Brilliance (20 page)

A cab was waiting and he took her to the best restaurant in Lyon, which was everything she had anticipated. An orchestra played and chandeliers glittered. The food was delicious and the wine superb. Michel was also extremely good company and their talk ranged from serious topics to the humorous when they laughed together.

Back at her door she said how much she had enjoyed the evening.

‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that we shall have many more enjoyable times together. Would you care to go for a motor ride on Sunday afternoon?’

Her eyes widened, for there were more such vehicles to be seen all the time and she had often wished to ride in one. ‘Oh, yes! I’ve never ridden in a motorcar! What make is it?’

‘It’s a Panhard. I bought it two years ago when it was first produced. I’m watching out for a new model, but unfortunately I can’t promise that the ride will be without a hitch.’

‘I’ve heard how these motorcars break down from time to time.’

‘I’m afraid it is true.’

‘I’d still like to go for that ride!’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘Where do you house the vehicle?’

‘In the next street. I don’t use it during the week as I prefer to walk to my chambers.’

‘Then that’s why I’ve never seen you driving it.’

‘So shall we say two o’clock on Sunday?’

‘Yes, indeed. I’ll be ready.’

It was a glorious summer afternoon when she went outside to find Michel standing by the two-seater Panhard, which was a fine sight with its shining brass headlamps, outside gears, and a steering device shaped like a tiller. He was wearing a dustcoat and had another for her, which she put on over her dress before he helped her up into the padded seat. She had tied a gauzy scarf over her hat and looped it under her chin. As soon as he had wound the handle and rattled the engine into life he took the seat beside her and gave her a grin.

‘Here we go!’ he said.

They set off slowly at first and on the way they passed Monsieur and Madame Lumière’s grand mansion and close by were the very fine homes of Auguste and Louis, for all were near each other and the factory. In one street a number of urchins ran alongside the motorcar for a while, shouting and cheering. In another Michel pointed out his chambers and she looked at the building with interest as they went by. When eventually they were out in the country he increased speed and they went bowling along at what was still a gentle pace.

Lisette was enjoying every minute, even though the vehicle was noisy and shook her and Michel about. She gazed happily around at the spreading fields and woodland, sometimes glancing up at the sun-filtered foliage when they passed through an avenue of trees. Yet inevitably she began to remember sitting beside Daniel on the cart. Then there had been no noise of an engine, but only the clop of Prince’s hooves and, she thought, very little difference in the speed. It was on a similar summer afternoon over a year and some weeks ago that he had possessed her by the cornfield with such unforeseen consequences.

Then Michel broke into her thoughts, telling her about a novel he had recently read and wanting to know her taste in books as he had his own library in his apartment. ‘You are welcome to anything on my shelves that you would like to read.’

She was about to say she would be glad of some reading matter when the motorcar spluttered and suddenly stopped.

‘I was afraid this would happen!’ he exclaimed, jumping out to lift the bonnet of the engine.

She smiled. ‘You did warn me.’

She alighted to sit on the grassy wayside bank and watch him as he fiddled with the engine, frowning in concentration. With his gathered brows and tightened lips she thought he looked like a musketeer attacking the engine. The comparison made her smile. There was no denying he was an extremely personable man and she hoped that they could continue to share time together without any romantic notions on his part coming between them.

‘Sorry about this,’ he said, glancing up from his task. ‘As we discussed earlier, it does happen sometimes that the engine dies for no apparent reason.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s pleasant sitting here in this lovely sunshine. Take your time.’

He thought how different she was from his past fiancée, who had become so sharply impatient at any breakdown, constantly asking him in irritated tones how much longer he was going to be putting the engine right. Finally one day in the rain she had thrown a tantrum, which had led to the ending of their engagement and he had never had the slightest regret.

There had been other women in his life since then, but Lisette was the first to seriously interest him. Beautiful and intelligent with a seductive figure, she had attracted him at their first meeting and he believed that he was falling in love with her. Now, as he wiped his greasy hands with a cloth, his task done, he gazed at her with pleasure. The brim of her hat shaded her lovely face from the sun, which was outlining her like an aura where she sat on the grassy bank.

