An Innocent in Paris Read online

  Gardenia stared in amazement. She had never imagined any lady would do such a thing at a dinner party or indeed anywhere where she might be seen.

  The handsome young man sprawling back in his chair was apparently quite unperturbed by the kiss.

  He merely slapped the young woman on her behind as she moved away, swinging her hips as she did so and Gardenia saw that her flame-red dress was cut daringly low both at the front and at the back.

  ‘What would Mama have said?’ Gardenia could not help that question springing once more to her mind as she followed the women upstairs to the bedrooms a little apprehensive as to what they might say and do.

  But Aunt Lily gave her no chance for conversation with any of them.

  “Go and tidy yourself in your own room, Gardenia,” she said crisply, “and then when you are ready come to mine.”

  Gardenia could only obey her.

  The gentlemen did not linger for too long in the dining room, indeed not as long as her father had done when they had a dinner party at home, and soon the big salon was filling up as more and more people arrived to shake Aunt Lily by the hand and then to rush, it seemed to Gardenia, towards the green-baize gaming tables.

  The band was playing softly in the anteroom. The room itself, to Gardenia’s surprise, had been transformed since she had seen it earlier. There were fresh flowers everywhere, great garlands decorated the walls and the ceilings had been ornamented with tiny star-like lights, which made the whole place seem mysterious and romantic.

  But no one seemed interested and no one listened to the superlatively good music that came from a dozen violins.

  Gardenia thought that the Italian was certain to ask her to dance. But by the time she came down from her bedroom he was whispering in a corner with a very attractive woman who had come in after dinner wearing a skin-tight dress of black net and a diamond aigrette in her red hair.

  “You are to stand beside me and help receive the guests,” Aunt Lily told her.

  But she often made no effort to introduce a newcomer and just waved him away towards the tables or the long bar at the end of the room where there was champagne and caviar.

  Finally, when it seemed to Gardenia that they had been standing for a long time, she saw a face she knew and realised then that Lord Hartcourt, accompanied by his cousin, Bertram Cunningham, had just reached the top of the stairs.

  She was glad to see them. Here were two people who were not complete strangers and also, woman-like, she wanted them to see her in her new gown.

  Aunt Lily held out both white-gloved hands.

  “Oh, Lord Hartcourt, how delighted I am to see you! I was very disappointed that you could not have tea with us this afternoon.”

  “So was I,” Lord Hartcourt replied, “but as I told you in my note, which I hope you have received, I had work to do and could not get away from the Embassy.”

  “You take life far too seriously,” Aunt Lily smiled at them. “And so how are you, Mr. Cunningham? How nice of you to come.”

  She then put her hand on his arm and, while Lord Hartcourt was shaking hands with Gardenia, she said,

  “Gardenia has been very good and has helped me receive the guests. Do dance with her, Lord Hartcourt. Ventura will never forgive me if no one appears to appreciate his exquisite music. And you, Mr. Cunningham, would you be so gracious as to bring me a drink? My throat is quite dry.”

  There was nothing either of the men could do but acquiesce in Aunt Lily’s requests.

  “Of course, let’s dance,” Lord Hartcourt said in his serious voice to Gardenia, as Bertie Cunningham escorted his hostess to the bar at the end of the salon.

  As Lord Hartcourt put his arm round Gardenia’s waist, she said a little nervously,

  “I do hope I shall not tread on your toes. My mother has taught me, but I have not often danced with men. You must excuse me if I am clumsy.”

  “I am sure you could never be anything of the sort,” Lord Hartcourt smiled at her.

  She found he was right and that, as he danced simply and without any great pretensions, she could follow him easily and they moved smoothly and rhythmically together.

  “What a wonderful band!” Gardenia exclaimed. “I never knew that dance music could sound so superb.”

  After they had moved round the room several times Lord Hartcourt suggested,

  “It’s hot in here, isn’t it? The scent of so many flowers is pretty overpowering, Why don’t we go onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air?”

