Heart Specialist (24 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The
Marquise de Rullecourt
returned to Paris about the middle of September, but before she returned Valentine was invited to spend a weekend with her.

The invitation included Jane; but Jane at that period seemed particularly loath to leave Paris even for a weekend
,
and Valentine had little doubt that the reason lay with Philippe. He was in the process of making fresh plans, and that those plans would shortly necessitate another trip abroad seemed fairly certain. Jane, after altering her opinion of him sufficiently to spend one whole day in the country with him, was undoubtedly on tenterhooks about those plans; and Valentine sympathized with her, sympathized with her and knew that there was nothing she could do to help her.

Her own life had the extraordinary feeling of being over at about that time. And if there was nothing she could do to help herself, how could she help Jane? Philippe had improved tremendously on acquaintance, and it was perfectly easy to understand his popularity with members of her own sex; but charm, gaiety, kindliness—even a feeling at times that one could depend on Philippe in a crisis, and that he was by no means all on the surface—were no guarantee that a slim dark-haired Englishwoman who hadn
’
t wanted to
f
all in love again wouldn
’
t very soon now be bitterly regretting the impetuosity with which she had joined a friend in Paris.

If Paris was a city of romance, Valentine sometimes thought, it was also definitely a city of disillusionment.

But nevertheless she understood perfectly when Jane looked perturbed by the
marquise
’
s
invitation. Jane didn
’
t want to give herself away, but she couldn
’
t help it; and she was also anxious about Valentine, for if it was possible for a modern young woman to flag and look sometimes as if the motivating power of her existence had slowed so dangerously that at any moment the repercussions might cause anxiety to those who wished her well, then Valentine was that young woman.

Ever since the night when Jane and Philippe had returned from their day in the country to find her huddled in a chair, the marks of dried tears on her cheeks
,
although she was mercifully asleep, Jane had known for certain that she had been right from the beginning. Valentine, who had meant to be unlike other girls of her age and keep herself immune from love, had been in love on the very night Jane arrived at the apartment. She had been in some kind of a bemused state that night—and it hadn
’
t been a happy state, either—and since then the watchful Jane had arrived at her own conclusions.

Philippe had arrived at his own conclusions, too
,
and they happened to be in entire agreement with Jane
’
s. Philippe was in a better position to know whether there was even a remote possibility that things might one day sort themselves out for Valentine, but Leon Daudet
,
like himself, had remained a bachelor until he was slightly past his mid-thirties, and the habit clung. Also, there was Elise Faubourg! It was impossible for one man to read the mind of another, any more than a woman could be quite certain of another woman
’
s reactions: and over such a delicate matter as an affair of the heart. Philippe, with much experience behind him. hesitated to give a decided opinion.

But he and Jane both thought Valentine should accept the
marquise
’
s
invitation. It was a break she badly needed.

“
I
’
m sure she
’
ll understand if I don
’
t come with you,
”
Jane said.
“
After all, I hardly know her, and she says in her letter that she
’
s quite alone. I think she would rather just have one of us to break up her peace. You like her, she likes you—so accept her invitation and tell her there was no one who could exercise Fifi, so I had to remain behind.
”

Valentine smiled rather wanly.

“
Martine, as you know very well, could exercise Fifi.
”

“
Never mind, darling, you don
’
t have to mention Martine. And I honestly think the
marquise
would prefer to have you visit her alone. She
’
s old and she wasn
’
t very fit when she left Paris.
”

“
No, that
’
s true,
”
Valentine said slowly. And the fact that the
marquise
had said that she was alone had made a curious impression on her mind. Why had the old lady so particularly stated that she was
“
alone
”
? In order that Valentine would not be afraid to find that Dr. Daudet was visiting his aunt?

The
marquise
’
s
summer retreat was about a hundred miles from Paris and not very far from the sea, Valentine thought she could smell the sea when the train set her down at the little wayside station to which a car was to be sent to pick her up. The car arrived, an old-fashioned but exceedingly comfortable limousine with crests on the door panels, and although the day was pleasantly warm, the chauffeur insisted on tucking a light blanket over her knees.

Valentine had seen one or two chateaus of the more dignified order since her arrival in France, but she was hardly prepared for the majestic pile that was the seat of the Marquis de Rullecourt. Surrounded by terraces and encompassed by a moat, with pepper pot towers and an impressive array of windows, it was set against a background of woods and September sky, and by comparison with Chaumont, it was the lordly head of a family that had never even heard of some of the humbler members.

The car sped along a driveway that seemed to wind through woods for at least a couple of miles, and then all the splendor of the great edifice was in sight. Valentine, for a few moments, felt terrified lest the
marquise
’
s
“
alone
”
was not meant to be interpreted quite literally; and the fear that she would suddenly find herself in the midst of a gay assemblage of people to whom a house like this was the perfect setting for a smart weekend house party made her wish that she hadn
’
t come.

