The Demon Lover (15 page)

And then I had my surprise. The food was about to be served and tables had been set up in the large field. Flunkeys were running about in all directions and the white tablecloths looked very pretty fluttering in the light breeze. They were undoing the hampers and taking out cutlets, cold venison, chicken and pies with a variety of sweetmeats. Wine was sparkling in the glasses.

Someone from behind me said: “Shall we find a place and sit together.”

I swung round. Bertrand was smiling at me.

He took my hands and held them tightly; then he kissed me on either cheek.

“Kate,” he said, ‘it’s wonderful to see you. “

“Did you …”

“Did I know you would be here?” He nodded.

“Evette L’Estrange is a great friend of my mother. My mother is here. She is with my father and sister. They wish to meet you. They are delighted and are wondering what such a famous lady can possibly see in me.”

I gasped.

“Famous!” I cried.

“But it is only since the …”

I stopped, not wanting to mention his name on such a day. This was a day for happiness.

The weather was perfect. The sun warm but not too hot. Elegant men and women . they all seemed beautiful and they were all charming and kind to me. It was indeed a wonderful day.

I was warmly accepted by the Mortemer family. I knew then that I wanted this marriage. It was the first time I had felt so sure.

Previously I had thought that I had been carried along too fast and too many new impressions had come too quickly. Bertrand had seemed delightful because he was such a contrast to the Baron. Everything had been so different from what I had known before. I had been bemused, bedazzled by different customs and people who seemed so far apart from the mundane life at Farringdon. But now I felt at home here, and it was Bertrand’s people who had made me feel that.

I had a long talk with his mother, who said she quite understood that I should want to wait a little time before marrying. She had explained this to the impatient Bertrand. She said:

“It has all been so quick, my dear. You have been rushed off your feet. Go home and tell them all about it… and then you will see that it is right for you.”

I thought she was charming and I liked his father and sister. Elegant as they were, there was a homely charm about them-and by that I meant a naturalness. And I was happy with them.

“You must bring your father out to visit us,” they said.

“The families must get to know each other.”

That seemed an excellent idea, I replied. I had some commissions to do and should have to come back to France very soon. I wanted to go home first, though, because I was a little anxious about my father.

She understood perfectly.

That was a cloudless afternoon and one which filled me with delight-almost-because I felt I knew which way I was going. But two things did happen in the late afternoon which caused me a prick or two of anxiety.

Bertrand and I had left the rest of his family and taken one of the boats to row down the river.

I sat back under my sunshade while Bertrand rowed. He sat there smiling contentedly, talking of our marriage.

“We shail not be rich,” he said, and added smiling: “But you will have to earn a lot of money for us with your painting.”

“I should like to do that.”

“Not for the money … for the love of art, eh? I want you to be happy, Kate, and you never would be without your painting. We will turn one of the rooms at Mortemer into a studio for you.”

“That would be lovely.”

Oh, it was a perfect day.

“You will plan how you would like it when you come to stay with us. My mother said you have promised to come … you and your father. Perhaps then we can make all the necessary arrangements.”

“For the room?”

“For our marriage. For both.”

“I should like a room similar to the one at Centeville.”

It was tactless. I had brought a shadow into the perfect day. I should never have mentioned Centeville.

He was silent and I saw the anger in his face. He clenched his fist and said: “I could murder him.”

“Don’t think of him … on a day like this.”

But Bertrand could not stop thinking of him.

“If you could have seen him …” he went on.

“He sat there … smiling.

“I want her settled,” he said.

“I’m fond of Nicole You like her, too. You won’t suffer for it…” I could not believe my ears. “

“Never mind,” I said soothingly.

“It’s over. You told him clearly what you thought of such a suggestion.”

“He looked at me as though he could have killed me when I shouted at him. It’s not often people shout at him. I said:

“Keep your castoff mistress. I wouldn’t touch any woman of yours. It would make me sick every time I went near her. I’d think of you with her … all the time.”

“Forget it,” I pleaded.

“It’s over.”

But Bertrand could not stop. He went on: “He said:

“You’re going to marry my mistress and not be a fool. It’ll be the making of you.” I went mad then. I shouted at him. I told him: “Never, never, never …” And then I came away. I don’t suppose anyone has ever spoken to him like that before. “

“You made your feelings very clear to him. Now, do let’s forget him.

You need never see him again. He might try to harm you. But how could he? Financially? Never mind. We don’t want money that comes through him. I’ll paint. It will be a wonderful life. “

He smiled at me and went back to his rowing in silence But the magic had gone from the day.

The other incident concerned the Princesse.

I saw her come out from the woods along the river bank, hand in hand with Armand L’Estrange. She looked flushed and very happy and there was about her an air of. what I can only describe as proud defiance.

For a moment I was startled; and then I thought: She is only a child.

We were silent as we rode back to Paris. I thought how beautiful the city looked in the fading light as we came through the Bois de Boulogne past the Arc de Triomphe and into the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore.

At length the Princesse spoke.

“What an exciting day! For both of us, I think. So it is now definite. You are going to be Madame de Mortemer. As for me … who knows?”

She was so happy. I was not going to make the mistake of mentioning the Baron’s name for the second time that day.

The day after thejete champetre the Princesse was not well. She was pale, listless and depressed. Poor child, I thought. Her coming marriage alarms her so much and she can’t forget that it is coming nearer and nearer every day. She did not look in the least like the pretty young girl who was beginning to emerge in the miniature.

Marie-Claude was no beauty;

her features were irregular and the lower part other face too heavy;

she had to be happy to be attractive. She was effervescent by nature, and when I thought of the happy girl at thereto champetre she seemed to bear little relationship to this pale-faced girl in the bed.

