An Innocent in Paris Read online

  Suddenly she found that his lips were close to hers and a quick tremor of excitement ran through her.

  “Let me take you away, Gardenia,” Lord Hartcourt said very softly, “I will keep you safe from all the wicked Barons in the world. I will look after you and I think we would be very happy together.”

  She heard his words almost in a dream, then his lips were on hers and the world stood still.

  She felt his lips, hard and possessive, take her mouth captive and she felt a sudden flame run through her, searing its way through her body and her throat until she knew that without her conscious will or volition she was giving herself to him utterly and completely in a kiss that seemed to join them, man and woman, for all time.

  It was so beautiful, so utterly and completely wonderful.

  She remembered nothing save that she was safe at last.

  The strong arms that held her kept out fear and the wonder of his kiss had evoked an ecstasy in herself that was beyond anything she had ever imagined in her wildest dreams.

  “I love you!”

  She just heard herself murmur the words against his mouth and then he was kissing her again, wildly, passionately and with a fervour that made her feel that the world was alight with golden stars.

  Only when she felt his hand moving against the soft curve of her breast did she awaken to a sense of propriety. With difficulty she forced herself from his arms.

  “I must go,” she said, “I must not stay here. It is wrong. You must see that.”

  She looked so lovely with her eyes alight and her lips open where he had kissed them that Lord Hartcourt sat looking at her as though he had never seen her before.

  “I must go,” Gardenia repeated. “Please, my aunt will be wondering what has happened to me.”

  Lord Hartcourt glanced at the clock. In a short while he also had to be on duty.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked. “Alas, I cannot come to you tonight. I have three different parties I have to attend with the Ambassador. It will be two o’clock in the morning before I am free.”

  “Come tomorrow,” Gardenia said. She put her hands into his. “I am so happy, so terribly happy,” she whispered.

  “And so am I,” Lord Hartcourt added. “Are you going to tell your aunt?”

  “No, no, of course not. She would tell the Baron and she would ask – oh, let’s keep it secret, just you and I, until we have time to make plans.”

  “That is right,” Lord Hartcourt smiled,. “We will make plans tomorrow. I will come and collect you about twelve-thirty. I think I can get away for lunch. We can go somewhere quiet and talk about everything.”

  “That would be wonderful, utterly wonderful!” Gardenia cried.

  She bent and picked up her hat from where she had thrown it on the floor.

  Then she stood for a moment, looking up at him, her head only reaching his shoulder.

  With a look on her face that he had seldom seen on any woman’s, she said very softly,

  “It is true, isn’t it, that we love each other?”

  “Of course. You are very very sweet, Gardenia, and I am a very lucky man.”

  Then, as she gave a sigh of utter content, Lord Hartcourt said in a sensible business-like voice,

  “We must get you out of here. Where is your carriage?”

  “Outside the door. Does it matter?”

  Lord Hartcourt’s lips tightened for a moment and she loved him even more because he was thinking of her reputation.

  “We will just have to brazen it out. Put your hat on and your gloves and speak to me as coolly and distantly as possible. If you had not brought your carriage, I could have let you out by the side door.”

  Gardenia did as he asked, arranging her hat in the mirror over the mantelpiece and then walking across to the door where he was waiting.

  He stood looking down at her and bending his head kissed her once again on the lips.

  She wanted to cling onto him, she wanted to stay there in that enchanted room where she had found a new happiness, but the door was open and there was nothing she could do but walk sedately down the wide blue-carpeted staircase towards the front door.

  Only as they went did she whisper to herself,

  ‘One day I will come here quite openly, one day I will come as his wife and walk beside him without fear of being seen and without being nervous in case we are overheard.”

  As they reached the front door, Lord Hartcourt helped her into her carriage.

  “Goodbye, Miss Weedon,” he said in a loud voice and taking her hand in his. “Thank you very much for calling and for the very charming aquarium. It was most kind of you to bring it.”

  He stood there as the carriage drove off. She had one last glimpse of him walking up the steps, his back towards her.

  She felt a sudden pang of unhappiness because she must leave him and because she felt as though he had already forgotten her. Then she told herself that she was being childish. He had kissed her.

  She loved him and he loved her.

  Oh God, how she loved him!

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gardenia ran down the steps of the house to where Lord Hartcourt was waiting for her in his grey motor car. She felt that the glory of the day dazzled her eyes and made it difficult to see him.

  The happiness welling up inside her had turned everything to gold. She had woken this morning feeling as if she must cry out at the loveliness of the world just because she was so happy.

  She had dressed with extra care, putting on a new dress that had arrived from Monsieur Worth, which seemed to give her a new radiance. It was a pale cyclamen in colour with faint underlying touches of turquoise blue all very young and very simple in design.

  She looked like a beautiful flower as she raised her face to Lord Hartcourt.

  “You are punctual,” he said with a smile, “the only woman I have ever known who does not keep me waiting.”

  “I have been ready for over half an hour,” Gardenia replied.

  She was too unsophisticated and too overwhelmingly in love to pretend to him or be in any way coquettish.

  She climbed into the motor car and put her hand on his arm.

