Love in the Moon Read online

  The stone that seemed to be in her heart was heavier than ever and she thought that she would never be free of it.

  It would break her and take away the joy of living forever.

  *

  All the preparations had been made for Canèda to leave and, as they had to start early in the morning to reach the town where they were to stay that night, she went to say ‘goodbye’ to her grandmother in her boudoir.

  She had said ‘goodbye’ to her grandfather. He had been quieter when she went to see him in his room and, although he had called her ‘Clémentine’, he had not spoken of the Duc, but talked of the vineyards and how worried he was that on one or two of them there were signs of phylloxera.

  Armand had already told Canèda that they had kept the extent of the damage from the old man and Canèda had cheered him up.

  “There are some new ideas on how the vines can be cured of the disease,” she said.

  “Who told you this?’ her grandfather asked.

  Canèda hesitated a moment before she replied,

  “The Duc de Saumac, Grandpère.” And, if he says there is a cure, you may be certain there will be. He is a very clever man.”

  “You will be lucky, my dear, to have such a brilliant husband.”

  He put out his hand to pat Canèda’s as he said,

  “I know how happy you will both be together.”

  He paused before he continued,

  “I have often been clairvoyant about certain things, especially in regard to my own family and I can tell you, my dearest daughter, as clearly as if I could see it written down in front of me, that you and the Duc – will have an ideal marriage.”

  Canèda drew in her breath.

  “I – hope you are right – Grandpère,” she said in a low voice.

  “I know I am right,” the Comte insisted. “You will be very happy as few people have the good fortune to be, and don’t forget – name your first son after me. That would please me.”

  “I will do that, Grandpère.”

  Canèda kissed the Comte goodbye and, as she reached the door of the room, she heard him saying to himself,

  “You are a good girl, Clémentine, and you will be happy as we have always wanted you to be.”

  Outside the door she stood for a moment fighting for composure before she returned to the salon.

  If only what her grandfather had said was true, that she was really going to marry the Duc and his vision of the future was not just a part of his poor troubled brain.

  Then she told herself that she had to be brave, that life had to go on and no amount of wishing could change the fact that she could not marry the Duc anyway, for even if he was free, he would not want her.

  Now, as she knocked on her grandmother’s door, she thought of how different her feelings were from what she had expected them to be when she had originally left England.

  She had tried to avenge herself on the Duc, but the person who had been hurt was not him but herself.

  She had come here hating her de Bantôme relatives and wanting to humiliate them, but instead she loved them.

  “Come in!” she heard the Comtesse callout and she found her sitting dressed in a negligée, having had her breakfast before she dressed to go downstairs.

  The old lady held out her hands to Canèda, saying,

  “I wish you did not have to leave us, dear child. It has been such a joy to have you here. I shall miss you when you have gone.”

  “I shall miss you too, Grandmère,” Canèda said and knew that it was the truth.

  “There is one thing I forgot to tell you,” the Comtesse said, “and you must forgive me for not mentioning it until now.”

  “What is it?” Canèda enquired.

  “Your mother had some money left to her in her own right, but, when she ran away, your grandfather, quite wrongly I think, prevented it from leaving France.”

  “I know that,” Canèda said.

  “Then it makes it easier for me to tell you,” the Comtesse went on, “that it is now yours and, of course, you will understand that as it has accumulated over the years and your grandfather invested it not in vines but in railways and other businesses that have made large profits, it now amounts to a very considerable sum of money!”

  The Comtesse took an envelope from a table beside her and handed it to Canèda.

  “There is a letter from our Solicitors which explains about the investments and what is actually in the Bank. Perhaps you will take it with you to Harry and he will understand what to do about it.”

  Canèda did not take the envelope.

  Instead she said,

  “Listen, Grandmère,” I know that Mama, if she was alive, would want more than anything else to help you during this crisis over the vineyards.”

  She saw a sudden light in her grandmother’s eyes and she went on,

  “I am speaking for Harry and myself when I say that we have been very lucky and this money is far more important to you than it is to us. Spend it on maintaining the estate and keeping the Château in existence.”

  “Do you really mean – that?” the Comtesse asked in a strangled voice.

  “I mean it,” Canèda said, “and shall I add that it comes to you from Mama, with her love, which she never ceased to give you.”

  Tears ran down the Comtesse’s lined cheeks, but her eyes were shining as she exclaimed,

  “Thank you, my dearest child, thank you, thank you! You cannot know what a weight this will be off my mind. I could not bear to have to close the Château and to dismiss so many old servants who would be unable to find work elsewhere.”

  Canèda kissed the old lady.

  Then she said,

  “Goodbye, Grandmère, and please send Hélène and Armand to London. I know that I can persuade Harry to give a ball for them at Langstone House and after that they will be asked to innumerable balls and I am certain that Hélène will be a great success.”

  “How can you be so kind – and so forgiving?” the Comtesse asked in a broken voice.