She did not leave her room and sittings were cancelled. She did ask me to sit with her, which I was glad to do. At times I thought she was on the point of confiding in me but I did not encourage this because I knew it was going to be about her fears for her coming marriage, and there was little I could say to comfort her about that. To tell her that marriages of convenience often turned out happily was banal really. I tried to put myself in her place. I was sure I should have done something about it. But how could I preach rebellion to my poor helpless little Princesse?

I tried to talk of other things of my home and the life we led in Farringdon; and sometimes I made her smile a little.

I took a walk every afternoon. Each day the spell of Paris wove itself more tightly about me. I was enchanted by this beautiful city and I thoroughly enjoyed exploring it. Marie Claude thought I was very adventurous, for she was naturally not allowed to go out without a chaperone. I felt free independent of everyone. After all, here I was executing a commission for a nobleman of France. When I came to think of it, the Baron had done a good deal for me. Not only had he given me acknowledgement of my art but he had made a person of me in my own right. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

I must stop thinking of the man. He had even intruded into the wonderful afternoon ofthejete champetre and brought an ugly cloud.

Because of him poor Marie-Claude was suffering at this moment for I was sure her illness was nothing more than an attack of nervous apprehension. Meanwhile her indisposition gave me free time to explore during an extended stay in Paris. I was not sorry, because I was a little troubled by the miniature. I did want to get something as good as the one I had done of the Baron but at the same time I was eager to make the Princesse appear at her most attractive. Oddly enough, the Baron had been an easier subject.

I would go out every afternoon at two o’clock precisely and I covered a great deal of ground, for I was a good walker. I wandered through the streets down the Avenue duBois de Boulogne to the Louvre and found my way to the Gardens of the Luxembourg. Most impressive of all was the great Cathedral of Notre Dame. From the moment I entered it I felt a tremendous excitement. It was gloomy inside and a scent of incense hung in the air. I explored a little, but I knew this was not the way to see the cathedral and that I should come back and back again for as long as that were possible. All that I had ever heard about the place came flooding back to me. I remembered that our own Henry the Sixth had been crowned King of France here more than four hundred years ago. Later Henri of Navarre had married Marguerite de Valois-in the porch because as a Huguenot he was not allowed inside-and that marriage had been followed by the terrible massacre ofSt. Bartholomew; and twenty years later when he had taken possession of the city, the same Henri, having agreed to become a Catholic, had said it was worth a mass.

I was fascinated by the hideous gargoyles, and I stood for a long time gazing from one to another wondering why it had been thought necessary to adorn but perhaps that was hardly the word-such a holy place with such demoniacal figures. The expressions in the faces were something one would see in nightmares. Indeed I wondered whether I should ever forget them. What did they mean to convey? Cunning . yes, that was there . cruelty, lust, greed . all the seven deadly sins. And above all, I think, a certain cynicism.

As I stood there looking at them, one of these-the most saturnine of them all-seemed to move and the features slide into a different shape. For a moment I thought it was the Baron who was looking at me.

He looked like a demon. What had he called himself? The Demon Lover?

Lover! It was hardly likely that he would ever love anyone but himself. I stared. The stone had set back into that cruel face and it could have been laughing at me.

I must get that man out of my mind.

I had stayed longer than I realized and decided I would take a cab.

There was one waiting by the cathedral and I hailed it, gave the cocker instructions. He touched his white hat and we set off.

After that I made a habit of using cabs. I found that I could wander where I liked, stay longer and then simply hail a cab and be back at the house at the time I set myself.

The Princesse was always interested to hear where I had been and I liked to talk about my little trips. I think she was beginning to see Paris through new eyes.

I told her that I had been to the cathedral and how enthralling I had found it. I intended to go back the following day.

“It’s quite a long way.”

“I’m a good walker and I can take a cab back.”

“You are lucky, Mademoiselle Kate. How wonderful it must be to be free.”

I looked at her sadly. I knew that this illness of hers was just a desire to hold back time. She did not want the miniature to be finished; here in her bed she found a small refuge against the encroaching future.

The following morning when I was preparing to go out after dejeuner at the usual hour of two o’clock she asked if I was going to Notre Dame and if so would I call in at the little modiste’s shop close by. She wanted me to take a note there. It was about a hat she wanted made.

I went to the cathedral. I had taken a sketch-book this time and I sat inside and made a few sketches, but all the time what I really wanted to sketch was the gargoyles. I did some from memory, but I thought I invented expressions and in all of them there was something which reminded me of the Baron.

I came out of the cathedral and found my way to the modiste’s shop. I delivered the message and took a cab back to the house.

When I went in to tell Marie-Claude that I had given in the note she seemed better.

“I want you to go again tomorrow,” she said, ‘and make sure the modiste can carry out the order. “

The next day I did the same. They were still waiting for delivery of the material, they told me.

I went back in a cab. I really enjoyed these trips across the City, and I was beginning to know the streets through which we passed. I had a good sense of location and when I returned to the house and talked to Marie-Glaude I felt a great desire for this to go on. Like her, I did not want time to pass too quickly; like her, perhaps I was apprehensive about the future and that was what made the present so desirable. I was still unsure about my marriage. Wasn’t I marrying into a foreign country and to a man whom I had known for a very short time? Had Marie-Claude made me realize the pitfalls one could find in marriage? Had I plunged into this relationship too impulsively? Was I caught up in the excitement of so much that was new? Would I do better to go home and think about it all for a while?

Each day I said: “Do you feel ready to resume the sitting?”

“Another day,” she would insist.

But the next day it would be “Not just yet .. perhaps tomorrow.”

I had paid several visits to the modiste’s shop.

“I am so eager to hear that she has what I want,” said Marie Claude

“It is so important that it should be exactly right. So you still go to Notre Dame?”