‘You’ve been very patient,’ he said.

She gave a little laugh, spreading out her arms. ‘Who could be anything else on such a perfect afternoon?’

He put aside the greasy rag and pulled a small picnic basket out from under the seat of the vehicle. From it he took a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘I thought we should celebrate your first drive in a motorcar.’

‘What fun!’ she declared. ‘I love champagne.’

He sat down on the grass beside her and poured the sparkling wine. ‘A toast,’ he said, raising his glass to her. ‘To the future.’

She felt able to drink that toast, wanting the best for him as well as for herself, but not together. That was something she could not foresee in any way. No man could ever get through the barrier around her heart again.

They sat talking for a while before returning to the car. He drove on until they came to a crossroads where he took an alternative and winding route back to Lyon. By then it was early evening.

‘I’ve had a wonderful time,’ she said appreciatively as he drew up outside their apartment building.

‘Let’s finish the day by having an early supper together,’ he suggested eagerly. ‘I know a place in the old district that I think you’ll like.’

‘It’s a long time since I was last there,’ she said. ‘It will be interesting to see it again.’

As a child she had always been a little wary of that old district of the city on the west bank of the Saône. Most of it was mediaeval with black-timbered houses, the doorways deeply recessed and mysteriously shadowed, the stone thresholds worn down throughout the centuries. Some of the doorknockers were moulded into evil-looking faces or mythical creatures that were frightening to a young child. She had always held tightly to her grandmother’s hand and was glad that one of the menservants followed behind them every time.

Most sinister of all in this ancient district were the long narrow alleyways that networked the whole area. She remembered how relieved she had always been when they came out into one of the squares and there was daylight again. The attraction, which had overcome all her fears, had been the puppet theatre in the rue de la Bombarde. She would have braved anything to attend those performances that had delighted her so much.

When Michel had parked the Panhard on the edge of the old district they continued on foot along one of the dark alleyways and she told him about those puppet expeditions, which had so scared and delighted her. He promptly took hold of her hand.

‘If you held hands then, we had better do the same now.’

She let her hand remain in his, but without any response. They made their way to the Place de la Trinite where the cafe he wanted was located. As the evening was so warm they ate at a table outside and afterwards sat on with coffee as they talked and watched people go by in the square. Three tumblers appeared in gaudy red and yellow costumes and sprang into a performance. Spectators gathered and afterwards threw coins into their caps, Michel giving generously. When the evening was over he saw her to her door and would have kissed her, but she drew back and he did not persist.

‘It’s been a wonderful day,’ she said sincerely.

‘I hope it has been the first of many more to come.’

After that they went out together as often as he felt able to ask her. He would have seen her every evening if the chance had been his, but she was a very private person and he could tell that he needed to tread carefully if their relationship was to develop as he wished. Early on when he had tried to make their meetings more frequent, she had turned down his invitations for one reason or another. It was usually because, having made a few friends at her workplace, she liked to meet them socially and, he believed, used them as a convenient excuse not to see him.

One day at her suggestion they took a picnic up to the heights of Fourvière. Autumn was already setting its brilliant colours into the trees and there would not be many more days warm enough to sit out in the sun. There they explored what was left of the Roman ruins. Then they sat to have their picnic and admire the view of Lyon stretching away below them where the Rhône and the Saône threaded through the old city like silver ribbons.

‘This is the best view in the world,’ she said contentedly.

He grinned. ‘I have to question that statement. It’s very fine, I agree, but you are seeing it in a nostalgic light.’

‘Yes, of course I am,’ she admitted frankly. She had told him a great deal about her childhood, but very little about the turns that her life had taken afterwards.

It was not long after the Fourvière picnic that Michel had to go to Paris to represent a client in a court case. It was a complicated affair and, as he had expected, the case went on for several weeks. Letters came from him quite frequently and Lisette always replied, telling him local news and of the friends she had seen. In spite of herself she missed him more than she wished.

