An Innocent in Paris Read online

  For the moment he felt cheered by the kindness in the Ambassador’s voice and then he frowned as he walked back to his desk and sat down to study the new Naval Code.

  He had not been working for more than half an hour when the door was thrust open and Bertie came hurrying into the room.

  “Jarvis has just told me you have come back,” he cried. “I was not expecting you until tomorrow. What happened? Country turn out to be a dead bore?”

  “Extremely dull,” Lord Hartcourt replied.

  “Well, have you heard about what has been happening here?” Bertie asked.

  “No. What in particular?” Lord Hartcourt enquired.

  “Well, Henriette called no less than four times yesterday. She was absolutely determined that you were not away. Jarvis had a hell of a time with her.”

  “Really?” Lord Hartcourt drawled the word.

  “That is not all,” Bertie went on. “It is rumoured all over Paris that she tried to commit suicide last night. They say she took an overdose of sleeping pills and has been taken off to hospital.”

  If Bertie had expected his cousin to look stricken or even excited by the news, he was disappointed. Lord Hartcourt only raised his eyebrows and started tidying the papers on his desk.

  “Damn it all!” Bertie exclaimed, sitting on the corner of the desk. “You might seem a bit more interested. After all she is your chère amie and she would not commit suicide unless she was upset about something.”

  Lord Hartcourt sat back in his seat.

  “Listen, Bertie,” he said. “You have not been in Paris very long. I can assure you this is the oldest trick in the world. It is tried by every member of the Demi-Monde who cannot get her own way or finds herself laid aside by her current Protector. They take a few sleeping tablets, not enough to kill them, just enough to induce a heavy sleep or a light coma. They notify their friends first, who most conveniently find them before it is too late. Then they are carried off to hospital surrounded by flowers and they wait, frilled and perfumed, for the recalcitrant male to come crawling back with his apologies.”

  “Good Lord! Do they really go to such a length?” Bertie asked.

  “Ask André de Grenelle. He will tell you it is a very ordinary occurrence in Paris. In fact it happens to be the fashion! I should have thought that Henriette had more sense.”

  “So you have given her the chuck,” Bertie remarked,

  “I did not say so,” Lord Hartcourt replied.

  “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? She was happy enough with you on Friday night at Maxim’s. She would not be committing suicide forty-eight hours later unless you had upset her.”

  Lord Hartcourt did not reply and after a moment Bertie said irritably,

  “Oh, do come off your high horse, Vane, and be a bit more human! You know perfectly well I am bursting with curiosity and so is the whole of Paris. You have to say something, whether you like it or not.”

  “Very well,” Lord Hartcourt answered. “My liaison with Henriette has come to an end. Did you really want me to put it in the newspapers?”

  “But why?” Bertie asked. “You were so fond of her. You gave her that whacking great emerald necklace on Friday. Something must have happened. Do tell me, Vane.”

  “And I have no intention of discussing my private affairs with anyone,” Lord Hartcourt replied. “Most people would have the good taste not to press me.”

  Bertie grinned.

  “Well, I have no taste. I am only damned curious. What the hell happened?”

  “That is something you will never know,” Lord Hartcourt answered. “Now, let’s change the subject.”

  “Curse you! You are an obstinate fellow! I was certain you would tell me.”

  “Then you were wrong.”

  “I don’t know what has got into you,” Bertie complained. “You used to be a damned good fellow when we first knew each other.”

  “Was I?”

  “I don’t mean when we were children and our time at Eton, but when I grew up. I was younger than you but you took me around London and showed me a friendliness I shall never forget. I thought it would be the same in Paris when I came over here. Now you seem quite unaccountable. I don’t know where I am with you.”

  “I am just the same,” Lord Hartcourt replied patiently, “but you must learn, Bertie, not to interfere in things that don’t concern you. I never have discussed my women with anyone and I do not intend to start now.”

