The Demon Lover (6 page)

“Ah yes, indeed. The Baron has employed artists here before. He understands about the light which will be needed. Previously the work has been executed in what we call the Sunshine Room. That is a room we have here in that part of the castle which is the most modern, by which I mean it is seventeenth-century. It was built to let in the sun on all sides. It is high and there are windows in the roof. You will see it tomorrow. I think it will please.”

“It sounds ideal,” I said.

We talked desultorily on one or two other topics. The journey we had had, the countryside compared with that at home and so on, until finally he said: “You must be absolutely exhausted. Let me have you conducted to your rooms. I hope you will then have a good night and in the morning you will feel refreshed.”

“Ready to meet the Baron,” I added.

He smiled and his smile was very warn and friendly. I felt a glow of pleasure. I liked him. I liked him very much. I found his perfect grooming not in the least effeminate, only very pleasant. I thought he had a charming smile and although his implication that we bestowed a privilege on Centeville by being here might not be entirely sincere, it had certainly put us at our ease, and I liked him still more for that.

It was a relief to get into bed that night. I was very tired, for the journey and the apprehension as to what we should find at the end of it had exhausted me so completely that I was asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

I was awakened by a gentle tapping at the door. It was one of the maids bringing petit dejeuner which consisted of coffee, rolls of crusty bread with butter and confiture.

“I will bring you hot water in ten minutes, Mademoiselle,” she told me.

I sat up in bed and drank the coffee, which was delicious. I was hungry enough to enjoy the rolls.

The sun was shining through the long narrow window and I felt a pleasurable sense of excitement. The real adventure was about to begin.

When I was washed and dressed I went to my father’s room. He had been awakened when I had, and had enjoyed his coffee and rolls and was now ready.

Monsieur de Marnier appeared. He had instructions to take us to Monsieur de Mortemer when we were ready.

We followed him to that part of the castle where we had taken dinner on the previous evening. Bertrand de Mor temer was awaiting us in what I called the anteroom with the painted ceiling.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling most agreeably.

“I trust you have slept comfortably.”

We assured him that we had and were most grateful for all the concern of our wellbeing which was shown to us.

He spread his hands. It was nothing, he told us. Centeville was privileged.

“Now you will wish to see the Sunshine Room. Would you follow me.”

We were delighted when we saw it.

It had been built by one of the Barons who had had an artist working in the castle on a permanent basis.

“Do you think it will suit you?”

asked Bertrand.

“It’s perfect,” I told him and my father agreed with me.

“So often one is expected to paint in rooms which are quite inadequate,” he said.

“This will be just what we need.”

“Perhaps you would like to arrange … what has to be arranged.

Bring up the tools of your trade, as they say. “

I looked at my father.

“Let us do that,” I said.

“Then we shall be all in readiness.”

“Shall you start the portrait as soon as the Baron arrives?”

My father hesitated.

“I like to talk awhile with my subject first… to get to know him, you see.”

“I am sure the Baron will understand that.”

“Well, let us prepare,” I said to my father.

“Do you think you can find your way back to your rooms?” asked Monsieur de Mortemer.

“We have to learn,” I replied.

“Well, now that you have seen the Sunshine Room let me take you back.

After that you can find your own way, perhaps. “

“I shall note the landmarks as we pass through,” I said with a smile.

to that room. It was what we would call in England a solarium and was of course ideal for our purpose. My father commented that everything was working out splendidly.

I thought he looked a little tired and I did notice once or twice that he blinked in the strong light of the room. I could see all sorts of obstacles about to rise before us. I could not quite picture how we were going to pretend he was painting the miniature when actually I was going to do it. It would certainly be a new and interesting way of working. I wondered how it would end.

It would be dreadful to produce something below Collison standards on such an important occasion.

When we had returned to our rooms I suggested that my father rest for a while. There was an hour or so before dejeuner and the journey and excitement of coming here had been a little too much for him.

I persuaded him to lie down and then thought I would like to look at the chateau from outside. I put on a hat and found my way down to the hall. There was the door through which we had entered on the previous night. I went through into the courtyard.

I did not want to leave the precincts of the castle so I did not cross the moat. I looked round and saw a door. I went through this anu was in a garden. I gathered I was at the back of the castle. Before me stretched out the undulating countryside with the woods in the distance. It was very beautiful. The gardens, which ran down to the water of the moat, had been carefully cultivated. Flowers grew in profusion with colours perfectly blended. Our Baron had a feeling for colour-unless of course he employed people to select them for him, which was most likely.

I went down to the moat’s edge and sat down. What peace! I thought of Clare at home running the house and Evie far away in Africa. I was uneasy and kept assuring myself that there was nothing to be uneasy

about. If the Baron disco R

ve red that my father could no longer paint, and if he wanted a Collison, his only alternative was to take mine. And if he refused?

Well, then we should just return home.

I heard footsteps and turning sharply saw Bertrand de Mortemer coming towards me.

“Ah,” he said as though surprised.

“Have you finished your preparations?”

“There is not much to do until the … er … subject arrives.”

“Of course not.” He sat down beside me.

“Well, now you have seen the castle by the light of morning what do you think of it?”

“Grand. Massive. Impressive. Overpowering. I can’t think of any more adjectives.”

“Those already supplied are sufficient.”

He was looking at me steadily and I noticed that his handsome appearance had not diminished with daylight. Rather, I thought, was it accentuated.

“To think of one man owning all this … it’s rather staggering,” I said.

“Not for the Baron. He was brought up to it. He’s a scion of his forefathers. Wait until you meet him, then you’ll understand.”

“Is he. like you?”

