The Wings of Ecstacy Read online

  Zena did not reply and, when they had been round the dance floor once more, the Comte took her back to the table and to her surprise left her while he went to speak to Kendric.

  He talked to him for several minutes, then returned to say,

  “The Vicomte has agreed that I should take you home. I think you are tired, but he has no wish to leave.”

  “You are quite certain that Kendric does not wish me to stay until he is ready to go?” Zena asked.

  The Comte smiled in a way she did not understand before he replied,

  “Yes, in fact he was grateful to me for suggesting that I should look after you.”

  There was nothing Zena could do but agree and, while she was surprised that the Comte should be so solicitous, she was in fact growing a little tired because she had not slept much the night before.

  She had been too excited and at the same time apprehensive in case Kendric’s plans did not come off.

  What was more, she had no wish to be so tired tomorrow that she would waste some of their precious free hours in sleeping.

  The Comte put her wrap around her shoulders and she was just about to walk to Kendric’s side to say goodnight to him, when to her astonishment she saw that he too had risen from the table and was leaving through an exit at the end of the dance hall which led into the Champs Elysées.

  As she watched him and Yvonne climbing into one of the fiacres that were waiting for customers, she and the Comte followed them slowly and she saw the fiacre drive away.

  “I wonder why Kendric is going on somewhere else,” she said. “It was so pleasant here and much nicer than any of the other places we have been to.”

  She thought the Comte looked at her sharply, but he merely said,

  “He asked me to say goodnight to you.”

  There was no need for Zena to reply because the Comte was hailing another fiacre, then helping her into it.

  The roof was open and, as they drove away, Zena looked up at the stars to say,

  “I always thought there would be a magic about Paris, and it is even more beautiful and more exciting than I ever imagined.”

  “I did ask you before if this was your first visit to Paris,” the Comte said and this time she answered quickly,

  “My first since I was grown up.”

  “Which has not been very long,” the Comte remarked.

  Because she realised he was being inquisitive again she stopped looking up at the sky and said,

  “You are trying to guess my age. I have always been told that is a rude and indiscreet thing to do.”

  “Only when women wish to conceal how old they are,” the Comte replied, “and I know without your telling me that you are very young, both in years and experience.”

  “Now you are guessing,” Zena said, feeling she had to answer this assertion.

  “I think, if the truth is known, I am reading your thoughts and using my instinct.”

  “I do not wish you to do either.”

  Although he had not moved, she felt in some way that he was encroaching on her, becoming too intimate and, although she could not explain it, too possessive.

  It was fortunately only a very short distance from where they had danced to where she and Kendric were staying and, as the horses stopped outside the tall mansion at the end of the Rue St. Honoré, the Comte said,

  “As these are private apartments, I imagine you and the Vicomte are staying with friends.”

  “We have been lent an apartment,” Zena replied.

  The Comte made no effort to open the carriage door. Instead he turned sideways to say,

  “Because I think you should go to bed quickly, I am not going to suggest that I escort you to the door of your apartment. Instead, because, as you well know, we have a lot more to say to each other than we have been able to say tonight, I will call for you at noon tomorrow and we will have luncheon at a quiet restaurant where we will not be disturbed.”

  Since this was something Zena was more than willing to do, she was just about to accept eagerly when she remembered Kendric.

  “I must first ask – ” she began.

  “The Vicomte is of course included in my invitation, if he wishes to join us,” the Comte said, “ but I have a feeling that he may be entertaining somebody else.”

  In view of the way he had been behaving with Yvonne, Zena thought this was very likely, and, as she had no wish to be left alone in the apartment with nowhere to go, she said quickly,

  “Then I should like to have luncheon with you. Thank you very much for asking me.”

  She put out her hand as she spoke and the Comte took it in both of his.

  He did not speak, but he sat looking at her and she had a strange feeling that he was turning over in his mind whether he should say or do something or not.

  Then, as if he had come to a decision, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it as he had done before.

  “Goodnight, Zena,” he said. “I am glad I have been a part of your first night in Paris and I intend to make sure that this is the first of many.”

  He kissed her hand again, his lips moving insistently on her skin.

  Then he opened the carriage door, helped her down on to the pavement and woke the nightwatchman who was asleep in the concierge’s office.

  Drowsily he handed Zena the key of the apartment, then went back to his chair, settled himself into it and closed his eyes.

  Zena stood in the dark hallway and the light from the one gaslight made her hair shine as if it consisted of little tongues of fire.

  The Comte looked at her for a long moment.

  “Goodnight,” he said and his voice was very deep.

  “Goodnight and – thank you,” Zena replied and turned away.

  As she ran up the stairs without looking back, she had the feeling that he was standing watching her go and wishing, as she did, that the evening had not come to an end.

  *

  Zena awoke and knew because the sun was shining golden into her room that it must be very late in the morning.

  She could hardly believe it was true when she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw it was nearly eleven o’clock. She could never remember sleeping so late before.

