‘Whereas you, I presume, are immune to such charms.’
‘Not always.’
Lucien grinned. ‘But there’s none to match La Pascale?’
Francois cocked an eyebrow, and laughing, they parted
company.
Lucien walked off along the hall, where he let himself
through a low door and started to climb the crooked wooden
staircase which spiralled through the tower to his room at
the top of the south wing. When he reached it, he found
Monique waiting for him on the threshold.
He wasn’t altogether surprised to see her. She had tried
to talk to him that morning, before she and Solange
departed for Montvisse, and though he had managed to
avoid her then, he had known that sooner or later she would
catch up with him. Treating her to one of his winning
smiles, he put an arm around her shoulders and led her into
his dressing-room, saying, ‘So, mon petit chou, you have
something on your mind. Something you wish to discuss
with me?’
‘You know I have, Lucien,’ she said, with a smile of
exasperation. ‘And you know, too what it’s about.’
He nodded. ‘Henri Stubert?’ He was referring to
Monique’s latest beau, who was also one of his comrades-in-arms.
Monique’s lips tightened, and the nostrils of her
haughtily-arched de Lorvoire nose flared. ‘I’ll thank you,
Lucien, never to mention that man’s name in my hearing
again,’ she snapped.
‘Oh? But I thought you two …’
‘I received a letter from him a week ago, informing me of
his engagement to Sybille Giffard, whoever she may be.
Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.’
‘But I didn’t,’ he answered truthfully. However, he had been aware that Henri, like many before him, found his sister somewhat over-zealous in her affections.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ Monique declared, lifting her
chin defiantly. ‘I had begun to tire of him anyway.’
He watched her pick a thread from the sleeve of his
uniform which was hanging on the closet door, and saw the
slight tremble of her fingers. He knew that Henri’s rejection
did matter, and he longed to say something that might
comfort her, but he knew too that she would rather die than
admit to the hurt.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what is it that you wish to talk to me about if
it isn’t Henri?’
‘I want to know why you are here.’
He saw the expression in her wide, amber eyes, and the
corner of his mouth dropped in a smile. He knew now what
was on her mind. ‘Does there have to be a reason?’ he
teased, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. ‘After
all, this is my home. And you are my family,’ he added,
crossing one leg over the other as he sat down beside her.
‘Lucien!’ she said meaningfully.
‘AH right, all right,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Why
do you think I’m here?’
She cast a quick glance at the door, then in a low voice she
said, ‘You have brought something for Francois, haven’t
you?’
‘Monique!’ he cried. ‘I thought it was only Maman who
listened at doors.’
‘It is,’ she said, laughing despite herself, and he thought
how lovely she was when she smiled. ‘But that revolting little
man, Erich von Pappen, rang here earlier, while you were
out and before Francois arrived. He wanted to know if you
had seen Francois yet.’
‘He did, did he?’
‘Yes.’ She turned to face him. ‘Who exactly is Erich von
Pappen, Lucien?’
‘You’ll have to ask Francois that question, I’m afraid.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ she said, though they both knew that it
was unlikely she would. ‘But why did he want to know if you had seen Francois? No, Lucien, please. I know you’re going to lie to me, but I won’t stand for it. You’ve brought
information here for Francois, haven’t you? Information
from von Pappen. Look, I don’t want to know what it is. I
have a feeling it would be better, safer, for both of you, if I
don’t. But I need to know that you will never do this again,
Lucien. It’s a dangerous game that Francois plays, but he’s
an expert at it. I don’t want you to become involved.’
Lucien gave a shout of laughter, and clasping his hands
about her face, he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You are
worrying unnecessarily, Monique, I promise you.’
‘No!’ The colour in her cheeks had deepened. ‘We have
both known for some time what Francois is about, and I
don’t want you getting mixed up in it. There’s not another
person in the world I would say this to, but you know as well
as I do that Francois …’ She stopped.
‘Go on,’ he prompted, the challenge gleaming in his lucid
blue eyes.
Monique looked away, lowering her head so that her hair
hid her face. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
‘Then I shall say it for you.’ But when it came to it, even he couldn’t bring himself to voice the word that he knew was searing the tip of her tongue. So instead he said, ‘You believe that Francois buys information, then sells it - not where it might do the most good, but where it will fetch the best price.’
‘Don’t you?’
Lucien thought about that for a long time. It was true that Francois played a dangerous game with the information he gathered, that he was not always ethical in the way he obtained it or the way he sold it. But his brother’s business was his own, and Lucien knew better than to interfere. Just as he knew it would be unwise to say anything that might add to Monique’s concern. In the end, he said, ‘If it will put your mind at rest, I can tell you that in this instance he will be selling it where it does the most good.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know who he bought it from.’
‘Erich von Pappen!’ she said angrily. ‘A German!’
‘Well then, Francois is hardly going to buy from the Germans to sell to the Germans, is he now?’
Slowly Monique shook her head, but her eyes were still full of doubt. ‘There are times, Lucien,’ she whispered, ‘when I wouldn’t put anything past Francois. He’s my brother and I love him, I would never do anything to hurt or betray him, but sometimes I feel as though I don’t know him.’
Lucien took her in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her start to tremble. ‘And he would never do anything to hurt or betray you, you must know that,’ he
said, stroking her hair.
‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ she said, her voice
muffled by his shoulder.
‘I know. But as you said yourself, Francois knows what he
is doing. And if it helps, then I give you my word that I won’t get involved again.’
