September in Paris Page 3

  “Isn’t that rather an old-fashioned view?” Noelle suggested mildly.

  “Perhaps, but it is the right one. Oh, I am not suggesting that a woman has no intellect. Very often it is superior to that of many men. But when she enters the world of men she loses some femininity, and that is always to be deplored. But tell me, if you have not lived in France since your childhood, how is it that you speak the language so well?”

  “My grandmother was a Frenchwoman and we always spoke French at home. You see, my mother died when I was born, and when the war started my father had to go back to England. He hadn’t any relations who could look after me, so my grandmother went with him. She didn’t want to leave France, but she was afraid to keep me here with her. Then my father was killed in North Africa, and by the time the war ended grand’mere was an invalid, .So she could never come back to Paris.”

  To her chagrin, Noelle’s voice broke on the last few words and sudden tears pricked her eyelids.

  Alain stretched out his hand and placed it over hers. “But you have come back for her,” he said gently. “And perhaps it was for the best. For a long time after the war Paris was not very gay. It would have hurt her to see so many changes.”

  Noelle managed a smile. “Yes, that's what she used to say—but I wish she was here with me.”

  “So now you are all alone?” He let go of her hand and leaned back in his chair. “But perhaps in Paris you will find someone else to love. It is a very romantic city, especially when the spring comes.”

  Noelle laughed. “Perhaps.” From across the Pont St. Louis the great bell of Notre Dame resounded over the roof-tops. She looked at her watch.

  “I must go now,” she said hastily. “Thank you again for your picture, m’sieur. And for the coffee.”

  He rose to his feet. “We must meet again. What is your address?”

  Oh ... well, I don’t have too much free time,” she said uncertainly. It had seemed safe enough to spend half an hour chatting to him, but she doubted the wisdom of arranging a second meeting. He seemed very nice and quite harmless, but it could be dangerous to judge by appearances.

  Then, seeing the proprietress coming for payment, she said quickly, “I must rush. I’ve a lot to do. Goodbye.”

  And before he could protest she began to hurry down the street and round the nearest corner.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon in Notre Dame, toiling up the winding stone steps for a close look at the gargoyles and a visit to the bell tower. Then, after walking down to the Place Vendome, she window-gazed along the fashionable shopping streets and ended up with supper at a modest bistro. She was home by a little after nine, tired and yet exhilarated.

  As she unrolled the drawing by Alain de Bressac she half regretted running away from him. Perhaps it had been unnecessarily prim to refuse to make a date with him, and, in a city the size of Paris, it was unlikely that they would meet again by accident.

  The following afternoon, she had to take her charges down to the salon. Ginette brought word that they were wanted, and Noelle hastily changed Robert’s play clothes for a cream shantung shirt and pale blue trousers. By the time she had washed his hands and combed his hair, made sure the baby was dry and tidied herself, twenty minutes had passed. She hoped Lady Tregan appreciated that small boys and babies could not always be presentable at a moment’s notice.

  The salon door was closed, so Noelle tapped and told Robert to go in. He shook his head and dodged behind her skirt.

  “I don’t like it in there,” he whispered anxiously.

  The reason for his alarm was soon apparent. As soon as the little party entered the apartment there was a lull in conversation and six or seven women all turned to survey them.

  “Good afternoon, Nurse. Bring Victoire to me, please. Where is Robert?” From her position on the gold brocade couch Lady Tregan could not see that her son was still hiding behind Noelle.

  “Good afternoon,” Noelle said nervously. Holding the baby in one arm, she managed to reach behind her and detach Robert’s clutch on her skirt.

  “Well, Robert? Aren’t you going to shake hands?” his mother asked coolly, receiving the baby from Noelle.

  Poor Robert shot a frightened glance round the circle of elegant matrons, his mouth beginning to quiver. Then, fortunately, the least formidable of the guests leaned forward and offered him a bon-bon and his courage kindled slightly.

