Darkest Longings (32 page)

handsome and the other so appallingly ugly? And why was it

that she felt so drawn to Francois, when …

Quickly she pulled herself together, reminding herself

that she hated him. But then he laughed at something

Lucien was saying, and she felt horribly lightheaded again

and started to sway. She blinked, trying to bring his face

back into focus, but it only seemed to make her worse. For a

moment everything went black, and as if from a great

distance she heard Francois saying, ‘It’s all right, I’ll see to

her,’ and she was suddenly aware that she was in his arms

and he was carrying her towards the stairs.

That night she dreamt that he was holding her and

kissing her. That his cruel mouth was soft and warm and moving tenderly over hers. Each time he pulled away, she moaned softly at the way his eyes were looking down at her,

suffused with laughter and love, and she pulled him back,

wanting to feel his lips on hers again, and the hardness of his

body as his passion grew. She shivered as his hands moved

to her breasts, stroking and fondling them, then his lips

closed around her nipples and she fell back, dazed by the

overpowering sensations coursing through her. Then finally

he lay over her and pushed himself slowly inside her.

She cried out at the ecstasy of it, lifting her hips to meet

his while his tongue probed the depths of her mouth. He

moved against her, holding her close, and she clung to him,

gripping him with her legs and her arms as he started to

push into her with longer, harder strokes. His breath was

coming quicker, and the sound of it inflamed her senses and

carried her towards a peak of impossible sensation. She

arched her back, calling out his name as he took her higher

and higher. Then, at the very moment the ecstasy started to

explode through her body, he jerked himself away.

She woke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. All she

could see was his hideous face, only inches from hers,

looking back at her with contempt. She gasped, blinked

hard, and the illusion vanished. Sweat was pouring from her

body and her hands, as she lifted them to her face, were

trembling uncontrollably. It was some time before she could

bring herself to look at the bed beside her, terrified that she

would find him watching her, but when she finally reached

out to turn on the lamp she saw that the room was empty,

and there was no sign that he had been mere.

She collapsed against the pillows. So it had been a dream,

a terrible nightmare, but her body was still pounding with

the sheer power of it.

After that she couldn’t sleep, and lay awake embroiled in

the chaos of her thoughts. It made her angry and afraid that

her body could betray her so cruelly, that even when she was

asleep he could torment her. His malice pursued her,

forcing her to relive, over and over again, the way he so

sadistically denied her the final release of pleasure. Wherever she looked she could see his face, watching her, mocking her, drowning her in the contempt he felt for her.

Just after six the next morning Claudine, Armand and

Lucien mounted their horses and rode down over the

meadow into the early morning mist of the forest. The air

was bracing, and the branches that hung across their path

sparkled with dew. They walked the horses to the towpath,

then cantered gently along the river bank where the water

was still and glassy, with a smoky haze drifting above the

surface. Claudine was riding ahead, and surprised the!

others by turning her horse away from the path, around the edge of the forest to open ground, and urging it gently up the hill. By the time she reached the top, the sun was a glowing ball of orange sitting on the horizon, and as she looked down at the forest behind her she could see the glistening turrets of the chateau rising proudly through the

trees.

Seeing the open countryside had made her horse restless,

so glancing challengingly back over her shoulder at Lucien

and Armand, Claudine rose in the saddle, dug in her heels and galloped off towards the dawn. As she went, the fresh wind seemed to snatch away the confusion of the night, the

thundering hooves seemed to trample her doubts, so that by the time Lucien and Armand caught her, she was laughing loudly at the way she had allowed herself to become so

confused when, as Gustave had put it, she was simply

‘under the influence’. ..

It was almost eight o’clock when the three of them, still in their riding clothes, walked into the dining-room, to find Louis humbly sipping his coffee while Solange lectured him

about his health. They all enjoyed the look of relief that

crossed his face when he saw them come in, and Claudine

felt even more cheerful when Monique appeared and told them that Francois and Captain Paillole had left for Paris half an hour before. For reasons neither of them could have

explained, Claudine’s and Armand’s eyes met; they smiled

at each other, shrugged and looked away.

That was the first time Monique had ventured from her

room since her terrible row with Claudine, though Claudine

knew that Francois had informed her of Freddy’s departure

from Montvisse. What else he had said to his sister when

they were closeted together in her room, Claudine did not

know, but she was relieved to see that Monique was taking

an interest in what Armand and Lucien were telling her

about the preparations for the wine feast. She tried several

times to catch her eye, but without success. Plainly,

Monique needed a little more time before she could forgive

her.

Over the next two weeks all thoughts of Francois were

banished from Claudine’s mind, and the only thing that

happened to dampen her spirits was Lucien’s departure to

rejoin his regiment. Armand missed him too, for the three of

them had spent a great deal of time together; though they all

had their own business to attend to during the day, they had

fallen into the habit of going to the cafe almost every

evening, then riding together the following morning. Sometimes

Monique accompanied them, but after Lucien’s

departure she stopped. However, Armand and Claudine

continued with their early morning gallops across the

countryside, and their rowdy soirees down at the cafe, and to

Armand’s continuing chagrin - their rehearsals with

Solange. During the day, while Armand was working in the

vineyards, Claudine busied herself with preparations for the

feast, helped by Solange, Louis and Tante Celine.