  She remembered that when they arrived at the apartment the concierge had said that when she wanted petit déjeuner she was to ring the bell, and either she or her daughter would bring it upstairs.

  Zena was just about to ring the bell when she thought that perhaps Kendric had ordered his breakfast already and she opened the door into the sitting room to go and ask him.

  She wondered what time he had come back last night and was glad he had not awakened her.

  She walked through the sitting room and knocked on the door of his bedroom.

  There was no response and she opened the door.

  The first thing she saw was Kendrick’s clothes thrown untidily over a chair, some of which had slid onto the floor.

  Then she saw that he was in bed, fast asleep.

  For a moment she hesitated as to whether she should waken him, then she thought it would be a mistake to do so.

  Instead she went from the room, closed the door and rang for her own petit déjeuner wondering, if they should bring up breakfast for two, how she could keep Kendric’s coffee hot until he awoke.

  It was actually a long time before the concierge’s daughter Renée appeared carrying a tray.

  There was steaming hot coffee in an open jug, croissants that were warm from the oven, butter, and jam made from fraises du bois to spread on them.

  “Bonjour, m’mselle,” Renée said. “Did you have a nice time last night?”

  “Wonderful, thank you,” Zena replied.

  “I heard you come in at four o’clock,” Renée went on, as she set the tray down on a table in the window, “but monsieur was very very late. He did not come back until seven o’clock this morning and I guessed he would still be asleep.”

  “Seven o’clock!” Zena exclaimed. “I did not thin
k even in Paris dancing went on so late.”

  She thought Renée looked at her in a rather strange way. Then she said with a little laugh,

  “I do not think monsieur was dancing, m’mselle!”

  She left the room and Zena puzzled over her words.

  If Kendrick was not dancing, then where could he have been she wondered.

  Then she told herself that he was obviously taking that attractive French girl home and she supposed they had stayed talking and perhaps drinking in her apartment until the morning.

  Zena, of course, had not known the details of Kendric’s escapade at home with the dancer and she imagined her father and mother were so angry with him because he had left the Palace without anybody being aware of it.

  Also a dancer would be considered by her mother to be very unsuitable company for a Crown Prince.

  If Kendric had behaved with the dancer in the same manner as he had behaved with Yvonne last night, Zena could understand that her mother had been shocked.

  ‘If Mama ever hears how Kendric is behaving in Paris,’ she thought, ‘she will be absolutely furious!’

  Then she realised that applied to her too. She had danced with a man to whom she had not been formally introduced and what was more, she intended to have luncheon with him today alone, unless Kendric wished to accompany them.

  The idea of her mother’s anger was very intimidating. Then Zena told herself there was no reason why their behaviour should ever be discovered unless at this very moment the Baron and the Countess were bewailing their disappearance at the Palace.

  ‘I am sure Kendric is right and they will not risk losing their positions by admitting their incompetence,’ she told herself consolingly.

  At the same time, even to think about it was frightening.

  She finished her breakfast, then went to her room to start dressing.

  It was quite difficult without a maid to fasten her small corset which laced up at the back and she was certain that she would not be able to manage the buttons on her gown.

  She therefore left it until the very last moment, thinking that Kendric must wake soon.

  If she left him sleeping until twelve o’clock, he would still only have had five hours and, if he had been awake all night, she was sure he needed more.

  She dressed her hair as best she could, thinking as she did so, that if they were to go out this evening she must ask the concierge to engage a coiffeur to call at the apartment.

  She then chose one of her prettiest and most elaborate gowns to wear for luncheon with the Comte, thinking as she did so that it was amusing to recall that it had been intended to be worn at the Royal Garden Party that took place every summer at the Palace.

  Also the Arch-Duchess had said it would be suitable for the day of the Prix d’Or when the Duke of Faverstone’s horse would be running.

  ‘He would certainly be surprised if he was told I had worn it before in Paris when I was lunching alone with a French Comte whom I had met without any proper introduction at the Artists’ Ball,’ Zena thought only slightly guiltily.

  It struck her that if the Duke became aware of her behaviour he might refuse to marry her.

  That would be one way of getting rid of him. At the same time, if it was not the Duke, it might be some horrible German Prince like Georg and then her fate would be even worse.

  ‘I am not going to worry,’ she told herself. ‘Just for these few days I will be simply Zena Bellefleur, and because I am of no Social consequence whatsoever, I can behave as I wish.’

  She wondered whether as a demi-mondaine, which Kendric had said she was, she should behave as Yvonne had done, but she knew that, as far as she was concerned, it would be impossible.

  How could she throw her arms round a man and kiss him and how could she dance in such an abandoned way?

  How could she even flirt provocatively as she had noticed the women in the party doing last night with every man who talked to them?

  She thought of the women she had seen at the Café Anglais who she suspected were of a far higher class than the girls at the ball.

  ‘I am sure they just sit and look beautiful,’ she thought, ‘while men pay them compliments and give them jewellery because they are like magnificent pictures which they can hang on the walls and enjoy.’

  She had an idea that perhaps they did something else, but she did not know what it could be.