  “Regimental honour and all that sort of thing?” Bertie teased him. “Well, you are right, I suppose. But I cannot at all understand what is happening and that’s the truth. First there is Henriette banging on the door and making a regular nuisance of herself while you skip off to the country and after you left the party on Saturday night everything seemed to go wrong.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Lord Hartcourt asked.

  “Well, by the time I reached the balcony you had gone and Miss Weedon seemed almost in tears. She would not talk and would not dance. What did you say to upset her?”

  “Was she upset?” Lord Hartcourt asked evasively.

  “Well, I thought so. Two or three people joined us and quite suddenly she said that she had a headache and then slipped away. I don’t know what you can have done. You certainly spoiled my evening.”

  “I am sorry about that,” Lord Hartcourt said gravely.

  “As a matter of fact, I did meet a rather attractive little thing who had come to the party with one of the Russian Envoys, all big eyes and high Slavonic cheekbones, you would know the type. She was quite amusing. I took her home, as her escort seemed to have disappeared and I must say the Russians have something these French girls don’t have.”

  “Well, I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” Lord Hartcourt smiled.

  “Not as much as I would have enjoyed it had I managed to have a proper talk with the little British sparrow,” Bertie said. “You know, I am sure the Duchesse is determined I shall not go near her. Just look at the way she behaved when we arrived, taking me off to get her a drink and telling you to dance with Gardenia.”

  .”I am afraid the Duchesse does not consider you sufficiently rich or important enough,” Lord Hartcourt tod him.

  “You really think it’s going to be a case of the highest bidder?” Bertie asked. “It’s pretty disgusting, isn’t it?”

  Lord Hartcourt shrugged his shoulders.

  Then, in a voice that suddenly seemed to rasp, he said,

  “For God’s sake, Bertie, let me get on with my work. If you are going to stay here, you must be quiet. If you are going to chatter, you must go away.”

  “Oh, very well then,” Bertie said huffily. “If that is going to be your attitude, I will take myself off. I have a good mind to go round to Mabillon House and see what the girl is doing. The Duchesse cannot shut me out all the time unless she keeps Gardenia under lock and key.”

  “I expect that is exactly what she will do when she once sees your bank balance,” Lord Hartcourt remarked disagreeably.

  His cousin went out of the room and slammed the door.

  Lord Hartcourt, with a heavy frown between his eyes, sat down to his correspondence.

  *

  Gardenia was in fact at that moment receiving a lecture from her aunt.

  “You must make more of an effort to be charming,” Aunt Lily was saying. “It is no use being shy and tongue-tied. Men in Paris have no use for that sort of thing. They want to be entertained and, if you don’t entertain them, they will find someone who will.”

  “I do try,” Gardenia replied miserably.

  “I thought you were being very offhand to Comte André de Grenelle when we met him in the Park just now. He is a very rich young man and comes from one of the best families in France.”

  “He drinks too much,” Gardenia said. “He was insulting to me on Saturday night. I did not quite follow what he was saying, but I know it was insulting.”

  The Duchesse lay back in her armchair and suddenly looked very tired.r />
  “One has to learn to handle men. They are not all perfect. Some of them drink too much, some gamble and some are just difficult.”

  “I will do my best,” Gardenia said in a stifled voice and then impulsively went and knelt by her aunt’s chair.

  “I am so grateful to you, Aunt Lily,” she sighed. “I am thrilled with all my wonderful clothes and I love being here with you. But somehow I feel out of place. I expect it’s because I have lived such a quiet and sheltered life. But I don’t understand half the things people are saying to me and I don’t think that the Baron likes me.”

  She said the last words nervously.

  She was well aware she was being daring in voicing what was in her mind, but she felt that somehow she must bring into the open that undercurrent of suspicion that she felt existed between her and the man who incessantly was in and out of the house.

  “What has the Baron said to you?” the Duchesse’s voice was hard.