Monique went to Paris for a few days, and when she

returned, to Claudine’s relief she started to enter into the

spirit of things, and involved herself in the pantomime the

children were putting on. Each afternoon she waited at the

gates of the chateau for the school bus to return from

Chinon, then escorted the village children to the ballroom

where she and Philippe, the footman who had joined the

household at the end of September, directed the rehearsals

for Sleeping Beauty. Philippe had once been a great actor - or

so he told the children; and while he took them through

their moves and showed them how to deliver their lines most

of which he had written himself - he told them

wonderful stories about life in the theatre. He made

rehearsals such fun that sometimes only a ride home in

Louis’ Bugatti could persuade the children to tear themselves away from him.

Meanwhile Claudine was looking after the adult performers as well as organizing the seating and the staging,!

Much of her time was spent dealing with the displays off

newly acquired artistic temperament; she managed to I

most people happy though, but those who refused to be I

pacified - mostly men, too chauvinistic to take orders from a

woman - she sent over to the vineyards for Armand to cope

with.

As the day of the feast drew closer, they all began to pray I

for fine weather - Father Pointeau had even taken to

mentioning it during mass. That the afternoon and evening

should remain dry was now of paramount importance, for

news of the feast had travelled as far afield as Tours,

Chatellerault and Angers, and so many people were

expected that it would be quite impossible to hold it inside

the chateau. Tante Celine had invited a party of friends

from Paris, and Claudine had written to Dissy and Poppy.

Solange, who was continually surprising Claudine with the

people she knew, had succeeded in attracting such diverse

celebrities as the authoress Simone de Beauvoir, Madame

Lebrun, wife of the President of France - an old school

friend - and Rene Clair, the famous film director. Louis’

old comrades-in-arms had all accepted their invitations too,

whicli meant that several generals and even two Marechaux

de France would be coming, as would Coco Chanel, Edward

Molyneux and half a dozen other dress designers invited by

Monique and Celine. The chateaux of Montvisse and

Lorvoire would be bursting at the seams by the time the

harvest was in, and Claudine didn’t know whether she was

excited, nervous, or just plain crazy.

On the Tuesday before the feast, Armand announced

that the grapes were to be harvested - starting the next day.

Already people had begun arriving at de Lorvoire and

Montvisse, and to Claudine’s amazement and delight, when

the sun rose the following morning aristocrats and peasants

alike were gathering in the vineyards ready to pick the

grapes. It was back-breaking work, but everyone threw

themselves into it with astonishing vigour, and the only

person to complain was Florence Jallais.

By this time Claudine had had several encounters with

Florence Jallais - a little woman with staring eyes and a

vicious tongue - and knew that complaining was about all

she did. Over the past few weeks Florence had never missed

an opportunity of reprimanding her: Claudine was giving

people ideas above their station, and it wasn’t right.

Claudine wasn’t French, of course, so she wouldn’t understand,

but women didn’t go drinking in cafes without their

husbands unless they were trollops, and they didn’t sit down

at the table with the men when the meals were being served

up, the way Claudine had the other day at Liliane’s. Oh yes,

she knew all about that, her husband had been there, he had

seen it. No, Claudine should have waited for the men to

finish before she ate anything herself-that was how decent

Frenchwomen behaved. She was setting a bad example all

round, and should be ashamed of herself…

Halfway through the final afternoon of the harvest, the

day before the feast, it started to rain. A groan went up

throughout the valley, but no one - with the exception of

Florence Jallais - deserted his post. Even Tante Celine and

her friends continued picking, scarves tied around their

heads and mackintoshes draped over their shoulders. Not

one of them had ever done anything like this before, but

tremendous fun though it was, they all agreed later as they

rubbed expensive creams into their swollen, scratched and

in some cases bleeding fingers, that the novelty had now

most definitely worn off-as, thankfully, had the rain.

Everyone retired early to bed that night, exhausted from

the day’s toil, and Claudine drove down to the village to

spend the evening with Liliane and Armand, intending to go over the final details of the next day’s festivities. But Liliane I took herself off to bed within half an hour of Claudine’s I

arrival, and Claudine, rocking back and forth in Liliane’s I

chair in front of the fire, fell into a deep sleep from which I

Armand had some difficulty in rousing her.

By three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, everything was I

ready. Dozens of wooden boxes had been set out to makes I

stage in front of the caves, lights had been rigged in the trees

and on the chateau walls. In the courtyard more than fifty

long tables - borrowed from neighbouring town halls,

chateaux and churches - had been set up. A path had been

cut into the forest so that young Richard, who was playing

Prince Charming, could ride out to his Sleeping Beauty

played

by little Janette Reinberg. Wild boar, roebuck and

hares were roasting on spits, while in the kitchens Arlette,

Liliane and an army of helpers were organizing tureens of

broth and platters of vegetables and freshly baked bread.

Armand and the estate workers were pouring the wine into

pitchers while young Luc, the accordionist who usually

played under the statue of Rabelais in Chinon, ran speedily

through his repertoire before the guests arrived. And in the

ballroom the children were being entertained by Philippe,

who had been excused from his duties in order to keep them

under control until their performance began.

Claudine felt exhausted already. Since mass that morning

she had been driving out to Chinon and the surrounding

villages, checking that everyone had transport to Lorvoire