The Silk Vendetta (37 page)

“A good woman.”

“You speak as though you know her.”

“I know most that goes on here, and there was a scandal at the time she left. Your mother was once the beauty of the neighbourhood. I was a child but I had long ears and I used them to good avail. So I knew that Henri St. Allengere was in love with the village beauty and that wicked old Alphonse had refused to sanction the match, that there was a child on the way, and Henri could either desert the girl or get out. Henri decided to desert the girl. Poor Marie Louise. She lived with her mother who cared for her and they said broke her heart when Marie Louise died giving birth to a daughter.”

”I was the cause of the trouble.”

“The innocent cause.” He smiled at me. “When your grandmother wanted you recognized and made demands on the old tyrant, he did not want you here so he passed you off to those English connections—the breakaway Huguenot branch of the family. Madame Cleremont was the bait. She was a genius at the machine and a highly respected member of the St. Allengere work force. He would give her to the Sallongers if they would take the child as well and allow her to be brought up in their household. So he rid himself of an encumbrance and a perpetual reminder of his son’s misdemeanour. And then you married one of the Sallongers, and that should have been the happy ending. But something went wrong.”

I felt the pain of memory—those days and nights in Florence … each day falling more and more in love with Philip … and even the horrible experience of Lorenzo’s death.

“Now you are looking sad,” he said. “You are remembering your marriage.”

“It ended so disastrously. It was so brief.” I found myself telling him about Philip’s disappearance from the house and the discovery of his body in the forest.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know. I can never know. We were happy. We had just bought a house. It is a mystery.”

I told him of that terrible time, of the verdict at the inquest.

“It is incredible,” he said. “It must have been some secret which he could not bear you to know.”

”I will never believe that he killed himself. Sometimes I wonder if someone killed him.”

“Why?”

“Because if he did not kill himself that was the only solution.”

I told him about Lorenzo’s death.

“You see,” I went on, “I sometimes think … although I didn’t at the time, of course … only after that happened to Philip … that someone was going to kill Philip and mistook Lorenzo for him.”

I could see mat he was astonished.

“It certainly throws a different light on everything,” he said. “Do you think you will ever forget?”

“I think I never shall.”

”Have you ever tried to probe the mystery?”

”I have pondered on it endlessly, but there seems no reason. I had to come to the conclusion that there could only be one answer, but knowing him, that seemed impossible.”

”No one will ever match up to him. He will be in your memory always … just as he was in those weeks of your marriage. You were not long enough together to discover the flaws. They say those whom the gods love die young.”

“Do you believe that?”

“It means that they have eternal youth because that is how they live on the minds of those who knew them.”

“You speak enviously. Surely you are not regretting living on?”

“Not I. I would take all the risks of my sins being revealed. You have told me about your husband. I will tell you about my wife. You know that in families like mine these things arc arranged.”

“I had imagined so.”

“When I was eighteen a wife was found for me.”

“I am surprised that you allowed yourself to accept such a situation.”

“I rebelled. I was not enamoured of the young lady. But she was a daughter of one of the greatest houses in France. We still have our great houses, you know, in spite of Liberte, Egalite and Fraternite. We still keep up the old traditions. There are a few of us who escaped the holocaust of the last century. Car-sonne was lucky. Perhaps we were too tucked away. Perhaps our local peasants were too lethargic. The chateau was untouched. After all, we are almost on the Italian border. We survived and so did some others. These families stick together, as they did through the days of the Napoleons … till the end of the monarchy and so on. So I must marry one who was chosen for me. My father explained that I should not be downhearted. I must do my duty and produce the heir to Carsonne and he must have the requisite amount of blue blood in his veins. Once that was done, I could, as my father said, take my pleasure where I would. All French noblemen must do their duty by their wives and are then free to enjoy their mistresses. It is a way of life.”

“Very acceptable by your sex, I am sure.”

