The Sands of Time (12 page)

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you,” Raimu said.

Monique smiled warmly. “I’m very happy to meet you. I’m a big admirer of yours, Monsieur Raimu.”

“Good. Then we’ll work well together. I brought a script with me. It’s a beautiful love story, and I think—”

At that moment Teresa walked into the room. She was wearing a new dress, but she looked awkward in it. She stopped as she saw Jacques Raimu.

“Oh—hello. I didn’t know you were here. I mean—you’re early.”

He looked at Monique inquiringly.

“This is my sister,” Monique said. “Teresa.”

They both watched the expression on his face change. It went from shock to disappointment to disgust.

“You’re the singer?”

“Yes.”

He turned to Monique. “And you’re—”

Monique smiled innocently. “I’m Teresa’s sister.”

Raimu turned to examine Teresa again, then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said to Teresa. “You’re too—” He fumbled for a word. “You’re too—young. If you’ll excuse me, I must get back to Paris.”

And they stood there watching him walk out the door.

It worked,
Monique thought jubilantly.
It worked.

Teresa never made another broadcast. Louis Bonnet pleaded with her to come back, but the hurt was too deep.

After looking at my sister,
Teresa thought,
how could anyone want me? I’m so ugly.

As long as she lived, she would never forget the look on Jacques Raimu’s face.

It’s my fault for having silly dreams,
Teresa told herself.
It’s God’s way of punishing me.

After that, Teresa would sing only in church, and she became more of a recluse than ever.

During the next ten years the beautiful Monique turned down more than a dozen marriage proposals. She was proposed to by the sons of the mayor, the banker, the doctor, the merchants in the village. Her suitors ranged from young men fresh out of school to established and successful men in their forties and fifties. They were rich and poor, handsome and ugly, educated and uneducated. And to all of them Monique said
non.

“What are you looking for?” her father asked, baffled.

“Papa, everyone here is boring. Èze is such an unsophisticated place. My dream prince is in Paris.”

And so her father dutifully sent her to Paris. As an afterthought, he sent Teresa with her. The two girls stayed at a small hotel on the Bois de Boulogne.

Each sister saw a different Paris. Monique attended charity balls and glamorous dinner parties and had tea with titled young men. Teresa visited Les Invalides and the Louvre. Monique went to the races at Longchamp and to galas at Malmaison. Teresa went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to pray, and walked along the tree-shaded path of the Canal St. Martin. Monique went to Maxim’s and the Moulin Rouge, while Teresa strolled along the quays, browsing among the book stalls and the flower vendors and stopping at the Basilica of St. Denis. Teresa enjoyed Paris, but as far as Monique was concerned, the trip was a failure.

When they returned home, Monique said, “I can’t find any man I want to marry.”

“You met no one who interested you?” her father asked.

“Not really. There was a young man who took me to dinner at Maxim’s. His father owns coal mines.”

“What was he like?” her mother asked eagerly.

“Oh, he was rich, handsome, polite, and he adored me.”

“Did he ask you to marry him?”

“Every ten minutes. Finally I simply refused to see him again.”

Her mother stared at Monique in amazement. “Why?”

“Because all he could talk about was coal: bituminous coal, lump coal, black coal, gray coal. Boring, boring, boring.”

The following year Monique decided she wanted to return to Paris again.

“I’ll pack my things,” Teresa said.

Monique shook her head. “No. This time I think I’ll go alone.”

So while Monique went to Paris, Teresa stayed home and went to church every morning and prayed that her sister would find a handsome prince. And one day the miracle occurred. A miracle because it was to Teresa that it happened. His name was Raoul Giradot.

He had gone to Teresa’s church one Sunday and heard her sing. He had never heard anything like it before.
I must meet her,
he vowed.

Early Monday morning, Teresa stopped in at the village general store to buy fabric for a dress she was making. Raoul Giradot was working behind the counter.

He looked up as Teresa walked in, and his face lit up. “The voice!”

She stared at him, flustered. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“I heard you sing in church yesterday. You are magnificent.”

