Love in the Ruins Read online

  “Suzette – told me he was – married,” Mimosa murmured.

  “Suzette Blanc,” Monsieur Charlot said scornfully, “is one of the idiot women who loved him when she was young and has continued to love him in a ridiculous manner that has ruined her life.”

  “How has it ruined her?” Mimosa enquired.

  “Because, Miss Tison, while she is older than Comte André, she is undoubtedly a pretty woman and she left her family, who were respectable Bourgeois, to crawl at his feet!”

  He seemed almost to spit out the words and, as Mimosa stared at him, he said,

  “He used her, of course he used her. Is there any woman whom André de Boussens has not used, in one way or another? She procured for him the pretty girls he wanted when he was no longer interested in her as a woman.”

  He stopped talking a moment and then went on,

  “Her parents would have nothing to do with her. They were so shocked at her behaviour and her hopeless infatuation for a man who quite obviously was using her for his own purposes and for no other reason.”

  Mimosa drew in her breath.

  How could Minerva, her sweet gentle cousin, love a man like that?

  “Women, it was just women Comte André required,” Monsieur Charlot was saying, “but his interest in them never lasted.”

  There was a sneer on his lips as he continued,

  “In your case, of course, it was not only your beauty that held him, but your money. Women are expensive, especially when a man has no money of his own, and has to rely on his wife for everything he wants.”

  Mimosa thought that what he was saying was so horrible that she did not want to listen.

  Yet if she told Monsieur Charlot to be quiet and go away, it would be difficult to keep up her pretence of not being able to remember anything that had happened in the past.

  She could only be still and feel hypnotised by the way he spoke and what he was saying.

  “It was your money, Miss Tison,” Monsieur Charlot went on, “that made André de Boussens bring you here to Tunis. He persuaded his wife, who is a relative of the President, that he should come to Tunisia to help in the administration of this country.”

  He stopped for a moment looking at Mimosa intently before he went on,

  “She, of course, had no idea that he intended to take you with him from Paris and persuade you to buy this delightful Villa in which to accommodate him, as well as yourself.”

  Monsieur Charlot looked round as he spoke.

  There was an expression in his eyes that made Mimosa feel as if a cold hand clutched at her heart.

  It was obvious that Monsieur Charlot hated the Comte.

  She was also certain that he was determined to hurt her in some way.

  “Comte André,” Monsieur Charlot was saying, “manipulated his wife just as cleverly as he manipulated you and all the other women who grovelled at his feet. She thought it would be good for him to be away from Paris for a while. She may, who knows, have thought that you were a danger. Which actually you were, although she had survived a thousand such dangers herself already.”

  “I-I still don’t – understand,” Mimosa managed to say when he seemed to pause deliberately.

  “I think you do, Miss Tison,” Monsieur Charlot said. “Comte André must have told you that without his wife’s support and her influential relatives he would undoubtedly be an outcast of French Society.”

  He laughed again before he said,

  “But André outwitted them, as he always does. He came to Tunis, but brought you with him to make him comfortable and to purchase for him everything he fancied.”

  He paused and then resumed,

  “It took some time before people in Paris were aware that his behaviour here was not what they had expected or what the President himself had intended. The French intention is to raise morale in Tunis, not to flout the conventions, as the Comte was doing in living openly with you.”

  He saw the expression on Mimosa’s face and added,

  “Oh, I know he brought Suzette with him, but that was only a blind that deceived no one. The French are well aware of her reputation.”

  “I don’t – think – ” Mimosa managed to say, “that I – want to hear – any more.”

  “You asked for the whole story and now you have to listen to it,” Monsieur Charlot said. “In case he did not tell you the truth, which is something very alien to his nature, he was recalled because the report had at length reached Paris that he was living in your house and spending money extravagantly in a country where they were endeavouring to set an example of decency.”

  Mimosa was silent as he went on,

  “The President had promised to clean up the scandals that had been rife before we came in and restored order. It was the President who insisted that Comte André return home. At the same time the President was considerate enough not to let his cousin, the Comtesse de Boussens, know the reason for her husband’s return.”

  Because she could not help herself, Mimosa murmured,

  “Suzette – told me that – it was Madame la Comtesse who – demanded that the Comte should – go back.”

  “Suzette Blanc is talking nonsense,” Monsieur Charlot said. “I can assure you, as I have just come from Paris, that the Comte is happily reunited with his wife who had no idea that his affair with you, Miss Tison, was causing so much scandal in Tunis that the President was informed of it.”

  There was nothing Mimosa could say and so she remained silent.

  Then Monsieur Charlot said in a different tone,

  “That is where you come in.”

  She looked at him in a perplexed manner and he explained,

  “If you love Comte André, and I am sure, like every other woman, you love him deeply and with your whole heart, then you will want his wife to believe his lies and that he should not be exposed as the devil he really is.”

