wanted to talk much of him. She disliked him intensely.

During the next weeks we saw a great deal of him, for he came frequently to the house. Belinda was radiant. Her plans were working out—even better than she had hoped.

I think he rather liked to be seen with her. He bought clothes for her. He was delighted with her choice. She had French elegance, he said, which she had inherited from the paternal side of the family. She was learning French, and when Belinda applied herself to anything she did it with such enthusiasm that she was certain to succeed.

Now her great aim in life was to please her father, to bind him to her; she was determined to be part of the château life in France and finally to be received at Farnborough.

She lived in a whirl of excitement during those weeks and, I must say, to a certain extent carried me along with her; and Celeste was not far behind. She was delighted by her brother’s interest in Belinda.

Belinda’s joy was overwhelming when he suggested that she should have an allowance.