  “Nothing, nothing in particular,” Gardenia replied. “I just feel – ”

  “Then don’t feel anything,” the Duchesse said sharply. “:The Baron is a difficult man, Gardenia, but he is indeed very clever, very important and has big responsibilities in Paris. Sometimes even I find him hard to understand. You must accept him as he is and try to make things easy for him when he comes here to relax.”

  “Does he have a house of his own?” Gardenia asked.

  “He lives in his Embassy,” the Duchesse replied.

  There was a little pause and then Gardenia enquired,

  “He is not married?”

  The Duchesse rose from the chair and walked across the room.

  “Yes, of course, he is married,” she said casually. “His wife is in Germany managing the big estates he owns in North Prussia. They have four children. He is a very respected man.”

  “I see,” Gardenia nodded.

  She still did not follow why, if the Baron had a wife and children, he was always hanging around Aunt Lily. Why, when she had come unexpectedly into the small drawing room last evening, had he hastily taken his arms from around the Duchesse’s shoulders? Her face had been turned adoringly up to his as if he had been kissing her. Gardenia had been shocked.

  ‘Surely Aunt Lily was too old for that sort of thing?’

  Then, when she had thought about it later, she had decided that Aunt Lily was thinking of marrying the Baron. After all there was no reason why she should not marry again and, though it was unfortunate she should like such a man, and a German at that, at least the Baron was someone to look after her. He might prevent her from spending so much money on the parties, which must be an incredible expense and such odd and noisy people were invited.

  Gardenia rose from her knees.

  Aunt Lily was making a vague pretence of rearranging some carnations in a vase by the fireplace.

  “I think, Gardenia, that I should explain,” she then said in rather a strange voice. “I have often been very unhappy and lonely since my husband died. The Baron has been very kind to me. He has helped me with my very difficult legal affairs. He has given me his advice when I have most needed it.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand,” Gardenia said quickly. “It just seemed unusual that he should come here so often. I did not realise that he was helping you.”

  “You must see how it is,” her aunt went on, “He too is lonely, his wife and family are far away and the French don’t like the Germans. He is sensitive and it hurts him when people are rude and inhospitable where he is concerned.”

  Gardenia said nothing.

  Somehow she could not imagine the Baron having hurt feelings or being anything but autocratic and overbearing. But perhaps, she thought to herself, she was being uncharitable and after all Aunt Lily did know him well.

  “I am sorry if I have appeared curious, Aunt Lily,” she said. “You must forgive me. It is intolerable of me to be asking questions. It is just that I want to understand and not to make mistakes.”

  “Of course, child, and if you want to please me,” the Duchesse said, “you will be kind to that nice Lord Hartcourt. He is such a charming man and very rich.”

  Gardenia felt her face burn.

  “That is something I wanted to speak to you about, Aunt Lily,” she added timidly. “You see, from something Lord Hartcourt said to me the other night, I think he now imagines that you are running after him.”

  “Did he say so?” the Duchesse quizzed her in a voice that was suddenly harsh.

  “Yes, he did ‒ in a sort of way,” Gardenia faltered. “It was my fault. I told him ‒ you wanted us to be friends. Afterwards I realised how silly I had been and I felt ashamed. I don’t want to marry anyone, Aunt Lily, unless ‒ I fall in love with him.”

  “Gardenia, you have to be married,” the Duchess said. “All I really want is to find you somebody rich and eligible who will look after you and with whom you will be happy. There is nothing else, you must appreciate. You talk of being a Governess or companion, what sort of life is that? You would hate it. Besides it is degrading to live a life in which you grow old without any happiness. Women were made for marriage and so you have to be married as quickly as possible.”

  “But why so quickly? Someone will come along who I can love. I will meet someone one day.”

  “You cannot wait for someday,” the Duchesse insisted, “and that is a fact. I am not going into details, Gardenia. You must believe I know best. I want you married as soon as possible. I will give you a good allowance, a magnificent trousseau and when I am dead you shall have all the money I have left. That ought to be enough to attract any normal man – ”

  She paused a moment and stood gazing at her niece.

