And Only to Deceive (5 page)

11 A
PRIL
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

M
Y SOCIAL LIFE IMPROVED CONSIDERABLY AS MY ACQUAINTANCE
with Cécile grew. She included me in her salons and frequently invited me to dine with her on evenings she spent at home. I still chose not to attend balls or large parties. I suppose that I could have but didn’t imagine I would get much pleasure from watching my peers dance in lovely, colorful gowns while I sat with the other widows. I would wait until I, too, could dance.

I soon received a letter from my mother, who was somehow under the impression that Cécile was related to aristocrats who had narrowly escaped the Reign of Terror. She encouraged the friendship, imploring me to overlook any eccentricities in view of the connections I might make. Had she known the sort of connections I made through Cécile, I am certain that her opinion would have been quite the opposite.

Before long, Ivy and Robert returned to Paris; I was delighted to see them again. Ivy left her husband answering correspondence, and we escaped to the Tuileries, where we could converse in private. Walking along the wide, central path through the park afforded us the best possible views of the garden and its backdrop of the Arc de l’Étoile and Ramses II’s obelisk in the place de la Concorde. Although the Bois de Boulogne was perhaps a more fashionable place to walk, I preferred the Tuileries, which I could see from my rooms at the Meurice.

“You’ll never guess what I did last night,” I said. “Cécile took me to the most wonderful dinner party. It was all artists, celebrating Monsieur Renoir’s recent marriage. Cécile goaded me into drawing a portrait of him
as a wedding gift. I did it in the style of a Greek vase, showing him as Paris carrying off Helen.”

“Oh, Emily! You didn’t really draw for them? Weren’t you terrified?”

“It was all a joke, you see. No one expected me to draw well, and of course I didn’t.”

“But do you really think you ought to associate with them?” Ivy paused and blushed. “Emily, those women lived with men for years and years without marrying them. I have heard that Alice Hoschedé has a husband but that she and her children live with Mr. Monet. You do need to consider your social standing.” Robert’s influence clearly had lessened any liberal leanings my friend had before her marriage.

“Cécile moves in the highest circles in Paris. Her association with artists is well known, and no one appears to hold it against her.”

“Her situation is somewhat different.”

“Yes, her husband has been dead longer.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ivy continued. “Madame du Lac clearly isn’t going to marry again, while you have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Ivy, darling, has marriage so altered your mind? I cannot believe you are reprimanding me. Has my mother sent you?” I smiled.

“Perish the thought!” Ivy’s chestnut curls bounced as we both laughed. “I admit that being married has changed my opinion on a number of subjects, however. I would so like to see you happy again, Emily.”

“I’m quite happy now, Ivy. I do not know when my mind has been more pleasantly occupied. But I will confess to thinking of Philip more than I ever thought I would. It’s quite extraordinary. We hardly knew each other, yet he went traipsing about telling his friends he loved me, ordering portraits, bestowing a Greek name on me. I do wish I knew what inspired him.”

“Your lovely self, I am sure.” Ivy laughed, the dimples on either side of her mouth deepening. “Perhaps he was a hopeless romantic disguised as an adventurous hunter.”

“Laugh if you will,” I said, my tone growing serious. “But I feel as if there must be some flaw in me. How else did I manage to see nothing in him during the short time we were together? Clearly, he was more perceptive than I.”

“I don’t think you tried to look, dear. But does it really matter? The material point is that now you know to pay better attention to those around you, particularly to eligible men who fall madly in love with you. Philip certainly didn’t lack for female admirers. He chose you from a large number of readily available brides, each backed by mothers nearly as ferocious as your own.”

I started to laugh, then stopped abruptly, taking Ivy’s arm and pulling her toward me.

“Do you see that man?” I tilted my head slightly to indicate a person who was walking slowly on the opposite side of the wide promenade, not quite behind us.

Ivy nodded.

“I think he is following me.”

“Whatever can you mean?”

“I caught him watching me twice in London.”

“Are you certain it was the same man?”

“It would be impossible to mistake that scar.” His slow pace matched ours perfectly. “Very strange that he would choose to come to Paris at the same time as I, don’t you think?”

