Dancing on a Rainbow Read online

  ‘It is only because I am so ignorant of men and the way they behave,’ Loretta told herself.

  She lifted her chin and tried to move in a dignified manner while at the same time she was aware that her heart was still throbbing in her breast.

  As they reached the hall, it was a relief to see there was no one there except two footmen on duty.

  “Do not be long,” Fabian said quietly. “I have so much to show you and the sun is shining.”

  Once again she flashed him a smile and managed to say,

  “Thank you for being so kind!” before she ran up the stairs.

  She knew as she put on a pretty hat trimmed with white camellias and green leaves, which Ingrid had given her, that it would have been impossible for her not to be upset by a man like the Comte .

  She had never imagined that any man would behave in such an extraordinary manner, let alone after such a short acquaintance.

  It then flashed through her mind that perhaps he could have some excuse, for she had deliberately put herself in a vulnerable position by pretending to be a married woman.

  She had further jeopardised her standing by staying with Ingrid, which was something that none of her relatives, if aware of it, would have allowed.

  ‘I should go back to England,’ she told herself.

  She knew, however, that was not what she wanted.

  She wanted to be with the Marquis not, if she was honest, because she was still trying to find out how really despicable he was and thus have good reason for refusing to marry him, but because she found that everything about him fascinating and unusual.

  ‘I have been warned! I have been warned!’ she told herself as she went down the stairs.

  Yet she knew that there was an irrepressible excitement running through her as she went back to the sitting room, where he was talking to the Earl.

  Both men rose to their feet as she entered and the Earl asked,

  “What time shall I tell Ingrid you will be back?”

  Loretta looked at Fabian and he said,

  “I will bring her back after luncheon, about three o’clock, but I will collect her again at eight, because we are dining at the Grand Verfour.”

  He spoke so positively that Loretta knew there was no question of her arguing about it. Although she thought the Earl must be surprised, he merely said,

  “The food there is superb, and I always think it is one of the most romantic restaurants in all Paris.”

  “So do I,” Fabian agreed, but he was looking at Loretta as he spoke.

  They drove away behind two perfectly matched jet black horses and Loretta thought it would be impossible for anyone to produce a smarter turnout even though she had heard her father say that the carriages and riders in the Bois de Boulogne were nothing but a fashion parade.

  She thought he was right when she saw the elegance of the Amazones, as Fabian termed them, and of the aristocratic dandies who vied with each other in having the finest horses and the most spectacular vehicles.

  Loretta and Fabian did not talk very much, but he pointed out to her where duels were fought and added,

  “As I expect you can guess, more amorous intrigues take place in the Bois de Boulogne than anywhere else in Paris.”

  It certainly was, Loretta agreed, exceedingly romantic and when they stopped at Pre Catalan, she thought it was the most glamorous place for luncheon she could ever have imagined.

  It was like a country house surrounded by gardens and trees, where the guests could sit out on a green lawn, each table covered with a huge brightly coloured umbrella.

  The tables were arranged so discreetly that nothing that was said could be overheard even by the nearest of other guests.

  Loretta looked round her with shining eyes.

  Then, as if it was inevitable, beautiful women came up to the Marquis one after the other to exclaim reproachfully,

  “Fabian! You have been neglecting me! When are you coming to see me?”

  There was no doubt that they were genuinely eager for him to do so and Loretta could not help admiring the adroit way in which he answered without committing himself to any positive engagement.

  Then, when at last it seemed he had spoken to all his friends who were already having luncheon there, he said,

  “Now you understand why last night I took you somewhere where we could talk without being interrupted and that is what I shall do again tonight.”

  Loretta did not speak and he continued,

  “At the same time, I thought it only fair for you to see why Pre Catalan is one of the sights of Paris and something which on your first visit you should not miss.”

  “You are being very kind to me,” Loretta said without thinking.

  “How can I help it?” he asked. “And I think perhaps ‘kind’ is not the right word, for it would be impossible for me to be anything else to you!”

  He watched her for a moment before he asked,

  “Did you think of me last night?”

  “How could I – help – it?” Loretta replied.

  Then she told herself severely that she was allowing herself to be far too intimate with him and she should have prevaricated.

  But she knew that, if she had done so, he would not have believed her.

  “I lay awake,” he said quietly, “thanking God that I had found you at last and that my pilgrimage, which has been a very long one, is over.”

  Loretta tried deliberately to misunderstand.

  She was, however, saved from making a reply because the waiter arrived with the menu and the champagne, which Fabian had already ordered, was poured into their glasses.

  The food, as was to be expected, was delicious. But Loretta found it difficult to think of anything but the man sitting opposite her and not to be aware that his eyes were continually on her face.

  “I suppose,” he said when luncheon was finished, “that you must have some flaws in you somewhere, just like everybody else, but I have yet to find them.”

  Loretta laughed.

  “Please, don’t look too hard. I am very conscious of my own shortcomings.”

