Dangerous to Know (33 page)

“Fortunately for me, I had a sponsor, a mentor, if you will, someone I had met in London several years earlier. She was a woman of a certain age and a socialite of some standing, regarded as one of the greatest hostesses in Paris, indeed in France.

“She was of fine lineage in her own right, had married into one of the grand titled families of France, and, like me, she was a widow.

“This accomplished and remarkable woman had been a friend of my first husband, the late Harry Robson. Because of his kindness to her during a most difficult time in her life, and their long-standing f?lend ship, she took me under her wing when I moved to Paris in 1950.

“She was the Baronne Desiree de Marmont, attractive, elegant charming, and very knowledgeable about everything. It was she who taught me about eighteenth-century fine French furniture, Aubusson and Savonerie rugs, tapestries, porcelain, and art.

“I had developed a good sense of clothes by the time I arrived in Paris, but it was the baroness who imbued in me her own brand of chic her incomparable stylishness. What you admire in me, that sense of style you’ve commented on, Vivienne, I acquired from Desiree de Marmont.

“The first thing she did was take me to her favorite couturiers milliners, and shoemakers, saw to it that I was dressed simply but elegantly in the height of fashion. It was her preferred interior designers who helped me to furnish and decorate the new apartment on the Avenue de Breteuil, again under her discerning eye. And it was she who found me the right butler, cook, and housekeeper to run things for me.

In short, she supervised every aspect of my life.

“Thus Desire turned me into a chic and polished young woman with unique style, grace, and sophistication, quite aside from my natural good looks. It was two years after my arrival in Paris that she decided I was ‘finished’ and, therefore, finally ready to be launched into Parisian society as her protege from London. I “And so, Vivienne, I began my life again. It was my fourth life. I had had three others, two of which I had tried hard to forget, to obliterate entirely. No one knew of this, not even Desiree. She was aware of one only, my rather pleasant but dull life as the wife of the Honorable Harry Robson, third son of a minor English lord.

“Dir& had one child, her son Louis, with whom she was not on the best of terms. Although she was still in her early fifties I became a surrogate child to her in many ways, like the daughter she had never borne.

“There was a special bond between us, rather like the bond we share, Vivienne. She was not only my mentor in those days, but my inspiration.

I aspired to be exactly like her and in some ways I believe I succeeded.

“A good woman, kind, loving, witty, amusing, and a wonderful companion , De’siree was part of that elite circle known as le gratin, the top crust. Yet despite this she was not in the least snobbish. I have observed, in my long life that true aristocrats such as De’siree de Marmont and Edouard never are. In my experience it is the jumped up no accounts who tend to look down their noses at others.

“It was my dearest friend De’sire who introduced me to Monsieur le Comte, Edouard de Grenaille. The evening we met it was a coup de foudre as the French say, a thunderbolt. Or love at first sight, if you prefer. By this time I had already been living in France for five years. I was thirty-three and completely unattached. He was a widower with no children, also uninvolved, and fifty-eight years old. However, Edouard did not look his age, nor did he seem it.

“He was a good4looking man, debonair and dashing, and was im hued with continental charm. He swept me off my feet. Within the year we were married. I became Madame la Comtesse, the mistress of this house and a wonderful old chAteau in Normandy.

“We were sublimely happy for the first two years. Then a problem developed in the marriage. I did not conceive. Childless and longing for an their to carry on the line, Edouard began to change. He became depressed, bad tempered, and critical of me. Oh, not all of the time, Vivienne, there were moments when he behaved like his old self, the Edouard of our courtship, and was kind, considerate. We had always enjoyed a good sex life, an active one, and we loved one another. But love and sex are not always enough. A marriage must be sustained by so much else besides.

“By the time our third wedding anniversajy came around there was a genuine breakdown in our relationship. Edouard had grown more and more introverted, preoccupied as he was with his lineage and lack of an their to carry on the family name. Somewhat irrationally he blamed me.

Even though he loved me he took it out on me. For almost two years I ran to doctors and specialists in infertility, following De’sire’s advice. The answer was always the same: There was nothing wrong with me.