  Noelle had no idea whether she was expected to leave or remain. After some hesitation, she retreated to a small gilt chair at the, back of the room and sat waiting until she was needed. Most of the time no one paid any attention to her, but once or twice she saw some of the women glance appraisingly in her direction.

  Having braved the initial plunge, Robert behaved very well. He sat on a tapestry stool near his mother, answering any questions that were directed at him and trying his best not to fidget.

  “So you have an English nurse now, Monique?” one of the women said suddenly. “Do you find her more efficient than your last girl?”

  “It is too early to say as yet,” Lady Tregan replied. “She was trained at the best of those English colleges and my husband says he likes the look of her.”

  Noelle bit her lip, wondering if she ought to intervene.

  “She’s quite an attractive little thing. I hope you won’t have trouble on that account,” another woman put in. “You know what these girls are when they get away from their homes.”

  At this point Victoire was slightly sick. It was only a minor overflow from her last bottle, but Lady Tregan said hastily, “I think you had better take the children back to the nursery now, Nannie.”

  That evening Mark Fielding visited the nursery again. Robert was already asleep and, not expecting anyone to come up, Noelle had changed into a cotton housecoat and washed her hair. Her head was wrapped in a towel and she was mending Robert’s dungarees when Mark knocked and walked into the day nursery.

  “Oh ... you startled me,” she stammered, jumping up, her sewing box crashing to the floor. The fact that Mark was in evening dress added to her confusion.

  “Sorry. Were you deep in thought?” He came across the room and helped to collect the scattered reels of cotton.

  “Robert is asleep, I’m afraid,” she said awkwardly, aware that she had blushed and feeling doubly foolish.

  “Yes, I expected he would be. I just looked in to ask if I can take him out tomorrow. I’ve a free afternoon and we sometimes go to the Luxembourg Gardens together. He likes to watch the model boats on the pond there.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s very kind of you. What time do want him?”

  “Around two?” he suggested.

  “I’ll have him ready.” There was a pause until she said, “Have you sons of your own, Mr. Fielding?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Oh ... I just wondered. You seem to get on with him so well.”

  He seemed about to reply, then changed his mind. “Have you been to the Ile St. Louis yet?” he asked, after a moment.

  Noelle was surprised that he had remembered. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good. See you tomorrow, then.”

  When he had left, Noelle went to the mirror. The turban was coming adrift, and her face was still shiny from the cleansing cream with which she had removed her make-up.

  “I look a sight,” she thought crossly. Not that it mattered to Mark Fielding how she looked, but it was annoying to have been caught off guard.

  Two days later she was sitting in the Parc Monceau when someone said, “So I’ve found you again.” Twisting round Noelle found Alain de Bressac standing behind the seat.

  “Oh, hello ... what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, in surprise.

  “Lying in wait.” He came round to sit beside her. “All the best nannies wheel their prams in this park. I was sure I would find you here eventually. May I risk offending you?”

  Noelle blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you
in that abominable get-up. Whoever designed that hat was a criminal. Even on a pretty girl it looks hideous. What must it do to a plain one?”

  Noelle laughed. “I’m not employed to look glamorous,” she reminded him.

  He peered into the pram and grimaced. “That is what puts me off marriage,” he said, with a grin. “I can’t face the prospect of living with one of those creatures. How do you manage to look so fresh and relaxed after pacing the floor half the night?”

  “I don’t pace the floor. Victoire is a very good baby. Oh, here comes Robert.”

  The little boy had been running towards them, but he halted when he saw her talking to a stranger. Noelle held out her hand to him and he advanced cautiously to her side. But although Alain attempted to make friends with him, he would not smile, and continued to look wary all the time the Frenchman was with them.

  When it was time for them to leave the park, Alain said, “Are you still determined that we cannot be friends without a formal introduction?”

  She hesitated, wondering if there was any truth in the saying that dogs and small children had an instinct for people who were trustworthy. Oh, no! It would be too absurd to be suspicious of someone merely because Robert was shy of them. By that reasoning all his mother’s guests must be dubious characters.

