September in Paris Read online

  And you are older, Noelle thought. Lady Tregan was beautiful and very skilfully made up, but she was certainly over thirty.

  Aloud, she said, “I’m twenty-four, madam.”

  “It isn’t important. I’m sure you are very capable.” Lady Tregan inspected her long scarlet nails with a critical expression. “As you may have been told, our last nurse was Swedish. She was not satisfactory. My husband has always had a high opinion of the nurses from your college—I believe his sister employs one. It was his wish that we should engage an English nannie.”

  “I’ll do my best to live up to our reputation,” Noelle said, smiling. “Have you any special instructions, madam?”

  “No, no, you must do as you think best. Naturally you will inform me if the children are not well, but otherwise I rely on your training in these matters. There is a girl who looks after Robert, so Victoire will be your main concern. The housekeeper will be able to advise you on any details.”

  She reached for a leather engagement book, and Noelle took it that the interview was at an end.

  For the next two or three days, Noelle said little, but observed a great deal. She thought it best to get used to her new surroundings before making any drastic changes in the nursery regime.

  Every afternoon, she wheeled the baby to the Parc Monceau and sat on a bench while Robert played on the grass. Most of the time he was a self-contained child, absorbed in a private world shared only by Eustace, the rabbit. But when he did chatter, the subject of his conversation was invariably his Uncle Mark.

  Noelle was looking forward to meeting this heroic figure. If Robert could be believed, Uncle Mark was almost a super-man. He had sailed all over the world, he had shot a tiger, he drove like a demon and he was afraid of nothing. Noelle pictured him as a bluff, kind, middle-aged man, perhaps a former soldier, who told tall stories.

  One afternoon, about five days after her arrival, she was wheeling the pram out of the park gates when Robert suddenly gave a squeal of delight and would have dashed into the road if she had not grabbed him by the collar of his coat.

  “Uncle Mark! Uncle Mark.!” He was jigging up and down with excitement, his cries attracting attention.

  A tall dark man on the opposite side of the street looked over his shoulder, then halted and waved a hand. He waited for a break in the traffic and came towards them.

  Noelle watched him approach with a puzzled expression. If this was Robert’s hero, he was nothing like her preconception of him. He looked in his early thirties, and was very well dressed and carrying an expensive hide briefcase. He was neither stout nor florid, and he had not the bristly grey moustache which she had imagined.

  “Hello, Rob. How are you?” The child had plunged forward to hug his knees and he ruffled the bobbing fair head and smiled at Noelle. “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly.

  “Good afternoon.” She noticed that he did not seem to mind Robert’s eager and probably rather sticky grip on his trouser legs.

  “Noelle is my new nannie, Uncle Mark,” Robert explained. “She came from London in the middle of the night.”

  “How do you know? You ought to have been asleep,” the man said teasingly. “My name is Fielding,” he explained to Noelle. “I work for Rob’s father. Are you going home? I’ll walk along with you, if I may.”

  “Of course,” she said politely.

  Robert chattered all the way back to the house and Mr. Fielding listened attentively, shortening his long stride to match their slower pace.

  When they reached the house, Robert said, “Are you going to have tea with us, Uncle Mark? He can, can’t he, Noelle?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Fielding is busy,” she suggested.

  “I should like to have tea with you—if I won’t be in your way, Nurse,” Mark Fielding put in.

  “Not at all. Perhaps Robert would take you upstairs while I put the pram away.”

  When she reached the nursery, Robert was displaying a plasticine pig he had made. Tea had been laid in their absence and Mark Fielding had plugged in the electric kettle.

  Noelle changed the baby’s nappy and settled her in the cot. Then she went to her own room to wash her hands and run a comb through her hair.

  “Is this your first visit to Paris?” Mark Fielding asked, pulling out a chair for her when she rejoined them.

  “Yes, it is.” Noelle tied on Robert’s bib and he scrambled on to his chair.

  “How do you like it, or haven’t you had time to judge yet?”

  “Not really,” she agreed. “But I’ve always wanted to come here and I’m sure I shall like it very much.”

  “Noelle is a French name, isn’t it, Uncle Mark?” said Robert, eyeing the cakes with relish. “It means Christmas,” he explained to his nurse. She had already discovered that, with the facility peculiar to young children, he had picked up quite a lot of French, including several words which he had certainly never heard on his visits to the salon.

  When the two grown-ups had finished, but Robert was still munching, Mark asked permission to smoke. He offered his case to Noelle, but she smiled and shook her head. Until a few months ago she had never had money to spare for cigarettes, and now that she was free to spend her wages as she pleased, she felt sure that the Paris shops would provide plenty of more tempting extravagances.

  “What’s at the top of your itinerary when you get a chance to start sightseeing?” he asked. “The Eiffel Tower? Notre Dame?”

  Again she shook her head. “No. Naturally I want to see everything, but first, the Ile St. Louis.”

  He looked surprised. “It’s charming,” he agreed. “But why the Ile St. Louis?”

  “Oh ... I just want to see a house there,” she said evasively, wiping the milk moustache from Robert’s upper lip.