  Again he was almost spitting out the words and it was even clearer from the expression in his eyes how much he hated the Comte.

  “What – are you – saying? What – do you – want me to do?” Mimosa managed to ask.

  “I should have thought that was obvious,” Monsieur Charlot answered. “I want money, Miss Tison, money to keep my lips sealed where your lover is concerned. Money to stop me from showing Madame la Comtesse your letters, which I have obtained from their house in Paris.”

  He waved his hand as he held them and finished,

  “Letters to ensure that the prodigal has returned home and for the moment nothing will be said about what he had been doing during his absence.”

  There was no doubt now that Monsieur Charlot was looking like the evil man he really was.

  Mimosa knew that, as Suzette had warned her, he was dangerous.

  It was best, she thought, not to speak.

  She merely closed her eyes as if she was too tired or too bemused to understand what he was saying.

  She knew, however, that he was looking at her, staring at her and she felt him willing her to obey him.

  It was almost as if he was mesmerising her into doing so.

  It was with an effort that she forced herself to keep quiet.

  She tried to keep her hands still in her lap and her head back on the cushion behind her.

  “What I want,” Monsieur Charlot said slowly, “is fifty thousand francs to save your lover. If you do not let me have it, I will go straight from here to Madame la Comtesse. She will then have the letters that will tell her the truth of what has happened.”

  He waited and, as Mimosa did not speak, he continued,

  “My informants, who are very shrewd, tell me that the last time an episode like this came to light, the Comte swore on the Bible that he would never behave in such a manner again or do anything to disgrace the name of de Boussens.”

  He paused for breath before he went on,

  “If Madame de Boussens learns that he has broken his vow and brought shame on her and his children, she will leave him. Then there will be
nothing for him to do but kill himself or else starve in the gutter!”

  Monsieur Charlot was speaking to her in a low voice.

  Yet Mimosa felt as if he was shouting the words aloud and they were echoing round the garden.

  She could understand only too well what he was saying.

  Her father had told her how proud the French were of their family name and how those belonging to the ancien régime would never allow a breath of scandal to poison their reputation.

  She thought it appalling that her cousin, whom she loved so deeply, should have lived with any man in sin.

  That it should be with a man like the Comte, who was obviously a roué and a seducer of women, made her want to cry.

  She loved Minerva, but she had been cosseted and indulged by her father and mother. She had never encountered the harsh world outside her sheltered and luxurious home.

  She would not understand a man like Comte André.

  She would have had no idea that he was a ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’, a destroyer of the women who loved him.

  As if he was impatient at her silence, Monsieur Charlot asked,

  “Well, what is your answer. Do I get the money or do I go to the Comtesse?”

  “I – think,” Mimosa answered, “you are – blackmailing me.”

  Monsieur Charlot laughed the same unpleasant laugh, which was a sound with no humour in it.

  “I prefer to think,” he said, “that I am doing the man you love a kindness. If these letters I now possess had fallen into the hands of anybody else, they might already have appeared in the newspapers. They are very loving and very passionate.”

  He made the last words sound almost insults.

  “I am sure you will remember, if you think about it long enough. And I cannot believe that your father, who was so respected both in England and America, as well as in France, would have been pleased if he knew what enormous amounts of his money had been spent by one of the most raffish men Paris has ever known.”

  That, at least, Mimosa reflected, was true.

  She was aware that Clint Tison had adored his daughter, just as he had adored his wife and it would be impossible for him to believe that either of them could do anything wrong.

  Certainly nothing so degrading as living with a man as his wife when he was already married.

  A man who apparently collected women as other men collected stamps.

  ‘What – shall – I do? What – can I – answer?’ Mimosa asked herself again frantically.

  Then she realised that, because she had kept her eyes closed and had not moved, Monsieur Charlot was somewhat disconcerted.

  She sensed that he was looking at her closely, wondering if what he had said had penetrated her brain.

  Had she really understood the enormous sum of money he had demanded of her.

  He waited.

  It was with a great effort that Mimosa did not look at him.

  Finally he said,

  “I will give you three days in which to think it over. I have other business while I am here and that will give you plenty of time to consider.”

  Mimosa still made no reply.

  “It will also give you time to obtain the money in cash from the Bank. I am not so stupid as to want there to be any evidence against me or that it should be known by anyone that I am accepting money from you.”

  His voice rose a little as he added,

  “You do understand, Miss Tison, what I am saying? I want that money and I want you to hand it to me without anyone, least of all Suzette Blanc, being aware that I have received it. Do you hear? Answer me!”

  It was a command and Mimosa now could not help opening her eyes.

  His face was very near to hers and she thought that she could see the evil in his eyes.

  She felt strongly that he was willing her. He was almost compelling her to accept what he had said.