“when I attempted to talk to Edouard about this, pass on the medical opinions I had received, he became angry and refused to listen.

By now I was fully aware that he might not be able to face a simple fact:

that he was sterile and unable to procreate.

“I feared for our marriage and I must admit I was profoundly relieved when he decided to go to Brazzaville in French Equatorial M rica. He had a long-standing invitation to visit with his uncle Jean Pierre de Grenaille who owned vast estates there. I thought the break would do us both good. Edouard seemed to agree. He planned a long trip as he wanted to go on safari to hunt big game.

“It was the beginning of June in 1960 when he set off for Brazzaville.

Before he left he expressed the hope that our three-month separation would have positive results. He said it might help to alleviate the strain between us.

“For the first two weeks Edouard was gone I spent my days under going further gynecological tests. Once more the results were exactly I the same as before. Three new doctors confirmed to me that there was no reason why I could not have a baby.

“By the end of June I was feeling miserable, low in spts, and overwhelmingly sad. I had had such a terrible childhood and youth Suddenly it seemed to me that the past was repeating itself, albeit in a different way. I began to think that I was doomed to be unhappy, that life was not going to go right for me after all. I was also fearful that when Edouard returned from Africa our marriage would finally crumble completely, that we would end up either leading separate lives 4

apart or divorcing. I was not sure which I thought was the worst see nana.

“The weather in Paris that summer was gruelling hot and unbearable . Yet I had no wish to go to the chAteau in Normandy by myself Fitful, restless, anxiety-ridden, and constantly on the brink of tears, I went to see De’siree de Marmont, hoping that she might be able to both advise and console me. She knew why I had been troubled for so long and was also aware that Edouard had seen fit to blame me for depriving him of an their.

“when I arrived at her country estate in Versailles to spend the weekend she took one look at me and threw up her hands in alarm.

She told me I was too thin and exhausted, insisted that I must take a vacation immediately.

“Vivienne, even now I remember so well what she said to me all those years ago. ‘Take yourself off to the Cote d’Azur, ma petite.

Sunbathe, swim, relax, go for long walks, eat delicious food, shop for pretty things, and indulge in a romantic interlude with a nice young man if the possibility arises.” You can’t imagine how shocked I was about her last suggestion. I was speechless.

“Then somewhat indignantly I told Dire’e that I loved Edouard.

She smiled. ‘All the more reason to have a little lighthearted affair.

It will make you feel more relaxed, instill confidence in you again, and when Edouard returns you will be in the right mood to work miracles.

You can fuss over him, seduce him, make him feel virile, and believe me you will be able to put your marriage on a more even keel.”

Naturally I insisted that an affair was out of the question.

“But on the Sunday afternoon, just before I returned to Paris, Desiree took me on one side, told me again that I needed a change of scenery for my own good. ‘Go to Cannes, Have some fun. And if there’s a chance for a little flirtation take it. What harm can it do?

None. Providing no one knows about it. Just remember to be discreet, careful. And take the advice of an experienced woman, stay at one of the smaller hotels and use an assumed name.” On the way back to Paris I pondered her words.

“I never intended to go to Cannes, Vivienne. But during the course of the next week the idea of a holiday in the sun became more and more appealing. On the spur of the moment one morning I telephoned the Hotel Gray d’Albion in Cannes and made a reservation under the invented name of Genevie Brunot, booked myself a seat on the Blue packed a few simple clothes, and left Paris for the south of France.

“Dsiree had been correct about the change in scenery doing me good.

Alter three days of sunbathing, swimming, long walks, and good food I was feeling much better and looking more like my old self.

“Cannes was busy that summer. The American Sixth Fleet stationed in the Mediterranean had just put into port. Hundreds of young ratings were on shore leave, mingling with the locals and the tourists. I managed to get lost in the crowds. There was a sense of jollity in the air, a feeling of festivity. Everyone seemed so young and gay and happy. I was infected with this spirit of joie de vivre. And of course I met a young man.”

I stopped speaking and looked across at Vivienne. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, facing me. Her eyes were glued to my face, and I knew she had been listening attentively.