  Alain saw her indecision. “You won’t make many friends through your job, and you can’t go on indefinitely without someone to talk to,” he said reasonably. “I have it! I will ask my grandmother to invite you to visit her. One look at her will convince you that I am most respectable.”

  “But you can’t—” she began.

  “It is already arranged—the perfect solution to our problem,” he cut in teasingly. And this time it was he who left her standing, her protests wasted on the air.

  The following morning Ginette brought Noelle a letter. It had a Paris postmark and had obviously aroused the nurserymaid’s curiosity. Noelle was also puzzled, as she had temporarily forgotten about Alain’s promise.

  The letter was written in a precise old-fashioned hand on expensive cream paper. It came from an address on the Avenue Wagram, which was quite close by, and was signed “Sophie de Bressac”.

  “Dear Miss Webster, (she read)

  My grandson has spoken of his acquaintance with you, and it would give me great pleasure if you would call on me. I am in my eighty-fourth year and no longer able to lead an active social life, so I am always very happy to receive visitors.

  If you will be so kind as to let me know when you have a free afternoon, I shall look forward to meeting you. Yours very cordially, Sophie de Bressac.”

  Noelle slipped the letter back, in its envelope with a thoughtful expression.

  “You have friends in Paris, mademoiselle?” Ginette enquired, looking interested.

  “I know one or two people,” Noelle answered evasively.

  Later in the morning she wrote a short note thanking Madame de Bressac for her invitation, and saying that she would be free the following Tuesday. It occurred to her suddenly that she had never told Alain her address. The only way he could have discovered it was by following her home after their meeting in the park. His determination to put their relationship on a conventional basis was flattering, but, for no apparent reason, she felt vaguely uneasy, about the matter.

  On Tuesday afternoon she chose a cream Courtelle shirt-waister from her wardrobe, and added a skein of mock amber beads and a bronze silk beret. She had had a second note from Madame de Bressac suggesting that she should arrive at three o’clock.

  Noelle left the house by way of the courtyard, but had to pass the main entrance on her way. There was a grey coupe parked outside the front door and, as she neared it, Mark Fielding came out of the house.

  “Hello, Miss Webster. Out for the afternoon?” he asked with a smile, his grey eyes taking in the jaunty set of her beret. “Can I give you a lift?”

  “Thank you, but I’m going the other way,” Noelle said, since the car was facing the opposite direction.

  “I have an idea,” he said briskly. “I have to go out to Versailles some time this week. As it’s such a fine afternoon, why don’t you come with me? My business won’t take me more than half an hour, and then we can look round the Palace and have tea.”

  “Oh, I would have loved to,” she said regretfully. “But I’m afraid I have an appointment.”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “The hairdresser? Couldn’t you cancel it? Your hair looks very nice to me.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “No, it isn’t the hairdresser. I—I’m visiting someone.”

  There was a pause and she thought his eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, in that case let me drive you as far as you’re going,” he offered.

  “That’s very kind of you, but it’s hardly any distance and I don’t want to get there too early,” she explained awkwardly. “I—I wish I could have come to Versailles with you.”

  “Another time, perhaps. I hope you enjoy yourself.” With a formal bow, he got into the car.

  Watching him drive away, Noelle was unhappily certain that he suspected her of lying to him. Perhaps he thought her explanation was a clumsy excuse to avoid his company. He probably reasoned that if she had friends in the city, she would have mentioned it before, and she knew she had not sounded very convincing. But that had not been because she was telling a falsehood, but because something about him made her feel oddly self-conscious.

  “Another time,” he had said. But that was only politeness. He wouldn’t ask her again. Today’s invitation had doubtless been no more than a kindly impulse.