  “I thought the hours would never pass until I could see you again,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her, the expression on his face unusually tender.

  “I wanted to see you too,” he answered her simply.

  He started the car and they drove off.

  Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To a little restaurant by the Seine. I think it will amuse you. You can watch the barges moving up and down the river and the food is superlative. In a month or so it will be spoiled but at the moment only the discriminating few like myself know about it.”

  Gardenia laughed.

  “It makes you sound very conceited, but I know exactly what you mean. Once everyone goes there it will no longer be amusing.”

  “And no longer the place for us,” he added.

  Gardenia resisted an impulse to press her face against his shoulder.

  “Say that again,” she begged him. “For the moment it seems to be the most wonderful word in the world – us – just you and I.”

  “Just you and I,” he repeated. “What a child you are, Gardenia!

  “There is so much I want to teach you.”

  He drove skilfully through the traffic. They then reached the restaurant and Gardenia saw with pleasure that there were very few cars or carriages outside.

  It was small and not expensively furnished, but she realised that Lord Hartcourt was an honoured guest and noticed that they were taken to the best and most discreet table in a small alcove.

  Gardenia drew off her gloves and the waiter handed her a large menu.

  “Now don’t hurry,” Lord Hartcourt advised her. “We must discuss the dishes. Always remember that food is a religion to the French and they take it very seriously.”

  Gardenia wanted to say that she was not hungry because she felt
as if she had already been fed on ambrosia. But she realised that it would spoil the meal for Lord Hartcourt so instead she suggested,

  “You choose for me, I know I shall like to eat whatever you do.”

  Lord Hartcourt nodded his approval. It was what he had expected her to say. He took a long time discussing this dish and that with the waiter and even longer over the wine list.

  Finally it was all done and he sat back and held out his hand to Gardenia.

  She put her fingers into his and felt the familiar little thrill run through her at his touch.

  “I have splendid news for you,” Lord Hartcourt began.

  “What can it be?” she asked.

  “A friend of mine has a flat on the left bank of the river, which he is leaving tomorrow. He has been sent to Sweden and now wants someone to take over the rest of his lease. It is furnished charmingly and has a magnificent view that overlooks the Seine and Notre-Dame. Would you like that?”

  “But, of course,” Gardenia answered.

  “A little later on I will have a house,” Lord Hartcourt went on, “but it is not yet available. The flat will be all that is necessary for now and, as I say, it is available from tomorrow.”

  “How marvellous!” Gardenia exclaimed. “But surely we will not want it quite as quickly as that?”

  “Today, if it was possible,” Lord Hartcourt said firmly. “I will not have you living any longer in a house where the Baron is a frequent visitor. When I think about what he asked of you, I could murder the man with my own hands.”

  His face darkened and Gardenia said quickly,

  “Yes, you are right, of course, you are right. He is a horrible man and I long to see the last of him – but then I don’t want to upset Aunt Lily.”

  “Your aunt’s behaviour is something I think we had best not discuss,” Lord Hartcourt said coldly.

  Gardenia gave a little sigh.

  “She has been very kind to me.”

  “That is a matter of opinion,” Lord Hartcourt replied, “but let us talk of something else. Shall we go and see this flat after luncheon?”

  “Oh, may we?” Gardenia asked eagerly.

  “I thought that was what you would like to do.”

  “I would love to see it. I am sure I will like it if you do and, after all, you are the person who must be comfortable.”

  “On the contrary, it is you who have to be considered, you funny little thing. I shall not be able to be with you all the time, you know.”

  Gardenia looked at him in surprise.

  Then she said,

  “Oh, well, you will have to go to work, of course. I understand that. But I will be able to cook your breakfast for you before you go. I hope you will think I am a good cook.”

  Lord Hartcourt looked at her with a little frown between his eyes.

  “I shall not be able to stay with you every night,” he said, “only very occasionally in the week and sometimes at weekends and then we might go away into the country. There are lots of charming little inns about twenty or thirty miles out of Paris.”

  He stopped, realising that Gardenia was looking at him with a very strange expression on her face.

  “But surely – ” she began, but at that moment there was an interruption.

  While they had been talking, the restaurant had been filling up and now the door had opened to admit yet another couple and the woman, having looked around her, had come straight up to their table.

  Gardenia looked up to see one of the most attractive women she had ever seen standing staring at Lord Hartcourt.

  Dressed in green with a huge hat covered with ostrich feathers, she carried a parasol of green chiffon and lace. It was a striking ensemble, but what held Gardenia’s attention was the woman’s face.

  She had never imagined anyone could have such a white skin or that her eyes, with their long artificially darkened lashes, should look quite so elegant or indeed in their own way so beautiful.

  “Vane, I must speak to you.”

  The newcomer’s voice was soft and beguiling. She spoke in French and one hand in a pale green suede glove went out towards him appealingly.

  Lord Hartcourt rose very stiffly to his feet.

  “I am sorry, but there is nothing to discuss.”

  “But there is, you know there is. I want to tell you what happened. I want to give you an explanation, if you would only listen to me! You have not answered my letters, that is cruel and unlike you, Vane.”