I said, “I’m afraid this is becoming rather a long story, longer than I’d intended. Can I offer you some sort of refreshment, Vivienne?

That?

Coffee? Or would you like a drink perhaps?”

“If you’re going to have something, Countess Zoe,” she said with a small smile.

“I believe I will. I’m going to have a glass of champagne. Does that appeal to you, my dear?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you.”

“Would you mind ringing the bell for Hubert, please?”

“Of course not,” she answered getting up, crossing the room.

After she’d done as I asked she glanced at the photograph on the console and said, “This one is of you, isn’t it, Countess Zoe? When you were in your thirties?”

I nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“How beautiful you were.”

I merely smiled and glanced at the door as Hubert knocked and entered.

“Madame?”

“Hubert, we would like to have some refreshment. Please bring us a bottle of Dam Perignon and two glasses. Oh and perhaps you’d better retrieve the tea things from the garden.”

Vivienne put down her flute of champagne, leaned forward and said, “Please don’t stop, Countess Zoe, please continue your story - . . you said you met a young man in Cannes .

“I did, Vivienne. He was a nice young man, an American. For several mornings I had taken breakfast on the terrace of a small cafe not far from my hotel. He was usually there, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. He had always smiled at me or nodded politely, and on the fourth morning when I arrived he spoke to me. He said good morning in French. I responded with a smile.

“A short while later I paid my bill and left the cafe. I had not walked very far when the young man caught up with me. In rather halting French he asked me if I was going to the beach. When I said I was in English he grinned and asked if he could join me.

“I hesitated for a moment. But he was so clean-cut, genial, and polite I asked myself what harm there was in it. Also, I had only ever seen him alone at the cafe, never with any companions. It struck me that he seemed lonely, which was the way I was feeling at that moment in my life.

“He must have noticed my hesitation because he excused himself for being rude, stretched out his hand and said, ‘Joe Anthony.” Taking hold of his hand I shook it. ‘Genevieve Brunot,” I said, and added that he was welcome to accompany me to the beach.

“We spent the morning sunbathing, swimming, and talking in generalities . He was rather quiet and didn’t say very much about himself.

But then neither did I. That day I was reserved, somewhat uncommunicative . He invited me to lunch at one of the small cafes on the beach, and I remember thinking how young, healthy, and uncomplicated he looked as he ate his beefsteak, French fries, and green salad with such Lgusto, savored every mouthful of red wine.

“After lunch he walked me back to the Hotel Gray d’Albion. On the way there he asked me to have dinner with him that night. Again I hesitated momentarily, and when I finally agreed to meet him later he looked so relieved and happy I was touched.

“Md that is how it began, our little affair. The following morning we met at the cafe’ for breakfast and once again we went down to the beach together. That evening he took me to Cher Felix for dinner, then dancing afterward at La Chunga, a popular nightclub on the Croisette.

“By this time I had learned that Joe was only twenty-two years old. I was startled when he told me this because he appeared to be older and in fact was quite sophisticated. I did not dare tell him my age, admit to being thirty-eight. When he asked me how old I was I lied. I took off ten years and said I was twenty-eight. Joe believed me. It was true, I did look much younger than I actually was, everyone said that. I was slim and lithesome, and my face was virtually unlined. However, I was forthright with Joe about my status, and from the very beginning he knew I was a married woman with obligations.

“That night at La Chunga, as he led me around the dance floor, holding me tightly in his arms, kissing my cheek and my hair, I realized I could not stop the inevitable from happening. I knew we were going to end up in bed together. Joe knew it too. There had been something special between us from the start of our friendship.

That evening he took me to Cher Felix for dinner, then dancing afterward at La Chunga, a popular nightclub on the Croisette.

“By this time I had learned that Joe was only twenty-two years old. I was startled when he told me this because he appeared to be older and in fact was quite sophisticated. I did not dare tell him my age, admit to being thirty-eight. When he asked me how old I was I lied. I took off ten years and said I was twenty-eight. Joe believed me. It was true, I did look much younger than I actually was, everyone said that. I was slim and lithesome, and my face was virtually unlined. However, I was forthright with Joe about my status, and from the very beginning he knew I was a married woman with obligations.