  Walking slowly towards the Avenue Wagram, Noelle felt curiously depressed by the encounter. It wasn’t only that she would have preferred the trip to Versailles to tea with Madame de Bressac, although she could not help thinking how much nicer it would have been to be driving out of the city with Mark Fielding for a guide, but it troubled her that she might have fallen in his estimation. It was not her habit to worry about people’s opinion of her, but somehow Mark’s opinion mattered. Why, she didn’t know. But it did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When Alain returned to his grandmother’s house that night he looked into the old lady’s bedroom. She rarely slept before two or three in the morning, and liked to hear where he had been and whom he had seen.

  Tonight, propped up by a mountain of pillows, she was reading the latest Simenon thriller and dipping into a large box of pralines.

  “So? Did you have a good time?” she asked, laying down her book.

  Alain dropped into the chair beside the bed. “I took her up to Montmartre,” he said briefly. “Will you smoke, cherie?”

  “No, but you may. I will have a glass of wine, if you please.” She shifted her position and winced slightly. “I think I shall have to go south earlier this year. The summer is not yet at an end, but already my back annoys me.”

  Alain poured the wine into the exquisite crystal goblet which she always used for nightcaps. In spite of Madame de Bressac’s advanced age, her faculties, digestion and vitality were unimpaired. It was only the affliction in her spine which had forced her to retire from society. As a young woman she had been a great beauty, and age and pain had not yet extinguished her charm. Alain thought—and often told her—that she could still outshine the pretty young creatures with whom he amused himself. She laughed at him, but he knew it pleased her.

  “How curious that you should meet the granddaughter to Madeleine Vilmorin,” Madame de Bressac said thoughtfully. “She was one of my dearest friends. I have often wondered what became of her, but during the war one lost touch with so many people.”

  “You must have guessed who she was when I told you Noelle’s story,” Alain suggested.

  “I suspected it,” his grandmother admitted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had known her grandmother?”

  “I wanted to see what she was like.” She put the goblet aside and folded her thin veined'' hands. “Alain, I have never interfered with your life,
but about this I must speak to you. Why are you interested in this girl?”

  He gave her a quick glance, then shrugged his shoulders. “I like her, ma mie,” he said carelessly.

  “You have liked so many young women,” Madame de Bressac said, with a subtle emphasis. “I have never pried into your affairs, but I am not unaware of your propensities.” She reached for a bottle of cologne, applied a handkerchief and dabbed a little on her temples. “This girl is not for an episode.”

  “I am not a fool,” Alain said stiffly.

  His grandmother smiled. “You are a de Bressac,” she said dryly. “The men of our family have never been content to admire from a distance. You may not intend to become involved, but that, if you continue to see her, is inevitable.”

  “Why are you so concerned? Because she is related to a friend? I have been interested in the granddaughters of other women, you know,” he reminded her.

  “Possibly, but they were girls who had been brought up in our world and who knew what to expect of you. Noelle is still unsophisticated. In England young girls may have a great deal more freedom of movement than is permitted in France. But they are not always as worldly wise—indeed, often much less knowledgeable.” She indicated that he should pour some more wine, and shifted her position again. “I think I fear for her because she reminds me of myself,” she went on reflectively. “Ah! You look surprised. But I was not always a wise old woman, mon cher. At eighteen I had the same dreams and hopes as your little Noelle. But at her age I had been married to your grandfather for almost five years.”

  Something in her voice made Alain look puzzled. “I thought you were happy with him?” he said slowly.

  “I will tell you something that I have never revealed to anyone,” his grandmother replied. She lifted the goblet to her lips, and the diamonds and emeralds on her fingers flashed and sparkled in the rose-tinted lamplight.

  “The marriage was arranged for us by our families. That is still common today, but when I was a girl it was an inflexible rule. Love, as you speak of it now, came after marriage, or outside it. Perhaps I was lucky—perhaps not. At any rate, I loved your grandfather before the marriage took place. He was very good looking and very charming. But I was not so innocent that I did not know that he was also a very great rake. His reputation was such that whispers of it had even penetrated my sheltered world.” She paused, then with a blend of sadness and honor, said, “You are exceedingly like him, you know.”