  “Yes, of course,” Gardenia agreed at once, seeing the long windows opening out onto a wide balcony that ran along the back of the house.

  They moved outside. There was a breath of wind and Lord Hartcourt turned his face towards it, saying,

  “That is better. The French always keep their houses too hot.”

  “But Aunt Lily is English,” Gardenia protested.

  “So she is,” Lord Hartcourt exclaimed. “I am afraid I often forget and think she is French because she has a French title.”

  “Of course.”

  She put her gloved hands on the balcony and looked out over the garden below them. The leaves of the trees were just stirring in the wind and behind them she could see the lights of Paris.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Lord Hartcourt asked after a moment.

  “It is all very exciting and quite different from what I expected,” she answered truthfully.

  “You are looking different,” Lord Hartcourt said, also leaning against the balustrade and looking down at her. “I suppose it is your dress. It is very unlike the one you arrived in.”

  “Aunt Lily has been so kind,” Gardenia told him. “She took me to Worth’s.”

  “Yes, I heard she had.”

  “Fancy, he made this dress for me in twenty-four hours!” Gardenia went on. “It seems incredible, doesn’t it?”

  “He must have liked you,” Lord Hartcourt said. “I am told Monsieur Worth will never make for anyone in a hurry unless he likes them and thinks that they will be a credit to his creations.”

  Gardenia looked up at him with a little smile.

  “And am I a credit?” she asked.

  She felt almost coquettish as she spoke. Having watched the ladies at dinner, she felt that her stiffness and reserve were out of keeping in this strange atmosphere.

  “You look most delightful,” Lord Hartcourt replied. “Are you going to be kind to Mr. Cunningham?”

  It was not what Gardenia had expected him to say. She looked at him with an expression of perplexity in her eyes.

  “Kind to Mr. Cunningham?” she echoed. “I don’t quite know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” he answered, “but your aunt seems determined that he shall not get near you.”

  “Aunt Lily would not allow me to go driving alone with him,” Gardenia said. “That was because she said that it was not done. It is my fault, I suppose, for even suggesting it, but I imagined things were different in Paris from how they are in England.”

  “I think you know that that sort of thing is only pretence,” Lord Hartcourt replied. “My cousin is very anxious indeed to be your friend. He is a nice boy, kind and generous. I don’t think you would regret letting him be the first person to show you Paris.”

  “Everybody seems to want to,” Gardenia said simply and she thought that, although it might have been her imagination, Lord Hartcourt’s face hardened.

  “So poor old Bertie already has a rival, has he?” he asked.

  Gardenia did not understand.

  “I expect the truth is that Aunt Lily wants to show me Paris herself. I just could not help thinking tonight that it was sad she had never had any children of her own. If she had had a daughter or son it would have been such fun for her. It must be amusing to give parties for one’s friends, but much more enjoyable to give them for one’s own family.”

  Lord Hartcourt said nothing and after a moment she turned her head to look up at him, her eyes very wide in her small face. H
e looked down at her, then after a moment he reached out his hand, took her chin between his fingers and turned her face even further up to his.

  “Are you a fool or really as innocent as you sound?” he asked.

  Gardenia wanted to answer him back and tell him that she resented being called a fool, but instead something in the expression in his eyes she could see quite clearly in the light of the windows made her catch her breath.

  They just stood gazing at each other.

  She could feel the warm strength of his fingers on her chin and somehow, unexpectedly, it made her tremble.

  Then a voice from the window made them both start.

  “Ah! Here you are!” Bertram Cunningham exclaimed. “I have been looking round for you everywhere. I could not think where you had gone.”

  “It is too hot to dance,” Lord Hartcourt said, taking his hand away from Gardenia’s chin and turning to face his cousin.

  “I don’t mind the heat if I am enjoying myself,” Bertram Cunningham answered. “Come and dance with me, Miss Weedon. One does not very often have as good a band as this one at Mabillon House.”

  “I would like to,” Gardenia answered, “but it seems rather rude to leave Lord Hartcourt here all alone.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Bertram laughed. “He will find someone to cheer him up, that is if he stays, which I very much doubt.”