  “I wonder what they can be,” Fabian ruminated. “I find you so perfect, the way you look, how you speak, what you think – that I cannot believe that anyone, however censorious, could be critical of you.”

  “Then you don’t know my relatives!” Loretta replied. “I can assure you they are critical of everybody and everything and I am not exempt.”

  She spoke lightly, but, as she looked at Fabian, she realised that his expression was serious.

  “You speak of your relations,” he said, “but not your husband. Tell me about him.”

  The question was so unexpected that, although she tried not to be flustered, she felt suddenly tongue-tied and the colour rose in her cheeks.

  “He must be a very strange man to allow anyone so exceedingly beautiful as his wife to come to Paris alone,” Fabian went on, “to stay with Ingrid in her awkward position and to permit you to meet men like me, who would be inhuman if they did not speak to you of love.”

  “I cannot – discuss it,” Loretta managed to say at last.

  “Why? Don’t tell me it is because you love him, because I know, my beautiful little Lora, that you know little or nothing about love or about men for that matter.”

  “I cannot understand why you should – assume that I am so – ignorant,” Loretta replied, feeling that she must somehow stand up for herself.

  Fabian laughed very softly.

  “You are so young and so unspoiled,” he said. “I had forgotten there were women like you in the world and yet, incredible though it seems, you are married!”

  “Yes, I am married,” Loretta said firmly, “and as I told you before, monsieur , you should not speak to me as you do.”

  “How can I help it?” Fabian asked. “And how can you help what you feel for me?”

  Loretta wanted to say that she felt nothing for him except that he was an interesting stranger.

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p; Then, as she looked at him, again their eyes met and it was impossible to look away.

  “My darling, you are so transparent,” he said quietly. “I know everything about you and I know, too, that I excite you! Even though you will not admit it, your heart is beating a little faster because we are together and your lips, which I have not yet kissed, are waiting for mine.”

  What he said seemed to mesmerise Loretta into immobility.

  Then with an effort that made her feel as if she had struck herself physically she stammered,

  “I think it’s – time I went – home.”

  “That is where I will take you,” Fabian said, “and tonight we will continue our conversation where it has left off.”

  Loretta wanted to say that she would not listen to him, but she knew that was untrue.

  She wanted him to go on talking to her in the strange voice that seemed to make little shafts of sunshine run through her body.

  She was aware, although she tried not to believe it, that she thrilled to his words and the sincerity with which he seemed to utter them.

  ‘He is a Pied Piper as Ingrid told me,’ she thought, ‘and just like all the other stupid women, I am running after him to destruction!’

  She walked ahead of him across the lawn to where his chaise was waiting under the trees.

  As he helped her into it, she told herself again, as she quivered at his touch, that she must leave Paris.

  ‘I am making a fool of myself,’ she scolded.

  Then, as he sat beside her and took up the reins, she thought he looked like Apollo driving his horses across the sky.

  No one could look more incredibly attractive or so exciting and yet be as despicable as everybody warned her he was.

  Fabian drove a longer way around the Bois de Boulogne than was necessary, in order that Loretta could see the beauty of the trees and the flowers and the boys playing football on an open patch of ground.

  A few minutes later they were back on the tree-lined boulevards, where there were people moving slowly along the pavements or sitting outside the cafés with the inevitable cups of coffee in front of them.

  He drove her back to the Earl’s house and, as a groom ran to the horses’ heads, he stepped down to help her alight, saying as he did so,

  “Au revoir , my beautiful little Goddess, until tonight.”

  Loretta stopped at the bottom of the steps.

  “If I – come,” she said with an effort, “you must not – talk to me – like that – ”

  “Why not?”

  “Because – it is wrong – ”

  “There is nothing wrong,” Fabian interrupted her softly, “in what I feel for you and what you feel for me. We can talk about it until the stars fall from the skies, but we cannot change our hearts and to deny love, as you well know, is blasphemy.”

  Again he was being serious and, as he took her hand in his, Loretta was vividly conscious of his magnetism reaching out to her, holding her and she had the frightening feeling that there was no escape.

  She did not answer him, but merely walked up the steps, and as she did so he said,

  “Until eight o’clock,” and then he climbed back into this chaise.

  Ingrid was waiting for her in the hall.

  She kissed Loretta and exclaimed,

  “I was surprised, dearest, when Hugh told me you were having luncheon with Fabian and even more surprised when I heard how badly the Comte behaved.”

  “He is a horrible man!” Loretta exclaimed.

  “I agree with you. At the same time he is of great importance in the Financial world, and I want Hugh to be friendly with the ‘Kings of Finance,’ just as I wish him to be persona grata with the politicians who rule our lives.”

  “I understand what you are saying,” Loretta replied in a low voice, “but I am finding it very difficult to be polite to the Comte when he behaves in such an – extraordinary manner.”

  “He believes that every woman is in love with him rather than with his money,” Ingrid said.

  “And why does he hate the Marquis?

  Ingrid laughed.

  “Need you ask? It is because they have clashed at various times before over the pursuit of some new beauty and invariably Fabian has been the winner.”