  Presently Ginette came in to clear the table. At the sight of their guest she brightened. “Good evening, m’sieur,” she said demurely, fluttering her thick dark lashes.

  Soon it was time for Robert’s bath. This had formerly been one of Ginette’s tasks, but Noelle had noticed that she was not particular about drying him thoroughly and was always in too much of a hurry to let him enjoy the ritual, so she had said she would bathe him herself.

  Mark Fielding leaned against the hand-basin while Noelle lathered Robert’s legs and the little boy played with his soap boat. He seemed in no hurry to leave, and she wondered what his work was. He must be in a fairly senior post to be able to leave his office so early in the afternoon.

  “What made you choose this as a career?” he asked suddenly. “I thought domesticated jobs had lost their appeal nowadays.”

  Noelle straightened and brushed back a stray lock of hair, her expression reflective. “It’s hard to explain exactly. I knew I wanted to do something practical and also to have a chance to travel. I believe my headmistress suggested it, and I thought about it and realized it was just what I wanted. Of course I never expected to train at the Starland College.”

  She looked down at the college monogram on the bodice of her uniform. Even after the rigorous two-year training period—which included three months at work in the children’s ward of a hospital—the students from the College were still only probationers. It was not until they had completed a satisfactory year in their first outside post that they won their full certificate and were entitled to wear the monogram. And it was because the College set such a high standard that Starland-trained nurses were always in demand for the most exclusive nurseries.

  “Why was that?” Mark asked.

  “I knew it would be too expensive,” she said wryly. “My parents were dead, you see, and my grandmother had only a very small income. Fortunately the, College has a kind of scholarship scheme. If you work there as a maid for one year they reduce the fees, and I was able to do that. But, even so, it meant a lot of sacrifices for my grandmother and ... and she died before I could make up for them.”

  Her mouth .tightened as she remembered her grandmother’s assurance that the reduced fees were within their m
eans. It was not until the end of her first term that she had discovered that Madame Vilmorin had had to sell her rings and the exquisite Faberge jewel box which had been a wedding present from her husband.

  “I expect she was glad to make themif it meant a good future for you,” Mark said quietly. “She sounds that sort of person.”

  “Yes ... she was a darling,” Noelle said softly. Then, hurriedly getting on with Robert’s bath, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with my life history. It isn’t particularly interesting.”

  “You don’t bore me at all,” he assured her. “Are there any of your fellow-nurses in Paris, do you know?”

  “Not of my year. My two closest friends are working in Switzerland and New York, One of them has a job with the children of a Broadway producer, and the other is with an English family in Geneva, so I expect we’ll lose touch eventually.”

  “And your grandmother was your only relative?”

  She nodded. “My parents were both only children and my father’s people died before he married. Do you belong to a large family, Mr. Fielding?”

  He smiled. “Enormous. My mother was one of five sisters and my father had three brothers. They all went in for at least a couple of children and most of them are proving fairly prolific, so I’m beginning to lose count of my nephews and nieces.”

  “It must be nice to have lots of relations,” Noelle said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, if one could choose them as one does one’s friends,” he said dryly. “Sometimes one’s relatives can be more irritating than likeable, you know.”

  “I suppose so.” She helped Robert out of the water. “But at least they give one a background ... some kind of roots.”

  “The best kind of roots are those you put down yourself,” he said casually.

  Robert was wrapped in a towel like a diminutive Roman senator when the door opened and a young and fashionable girl paused on the threshold. Noelle had not yet met the other members of the family, for in spite of the housekeeper’s warning the children had not been summoned downstairs since her arrival. But she guessed that this was Lady Tregan’s sister.

  Anne-Marie glanced briefly at her nephew and his nurse, but her smile was for Mark Fielding.

  “I was told you were here. Come down and have dinner with us. We’re all at home this evening,” she said brightly.

  “Thanks, but I was just leaving. I promised to dine with Max.” He glanced at his watch. “’Night, Rob. Sleep well. Goodnight, Nurse. Thank you for the tea.”

  Noelle said goodnight and finished drying Robert. After she had tucked him into bed she went to attend to the baby, Ginette was ironing some cot sheets by the open window.

  “Monsieur Fielding, he is very handsome, don’t you think?” she said casually, as Noelle mixed the formula.

  “He seems very pleasant,” Noelle said abstractedly. “You can go now, Ginette. There’s no hurry for those sheets.”

  The nurserymaid put the iron away with alacrity. She had been afraid that the coming of the English nannie would make her work more arduous, and was relieved to find that Noelle was not the martinet she had expected.

  Ginette had gone and Noelle was giving the baby her bottle when there was a tap at the door and a middle-aged man looked in.

  “Good evening, Nurse. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I’ve been away for some days. How are the children?”

  So this was Sir Robert Tregan. Noelle liked him immediately. He was at least fifteen years older than his wife, but still extremely personable, with a thin distinguished face, thick grey hair, and shrewdly humorous blue eyes.

  “Good evening, sir. The baby is very well and so is Robert. I think he is still awake if you want to see him.”

  Sir Robert spent about a quarter of an hour with his son and then watched the baby being changed, enquiring after Noelle’s comfort with courteous interest. He wanted to know about her off-duty times, and urged her to see as much of Paris as she could, describing some of the lesser-known places of interest which were well worth a visit.