He was handsome and tall, with intelligent, flashing dark eyes and lovely, sensual lips. He was in his early thirties, a year or two older than Teresa.

Teresa was so taken aback by his appearance that she could only stammer. She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Th—thank you,” Teresa said. “I—I—I would like three yards of muslin, please.”

Raoul smiled. “It will be my pleasure. This way.”

It was suddenly difficult for Teresa to concentrate on her errand. She was overpoweringly aware of the young man’s presence, his good looks and charm, the masculine aura surrounding him.

When Teresa had decided on her purchase and Raoul was wrapping it for her, she dared to say, “You’re—you’re new here, aren’t you?”

He looked at her and smiled, and it sent shivers through her.

“
Oui.
I arrived in Èze a few days ago. My aunt owns this shop and she needed help, so I thought I would work here for a while.

How long is a while?
Teresa found herself wondering.

“You should be singing professionally,” Raoul told her.

She remembered the expression on Raimu’s face when he had seen her. No, she would never risk exposing herself publicly again. “Thank you,” Teresa mumbled.

He was touched by her embarrassment and shyness, and tried to draw her into conversation.

“I haven’t been to Èze before. It’s a beautiful little town.”

“Yes,” Teresa mumbled.

“Were you born here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Teresa picked up her package and fled.

The following day she found an excuse to go back to the shop again. She had stayed up half the night preparing what she was going to say to Raoul.

I’m glad you like Èze…

The monastery was built in the fourteenth century, you know…

Have you ever visited Saint-Paul-de-Vence? There’s a lovely chapel there.
…

I enjoy Monte Carlo, don’t you? It’s wonderful to have it so close to here. Sometimes my sister and I drive down the Grande Corniche and go to the Fort Antoine Theatre. Do you know it? It’s the big open-air theater…

Did you know that Nice was once called Nikaia? Oh, you didn’t? Yes, it was. The Greeks were there a long time ago. There’s a museum in Nice with the remains of cavemen who lived there thousands of years ago. Isn’t that interesting?

Teresa was prepared with dozens of such verbal gambits. Unfortunately, the moment she walked into the shop and saw Raoul, everything flew out of her head. She simply stared at him, unable to speak.

“Bonjour,”
Raoul said cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you again, Mademoiselle De Fosse.”

“M—merci.”
She felt like an idiot.
I’m thirty years old,
she told herself,
and I’m acting like a silly schoolgirl Stop it

But she could not stop it.

“And what may I do for you today?”

“I—I need more muslin.”

Which was the last thing she needed.

She watched Raoul as he went to get the bolt of fabric. He set it on the counter and started to measure it out.

“How many yards would you like?”

She started to say two, but what came out was, “Are you married?”

He looked up at her with a warm smile on his face. “No,” he said. “I haven’t been that fortunate yet.”

You are going to be,
Teresa thought.
As soon as Monique returns from Paris.

Monique was going to adore this man. They were perfect for each other. The thought of Monique’s reaction when she met Raoul filled Teresa with happiness. It would be lovely to have Raoul Giradot as her brother-in-law.

The following day as Teresa was passing the shop, Raoul caught sight of her and hurried outside.

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle. I was about to take a break. If you’re free, would you care to join me for tea?”

“I—I—yes, thank you.”

She was tongue-tied in his presence, and yet Raoul could not have been more pleasant. He did everything he could to put her at ease, and soon Teresa found herself telling this stranger things she had never told anyone before. They talked of loneliness.

“Crowds can make one lonely,” Teresa said. “I always feel like an island in a sea of people.”

He smiled. “I understand.”

“Oh, but you must have so many friends.”

“Acquaintances. In the end, does anyone really have many friends?”

It was as though she were speaking to a mirror image. The hour melted away quickly, and soon it was time for him to go back to work.

As they rose, Raoul asked, “Will you join me for lunch tomorrow?”

He was being kind, of course. Teresa knew that no man could ever be attracted to her. Especially someone as wonderful as Raoul Giradot. She was sure that he was kind to everyone.