  The clock on the mantelpiece had just struck twelve and she was thinking she would have to wake Kendric and ask if he wished to come out to luncheon with her and the Comte, when she heard his door open and realised he was awake.

  She had left her own door ajar so that she could hear him and, as he came into the sitting room, she gave a cry of delight and jumped to her feet.

  “You are awake, Kendric! I am so glad! I thought you would sleep for ever!”

  Kendric rubbed his eyes.

  “That is what I would like to do,” he yawned. “What time is it?”

  “It is after twelve o’clock. Shall I ring for your breakfast or will you wait until luncheon time?”

  “I had better have some coffee,” Kendric replied. “I drank so much last night that my head aches like hell!”

  “Oh, Kendric, I am sorry!” Zena said. “I have some Eau de Cologne with me. I will put some on a handkerchief and perhaps that will make you feel better.”

  Kendric groaned and sat himself down in a chair by the window.

  With his fair tousled hair he looked very young and almost as if he had just come from school.

  Zena rang for his petit déjeuner and fetched a small bottle of Eau de Cologne and a handkerchief from her bedroom.

  She put it against his forehead and he lay back in a chair with his eyes closed.

  “Listen Kendric,” Zena said, “the Comte has asked us out to luncheon and he will be here soon, but if you have no wish to come, he will take me alone.”

  Kendric opened his eyes.

  “I have just remembered,” he said, “I have promised to give Yvonne luncheon.”

  “Then you will not want me!”

  Kendric gave her one of his mischievous smiles.

  “To tell you the truth, I was wondering what I could do about you.”

  “Oh, that is all right,” Zena said. “I will have luncheon with the Comte and I am glad he has asked me since I have no wish to interfere in your amusements.”

  “That is the right word for it!” Kendric said sitting up and looking much more like his usual self. “I don’t mind telling you, Zena, I am rather smitten with her.”

  “I thought she was much more attractive than that other girl, Nanette.”

  “Of course she is and certainly a cut above that riff-raff we had in the box with us last night.”

  Zena had thought the same thing and she said a little tentatively because she did not wish to seem as if she was prying,

  “Is Yvonne an – actress?”

  There was a pause before Kendric answered,

  “I believe she has been on the stage at one time or another.”

  “And what is she doing now?”

  Again there was a pause before her brother replied,

  “I really have not had time to ask her a lot of questions.”

  “No – of course not,” Zena said, “and it was very difficult to talk to anybody last night. The bands were so noisy, especially at that place in Montmartre.”

  “It was not the sort of place I should have gone to when you were with me,” Kendric said, “but I had no idea it would be like that until we arrived there.”

  “I thought the last place in the Champs Elysées was lovely!” Zena said, “but I was surprised you did not say goodnight to me.”

  Her brother looked shame-facedly.

  “To tell you the truth, Zena,” he said, “I forgot.”

  He took the handkerchief from his forehead and added,

  “The trouble is, I ought not to have brought you with me, but it is too late now.”

  “Of co
urse it is!” Zena agreed. “Don’t worry about me. I am enjoying every moment and the Comte was very kind.”

  She thought Kendric looked at her suspiciously.

  “He behaved properly towards you?” he asked sharply. “He did not try to kiss you, or – anything like that?”

  “No, of course not!” Zena said. “He kissed my hand, but there is nothing wrong in that.”

  “No,” Kendric agreed a little doubtfully, “but keep him at arms’ length. You know what these Frenchmen are like.”

  Zena smiled.

  “Actually, I have no idea what Frenchmen are like, but it is rather exciting to find out!”

  Kendric groaned.

  “Now, Zena, I warn you! If you do anything outrageous, I swear I shall take you straight to Ettengen!”

  “Oh, Kendric! No! As though I would let you do that! I promise you I will never do anything of which you would disapprove, and you are very lucky I do not extract the same promise from you.”

  “Touché!” Kendric laughed, “but I am thinking of that ghastly Barracks and storing up a few memories with which I can cheer myself up.”

  “I am doing exactly the same thing!” Zena exclaimed.

  They smiled at each other as if there was no need to put it into words that twins always thought alike.

  Then Kendric’s petit déjeuner appeared.

  As Renée set it down in front of him, Zena asked her,

  “Please, while you are here, would you be kind enough to do up my gown?”

  “Of course, m’mselle. Which one are you going to wear?”

  She went towards the bedroom and, when Zena would have followed her, Kendric gave a low whistle which made her stop.

  “You must tip her,” he whispered.

  Zena looked surprised, then she realised it was something she should have done before.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “How much?”

  Kendric shrugged his shoulders.

  “Two or three francs.”

  Zena nodded and went into the bedroom.

  When Renée had helped her into her gown and buttoned it down the back, she fumbled in her handbag and produced three francs.

  “Thank you very much for helping me,” she said.

  She felt a little shy as she gave the girl the tip, having never in her life tipped anybody because whenever they travelled or went anywhere there was always the Countess or another Lady-in-Waiting to do it for her.