“Surely it’s nothing more than coincidence, Emily. Why on earth would he be following you?”

Before I could respond, my gaze rested on a particularly dashing tall figure striding toward us. I waved when I recognized him, pleased at the opportunity to add a gentleman to our party. The presence of the unknown man had shaken me.

“Lady Ashton, Mrs. Brandon. What a surprise to find you here.” Colin Hargreaves bowed smartly as he spoke. “I have only just arrived in Paris myself.”

“It’s delightful to see you,” Ivy replied. “Have you come from London?”

“I had business in Berlin.” I accepted the arm he offered, and we continued to walk. “Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Brandon. I hope you have found much happiness.”

“I have. Thank you.” Ivy’s china-doll complexion glowed. “Perhaps now that you are here, you can rescue Lady Ashton from the unwanted admirer who she seems to think has followed her from London.”

“Who is the unfortunate man?” he asked, looking at me. I searched the path around us but saw no sign of the man with the scar.

“I don’t know his name, but it appears that you have scared him off,” I said, forcing a smile and trying to appear completely at ease.

“You have no idea who he is?”

“None at all.”

“And you have seen him both here and in London?”

“Yes. Once in the British Museum. It was very odd, but I didn’t think much of it until I saw him later in Berkeley Square staring at the front of my house. I asked Davis to keep an eye on him. He was there for the entire afternoon.”

“Did you report either incident to the authorities?”

“No. It didn’t seem that serious. He didn’t actually do anything to me,” I replied, suddenly feeling rather silly. “Ivy is right. It’s merely a coincidence,” I said dismissively.

Mr. Hargreaves paused, surveying the scene around us, seemingly satisfied that there were no unsavory characters in the vicinity. “I trust that you are both taking precautions against the cat burglar who has been plaguing the city?”

This mysterious thief had been at the center of Parisian gossip for several weeks. He slipped into houses unseen, stole nothing but the most exquisite pieces of jewelry, and seemed to leave no clues. Often his victims were not even certain when they had been burgled, not noticing that anything was amiss until they looked for a particular necklace or pair of earrings.

“I have nothing with me that would appeal to him,” I said. “His taste, from what the newspapers report, runs to things rather more splendid than the jet I’m allowed while in mourning.”

“Robert puts my jewels in the hotel safe every night,” Ivy said.

“Very good,” Hargreaves said, as we continued to walk. “So, Lady Ashton, unwanted admirers aside, has Paris proven the respite you hoped?”

“More than you can imagine, Mr. Hargreaves. I wonder if I shall ever go back to London.”

“Understandable, but do remember that you cannot stay here forever. Your villa on Santorini beckons,” he said, his deep voice teasingly melodramatic. “How have you been occupying yourself other than strolling in the Tuileries?”

“Emily knows every inch of the Louvre. She spends more time there than you can imagine.” Ivy clearly felt pride in my newfound intellectual interests.

“Ivy is too generous,” I said. “After all the time I have given to the great museum, I can say with confidence that I know approximately six square feet of its contents. It’s overwhelming. One could spend a lifetime in its halls and never see everything. And now my time there shall be limited, because I’ve decided to begin drawing lessons after having mortified myself in front of Monsieur Renoir.” I related the story to Mr. Hargreaves, who was rather amused.

“I am glad to see that you have lost much of your sense of decorum. Excellent. Your mother would be pleased.”

“Especially if she knew I was wasting a perfectly good opportunity by talking to one of the empire’s most eligible bachelors about such things instead of flirting with him.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered at being privy to your academic pursuits or mortified that you do not consider me worthy of flirtation.”

“Mr. Hargreaves, if you are free Thursday evening, I should love to have you dine with us at Café Anglais,” Ivy said. “Emily will be there, and several of our other friends.”

“It sounds delightful, Mrs. Brandon,” Mr. Hargreaves said, smiling agreeably.

“He is lovely, Emily,” Ivy said with a sigh after he had excused himself to meet the gentlemen with whom he planned to go riding. “I don’t know when I’ve seen someone so striking in appearance. Can’t we find someone among our acquaintances to marry him off to? I’d so like to keep him in our circle.”