As he tilted her face to his, he was wondering what she
would do if he were to tell her what the information was that
he had carried from von Pappen. But she had been right
when she said it would be safer for them all if she didn’t
know. The fact that Adolph Hitler had announced to his
inner circle his preliminary plans to annex Austria, was
more than a dangerous thing to know. But at least, this time,
he could be certain that Francois was selling the information
to the French; it was rare, with Francois, that things
were so blessedly simple.
And then, for no logical reason, an image of Claudine
came into his mind - Claudine standing on the hilltop
overlooking Lorvoire, tall and straight, her magnificent hair
with its shades of blueish copper blowing in the wind, her
eyes sparkling with laughter. And then, in his mind’s eye, he
saw her as she later struggled to hide the confusion of her
feelings for Francois … But there had been no confusion
when she had stood at the foot of the chateau steps, those
splendid almond-shaped eyes blazing with fury as Francois
so crudely dismissed her. Lucien smiled as he remembered
how his brother had turned back; it was probably the only
time in his adult life that he had witnessed Francois obeying
a woman. But the way Francois had so casually changed the
subject when he referred to Claudine earlier, was enough to
tell him that his brother had acted out of indifference - that
he considered Claudine nothing more than a small irritant
in his life, which would from time to time need his attention.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Monique whispered.
Lucien’s eyes moved back to hers. ‘Francois,’ he
answered, ‘and Claudine.’
Monique’s face darkened. Then, to his amazement, she
jumped angrily to her feet and ran from the room - but not
before Lucien had seen the tears in her eyes.
- 5
Marcel, the de Lorvoire chauffeur, arrived at Montvisse a few minutes before eight o’clock the following morning. Claudine was ready and waiting in the small octagonal hall, wearing her blue velvet riding jacket, a high-necked ruffled blouse and a new pair of tailor-made fawn jodhpurs. Her hair had been coiled into a diamond-studded snood by Magaly, and in her gloved hands she carried her hat and crop.
After being endlessly quizzed by Tante Celine the previous evening about the time she had spent with Lucien, she had retired early to bed only to pass an almost sleepless night. She was still shaken, not only by her extraordinary and bewildering confession to Lucien that she was in love with Francois - which was absurd in the extreme - but by the way Francois himself had behaved after she lost her temper. Of course, she was under no illusion that his feelings towards her had changed, she knew perfectly well that he had merely been humouring her; but she couldn’t deny the pleasure it had given her to hear him admit to being jealous. She had no idea what it had cost him to say it, but
she sincerely hoped it was a lot. Though that was unlikely, she realized despondently - as unlikely as that he would be losing any sleep over her. At that she had closed her eyes and drawn the sheets over her head, but pride made an uncomfortable pillow, and it wasn’t until the first light of dawn that she had finally fallen into an uneasy slumber.
Now, as she sat back in her seat behind Marcel on the way
to Lorvoire, she was for once oblivious to the poppies springing up at the roadside, the wide open spaces around her filled with maize fields and vineyards, and the way the sunlight danced on the Vienne as they crossed the bridge at
Chinon. She was too engrossed in what she was going to say
to Francois that morning to think of anything else. Her
decisions might have been more easily reached were
Francois de Lorvoire not a man of such unpredictable and
infuriating response. However, there was one thing she was
resolved upon, even though her stomach reacted violently
each time she thought of it, and she had as yet no clear idea
of how she would approach it. But approach it she would.
Why should she be subjected any longer to that abominable
man’s game of procrastination? He was going to ask her to
marry him - and he was going to ask her today.
When the chauffeur pulled up outside the chateau she
remained in the car, waiting for him to open the door, flatly
refusing to admit to herself that she was nervous. But there
was no denying the sudden rise in her spirits when she saw
that it was raining: perhaps there would be no rendezvous
with Francois this morning after all! With a wry grin, she
stepped out of the car. That man really does bring out the
coward in me! she thought ruefully.
Jean-Paul, the butler, had his umbrella at the ready, and
after greeting her with the respectful informality that was
typical of the de Lorvoire household, he took her into the
hall, then led her through the drawing-room to the library,
where Francois was sitting in a leather armchair reading the
newspaper.
The instant she saw him, Claudine felt as though a great
cavern had opened up inside her, leaving her bereft of
everything but her thudding heart. Quickly she averted her
eyes, taking in the shelves of leather-bound books, the
ornate writing desk, the grey marble fireplace … Behind
her, Jean-Paul cleared his throat, and finally Francois
looked up.
‘Ah, good morning,’ he said in English, and putting the
paper to one side, he stood up. Then, sweeping an arm
towards the window, he continued in French, ‘As you can
see, it is not the weather for a ride. Perhaps later, if the rain
subsides. In the meantime, may I offer you some breakfast?’
‘Just coffee, thank you,’ Claudine answered, pulling off her gloves and noting with relief that her hands were steady.
Francois looked past her and nodded, then she heard the door close behind Jean-Paul.
The room was so quiet she could hear the clock ticking on the marble mantlepiece. Francois walked to the window, and lifting one shining black riding boot onto the window seat, he folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. His hair was wet, and she wondered if it was from the rain or an early morning shower. Then, to her alarm, her skin started to burn at the thought of him taking a shower; it was extraordinary to think that one day they might share that kind of intimacy-that she would come to know the habits of this man. Looking at him now, she tried to imagine what it
would be like to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to have
him hold her in his arms and kiss her - make love to her.
‘You look rather pale this morning,’ he remarked. ‘Are
you sickening for something?’
‘Er, no,’ she stumbled. ‘No, not at all. I didn’t sleep too well, I’m afraid.’
‘I trust there is nothing troubling you?’ His hooded eyes