  “I do not wish to see the Comte again!” Loretta said firmly.

  “I will do my best,” Ingrid promised, “but it will not be easy!”

  Loretta took off her hat and then asked pensively,

  “Am I being a nuisance, Ingrid? Would you like me to leave?”

  “No, of course not,” Ingrid replied. “I love having you here, and it means more than I can possibly say that you have come to me with your problems.”

  Her voice deepened and she added,

  “I only hope I can help you. If I fail, it will not be for want of trying.”

  “You have helped me already.”

  As Loretta spoke, she moved restlessly across the room to stand looking out of the window.

  “I wish I could be sure of that,” Ingrid said behind her. “I have a feeling, although I may be wrong, that you are finding Fabian far more attractive than you thought he would be.”

  Because that was true, Loretta could only nod her head and after a moment Ingrid said,

  “The strange thing about Fabian is that despite his reputation, despite his success with women, most men, with the exception of the Comte, like him and trust him. Hugh, in fact, is devoted to him.”

  Loretta knew exactly how much this meant.

  She was aware that if her father criticised a man and despised him, he was invariably right and the man in question was undesirable.

  That Ingrid should speak in such a way about a man against whom she had warned her as a husband made what she was feeling and thinking even more complex than it was already.

  To change the subject she asked,

  “Is there anything we have to do this afternoon?”

  “More shopping, if that would interest you,” Ingrid replied. “Of course there is still a great deal of Paris for you to see, but I am leaving that to Fabian.”

  “When he brought me back after luncheon, I hoped that he might suggest taking me sightseeing.”

  “I expect,” Ingrid replied, “he is going to play polo and did not want to let his side down.”

  “Polo?” Loretta questioned.

  “I thought you knew,” Ingrid replied, “that the reason why Fabian is not as interested in racehorses as his father is, is that he is an outstanding polo player. In fact he is in the top team which represents Paris.”

  “I had no idea of it,” Loretta said. “I did notice that his horses were very fine, but I thought as he never came to the race meetings in England that he was not particularly interested in them, except as a mode of conveyance.”

  Ingrid laughed.

  “If you said that to Fabian, he would have a fit! His own horses, quite apart from his father’s, are outstanding and his stable in Normandy is considered the best in the whole country. He has race horses, but he is not obsessed by them as is the Duc.”

  “Now I understand why Papa has not met him,” Loretta said. “It puzzled me.”

  “There are many things about Fabian that will puzzle you,” Ingrid replied. “It’s a pity that he is impossible as a husband and yet so very eligible in every other way.”

  They talked of other things, but Loretta found her thoughts continually returning to the Marquis .

  *

  It was no use pretending and, as she went up to dress before dinner, she knew that she wanted to be with him, she wanted to talk to him.

  Although, when he spoke as he did of their feelings for each other it made her shy, he evoked sensations that she dare not admit and tried not to think about.

  ‘If I feel like this now,’ she tried to say to herself severely, ‘what would I feel if I married him and then he left me for another woman?’

  It was such an agonising thought that she tried to make herself feel cold an
d aloof and indifferent as she bathed in the syringe-scented water and then put on another of the beautiful gowns that she had bought with Ingrid at Laferrière.

  It was a gown that made her look like a rose, while at the same time there were little touches of velvet among the chiffon and silver where it was least expected, which made it a sophisticated gown that would not have been chosen by a debutante.

  Because she had no jewels such as a married woman was expected to possess, Ingrid lent her a small diamond necklace from which hung a large perfect pear-shaped pearl.

  There were earrings to match and bracelets to wear over long gloves the same colour as her gown.

  “You look absolutely lovely!” Ingrid exclaimed when she saw her.

  Loretta had gone to her room to say goodnight because Ingrid was dining much later with the Earl and was therefore resting on a chaise longue wearing an exotic negligee of green gauze.

  “Have an enjoyable time, dearest,” Ingrid said, “but remember not to lose either your head or your heart, for where Fabian is concerned they will both be irretrievable.”

  “I will remember,” Loretta said a little uncertainly.

  She did not realise as the door shut behind her that her cousin looked after her with a worried expression on her face.

  Carrying a velvet wrap over her arm, Loretta went slowly down the stairs and just as she reached the hall a footman came hurrying from the front door to say,

  “A gentleman is waiting for you, madame, and asks if you will hurry, as his horses are a little restless.”

  Loretta did not stop to think it was somewhat strange that Fabian’s horses, with which she had driven already, had always seemed perfectly trained.

  She hurried down the steps to where a footman was holding open the door of a closed carriage.

  She could only think it even stranger that Fabian should be waiting for her inside, but, as she climbed in, she found that the carriage was empty.

  As she realised it, the door was slammed to, the horses set off and she was forced to sit down quickly to avoid being thrown onto the floor.

  As the carriage drove up the Champs-Élysées at what seemed a quite unnecessary speed, she told herself there must be some mistake and she must attract the attention of the coachman and footman on the box.