Then she knew that her fears were groundless, Alphonse, with whom she was by this time reasonably familiar, received her in the great entrance hall, and the house itself was as silent as a pool. Valentine could almost feel the silence lapping around her as Alphonse led her to his mistress, and no sooner did she catch sight of that mistress than the girl felt as if something frozen around her heart began to melt and tears started to brim over in her eyes.

The
marquise
held out her arms to her.

“
Dear child,
”
she said,
“
I would have sent for you long ago, only I didn
’
t know what to do. Leon said you were looking pale and sadly in need of a change, and I see now that he didn
’
t exaggerate. You are a mere washed out little ghost of what you were when
I
saw you last, and
I
feel
I
have been guilty of neglect. But I wasn
’
t sure you would wish to come. You do understand, don
’
t you,
cherie
?”

The weekend passed like a dream for Valentine, a peaceful dream in which she wandered with her hostess on the shores of the lake and in green clipped alleys; and she sat with her in flower-smothered arbors overlooking long avenues of graceful garden statuary and sunken rose gardens.

The air was sweet with the perfume of numberless flowers and the salty tang of the sea; the towers of the chateau were reflected in the moat, and the moat itself was a glistening girdle
that enclosed them and kept them in an area of magic. Nothing inside that magic circle was quite real, Valentine thought, and nothing disturbing or intrusive could upset the utter harmony of the hours from dawn till dusk and from dusk till dawn.

The
marquise
had been living there for several weeks now, keeping an eye on the beauties of the place for her son, who was far away. It was one of the
marquise
’
s
secret sorrows that she saw so little of her son, and that he was so delicate that it was quite unlikely he would ever marry, and therefore on his death the estates and title and all the dignity of being Marquis of Rullecourt would pass on to some fairly distant kinsman. Leon, to whom she was so much attached, was related on his mother
’
s side and had no expectation of inheriting.

But if she was unhappy about this unalterable situation, and if she sometimes felt she would give a great deal to alter it, the
marquise
never permitted any of this unhappiness to show in her face. On the contrary, she seemed to be wonderfully complacent and resigned, and as a result of spending many hours in her society Valentine began to feel extraordinarily resigned, too.

Studying her secretly while they sat together in a little silk-lined boudoir in the evenings and played chess, and sometimes piquet, the
marquise
was relieved to notice how the look of strain was vanishing from Valentine
’
s face, and that already the change of air had brought color into her cheeks. As a result of the color they seemed to have filled out, and the harebell-blue eyes were less shadow haunted.

On the last evening she said as if she had only suddenly been inspired by an idea,
“
Why don
’
t you stay on a little longer, my dear?
”
She shifted a pawn as if she was giving the move a great deal of thought and then continued,
“
A weekend is such a tantalizingly short space of time, and I have loved having you so much! I promised Leon that if I
could
persuade you to stay longer
I
would...”

She could almost feel Valentine stiffen.

“
It is kind of Dr. Daudet to concern himself with my need of a change—or what he
imagines
to be my need of a change!
”
the girl said in a frozen voice.
“
But I am quite capable of recognizing my own needs, and
I
shall survive very well without his interference.
”

“
Of course, dear,
”
the
marquise
said in her smooth complacent tones.
‘
But permit me to add that in return for my promise, he gave me his that you would not be in any way troubled or disturbed during your visit to me. By which, of course, he meant that he would not come near us himself.
”

Valentine stared at her. The
marquise
sounded as if she was stating something completely normal, not anything that had to be explained.

“
Ah, my queen!
”
the old lady exclaimed, making another dexterous move.
“
Leon told me, of course, that he has asked you to marry him.
”

“
He
...
t-told you?
”
Valentine sounded as if she could hardly believe her ears.

“
Of course, child. He knows I
’
ve been dying for him to get married for ages and he also knows I am very fond of you. But I understand perfectly why you refused him. According to your English ideas marriage is the sort of thing one enters into for reasons of love only, and if you cannot love him you cannot marry him. It is a pity, but there it is. No doubt he seems to you considerably older than yourself—a little set in his ways perhaps. Perhaps not altogether easy to get on with
...”

“
I never said
I
thought Dr. Daudet was set in his ways and I have certainly never thought of him as older than myself—at least, not all that much older,
”
Valentine heard herself saying agitatedly.
“
And I can
’
t imagine why you think I think he would be difficult to get on with.
”

“
Oh, just an idea, my child.
”
Thoughtfully she fingered another pawn.
“
Ought I, or oughtn
’
t I? Let me see
...
But where were we? Discussing Leon?
”
She slid the pawn into place with one of her white ringed hands.
“
Older women seem to find him interesting, and of course I think he
’
s very attractive. But
I
expect, being young, you want to fall in love with someone young and eager and ardent, who will sweep you off your feet and with whom one day, perhaps, you will be very happy. That is, if you haven
’
t already fallen in love.
”