She was in correspondence once more with Joanna, who was living in London and having a busy time. She had been a year at the Sorbonne after last seeing Lisette and had followed it with another year learning more in the Parisian studio of an Impressionist artist, but now she was back in her birthplace of London. She had her own studio in Bloomsbury and had held several exhibitions of her paintings. Her work was selling well, and she taught art twice a week to bring in extra funds. Joanna was overjoyed that Lisette had made contact again, wanting to know everything that had happened since the cancelled wedding and imploring her to visit as soon as possible.

On the evening of Michel’s return he came charging up the flights of stairs to hammer on the door of Lisette’s apartment with a bouquet of flowers and an elaborately trimmed box of chocolates tucked under his arm.

‘I’m back!’ he declared exuberantly as she opened the door.

She was genuinely glad to see him and invited him in. ‘You’re in luck! I’ve made dinner and there’s plenty for two. What beautiful flowers!’ she added as she took the bouquet from him. ‘I’ll put them in water straight away.’

‘It’s good to see you again, Lisette,’ he said as he closed the door after him and put the chocolate box on a side table before he took off his gloves and shouldered off his overcoat.

‘Yes, it’s been quite a long time.’ As she placed the vase of flowers on the side table she saw that the box of chocolates was from a shop she remembered on the Champs Elysées. ‘Those will be delicious!’ she declared. ‘Thank you so much.’

Then he caught hold of both her hands, his gaze on her warm and admiring. ‘Say that you’ve missed me!’

She laughed. ‘Of course I missed you!’ Smilingly, she slid her hands from his. ‘It was early autumn when you left and now winter is here. I can tell by your expression that you won your case.’

‘Yes, I did,’ he declared with satisfaction. ‘It was a difficult one, but I gained the right verdict in the end. How are you? Still busy at the factory?’

‘Yes, orders from abroad increase all the time.’ She went to stir the bouillabaisse, talking to him over her shoulder. ‘Do sit down where I’ve laid my place. I’ll set another opposite in a minute.’

‘Let me do it,’ he said.

She indicated the cutlery drawer and told him there was a bottle of red wine in the cupboard beneath. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing about Paris,’ she said as she handed him a wineglass and a napkin for the table. ‘It’s quite a while since I was there.’

As he opened the wine he wondered exactly when that was, for there was still so much about her that he did not know. She had told him that most of her childhood had been spent locally with her grandmother and that after the old lady’s demise she had lived with her father and his second wife near Paris, but he was certain she was holding back more than she had revealed. She had never said exactly where she had worked for her living as a shop assistant and then as a housekeeper before coming to take up a bookkeeping post with the Lumières. In a way her reticence only added to her attraction, for here was a woman able to keep an invisible guard about herself, but through which she continually charmed and fascinated him.

He felt she knew all about him, that he had been born in Tours, studied in Paris, and had come first to a lawyer’s in Clermont-Ferrand before eventually taking over the chambers of a retired lawyer in Lyon. He had one sister, who was married and lived abroad, and their parents had moved to be near her and their grandchildren.

With any other woman he would have expected to make love to her at the evening’s end, but he was certain that if he made one false move with Lisette he would lose her. In any case he had come to realize during his absence from her in Paris that he had fallen in love with her. He had also made up his mind that she was the woman he wanted as his wife and nothing must endanger that ultimate goal.

Over supper, after relating a few of the interesting highlights in the case he had defended, he told her that he and some lawyer friends had celebrated his success by going to a restaurant that she remembered well. She had a momentary nostalgic image of its lights and laughter and elegance, which she had enjoyed any number of times with Philippe and friends.

‘I met Monsieur Lumière in Paris,’ Michel continued. ‘We both had invitations one evening to a demonstration by the American, Mr Edison, of his invention, the kinetoscope. It’s a box-like structure with pictures in it that give the illusion of movement due to the production of curves through a kind of circular movement. Edison was selling these kinetoscopes at sky-high prices.’