  “Now don’t push me, Bertie,” Lord Hartcourt said. “You begged me to come with you tonight and I certainly do not intend to go jaunting off just because you have Miss Weedon to yourself.”

  “Don’t let’s go and dance for the moment.” Gardenia pleaded. “Let’s stay here and talk. It is so cool and the lights of Paris are the loveliest things I have ever seen. I feel frightened when I am amongst Aunt Lily’s guests, they are so noisy!”

  Gardenia remembered as she spoke what it had been like the night she had arrived and she felt herself shudder a little. If it was going to be like that tonight, she would go up to bed and lock herself in her room.

  “Miss Weedon is right, you know,” Bertie said. “It is certain to be rough here a little later on. I saw André de Grenelle arrive just now and he is pretty bosky already.”

  “What does ‘bosky’ mean?” she enquired.

  She spoke to Lord Hartcourt, but then Bertram Cunningham answered her.

  “Drunk, tipsy, had too much to drink. It’s a ritual with him. Most Frenchmen hold their liquor well, but André is not one of them. It makes him want to break things.”

  “I do hope he does not break up Aunt Lily’s lovely furniture,” Gardenia said anxiously. “Yesterday morning I saw that a Dresden china vase had been smashed. It must have cost a good amount of money, but I never heard Aunt Lily complain.”

  “Perhaps she does not mind,” Bertram suggested.

  “But, of course, everyone minds their home being knocked about. I should mind very much. I think it is very ungracious of people to come here and accept my aunt’s hospitality and then behave like that. I don’t believe it would happen in England.”

  “It does though,” he answered. “Don’t you remember, Vane, that party at the Cavendish one night? Rosa was furious next morning and put about twenty pounds on to everybody’s bill.”

  “Who is Rosa?” Gardenia asked.

  “Rosa Lewis, a great character,” Bertie replied. “She keeps a hotel in Jermyn Street.”

  “But one can hardly compare her with Aunt Lily,” Gardenia said. “Smashing up a hotel is rather different from doing the same thing in a private house.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  Then Bertie gave a hoot of laughter.

  “You are magnificent, you really are! No wonder André claimed that you would be the talk of Paris.”

  Before Gardenia could speak, Lord Hartcourt remarked,

  “I think that Miss Weedon is talking complete sense. This is a private house and people should remember it.”

  His cousin looked at him, seemed about to speak and then changed his mind.

  Then, before they could say anything more, Comte André de Grenelle came through the French windows and onto the balcony.

  “I guessed this was where I would find you, Cunningham,” he said. “I heard you were here and could not see you in the room, so, knowing well the English passion for fresh air, I thought to myself the balcony is where he will be!”

  “And you were right,” Bertie said a little curtly.

  The Comte was not listening to him. He had seen Gardenia. He moved towards her and, taking her hand in his, raised it to his lips.

  “The little nun!” he exclaimed. “I just knew the next time I saw you that you would be wearing something sparkling, but there is rather a lot of it, too much in fact.”

  “Listen, Comte,” Lord Hartcourt said and his voice was very firm, “Miss Weedon is a niece of the Duchesse and has come over from England to stay with her. When she arrived the other night, you made a mistake. I think you owe her an apology.”

  “A niece of Lily de Mabillon?” The Comte had drunk a great deal but his brain was still working. “Is that the truth?”

  “It is indeed,” Lord Hartcourt nodded.

  “Then I apologise, most sincerely I apologise,” the Comte said, turning to Gardenia. “But I am still sorry I did not kiss you.”

  Once again he raised her hand to his lips and then she took it away a little nervously.

  “Come and dance, Miss Weedon,” Bertie said and Gardenia was glad to escape.

  Bertie swept her round the dance floor. He danced better than his cousin, but at the same time she could not help wishing that her dance with Lord Hartcourt had been longer. It was because he was slower, she told herself, that he had given her the confidence to be able to follow his steps.

