Darkest Longings (16 page)

who came into their box to get a glimpse of the by-now

famous Van Cleef and Arpels diamond. He accepted their

congratulations graciously, but his attitude towards

Claudine remained cold and aloof.

After the play they all went on for a late supper before

returning to the Bois de Boulogne, and Monique was the

only one to see Francois slip out of the house after

everyone had retired to bed. She knew where he was

going, for she had made a brief call on Elise Pascale herself

that day, and Francois had telephoned while she was there

to tell Elise to expect him.

Monique had no idea at what hour of the morning he

returned, but he was there at breakfast when she joined the

table, as were Louis and Claudine. Often, when Francois

and Claudine were in the same room, Monique would study

them, trying to work out exactly what was going on between

them, but as the date of the wedding drew closer their

relationship became more and more of a mystery to her.

They made a striking couple - Francois so tall, so powerful

and so ugly, Claudine so beautiful, so vibrant and so happy

yet they rarely spoke to one another, and never, simply never touched each other. Yet oddly, whenever they looked at one another they seemed suddenly enclosed in a world of their

own. But perplexing as their relationship was, Monique felt

certain that Claudine didn’t love Francois any more than he

loved her.

As for her own relationship with Claudine, as each day

passed Monique was growing to hate her more. She was no

longer afraid that Claudine would come between Lucien

and Francois; now she only longed to be rid of her so that

her own private hell of jealousy would be at an end. Each

night, as the wedding drew closer, she lay awake reliving the

rejections she had suffered. She wept for her own wedding

- the wedding she had always dreamed of, but which now,

perhaps, would never be. She smarted with the pain of her

loneliness, and ached with the memory of being loved. She

did not know what she had done to turn her lovers away, she

only knew that if there was to be a wedding at Lorvoire, it

should be hers. She deserved it for all the suffering, all the

heartache she had known - not Claudine, who had never

had a moment’s unhappiness in her life.

Had she seen any way to destroy Claudine’s happiness,

Monique would have taken it. She had even toyed with the

idea of telling her about Elise, but Elise herself had warned

against it. There was no knowing how Francois might view

their interference, Elise said, and besides, knowing that he

had a mistress wasn’t in any way guaranteed to make

Claudine change her mind. And so Monique nursed her

hatred in silence. When she was with Claudine she worked

hard to hide her feelings - with such success that even her

own parents believed the two of them had struck up a firm

friendship. The only person she had not managed to

deceive was Claudine herself.

Quite what she was going to do about her future

sister-in-law, Claudine didn’t yet know. She had worked

out for herself what lay at the root of Monique’s enmity, and

though she had no intention of calling off her wedding she

was already wondering what she could do to make it less

painful for Monique. It was a shame, she thought, that she

couldn’t discuss the matter with Francois - but then he told

her something that pushed every other thought from her

mind. He had arranged their honeymoon, which was to be

in Biarritz. Honeymoon. The word alone was enough to

send her nerves galloping into disarray. So too was any

thought of intimacy with Francois, who had not as yet even

attempted to kiss her…

A week after his departure for Marseilles, she was at the

opera, though paying scant attention to what was happening

on stage as she was engaged in a rather gratifying fantasy in

which Francois came bursting into their box, grabbed her by

the hands and dragged her off to a secret place to tell her

how much he loved her. She didn’t get as far as to what her

response might be to such an unlikely occurrence, as some

twenty minutes into the first act she became aware that

someone was watching her. She glanced around the

darkened opera house, but all eyes seemed to be on the

stage. However, the feeling didn’t go away, and when the

lights came up for the interval she looked again to see who it

might be.

‘What is it, cherie?’ Celine asked when she saw the puzzled

frown on her niece’s face.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Claudine answered.

‘Come, have a glass of champagne. And perhaps tonight

we should go straight home after the performance. We’ve an

early start for Touraine tomorrow, and you must be tired

after all this gaiety in Paris.’

‘Claudine, tired!’ Louis exclaimed. ‘How I have longed

for the day!’

They all laughed, but as Claudine turned in her seat she was

again aware of someone watching her, and this time as she

scanned the faces in the adjacent boxes, her attention was

caught by the downward sweep of a fan. Then, to her

amazement, she found herself looking into eyes of the most

beautiful woman she had ever seen. Instantly the smile

dropped from Claudine’s face, for she knew beyond a doubt

that this was the person who’d been studying her. She was

breathtaking. With her heavy, honey-blonde hair, delicate

ivory skin and seductive eyes, she looked like a Greek goddess

reclining in the glow of golden light that fell around her.

Finally, with a barely perceptible nod of her head, the

woman looked away, and collecting herself, Claudine

turned back to her aunt.

‘Tante Celine,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me, do you know

that woman over there? She’s been staring at me ever since

we arrived.’

Celine followed her niece’s gaze, and Claudine felt her

stiffen. ‘Ah no, you’re imagining things, cherie? Celine said.

‘But do you know her?’

Celine glanced quickly at Louis, who gave a brief nod.

‘She’s Elise Pascale,’ Celine said.

The name meant nothing to Claudine. ‘Can we meet

her?’ she wanted to know.

‘I think not, cherie.’

‘But why?’

‘Because she is not quite … how can I put it? She is not

quite…’

‘She is what we in polite circles call a courtesan,’ Louis

supplied.

‘Oh,’ Claudine said, drawing out the word as her eyes

brightened with laughter. She looked back at Elise. ‘How

absolutely fascinating,’ she whispered. ‘I’d still like to meet

her!’