  Gardenia thought that she had never heard a voice that could be quite so beguiling. She wondered how Lord Hartcourt could resist this woman’s pleas.

  “I am sorry, Henriette, I have nothing to say.”

  Gardenia felt herself go rigid. So this was Henriette, this was the chère amie of whom she had heard, this beautiful, exquisite and almost overwhelmingly attractive woman.

  Lord Hartcourt resumed his chair.

  “Goodbye, Henriette,” he said sharply. “There is no point in prolonging this discussion.”

  Henriette stood there and Gardenia saw her clench her fingers together.

  “So that is all you have to say to me!”

  Now her voice had changed, it was no longer beguiling, but fierce and spiteful and there was something in the way she spoke that reminded Gardenia of a snake.

  “You cannot get away with this,” she snarled. “You just cannot treat me as though I was some dirt that you had picked up in the street. Your Attorney came to see me this morning and told me to get out of the house. I will move when I am ready and not before. You can sue me, but you would not be likely to do that, would you, your important Lordship? They don’t like scandals at your Embassy, but if you are not careful I will cause one.”

  Next Lord Hartcourt looked up at her coolly. The venom and spite in Henriette’s voice obviously had no effect on him.

  “Either you leave this restaurant now or I do,” he said. “Do you wish me to call for the proprietor?”

  For a moment Gardenia thought that Henriette was going to strike him and it seemed as though there was a fierce battle of wills between them.

  “I have left you in possession of the emerald necklace,” Lord Hartcourt said, “but I have not yet paid for it. If there is any trouble, Henriette, of any sort, scandals or a refusal to leave the house, then I will not be responsible for the bill. Is that clear?”

  Henriette was beaten and she knew it.

  There was no chance of Lord Hartcourt returning to her and she was well aware it might be a very long time before she found anyone else willing to spend such a large sum of money on her. Giving him a look of venomous hatred, she turned to leave the table when she saw Gardenia as if for the first time.

  “Perhaps you are the reason he is so eager to be rid of me,” she said to Gardenia in the same malevolent voice. “Well, he is certain to be bored within a few weeks. You are not his type, I can tell you that. And you can tell that old trollop your aunt the same thing.”

  “Henriette!” Lord Hartcourt interrupted in a voice of thunder, but Henriette had already gone, walking back towards the door to the man who had brought her.

  “Come, we will not stay here,” she said in a high voice. “The place is full of rats which have been swept out of Les Halles. I would not wish to eat amongst any of them.”

  Several people looked up with angry expressions at the slang that was used only in the gutters of Montmartre, but Henriette had already departed, whilst leaving behind a disrupted atmosphere and an overpowering fragrance of expensive perfume.

  Lord Hartcourt gave a little sigh of relief.

  “I apologise,” he turned to Gardenia. “I did not expect to find her here. I would not have subjected you to that scene for anything in the world.”

  Gardenia’s face was very white.

  “I am sorry,” Lord Hartcourt said again, realising that she was upset. “Let’s have a drink and you will feel better. I was a fool for ever getting mixed up with such a woman. People reveal their true character when things
go wrong.”

  He raised his hand and signalled to the Sommelier.

  “Open the champagne!”

  The wine waiter hurried to his table and poured out two glasses of champagne. Lord Hartcourt drank half his glass down quickly as if he was in need of sustenance but Gardenia did not touch hers.

  When the waiter had gone, she said in a low voice, almost as though she forced herself to speak,

  “You said that the flat was available from tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course, I did,” he said quickly, glad to change the subject to anything that did not concern Henriette.

  “If I was to go there tomorrow,” Gardenia suggested slowly, “when were you thinking we could be married?”

  There was then a moment of what seemed to her an awful silence, a moment when Lord Hartcourt sat absolutely still, his fingers on the stem of his wine glass, his eyes looking down at the bubbling wine as if he had never seen it before.

  Then with an effort and in a voice that Gardenia knew was slightly embarrassed, he said,

  “Now listen, Gardenia, we must talk about this.”

  She made a little movement and her full glass of champagne crashed onto the table, some of it splashing onto her dress.

  “Oh, how stupid of me!” she apologised.

  “Don’t worry,” Lord Hartcourt said. “The waiter will clear it up.”

  “There is some on my dress,” Gardenia said. “I had better go to the cloakroom.”

  “Yes, of course, get the woman to sponge it for you,” Lord Hartcourt agreed.

  He rose to his feet and Gardenia moved from the table over the room. The cloakroom was situated a little to the right of the kitchen. She found her way there and the woman came forward to help her.

  “Please, madame, I am not feeling well,” Gardenia said in French.

  Her face was ashen and the woman helped her to a chair.

  “Let me fetch you a little brandy, mamselle,” she suggested.

  Gardenia nodded.

  She was past words. She felt not only faint but sick. The brandy, strong and fiery, which the woman brought her restored the colour to her cheeks and she felt a little better.

  “I must go home,” she said, “but I do not wish Monsieur to know. You understand? Do not tell him. He will find out in time that I have gone.”