“I believe he has no immediate plans to marry,” I replied, finding the prospect of a married Colin Hargreaves utterly loathsome. “He travels a lot and probably prefers his freedom.”

“That’s what everyone said about Philip before he proposed to you.”

“We have already established that Philip was a gentleman of unique character, my dear. To find two such men in so short a time would be more than one could reasonably hope for.”

14 A
PRIL
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

D
INNER AT
C
AFÉ
A
NGLAIS NEVER FAILED TO DELIGHT ME,
and on the evening of Ivy’s party, the esteemed chef outdid himself. Ivy spared no expense on the menu, and I am convinced that we had a meal nearly as extravagant as “Le Dîner des Trois Empereurs” hosted years ago by the restaurant. If anything, ours was better. Czar Alexander II had complained that he did not have foie gras; the chef told him it was out of season. Not so for us on that evening. I have no idea how, but the staff managed to find foie gras in the summer. Every course was exquisite, but it was the simple preparation of the delicacy for which the czar had longed that brought me unprecedented bliss. It was smoother than butter in my mouth.

The party broke up quickly after dessert. Colin offered to escort me home and asked the waiter to get us a cab, but when we stepped out of the restaurant, I asked if we could walk instead. The evening was cool, and the air felt marvelous, especially after I had so thoroughly stuffed myself. The atmosphere of the city bore little similarity to that of London. In Paris one felt buoyed by a sweeping energy that intensified emotions, made colors softer, and seemed to make even the act of drawing breath a tactile pleasure.

“I mean it when I say I have no desire to return to London,” I said, looking up at the clear sky.

“I am quite in sympathy with you, although I would not discount the pleasures of London so completely. I do not think you have had the opportunity to thoroughly investigate them.”

“I know you are correct, but I cannot separate London from my mother, and until that is possible, I shall never be comfortable there.”

“I think if you agreed to marry an old, crusty duke with a large fortune, produced several dozen children, and asked for her advice on every possible occasion, you would get along with her famously.”

I laughed. “You appear to spend little time in England. What do you do?”

“Nothing too different from your husband.”

“You’ll forgive me, Mr. Hargreaves, but we weren’t married long. I can’t say that I really know what Philip did, other than hunt in Africa.”

“That certainly encompassed a lot of our time, although recently more of Ashton’s than my own.” His voice grew quiet as he spoke of his friend. “We determined, while at Cambridge, that we would visit every famous site from classical antiquity. Caused quite a scene in the harbor at Rhodes looking for the remains of the Colossus, which, I may point out, don’t appear to be there.”

“Misguided youth,” I said with a smile.

“Quite. I met that fellow Schliemann in Berlin, and he gave me excellent directions to the site he believes is ancient Troy.”

“Did you go there?”

“No. We started with the Colossus because we knew a chap at university who was headed for Cyprus and figured we could travel with him as far as Rhodes. After the next term, we went to Rome but soon became distracted from the project as we both took on more responsibilities.”

“I should love to see it.”

“Rome?”

“No, I quite prefer the Greeks. I’d like to go to Troy.”

Colin laughed. “I cannot picture you trudging through the Turkish countryside.”

“I thought you had liberal views on what women should be allowed to do. It’s not as if I were suggesting joining one of your hideous hunts. I imagine that there aren’t wild animals behind every rock in Turkey waiting to charge at helpless humans.”

“I wouldn’t object in principle to your going to Troy, but I will admit that I don’t view you as an adventurous type.” His eyes searched my own.

“Beast! You don’t know me at all.”

“Would you have the wardrobe?” He was laughing, and I realized he was teasing me.

“Isn’t Ephesus in Turkey? Perhaps I could visit there on the same trip. I’ll send you a note from the Temple of Artemis, where I assure you I will not appear in evening clothes.”

“I didn’t realize you had an interest in antiquity.”

“Philip inspired me.”

We had reached the rue de Rivoli and were nearly at the Meurice. “Let’s keep walking; I would like to see the river at night.” We turned away from the hotel and walked until we reached the Pont-Neuf. The air had grown chilly, and I had not worn even a light wrap; Colin stood near me to shield me from the wind blowing over the bridge.

