The Landower Legacy (26 page)

“You are as great a flatterer as a
parfumeur.”
She tapped his hand playfully, which made him laugh.

“I am going to ask a great favour,” he declared.

“I am not sure whether I shall be able to grant it,” she replied coquettishly.

“You must or I shall be desolate.”

She leaned towards him, putting her ear close to his lips.

He said: “I am going to ask you to allow me to send you a flagon of my very special creation. It is Muguet …”

“Muguet!” I cried. “We call that lily of the valley.”

“Lillee of the vallee,” he repeated, and my mother laughed immoderately.

“Madame is like a lily. It is the perfume I would choose for her.”

I felt that the evening was being given over to this flirtation between him and my mother. But no one minded. The kindhearted Dubussons liked to see people enjoying themselves; the doctor was intent on his food and that was enough for him. As for the Claremonts, they were delighted. They were greatly in awe of the important Monsieur Foucard and I guessed they relied on him to buy quantities of their . essences. The Dubussons were also delighted to see their guests taking over the burden of entertaining each other and making a very good job of it.

My mother and Monsieur Foucard were clearly getting more satisfaction from the situation than anyone.

We sat over dinner sampling the wines. Monsieur Foucard knew a great deal about them, but it was obvious that his real interest was in perfume.

There were signs of regret from Monsieur Foucard when the evening came to an end.

Effusively he thanked Madame and Monsieur Dubusson. The Claremonts exuded satisfaction and when Monsieur Foucard heard that my mother and I were travelling home in one of the Dubusson carriages he insisted on accompanying us.

This he did to my mother’s immense satisfaction.

The evening had been a triumph for her.

Monsieur Foucard kissed first my hand and then my mother’s— lingering over hers and looking into her eyes, he told her that he deeply regretted he must leave the next day for Paris.

“Perhaps I shall be returning,” he said, still holding her hand.

“I hope that may be so,” replied my mother earnestly, “but I have no doubt that you will find this little village somewhat dull after the exciting places and people you must be meeting all the time.”

He looked very solemn. “Madame,” he said, placing his hand on his heart with an elaborate gesture to indicate his complete sincerity, “I assure you I have never enjoyed an evening as I have this one.”

Everton was waiting for my mother and I heard their excited conversation going on into the early hours of the morning.

I lay in bed thinking of the evening and its significance.

I cannot stay here much longer, I thought. I must get away.

For days there was talk of that evening and that amusing, intelligent man of the world, Monsieur Foucard. The Claremonts offered the information that he was one of the most wealthy distributors in France. He owned a large exporting business and numerous shops all over the country.

It was evidently a great honour to them that he had decided to spend a night under their roof; and how fortunate it was that his stay had coincided with the Dubusson dinner party!

My mother’s high spirits began to wilt after a day or so, and then a magnificent flagon of perfume arrived, “For the most beautiful lily of them all.”

That kept her happy for several days.

Christmas would soon be with us.

The Dubussons had asked us to spend the day with them and we had accepted.

My mother recalled past Christmases, which reduced her to even greater melancholy, and I promised myself that after Christmas I should definitely go to Cornwall. There I would be able to talk sensibly to Cousin Mary and discuss with her the possibility of doing something to earn money. I thought momentarily of Jamie McGill. Perhaps I could keep bees. Was it possible to make a little money that way? Jamie would be glad to teach me. Although I had enough money to live frugally it would be useful to earn money to augment my income. I did not want to go to London for there I should have to see Olivia.

At the beginning of November I went into the town to buy a few Christmas presents. I would need something for the Dubussons who were going to be our hosts for the day, and there were my mother, Everton, Marie and Jacques.

There was not a great deal of choice in the shops and I quickly made my purchases and went into the
auberge
where I was well known by now. There were no longer tables outside, so I sat in a room with windows looking out on the square, and there I ordered a glass of wine.

As I was drinking this a man came in and sat down quite near me. There was something very familiar about him. I stared at him. I must be dreaming. I had imagined him so often that for a few moments I could not really believe my eyes.

He had risen and was coming towards me. He was dark-haired,
dark-eyed, rather lean, with a somewhat slouching walk. I felt the colour rush into my face.

“Forgive me,” he said, “but you are English.”

I nodded.

“I think you are … I think you must be …”

I was recovering myself. “You are Mr. Paul Landower. I recognized you at once.”

“And you are Miss Tressidor.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I am so pleased to see you. We met such a long time ago. You were a little girl then.”

“I was fourteen. I didn’t regard myself as little. It’s four years ago actually.”

“Is it really?”

“I remember it clearly.”

“May I sit down?” he asked.

“Please do. Going to Cornwall was a great event in my life. How is your brother?”

“Jago is well, thank you.”

“He and I were quite good friends.”

“He is more your age. A little older in fact. He is doing quite well.”

I wanted to ask about Landower, how they liked living at the farmhouse. But I felt it might be a melancholy subject.

“I’ll call for some more wine,” he said. He leaned his elbows on the table and smiled at me. I felt rising excitement. Here was the man who had occupied my thoughts for so many months until Jeremy Brandon had replaced him. It was a strange coincidence that he should have arrived in France and at the very place where I was staying.