  After he had gone, Noelle thought how much her grandmother would have liked him. For some reason which she found it hard to define, meeting him had reassured her. Later, thinking about it, she realized that, although she scarcely knew them, she did not like Lady Tregan or her sister. It was probably foolish to judge by first impressions, but she had the feeling that the two French women had a streak of hardness in them.

  On her first half-day, Noelle went straight to the Ile St. Louis. Robert had been invited to a birthday party, and Ginette was in charge of the baby, so she was free until bedtime.

  It was a bright gusty afternoon, and she had put on a blue linen suit and a little yellow hat that could pinned securely to her hair. She felt as excited as a child.

  The little island in the center of the Seine was just as her grandmother had described it—quiet, secluded and evocative of the past. Noelle peered down narrow cobbled alleys and peeped into cool shadowed courtyards. Then she walked right round the wide tree-shaded embankment, looking up at the tall seventeenth and eighteenth-century houses which had once been fashionable mansions. Some of them were still in private use, but more had been converted into offices or consulting rooms. At last she came to the house she had been looking for, and her heart gave a queer little lurch. Here she had been born. Here, for two short idyllic years, her parents had lived out their brief, adoring marriage.

  The house was an office now, but there were still bars on one of the upper windows. That must have been her nursery. She turned to look out across the river. Somehow, she had expected that the view would call up some memory. But it was as strange as if she had never seen it before.

  A gust of wind caught at her short brown curls, and something came rustling swiftly over the pavement and, flapped against her feet. She saw that it was a sheet of cartridge paper with some kind of drawing on it.

  “Thank you, mademoiselle. I thought I had lost it to the river.” A fair-haired man was hurrying up to her. “I was just unclipping it from my board when the wind caught it. Lucky you were standing there,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, it’s yours.” He had spoken in French and, perhaps because she was on the island, she instinctively answered in French. “I don’t think it’s spoiled,” she added, handing the paper over. “No, only a little creased.”

  He studied her with more attention. “Excuse me, but you are a visitor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Is my accent so bad?” Noelle asked, laughing.

  “On the contrary, it is excellent. You are English?”

  Noelle nodded. “But I was born in Paris. In that house over there.”

  “Oh, so that was why you were studying it so intently. I was watching you. You are on holiday?”

  “No, I have a job here.”

  She was about to smile and say goodbye, but before she could do so he said, “You have no camera. Wouldn’t you like a memento of your birthplace? If you can wait a few moments I will sketch it for you.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind, but—”

  “It’s no trouble. I will fetch my things.”

  He worked fast and expertly, and Noelle wondered if he was some well-known, artist. At first glance she had taken him for a student. But now she saw that he was several years older than herself. His smile was boyish and charming, but there were lines around his eyes that did not come under thirty.

  “There you are.” He scribbled an unreadable signature at the bottom of the drawing and handed it to her.

  “It’s excellent. Thank you very much,” she said warmly.

  “And now the question of my fee.” At the sight of her disconcerted expression he broke into laughter. “Don’t look so alarmed, mademoiselle. I am not a Buffet—yet! All I ask is that you consent to have coffee with me.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He cut her short. “Yes, I know what you are thinking. We have not been introduced, and in Paris a respectable young woman must be on her guard against adventurers. How
ever, the cafe is directly opposite the gendarmerie, so help will be at hand if I prove unworthy of your confidence. You will come—yes?”

  His smile was so infectious that Noelle had to laugh. After all, there could be no harm in having a cup of coffee with him in return for the drawing.

  “Very well, I’ll come,” she agreed. On the way to the cafe they exchanged names. His was Alain de Bressac.

  “I am sorry, I expect I ought to know who you are,” Noelle said, a little shyly. “But I am very ignorant about the world of art.”

  “An ignorance shared by most people—as far as my work is concerned,” he said dryly. “Paris is teeming with artists, but few of us will ever reach the heights.”

  “I think you are very good.”

  “But then, as you have admitted, you are not a connoisseur,” he said, smiling. “Of course it is always possible that, in about twenty years’ time, that little sketch will be worth a fortune. I hope so, for both our sakes.”

  At the Cafe Grenadine, he ordered two cafes filtres and produced a cigarette case. Noelle shook her head, but, as he helped himself, she noticed that the case was solid silver with what looked like a family crest engraved on the lid. She also noticed that, although he was casually dressed, he was not at all shabby. Perhaps he did commercial work to make a reasonable living, and drew to please himself in his spare time.

  While they waited for the coffee to seep through the metal filters, he said, “You know, I thought at first that you might be a secretary or a journalist. But you do not have the appearance of what I think in England they call a career-girl. What is this job you have here?”

  Noelle explained.

  He nodded. “So I was right.”

  “Why don’t I look like a career-girl?” she asked curiously.

  He made a Gallic gesture with one hand. “You look too gentle, and perhaps a little unsure of yourself.”

  “That makes me sound...” She hesitated, searching for the French equivalent for ‘half-baked’.

  “It is a compliment. Women were not designed to compete with men. They have talents for other matters.”