  “I say, this is wonderful,” Bertie whispered in her ear. “I have been longing to get you to myself. What do you say we slip away when no one is looking and go to Maxim’s for an hour or so? I’ll bring you back before your aunt notices you are missing.”

  “But I could not do that,” Gardenia said in surprise.

  “Why not?” he asked. “Your aunt’s being rather a dragon, you know. I am not as rich as my cousin or as distinguished, but I would look after you and give you a good time, I promise you that.”

  “Lord Hartcourt said that you wanted to show me Paris,” Gardenia said in a low voice.

  “Well, what about it?” Bertram asked.

  “I don’t think Aunt Lily would allow it,” she said.

  “Oh, really!” Bertie expostulated. “You cannot go on saying that. What are you waiting for? One of the Grand Dukes?”

  “I am not waiting for anyone,” Gardenia replied.

  “Then let’s have a little bit of fun, shall we?” Bertie coaxed her. “Come along. We will slip away now. Get your coat – no, don’t bother, it’s a warm night. My motor car is outside.”

  “I could not possibly do that,” Gardenia protested. “You don’t understand. Aunt Lily has been so kind to me, she trusts me and if she says that I am to be chaperoned as if I was in England, then, of course, I must agree. After all I am entirely dependent on her.”

  “That is just what I am trying to say to you. You don’t have to be dependent on her. I have enough as long as you are not too greedy.”

  “Let’s go out on the balcony,” Gardenia said a little breathlessly, moving away.

  She felt that her head was whirling like her body. She could not understand what he was trying to say.

  By this time other people were dancing. One of the couples stopped beside Bertie and started to talk to him.

  Gardenia reached the balcony to find that the Comte had disappeared and Lord Hartcourt was there alone.

  He looked up as she approached.

  “Enjoy the dance?” he asked.

  He had lit a cigar and the fragrance of it hung in the air.

  “I don’t know,” Gardenia answered. “Mr. Cunningham has been trying to persuade me to go with him to Maxim’s,
but I am sure Aunt Lily would not approve. I ought not to go alone, ought I?”

  It was the question of a child and her eyes were innocence itself as she raised them to Lord Hartcourt.

  He stood staring down at her and again it seemed as if there was nothing that needed to be said. They could only look at each other.

  Then, almost harshly, he turned his head away.

  “I think that is a decision you will have to make for yourself,” he said.

  “But Mr. Cunningham does not understand. I tried to explain to him that Aunt Lily has been so kind and, as I am entirely dependent on her, I must do what she wants.”

  “And what does she want?” Lord Hartcourt asked.

  There was a faint and cynical smile on his lips.

  Gardenia did not answer. She suddenly remembered her aunt saying,

  “I have asked Lord Hartcourt to tea alone. He is very rich and eligible. There has never been scandal about him. I want you to make yourself very nice to him. It is most important.”

  “Well?”

  The monosyllable woke Gardenia from her daydream.

  “I think – ” she said slowly, telling the truth because he had asked the question, “my aunt wants me to be friends with you rather than with your cousin.”

  “So that’s it, is it?” Lord Hartcourt answered. “Well, let me make this very clear to you. I am not in the running. Do you understand? I am not in the running.”

  As he spoke, he threw his cigar into the garden and walked away, leaving Gardenia alone on the balcony staring after him. She must have said something wrong, but even if she had, she could not understand his leaving without saying ‘goodbye’. It was a rudeness that she felt was uncharacteristic of him.

  As she watched him disappear into the salon, somehow the elation and excitement that had been hers all the evening faded away. She felt lonely, afraid, and perilously near to tears.

  Lord Hartcourt then walked down the stairs into the hall and ordered his car.

  The whole situation was ridiculous, he told himself. If the Duchesse wanted a protector for her niece, why on earth should she choose him?

  Certainly, with the girl looking so pretty, she could find someone richer than Bertie. But as she was so young one would have thought that it was better for her to have some decent and clean-living young man than one of the well-known roués.