“Are you on holiday here?” I asked.

“No. I had business in Paris and again in Nice. I thought I’d have a look at the country while I was here. These small places are so attractive, are they not? And one gets to know people so much better than one does in the towns.”

“I am staying with my mother,” I said.

He nodded.

“She lives here now. She has been here some years.”

“You like life here?”

“Life is interesting wherever it is.”

“That’s so. It’s a pity everyone does not see it that way.”

“How is Miss Tressidor? She is not a great letter writer so I don’t hear as much as I should like to.”

“She is well, I believe.”

“I forgot your family and hers don’t mingle.”

“They do more now. I believe Miss Tressidor was hoping that you were going to visit her.”

“Did she tell you?”

He nodded.

“I should have gone to see her but my mother was taken ill.”

“She was very disappointed.”

“I shall go to see her one day. How is everything at Landower?”

“Very well.”

“I suppose …”I did not know how to put what I was going to ask, and decided it would be wiser not to talk of it. I said instead: “Where are you staying?”

“In this very
auberge.
”

“Oh! Have you been here long?”

“I came yesterday.”

“Is it to be a short stay?”

“Oh yes, quite short.”

“Jago must be quite grown-up now. I hope everything really is well with him.”

“Jago will always see that life goes as he wants it.”

“When I was there, there were some people … What was their name? Oh … it was Arkwright.”

“Yes, that’s right. They bought Landower Hall.”

“Oh, they did buy it!” I wanted to ask about Gwennie Arkwright and I wondered how much Paul knew and whether Jago had ever confessed to what had happened in the minstrel’s gallery.

“Yes, but now the family is back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.”

“Yes, it came back into the family.”

“That must be a great relief.”

He laughed. “Well, you know, it was the family home for hundreds of years. One feels certain ties.”

“Indeed yes. Jago always said that
you
would never let it pass right out of the family.”

“Jago had too high an opinion of me.”

“Well, it seems he was right.”

“In that instance … perhaps. But tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?”

“I went away to school after I returned to London, and I came to France in fact.”

“Then you have an impeccable accent, I am sure.”

“I get by.”

“That must be a great help. Do you come into the town often?”

“Yes, quite often. We’re about a mile and a half out.”

“How is your mother?”

“She is not well sometimes.”

“I wonder if you will allow me to call?”

“But of course. She would be delighted. She likes to see people.”

“Then while I’m staying here … if I may …”

“How long will you be here?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps a week. I should not think longer.”

“I daresay there will be a great deal to do at Christmas.”

“There always is on the estate. All the old traditions have to be observed, as you can imagine.”

“I can indeed.”

I glanced at the watch pinned to my bodice.

He said: “You are anxious about the time. May I take you back?”

“Old Jacques, our gardener, is waiting for me with his trap.”

“Then I’ll take you to him. And … tomorrow … may I call?”

“Yes,” I said. “We should like that.” And I gave him details of our address and how to find us.

Jacques was waiting with some impatience. It was unlike me not to be on time.

Paul held my hand firmly in his as he said goodbye.

I returned his gaze and felt happier than I had since I had read that cruel letter of Jeremy’s.

My mother was excited at the prospect of a visitor. He came in the morning and sat in the courtyard with me while an excited Marie prepared the
dejeuner.

The midday meal was usually the biggest of the day as it was in most French households. My mother thought it most uncivilized to eat large quantities at midday; dinner was the great social occasion with her.

However, Paul was asked to luncheon.

My mother received him very graciously. His manner towards her was courteous but a little aloof. He was no Monsieur Foucard to be bowled over by her charms. She adapted her style to suit him and I marvelled at her expertise. Handling men and adjusting herself to what she believed would attract them was one of her obvious social assets.

As she was quite interested in Cousin Mary, of whom she had heard so much when she was married to Robert Tressidor, Cornwall, the life there and the two great houses made a long topic of conversation.

“I hear you have been quite unwell,” he said solicitously.

“Oh, Mr. Landower, don’t let’s talk of my boring ailments,” she said, and went on to talk of them at some length.

He listened sympathetically.

He turned to me. “Miss Tressidor, I remember when you stayed in Cornwall, you did a great deal of riding with my brother. Do you ride here?”

“Alas, no. I haven’t a horse.”

“I believe I could hire horses. Would you care to show me the countryside if I could do this?”

“I should like it very much.”

“Caroline dear,” put in my mother. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“Safe, Mama? I’m perfectly safe on a horse.”

“But a foreign horse, dear.”

I laughed and saw that Paul was smiling.

“Horses don’t consider nationality in the same way as we do, Mama. They are much the same the world over.”

“But in a foreign country!”

“I should take care that no harm came to your daughter, Mrs. Tressidor,” said Paul.

“I am sure you would. But I should be so anxious …”

I understood the way her mind was working. Much as she liked the monotony of her days to be relieved by the advent of visitors she was a little wary of Paul Landower. Every man she saw she assessed as a possible husband or lover; and it was quite clear that he was making no plans which involved her. Therefore, she reasoned, I must be the target of his aspirations; and she did not want me to go to him any more than to Cousin Mary. I could see the speculation in her eyes.