“You are right. So I married. My poor Evette. She was only a child, barely seventeen, hardly suited to childbearing … no more fit to be a mother than I was a father. However, we did our duty and Raoul duly appeared. Alas in doing hers, Evette lost her life. And so I became a widower.”

“Did they not think you should marry again and produce more blue-blooded heirs?”

“They did. But I did not. I had done my duty. I was now my own master for my father had died. The married state was not for me. I enjoyed my freedom.”

“But surely you would not have allowed marriage to have impaired your freedom?”

“I suppose not. I am one who will go his own way. But still, I am content to remain as I am enjoying being pursued by those who fancy the title of La Comtesse and have a respect for an ancient chateau. But always I elude the capture.”

“I daresay the pursuit is hot and strong.”

”It varies. And you, dear Madame Sallonger, you, too, prefer the solitary state?”

“I think it preferable to an unhappy married life.”

“Surely there must have been much pursuit in your case?”

I was silent thinking of Drake. On this night he seemed more remote than he had for a long time.

“I see I have aroused unpleasant thoughts. Forgive me.” He attempted to fill my glass.

“No thanks,” I said, “I have had enough.”

“My special vintage?”

“It is quite potent.”

“You find it so? Perhaps it is the night air, the scent of the flowers, the company?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I should like your grandfather to see you sitting here with me now. It gives me great pleasure to contemplate how angry he would be.”

“So that pleases you?”

“Enormously. I do not need anything to make me enjoy your company more, but if I did, that would.”

“Do you dislike him so very much?”

“Infinitely more,” he assured me. “There is a feud between our families. A vendetta. I dislike him more than anyone I know. There are some sinners whom I find tolerable … myself for instance. What I cannot endure is the virtuous villain. Your grandfather is one of those. He is cruel, ruthless, selfish. His work people live in fear of him—and so does his family. He believes that he and God are the greatest friends and allies. He thinks his place in Heaven is secure. He will oust Jesus Christ from his place on the right hand of Lord God Almighty when he gets—as he is sure he will—to Heaven. In fact, I expect he believes they will send a special company of angels down to fetch him. He takes Mass once a day; his household is subject to long prayers while he reminds them of their evil ways and how he—as God’s emissary—is waiting to spring on every misdemeanour and to make sure that the sins they do by two and two are paid for one by one. In his own chapel he communes with a god who is made in his own image and is therefore as unpleasant as he is. I assure you the Devil’s Own are preferable to such a man.”

I found myself laughing.

“He has been our enemy for years,” he went on, “and my father passed his loathing on to me. Viva Vendetta.”

“How you hate him. Surely he must have some redeeming features?”

”I can think of only one. He is your grandfather and therefore indirectly responsible for your existence.”

I was silent and he went on: “You are fortunate that he does not wish to see you. Have you met your aunt Ursule?”

”Yes, and her husband.”

“Ursule had the courage your father lacked at the time. He broke away afterwards but he should have done so in time to live happily ever afterwards with Marie Louise. Just imagine if he had! You and I might have known each other long ere this. Ursule certainly had courage. My father helped her and Louis Sagon. He gave Sagon work restoring his pictures and they had a house which my father said went with the job. He did it all to spite old Alphonse. They are a tragic family and it can all be traced back to that old man. Then there was the matter of He-loise. That is not so long ago. She was Rene’s daughter. He had two daughters—Heloise and Adele. He also has a son Patrice. Patrice is like his father, obeying the old man without question. Patrice is the heir to the St. Allengere properties … after Rene, of course. They have worked hard for it, which means never offending the tyrant and absolute obedience to his commands. Perhaps they think it worth it.”

“Tell me of Heloise.”

“She was so pretty … a gentle girl. She drowned herself in the river. It is quite shallow so there was no question of an accident. She just gave up. It was said that she was betrayed by a lover. It was a great blow to Rene. He doted on her. She meant more to him than Adele. There was nothing gende about her. She was close to her sister … had always protected her. Mon Dieu, one would need protection in that household. She went away to Italy. She was very interested in the silk production. They said that although she was a girl she played a big part in the business so she went away to study Italian methods. It was while she was away that this happened to Heloise.”