Of course it was out of the question, and it was to Celine’s

profound relief that Louis came to the rescue once again by

saying, ‘I would prefer that you didn’t, cherie. I wouldn’t

want her putting ideas into Solange’s head.’

They all burst out laughing, and as the curtain rose for the

second act of Milhaud’s Le PauvreMatelot, the conversation

was, to Celine’s relief, at an end.

Later, as they were leaving the theatre, Claudine scanned

the foyer in the hope of getting a closer look at Elise Pascale.

When she saw her her heart gave a sudden vicious lurch as

she saw an appallingly familiar figure leaving Elise and

coming towards them through the crowd. She’d had no idea Francois was planning to return to Paris that night - nor, it seemed, had anyone else. He had just arrived from

Marseilles, he explained, and had come to meet them in the

hope of joining them for dinner. And so, their plans for an

early night abandoned, they joined another group of friends

and strolled off down the avenue de l’Opera for a lobster

supper at Drouant’s.

The following morning Francois escorted them to the

railway station, where he assured his mother that he would

be home in time for dinner the next day. Lucien, however,

would not be home tomorrow, he told her in response to her

urgent enquiry.

‘But he is coming to the wedding, isn’t he?’ Solange cried,

as Louis gently pushed her onto the train.

As she asked this question at least once a day, Francois

rolled his eyes and said, ‘Yes, Maman, Lucien will be

coming to the wedding if he can.’ And he smiled at her

shriek of delight.

‘And what about you? Will you be coming to the

wedding?’

He turned to find Claudine standing beside him. Her hat cast a light shadow over her eyes, and in her pastel chiffon dress, with the steam billowing around her, she was like an

apparition.

‘A strange question,’ he remarked.

‘A strange engagement,’ she countered.

He looked at her for a long moment, but she was unable

to read his eyes.

‘It’s the first of September today,’ she said. ‘You have ten

days in which to change your mind.’

‘So have you,’ he answered, and her cheeks flooded with

colour at the way she felt suddenly naked beneath the

lascivious smile that curved his thin lips, the eyes that swept

the length of her body.

‘I have no intention of changing my mind,’ she said,

through clenched teeth.

‘A pity,’ he replied, and held the door open for her to

board the train.

The day of the wedding dawned. The evening before,

Claudine had moved into one of the guest rooms in the west

tower of the chateau de Lorvoire - a circular room with

wide, arched windows that overlooked the meadow and

gardens at the front and side of the house. The four-poster

bed was of carved oak, the hangings, like the window

curtains, pale yellow brocade, and the Heriz carpet was a

field of sea-green. There were two Louis XV armoires, and

a Sormani kingwood and marquetry dressing-table on

which Magaly had set out her ivory-backed hairbrushes,

silver-topped bottles and two vases of flowers.

Since she had woken at six o’clock Claudine had been

aware of the day’s excitement. Through the leaded windows

she had watched the caterers arrive, then the florists. Then

there had come designers and hairdressers, an army of extra

staff hired for the day, and a band of musicians. She had

seen Tante Celine’s car draw up outside, and heard the

clatter of horses’ hooves as her father and Lucien returned

from an early morning ride.

There had been several knocks on her door, mainly from

Dissy, who had arrived with her husband, Lord Poppleton,

at the start of the week. But Claudine wasn’t ready to see

anyone yet today - not even her best friend. She was

perched on the edge of the bed, staring into space as she

struggled to make sense of her astonishing reaction to what

she had discovered last night, when she crept upstairs to

take a look at the apartment she would be sharing with

Francois.

The first room she entered had been a pleasant surprise

- an elegant but intimate drawing-room, with fringed

lampshades over brass lamps, candy-striped sofas and

armchairs, and big windows opening onto a terrace that

was only feet away from the trees on the hillside behind the

chateau. But it was when she opened the door to her left

that the extraordinary reaction started. It was a bedroom, a

very beautiful bedroom, with rose-silk-panelled walls,

matching bed linen and carpets, rosewood furniture,

marble fireplace and high, arched French windows. But a

sixth sense was telling her something else about the room.

And then her heart started a strange, unsteady rhythm.

This was her room, she realized; hers alone.

‘What do you think?’

She turned to find Lucien watching her from the sitting

room door, hands in pockets, one shoulder leaning casually

against the doorframe.

‘I’m not sure,’ she answered shortly. ‘I haven’t seen it all

yet.’

He frowned. ‘You seem angry.’

‘Angry? Why should I be angry?’

He shrugged. ‘Shall we take a look around, then?’

She nodded. After all, she was telling herself, it was quite

normal for husband and wife to have separate rooms, wasn’t

it? But why, then, did she feel so disturbed? She took the

hand Lucien held out to her, and allowed him to lead her

across the sitting-room to a room she hadn’t yet entered.

It was, as she had expected, another bedroom. It was

plain, uncluttered and unmistakably masculine - just as the

other had been unmistakably feminine. From the moment

she walked into it Claudine felt she was trespassing, and

would go no further than the foot of the vast oak bed, though

Lucien explored the bathroom and dressing-room, loudly

voicing his approval. She showed him her own suite. At the

far end of it was another door which, when she opened it,

led out onto a narrow landing. Across the landing, Lucien

showed her, was the nursery; and the door at the end of the

corridor opened onto a bridge leading from the chateau into

the forest behind. He and Francois had often used it as an

escape route when they were children.

‘So,’ he declared, as they walked back into the sitting

room, ‘my brother has thought of everything, right down to