“Can you imagine how many people have crossed this bridge?” I asked. “It must be three hundred years old. Do you think that Marie Antoinette ever stood here and looked across the Seine at the city?”

“Hardly. I think she would have had a greater appreciation for the views at Versailles.”

“We consider this bridge old, but if it were in Athens, would anyone even comment on it? I shouldn’t be impressed with anything less than two thousand years old if I were in Greece.”

“Then you would miss some particularly fine Roman ruins, my dear. Why don’t you plan a nice, civilized trip to Athens on your way to Santorini when you go?”

“I shall have to see how it fits with my plan to visit Troy.”

Colin shook his head and took my arm. I let him guide me back to the hotel, but not before contemplating at some length the pleasure I derived from his standing so close to me.

C
OLIN CALLED ON ME
the next afternoon, and I confess I was delighted to see him. I planned to dine in my rooms that evening and invited him to join me. He readily accepted.

“What time shall I return?” he asked. “I’ll only need to dress.”

“Don’t be silly,” I replied. “We shan’t dress. I ordered a light supper and asked to have it early. It’s only the two of us, and I don’t think there are society spies lurking to reveal the fact that we intend to dine in afternoon clothes. I imagine that Meg will be suitably shocked, but she’ll most likely recover.”

“I thought ladies enjoy dressing for dinner.”

“I’d enjoy it more if I could wear something other than mourning clothes.”

“Yes, I can see that. Nonetheless it does you credit to honor your husband.”

“I mean no disrespect to Philip,” I said, hesitating.

“Of course not. I know you loved him.”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Please do not apologize, Colin. But I cannot live the rest of my life being constantly reminded of my dead husband.” I stopped. “I don’t mean to sound cold. Do you understand?”

“I think I do,” he said, and paused. “I should very much like to have a conversation with you during which I do not feel the memory of Philip looming over us.” He looked in my eyes. “Do I offend you?”

“Not at all,” I assured him, feeling a strange sort of thrill at being unable to remove my gaze from his. “I did not know Philip as well as perhaps I ought to have. Our marriage was very short.”

“It takes considerable time for true companionship to develop,” he said. “You need say nothing more on the subject. Tell me your plans instead. When do you intend to travel to Santorini?”

“I’m not sure. Paris has been remarkable, and I have no intention of leaving anytime soon.”

“How long do you think you will stay?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be out of mourning until nearly Christmas, so I can’t really do anything until then. I may as well be here as anywhere.”

“You’re only in half mourning,” he said, running his hand through his thick hair, something he seemed to do rather frequently. I wondered if it was this habit that kept him from adopting the style of wearing it slicked back as Philip had.

“Yes, but that’s really nothing spectacular. You can go wherever you want, just as long as you make certain not to have too good a time. And no dancing, of course.”

“Do you like to dance?”

“I adore it.”

“I admit that I’ve never given much thought to the practices of mourning. Do you think they have helped you manage your grief?”

“Not particularly.” I smiled, liking his direct manner. “Tread lightly, my friend, lest our conversation return again to Philip.”

“Men do not have to abide by such rigorous rules, yet I cannot believe they mourn their wives less than women do their husbands. Perhaps we ask too much of you ladies.”

“A very enlightened comment. I’m most impressed,” I said, smiling. “But in all seriousness, I think it’s terribly unfair.”

Colin leaned back in his chair and stared at me. After some time I wondered if I should speak but found myself mesmerized by his dark eyes.

“Dance with me, Emily,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

“There’s no music.”

“I’ll hum.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m in mourning.”

“You’re not dead,” he said, standing, never taking his eyes off me. I gave him my hand, and we began to waltz in what little open space my sitting room offered. His grace surprised me, but not as much as the way my skin responded to his touch. The feeling of his hand on my waist caused me to breathe deeply, and when at last he released me, my hands trembled as I stumbled back to my seat.

“I think I should go,” he said quietly.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” I agreed, not sure what to think. “But we haven’t had dinner.”

“I find that I am no longer hungry.” His eyes shone with an intensity I had not seen before in anyone. He kissed my hand, his lips lingering longer than strictly necessary, and rushed from my rooms.