“And Heloise’s lover?”

“There is a bit of a mystery about him. Heloise would not name him. If she had, Adele would have tried to kill him. She is a passionate woman and when her sister died she was almost mad with grief.”

“And so the lover was never discovered? Surely in a place like this it would be difficult for him to hide his identity?”

He was silent and the thought occurred to me suddenly: You were the man!

I felt bemused. He was dangerous, but he was fascinating. I knew his reputation and still I was attracted to him. I thought I must go. I should be warned. He was looking at me penetratingly as though he were trying to discover what was in my mind.

I said: “It is getting late.”

“The time has flown. Time is so perverse. It flies when one wishes it to stay and slows down when one is longing for it to go. This has been a wonderful evening for me.”

“It has been interesting, but I must find Katie. It is long past her bedtime.”

I stood up and he stood beside me. He took my hands and drew me towards him. He was standing very close. I was not short but he was some six inches taller and I had to look up to him. I was very eager to let him know that I was unmoved by his proximity.

“It has been such a pleasant evening,” I said coolly. “Thank you so much.”

”It is I who should thank you.” I thought in that moment that he was going to kiss me and I felt alarmed, particularly as I realized that it was not so much of him that I was afraid, but of myself.

Impatiently I tried to shake off the effect he was having on me. I knew him for a practised philanderer. Why had I allowed myself to be attracted by him? Why was I hoping that he would kiss me and declare his passion? Perhaps I had been alone too long. Perhaps I wanted a normal married life. I had tasted that … and it had been taken from me. I had thought of Drake … but not quite like this.

He drew me to him suddenly and kissed me lightly on the forehead. I withdrew my hands and tried not to show surprise or emotion. I pretended to understand that this was a French custom for hosts to kiss their lady guests chastely on the brow.

I said rather briskly: “Now, I must find my daughter.”

He took my arm, holding it lightly as he led me towards the revellers.

Katie was there with Raoul and Monsieur Grenier.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried when she saw us. “It’s the best vendange I have ever seen.”

It was clear that she had made friends with Raoul and that he was delighted by her companionship. Poor boy, I thought, no doubt he does not have a very good time with such a father. I expected that he had always to remember the duties which would be his one day. He would have to be skilled in all the manly pastimes; he would have his tutor to please. Katie’s attitude to life must be a revelation to him.

Katie was over-excited. I thought: It is indeed time we left.

The Comte sent for the carriage. He himself would escort us back and Raoul should accompany us. I sat next to Katie and put my arm about her. She lay against me and I could see that her lids were forcing themselves down in spite of her efforts to remain awake. The jogging of the carriage would soon send her to sleep.

I was aware of the Comte’s watchful eyes. Raoul sat rather stiffly beside his father. I imagined he was always thus in the Comte’s company.

At length I said: “We’re here.”

Katie opened her eyes and was immediately wide awake remembering where she was.

“Raoul,” she said, “may I come and see your falcon? You promised to show it to me. May I come to the chateau? I haven’t seen it really.”

The Comte spoke for his son. “Please come whenever you wish, Mademoiselle Katie. There will always be a welcome for you.”

Katie smiled rapturously. “This is the happiest night of my life,” she declared.

The Comte smiled at me triumphantly.

My father was clearly relieved by our arrival. He had rather obviously been waiting for us.

“Grandfather,” cried Katie, “it was wonderful. You should have seen them dancing on the grapes. The purple juice splashed right up their legs … and they went down and down. …”

“I am gratified indeed,” said the Comte.

We said farewell and I listened to the carriage rumbling off into the night.

“I expect you are tired,” said my father.

“Very.”

“I’m not,” said Katie.

“Then you should be,” he told her. “You should have been in bed hours ago.”