  Canèda did not answer, she only kissed her grandmother again, finding it hard to keep her own tears from falling.

  Then she went downstairs to tell Hélène about the ball and, as they drove away, she knew that both Hélène and Armand were tremendously excited at the thought that they would all meet again very shortly.

  “I hope Cousin Harry will let me ride his horses!” was the last thing that Armand said as the carriage moved away from the front door.

  “I am sure he will,” Canèda replied and she was laughing as they set off down the drive and waved until the Château was out of sight.

  As she leant back against the comfortable cushions, she asked Madame de Goucourt,

  “Do men ever think of anything but horses?”

  “Sometimes they think of women,” Madame de Goucourt replied.

  “Only if they are Frenchmen!” Canèda smiled “With the English horses come first and women are a very poor second!”

  “Now you are being cynical!” Madame complained. “Moreover, seeing you with Ariel, I have rather suspected that you love him more than you could love any man!”

  Canèda knew that if she told the, truth she would have added, ‘all men except for one,’ but aloud she said,

  “Ariel is far more intelligent than most men and certainly more amenable.”

  “I see I shall have to find you a Centaur as a husband,” Madame said with a smile.

  This instantly conjured up a picture of the Duc riding his chestnut horse over the jumps with an expertise that made him the best rider Canèda had ever seen.

  There were so many things he might be, but to her he was always the ‘Man in the Moon’, and just as unattainable.

  *

  The yacht was waiting for them at Bordeaux and, as they sailed out into the open sea, Canèda said ‘goodbye’ to France.

  The visit to the land that her mother had belonged to had been an experience that was quite different from what she had expected
and it was something that she would never forget.

  But while she had gone to inflict wounds on other people, it was she herself who had been stricken and she felt that the scars would remain with her all her life.

  It would be hard to forget her grandfather, still worried and distressed over a marriage that had not taken place twenty years ago, and her grandmother weeping for a daughter she had lost.

  What was more, Canèda thought, she and Harry had lost something very precious by being strangers to the family whose blood flowed through their veins.

  Still more bitter she had lost her battle with the Duc and was in fact vanquished and annihilated.

  The tables had been turned and she had not wreaked her vengeance on him, but he on her.

  But more than that, Canèda thought, she had lost the enchantment she had found in the Château de Saumac, which she had called the ‘Corner of the Moon’.

  It was something that persisted in everybody when they were young, when the world was peopled not only by humans but by dreams, when there was the anticipation of adventure lurking everywhere and the sun rose every morning on a new day to herald the promise of untold rapture.

  That had all gone!

  Instead, there was, of course, a comfortable life waiting for her and money to spend, which she had never had before. And doubtless a great many men to admire her.

  But something was missing, something so vital, so important that without it she was only half of herself and the half she had lost would be forever imprisoned in the moon until stars ceased to shine.

  Chapter 7

  Driving along the dusty country lanes towards Langstone Park, Canèda did not see the spring buds in the hedgerows, the primroses and cowslips on the banks or the blossoms on the trees in the orchards.

  Instead she felt as if she was encompassed by a fog of depression because she was leaving France behind her.

  The sea had been rather rough after they had left Bordeaux, but she had been so busy helping Ben with the horses that she did not have a great deal of time to think about herself.

  When finally she climbed to bed at night, she was so tired that she slept heavily from sheer exhaustion.

  And the next morning she was up early to let Ben have a few hours’ rest while she calmed the horses.

  Ariel was easy and so was Black Boy, but the carriage horses and those that had been ridden by the outriders were frightened when the yacht pitched and tossed and they whimpered when it rolled.

  Canèda’s voice, like Ben’s, kept them from panicking, but still it was a relief that the sea was smoother when they reached the English Channel.

  Just before they sailed into Folkestone Harbour, Madame de Goucourt had said to Canèda,

  “Are you going to Langstone Park, ma chérie?

  “I will go there first,” Canèda replied, “but if Harry is in London, I shall join him there.”

  Madame de Goucourt hesitated a moment.

  Then she said,

  “Would you think it very remiss of me if I left you at Folkestone and took a train to London?”

  No, of course not,” Canèda replied, “and, if you are worried about looking after me, I shall be perfectly safe with Ben and the rest of the servants.”

  “I was reckoning that if I left Folkestone very early, I should arrive home early in the afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course,” Canèda replied, “and if you want to go to London, of course, you must.”

  “Actually it is my daughter’s birthday tomorrow,” Madame de Goucourt said, “and before I left I told her that there was no likelihood of my being with her. Now, if I catch the early morning train, I can be in London for the family luncheon that is being given by her parents-in-law and she was very anxious for me to dine with her and her husband in the evening.”

  “Then, of course, you must go,” Canèda said.

  As she spoke, she thought that Madame de Goucourt’s daughter was lucky to have a family.

  It was what she and Harry had missed ever since her father and mother had died.

  Now, having been with the de Bantômes, she realised how comforting and fun it was to be a member of a large family.