“I would enjoy that,” Teresa said.

When she went to meet Raoul the following day, he said boyishly, “I’ve been given the afternoon off. If you’re not too busy, why don’t we drive down to Nice?”

They drove along the Moyenne Corniche with his car top down, the city spread out like a magic carpet below them. Teresa leaned back in her seat and thought:
I’ve never been so happy.
And then, filled with guilt:
I’m being happy for Monique.

Monique was to return from Paris the following day. Raoul would be Teresa’s gift to her sister. She was realistic enough to know that the Raouls of the world were not for her. Teresa had had enough pain in her life, and she had long since learned what was real and what was impossible. The handsome man seated beside her driving the car was an impossible dream she dared not even let herself think about.

They had lunch at Le Chantecler in the Negresco Hotel in Nice. It was a superb meal, but afterward Teresa had no recollection of what she had eaten. It seemed to her that she and Raoul had not stopped talking. They had so much to say to each other. He was witty and charming, and he appeared to find Teresa interesting—really interesting. He asked her opinion about many things and listened attentively to her answers. They agreed on almost everything. It was as though they were soul mates. If Teresa had any regrets about what was about to happen, she resolutely forced them out of her mind.

“Would you like to come to dinner at the château tomorrow night? My sister is returning from Paris. I would like you to meet her.”

“I’d be delighted, Teresa.”

When Monique returned home the following day, Teresa hurried to greet her at the door.

In spite of her resolve, she could not help asking, “Did you meet anyone interesting in Paris?” And she held her breath, waiting for her sister’s answer.

“The same boring men,” Monique replied.

So God had made the final decision.

“I’ve invited someone to dinner tonight,” Teresa said. “I think you’re going to like him.”

I must never let anyone know how much I care for him,
Teresa thought.

That evening at seven-thirty promptly, the butler ushered Raoul Giradot into the drawing room, where Teresa, Monique, and their parents were waiting.

“This is my mother and father. Monsieur Raoul Giradot.”

“How do you do?”

Teresa took a deep breath. “And my sister, Monique.”

“How do you do?” Monique’s expression was polite, nothing more.

Teresa looked at Raoul, expecting him to be stunned by Monique’s beauty.

“Enchanted.” Merely courteous.

Teresa stood there holding her breath, waiting for the sparks that she knew would start flying between them. But Raoul was looking at Teresa.

“You look lovely tonight, Teresa.”

She blushed and stammered, “Th—thank you.”

Everything about that evening was topsy-turvy. Teresa’s plan to bring Monique and Raoul together, to watch them get married, to have Raoul as a brother-in-law—none of it even began to happen. Incredibly, Raoul’s attention was focused entirely on Teresa. It was like some impossible dream come true. She felt like Cinderella, only she was the ugly sister and the prince had chosen her. It was unreal, but it was happening, and Teresa found herself struggling to resist Raoul and his charm because she knew that it was too good to be true, and she dreaded being hurt again. All these years she had hidden her emotions, guarding against the pain that came with rejection. Now, instinctively, she tried to do the same. But Raoul was irresistible.

“I heard your daughter sing,” Raoul said. “She is a miracle!”

Teresa found herself blushing.

“Everyone loves Teresa’s voice,” Monique said sweetly.

It was a heady evening. But the best was yet to come.

When dinner was finished, Raoul said to Teresa’s parents, “Your grounds look lovely.” Then he turned to Teresa. “Would you show me the gardens?”

Teresa looked over at Monique, trying to read her sister’s emotions, but Monique seemed completely indifferent.

She must be deaf, dumb, and blind,
Teresa thought.

And then she recalled all the times Monique had gone to Paris and Cannes and St. Tropez looking for her perfect prince but had never found him.

So it’s not the fault of the men. It’s the fault of my sister. She has no idea what she wants.

Teresa turned to Raoul. “I would love to.”

Outside, she could not let the subject drop.

“How did you like Monique?”

“She seems very nice,” Raoul replied. “Ask me how I like her sister.”