Bertrand seemed very amused.

“I think you would have to look very hard to find a resemblance.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am. If he were like you I should feel very relieved.”

He put his hand over mine suddenly.

“That is a very nice compliment,” he said.

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement of fact.”

He smiled at me. a little sadly, I thought. He said: “No, you will find him very different.”

“Please prepare me.”

He shook his head.

“It is better for you to find out for yourself.

People see others differently. You see him for yourself. “

“That is what you said last night and yet you do give me certain hints. I have the impression that the Baron is not easy to please.”

“He knows what is best and he will want the best.”

“And his fiancee?”

“Is the Princesse de Crespigny.”

“A princess!”

“Oh yes. The Baron is not only one of the wealthiest men in the country, he is also one of the most influential.”

“And the Princesse?”

“She comes from an old French family with royal connections. The family managed to survive the revolution.”

“The Baron also?”

“The Baron would always survive.”

“So this is the marriage of two noble families. One very rich, the other not so rich but royal.”

“The Princesse is connected with the royal families of France and Austria. She will be most suitable for the Baron. The Crespigny estates could be restored. If anyone can do that it is the Baron.”

“With his immense wealth,” I murmured.

“It is a useful asset.”

“And the Baron is happy with his coming marriage?”

“Believe me, if he were not, there would be no marriage.”

“Be careful,” I said.

“You are beginning to give me your picture of the Baron before I have met him.”

“You are good to remind me. My lips are… what you say … sealed?”

I nodded.

“Now we will talk of other things,” he said.

“Yourself?”

“And yourself?”

Then I found myself telling about life at Collison House-the gatherings at Farringdon Manor, the vicarage family and the Camborne twins, of my mother’s romantic marriage and the happiness she and my father had shared, of her. death, of our luck in having Evie who had now married her missionary and left the cosy predictability of our English village for the perils of darkest Africa.

“But she left us Clare,” I added.

“She saw to that before she went.

Evie was one of the natural managers of those around her. She looked after us all. every one. “

He looked at me steadily.

“I think you are one of these … managers.”

I laughed. The? Oh no. I am deeply involved in my own affairs. “

“I know. Painting! For I gather that you paint too. It means much to you. Are you going to paint miniatures like your ancestors?”

“That is what I should like to do more than anything.”

“More than anything. Do you not want a lover … marriage … little children?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. But I want to paint.” He was smiling at me, and I thought: I am talking too much. I hardly know this man. What was it about him that won my confidence? That infinite kindness which I had sensed in him from the moment we met; that air of worldliness which probably was nothing more than a mode of dress and behaviour.

He invited confidences and I seemed to have given him far too many. I thought: I will be telling him about my father’s encroaching blindness next.

“It is your turn to tell me something about yourself,” I said.

“It has been the life of so many in my position.”

“I gather you spent some part of your childhood here.”

“Yes, I did. The Baron said he would have me here to learn something of life.”

“What of life?”

“Oh, how it is to be lived here in the country … at Court. That has become formal now with the Empress Eugenie setting the standards. The Baron regrets the disintegration of the monarchy but he is reconciled to the Second Empire and supports Napoleon the Third … not with real enthusiasm but as the only possible alternative to republicanism.”

“Is the Baron often at Court?”

“Quite often. But I think he is happiest here in Normandy.”

“Is he a very complicated man… difficult to understand?”

He smiled at me.

“And therefore a good subject for a painter. We will see if your father probes those hidden depths of character.”

“He would probably need a large canvas to do that. The miniature is to go to his lady-love. It should therefore be romantic.”

“You mean … flattering.”

“It is possible to be romantic without flattery.”

“I fancy the Baron might not be flattered to be called romantic. He prides himself on his astute approach to life.”

“Romance is not necessarily a stranger to astuteness.”

“Is it not? I thought in romance one saw everything through a rosy glow.”

“That is how my father must make the Princesse see the Baron … through a rosy glow. I think it is time I returned to the house.”

He sprang up and held out his hands. I gave him mine and he helped me up.

He stood for a while holding my hands. It was only for a few seconds but it seemed longer. I thought how still everything was; the quiet water of the moat, the tall massive walls about us, and I felt myself tingling with excitement.

I flushed a little and withdrew my hands.

He said: “Perhaps this afternoon … if you are not busy …”

“We shall not be busy until the Baron returns,” I said.

“Do you ride?”

“A great deal. I helped to exercise the Farringdon horses. The local big house I told you about … They pretended I was doing them a service when they were so obviously doing me one.”

“That’s the way to do a service,” he said.

“If it is given with a request for gratitude it is no service.”

“You are right, of course. But why do you ask if I ride?”

“Because if you say yes, you do, I suggest we ride this afternoon. I could show you the countryside which might interest you. Does that appeal?”

“Very much.”

“Have you a habit?”

“I brought one with me … hoping … and not really believing in my hopes … that they might be realized so soon.”

He touched my arm lightly.

“I am glad you came,” he said earnestly.

“It is very interesting … getting to know you.”

Little quivers of excitement continued to come to me. I thought what a lovely morning it was here in the sunshine, close to the strong walls of the castle, the silver sparkle of the water and this interesting and most handsome young man looking at me with very thinly veiled admiration.

Riding out through the beautiful country with Bertrand de Mortemer was an exciting experience. I loved to ride and was very interested to explore new terrain. I was about to embark on an adventure and I was adventurous by nature. I felt I was on the verge of discovering that life was exciting; it might be dangerous but perhaps I was of a nature to enjoy a spice of danger and therefore went to meet it instead of taking the cautious line and avoiding it.