  Madame de Goucourt said ‘goodbye’ affectionately to Canèda early that morning and, looking very elegant, she had set off for Folkestone Station.

  Before she left she said,

  “You did not confide in me, ma chérie, but I have the idea that your heart is aching. I wish I could help you, but remember that time heals everything.”

  Canèda did not reply, but she knew that where she was concerned time would not heal the ache in her heart nor would it alter her conviction that she had found the one man who mattered in her life and then had lost him.

  She remembered her mother saying so often that as soon as she met Gerald Lang, she had known that nothing else mattered, her social position had been forgotten, as had the wealth and power that would be hers on marriage and even that she must hurt the family to which she belonged.

  Love had swept away everything except the knowledge that she belonged to Gerald Lang and he to her.

  “It would not have mattered,” she had said to Canèda, “if your father had been a poor beggar or an insignificant bourgeois. He was the man whom God intended for me since the beginning of time and it was impossible to deny my heart.”

  There was a deep note of emotion in her mother’s voice that told Canèda that even after all the years that had passed and the difficulties they had encountered through having so little money, she never regretted for one moment the drastic step she had taken in running away on the eve of her marriage.

  “I think you were very brave, Mama,” Canèda had said and her mother had smiled.

  “Not brave, darling, it was a case of self-preservation. I knew that without your father everything that mattered in life would be lost.”

  That, Canèda knew, was what she was feeling now, a feeling of loss and emptiness, and the stone in her breast seemed to grow heavier as everything round her was very English while her thoughts were in France.

  As she drove down the drive towards Langstone Park, for the first time the impressive beauty of the house ceased to thrill her.

  Instead of the exquisite and grandiose design by Vanbrugh of the stone steps leading up to a colonnaded front door, all she could see were the four towers of Saumac silhouetted against the sky, which she and the Duc had named ‘the moon’.

  The carriage drew up at the front door and a footman came running down the steps to open the door.

  Canèda stepped out and paused to thank the coachman for bringing her home and to smile at Ben, who was still seated on Ariel, waiting to ride him round to the stables.

  Then slowly, as if she regretted that the journey was over and she was home again, she walked up the steps.

  ‘Welcome home, my Lady!” the butler greeted her respectfully.

  “How is everything, Dawson?” Canèda asked. “Is his Lordship here or in London?”

  “His Lordship’s at the stables, my Lady. I’ll send someone to tell him you’ve returned.”

  “Yes, please do that,” Canèda replied.

  As she spoke, she walked up the stairs to her own room.

  Ben had sent one of the outriders ahead of them early in the morning, so that she would be expected, and her lady’s maid was waiting for her in her bedroom.

  “It’s nice to have you home, my Lady,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re glad to be back.”

  “Yes, of course,” Canèda replied.

  “I hopes Ellen looked after you properly.”

  “She did her best,” Canèda replied.

  She took off her travelling clothes and put on a gown that she had not taken with her.

  It was a very pretty one, but she barely gave herself a glance in the mirror.

  What did it matter what she looked like when the one person she wished to admire her was not only hundreds of miles away but even if he was here would refuse to look at her?

&nb
sp; Then she told herself sharply that this was a ridiculous way to think and she had to take up her life in England where she had left it and enjoy herself as she had before.

  There would be dozens of men waiting to admire her when she reached London and she had not been surprised to notice a large number of letters waiting for her on the desk in her bedroom.

  Her lady’s maid saw her glance at them and said,

  “I’m sure you’ve been missed in London, my Lady. Most of those letters were brought down by his Lordship when he came home two days ago and he told Mr. Barnet that dozens of bouquets of flowers had been delivered to the house, but, as your Ladyship weren’t there, they had just wilted away.”

  Canèda drew in her breath.

  “We will go back to London as soon as his Lordship wishes,” she said.

  She knew that it would be the wise thing to do. Nothing could be more foolish than to sit moping at Langstone Park and, worse than anything else, to be alone with her thoughts.

  What was the point of remembering what she had felt when the Duc had kissed her? Or of recapturing in her mind the wonder and glory when he had swept her up into the sky?

  She had thought that she would never come down to Earth again.

  Then she could see his face, stem and unsmiling, when her grandmother had introduced him and after that he had never seemed to look at her again.

  She wanted to cry out at the pain of it.

  Then she asked herself again – ‘what is the use?’

  When she went downstairs, hoping that Harry by now would be in from the stables, she felt the same words repeat themselves over and over again in her mind.

  ‘What is the use?’

  She walked into the room where she and Harry sat when they were alone.

  It was not as formal as the big drawing room, but was a delightful sitting room known as the ‘Blue Room’, which had long French windows opening into the garden.

  The paintings were not of the more austere Lang relations but of their children.

  There were children looking rather stiff and wide-eyed as they posed for the artist, there were children playing with their dolls and one child holding two small kittens in her arms who looked, Canèda thought, not unlike herself.