  Because she was frightened her voice seemed to tremble as she answered,

  “I-I am – listening – I will – think of – what you have – said.”

  “Very well – think!” Monsieur Charlot told her. “And remember if I don’t get the answer I require and receive the money, then Comte André will suffer and, compared to what you have suffered, he will suffer all the agonies of Hell.”

  As he finished speaking, he rose from his chair and walked away.

  He crossed the patio and entered the house and Mimosa could hear Suzette Blanc talking to him, her voice sounding high and excited.

  She clasped her hands together and looked out over the garden.

  It was still there, beautiful and sun-kissed.

  The bees were humming over the flowers and the birds were fluttering in the trees.

  It was very beautiful, but there was a serpent in the Garden of Eden and she did not know how to cope with it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Duke of Alrock arrived in Paris and went straight to the house in the Champs-Élysées where he always stayed with his friend the Vicomte de Flerry.

  After they had enjoyed a glass of champagne and discussed the political situation in both their countries, the Vicomte said,

  “Tonight I am taking you to a party.”

  The Duke groaned.

  “I would much rather have had dinner with you,” he said, “at Maxim’s for preference.”

  “We can go there another night, but I think you will find this particular party something very special.”

  The Duke raised his eyebrows a little cynically.

  He knew what a ‘special’ party in Paris meant, and he told himself that he was not at the moment at all interested.

  “It is being given,” his friend was saying, “by one of the richest Bankers in Paris, who is determined to outspend and outshine any other party that his guests have ever been invited to.”

  “I doubt that,” the Duke replied laconically. “You know as well as I do, Henri, that just as all roads lead to Rome, all parties in Paris lead to bed!”

  The Vicomte laughed.

  Then he said,

  “Well, I insist on you coming with me, but if you decide to go home early, that is your business.”

  There was nothing the Duke could do but agree to participate.

  He thought, however, that it would be the sort of Parisian orgy he had attended dozens of times in his younger days.

  He had always found Paris fascinating, but especially so when he had come there first, soon after coming down from Oxford University.

  He had then been bewildered, entranced and fascinated by the exotic courtesans.

  Glittering with diamonds, they competed with each other to display themselves in the Bois de Boulogne more sensationally than any other professional had ever done before.

  But they also, he thought, helped a man to forget any troubles and any difficulties he had brought with him to Paris.

  That did not really apply to him at this moment.

  At the same time he had left England knowing that it was a wise thing to do if he wished to finish an affaire de coeur that had inevitably burnt itself out.

  He had found Lady Sybil Brooke amusing and witty and insatiable where lovemaking was concerned.

  Yet, as he grew to know her better, he had decided that she was trying to play too big a part in his life.

  The simplest way to avoid directly telling her so, he thought, was to go abroad for a reasonable period of time.

  The Duke had long ago decided that he would not marry until he was very much older.

  He had seen a number of his friends of the same social standing as himself, being marched up the aisle by ambitious Mamas and it was usually before they had had time to enjoy themselves as bachelors.

  Because he was intelligent, he reasoned out carefully that he would first enjoy the freedom every young unmarried man should have.

  Then he would settle down and have a family.

  He would have been very foolish, which he was not, if he had been unaware that he was one of the most important m
atrimonial catches in the whole of the Social world.

  His father had always been treated like a King on his own estate and in his own country.

  His position at Court was traditional in his family. It had been filled by the last three Dukes of Alrock and ten Earls in the family before them.

  And they had served their country in many different ways.

  As Statesmen they were outstanding, while the tenth Earl had been indispensable to the Duke of Marlborough in his campaigns.

  The Duke was very conscious of his position in Society.

  At the same time he was genuinely interested in politics and international affairs, in fact more so than even his father had been.

  As a Peer it was, of course, impossible for him to become a Member of the House of Commons. He had therefore turned his attention to foreign affairs in the House of Lords.

  He had made himself an expert in the politics of the countries of the Western world and in any ambitions they might have on the international scene.

  Because he had no wish to appear over-curious, he had taken up archaeology as a cover and had in fact become very knowledgeable on the Roman Empire.

  This interest took him into a large number of countries without appearing to pry into their internal politics.

  He, however, learned a great deal about them while ostensibly examining what was left of Roman Cities, Temples, aqueducts and roads.

  He had become so involved in this study that he was compiling a book on the subject and he hoped to have it published the following year.

  He was now dressing with the help of his valet who travelled everywhere with his Master.

  As he did so, he was thinking that the party tonight would be a complete waste of his time.

  He would rather have gone to bed early and set off again on his travels the next morning.

  “What have you unpacked, Jenkins?” he asked his valet.

  “Only what Your Grace requires for this evenin’,” Jenkins replied.

  “That was sensible as I think perhaps we might leave tomorrow.”

  The Duke spoke in a casual way and his valet looked at him sharply.