  “You are very pretty,” she murmured. “I would like you to marry well, really well. It will be such a slap in the eye for – ”

  She stopped suddenly.

  “There is no point in talking about it. If you want to please me, if you want to show your gratitude, you will make yourself very pleasant to the men I point out to you. To de Grenelle, for one and, of course, to Lord Hartcourt. Don’t let them know you are running after them, just make yourself indispensable and just be there when they want you.”

  Gardenia said nothing.

  She felt there was nothing she could say. How impossible it was to describe her dreams, how she hoped one day to meet a man and to know that because he loved her she could love him in return. She really wanted to give her heart willingly without weighing up the worldly advantages of her future husband’s wealth and social position.

  Almost because she knew it would annoy her aunt, she asked,

  “What about Mr. Bertram Cunningham? May I not be nice to him?”

  “I suppose he might be better than nobody,” her aunt said in an exasperated voice. “He is only a cousin of Lord Hartcourt’s and he comes from a good family, but he is only a second son. It does seem a pity when you are so pretty to throw yourself away unless there is no alternative.”

  “He is very anxious to be friendly,” Gardenia pointed out.

  “Then be friendly with him,” the Duchesse said unexpectedly. “I will tell you what you can do. He asked you to go driving in the Park, did he not? Very well then, you can go, but someone else has to be there too. You need not be chaperoned by a woman, a man would do, Lord Hartcourt for instance.”

  The frown that had creased the Duchesse’s face now vanished. She smiled and seemed suddenly pleased with herself.

  “Does that please you then, you silly child?” she asked. “Go and write Mr. Cunningham a nice letter. Say that I have changed my mind and that you can go for a drive with him, so long as it is not alone. I should not suggest now that Lord Hartcourt should accompany you the first time, just wait and see who Mr. Cunningham brings. I have a suspicion it will be his cousin.”

  Gardenia poised her lips to say that she did not wish Lord Hartcourt to go with them after the way he had behaved last night. But she knew that it would annoy her aunt.

  Beside
s Aunt Lily might enquire more closely as to what Lord Hartcourt had actually said and Gardenia knew that she could not remember it. It was all too muddled and she did not want to talk about it. It made her feel hot and embarrassed.

  What was more it made her feel again that strange unaccountable throbbing of her heart when Lord Hartcourt had walked away and left her alone on the balcony.

  “Now go and write the letter,” the Duchesse was saying. “I will then send it round to the Embassy.”

  “Very well, Aunt Lily,” Gardenia agreed meekly.

  She went into the writing room, which lay off the drawing room, took one of the crested and heavily engraved pieces of writing paper from its holder and laid it on the blotting paper.

  Then she sat staring across the room.

  Somehow this was all wrong. It was not how an ordinary girl of her age would behave in England, writing to a man to ask him for an invitation, even though she had refused him once. Gardenia was sure that her mother would not have approved.

  She was certain of that, just as she was certain that her mother would not have approved of the party on Saturday night, of the Baron, of the odd noisy women at dinner or the people that her aunt had talked to in the Park when they had gone driving that afternoon.

  They had drawn the car up under chestnut trees and quite a number of people had come up for a chat. The men had been distinguished, there was no doubt about that. But there was something too intimate and far too familiar in the way they spoke to Aunt Lily and, when she was introduced, Gardenia knew that the way they stared at her was insulting.

  It was almost as if they had undressed her with their eyes until she was naked. What was wrong? Why were things so different in Paris from what she had thought they would be?

  The house was magnificent, the furniture and furnishings were in exquisite taste, it gave her a thrill even to look at them. But then Aunt Lily’s guests, with their spangled dresses and vulgar jewellery, were just out of place. Surely all French women were not like that? Perhaps Aunt Lily had come to know the wrong people, yet, as a Duchesse, the very elite of Society would flock to her house?

  ‘I don’t understand, I don’t understand,’ Gardenia whispered to herself.