Lies Told In Silence (2 page)

Chapter 2

May 1914

Henri knew Lise was angry. More angry than usual. He could tell by the way she flicked her skirt back and forth as she left the table and by the tight circle of her mouth. He sighed and made for the library, where a reflective cigar would prepare him for the verbal swordplay to follow. She would be even angrier when he told her his plans.

The last time he was in the library had been with Charles and Maurice. That discussion had unsettled him more than he cared to admit as it became clear that each government department was separately and actively planning for war.
Surely to God it won’t come to that
. But the analytical voice in his head said otherwise.

He was increasingly worried for his family’s safety. A German attack would inevitably focus on Paris, just as Maurice had said. The way matters stood, the French army would not be strong enough to repel a larger German force. Henri believed in his country’s values and took pride in her contributions to the world; nevertheless, he felt that the French army would not prevail unless Britain helped. Discussions were underway between France and Britain, but nothing had been formalized and he worried that time was running out.

Cigar smoke drifted like fading ribbons as he crossed the room to stare out the window. The weather was warmer than usual, and colourfully garbed women strolled along the streets below, some with their children, others with husbands or lovers. Henri could always distinguish the lovers from those who were married by the closeness of their interlinked arms and intimate glances of anticipation. It made him sad that he and Lise no longer exhibited those signs of deep affection.

How has love slipped away?
he wondered.
When did we stop shouldering each other’s sorrows, sharing stories over morning coffee, trading knowing glances when friends or family acted true to form? When did we start fencing like adversaries?

He looked at his watch and took a deep breath. Unless he went to see Lise now, she would begin preparations for bed, and he preferred to have this
particular conversation while she was still fully clothed. A few minutes later, he rapped on the door to her bedroom, waited two or three heartbeats and entered without permission.

Lise stood by the window of a room they once shared wearing a long-waisted blouse and a skirt, the fabric white with pale green stripes. Around her neck was a double strand of pearls. When they had first occupied their home, she had chosen blue and taupe décor, telling him that it was neither feminine nor masculine and so would suit them both. With age and workload had come insomnia, and a year ago Henri had begun sleeping in a room across the hall. Whether from annoyance or merely a desire for a fresh look, Lise had replaced the décor with rose and ruffles.

For a moment, Henri admired the curves of his wife’s silhouette and the loose waves of her light brown hair. Normally, her hair was pinned up or encased in a close-fitting hat, but when he had first met Lise, it was the way her hair fell softly along her face and neck that had caught his attention, each curl seemingly designed to accent a particular feature.

He closed the door. Lise turned, but there was no smile on her lips or warmth in her deep brown eyes.

“Yes?” she said.

“Lise, please stop this. We need to talk.”

“Stop what?”

“You know very well what.” Henri pulled the corners of his mouth down.
She’s being deliberately obtuse
, he thought,
and she knows how irritating that is.

Lise fingered her pearls, twisting the largest one around and around. “It seems that you tell others your concerns before you tell me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lucille Ribot told me all about your conversation with Charles and Maurice. To avoid embarrassment, I had to pretend I was in your confidence. Which clearly, I’m not.”

Henri cursed himself for not anticipating that Charles would tell his wife, one of Lise’s best friends. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have told you. I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said I was trying not to worry you.”

“Really.” It was a statement not a question.

“It’s complicated, Lise. Stop posturing and listen.”

Henri had considered various alternatives for describing the political and military situation. Should he err on the side of alarm, which might make his decision more acceptable, or calm logic in order to avoid an irrational outburst? He used to be able to tell her anything.

Lise folded her arms and tipped her head in a slightly mocking way. “I’m listening.”

As Henri summarized the conversation he had had with Charles and Maurice, her brow furrowed. She rubbed her chin several times but to his surprise did not interrupt once.

“So you think war is inevitable? Just yesterday Papa said that he’s certain Germany and Austria-Hungary are just being provocative and have no malicious intent.”

“With great respect to your father, his diplomatic contacts are mostly retired and out of touch with what is really going on.”

As Lise turned away from him, he could hear the slow release of her breath. Henri put one hand on her shoulder.

“What will this mean? Our children . . .” Her voice wavered and she did not move away.

“I’ve been making plans. I think it will be safest to leave Paris for a while. The next few months could be a turning point. If for any reason conditions worsen, Paris will not be safe. Madame Lalonde says she can have Tante Camille’s house ready for you and the children with a week’s notice.” Henri paused.  “I think Maman should go with you.”

“Beaufort? You want us to go to Beaufort?”

Henri nodded.

“And you?”

“My duty is here.”

“And your mistress?” Lise whirled away from him like a cat from a hot spark.

“My what?”

“Will she be in Paris? Very convenient, Henri, to send your wife out of town for an extended period. No doubt you thought I was too stupid to notice the way Madame D’Aubigne flirts with you and the way your tongue hangs out whenever she’s around. And if I was too stupid, others made sure that I knew.” Lise raised her shoulders and gestured with one hand. “Don’t look so shocked. You should know that’s the way it works. Gossips love an embarrassed wife just as much as they love a cuckold.”

A woman of his wife’s upbringing would consider the word
cuckold
too crude for polite conversation, so Henri knew she had chosen it to emphasize her contempt for his behaviour.

It was true, though he was not ready to admit it. Vivienne D’Aubigne had flirted with him since the night they were introduced at the opera. Bold and provocative, she wore dresses promising barely hidden delights while beguiling him with red lips and curving hips. Everything about her was different from Lise, and he had allowed himself to be enticed into an arrangement that had only recently lost its appeal.

No wonder Lise has been so remote and sharp-tongued
, he thought. During his weekly visits to her bedroom, she had submitted to his love making which, he now realized, was merely a charade to avoid confrontation. And she had withdrawn from him, offering a cheek to be kissed rather than her lips when he returned each evening, failing to smile when he teased the children, conversing without engaging, her countenance subdued rather than animated.

Henri’s back stiffened as he went on the offensive. “Are you suggesting that I don’t have the welfare of my family uppermost in my mind?”

“It’s only your children you care about. You stopped caring about me years ago. And don’t think I’m fooled when you say you’re working late. I can smell her on you. Such cheap perfume.” She pressed a handkerchief against her nose.

“You’re hysterical and don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lise raised a hand to slap his face, but he grabbed her wrist before she could reach him and held it in the air.

“Enough. You and the children will do whatever I decide.”

Henri dropped his wife’s arm. Never in twenty years of marriage had Lise attempted to strike him. She glared at him but remained silent, blotches marking her face, breath unsteady.
Now would be the time to apologize
, he thought.
Admit the affair and face the consequences.
He wondered where such a conversation would lead and whether it would be best to ask her forgiveness when emotions were calmer.

God she looks beautiful when she’s angry. Whatever possessed me to start up with another woman?

Henri stepped closer. His wife stepped back and turned away.

Chapter 3

May 1914

Helene and her family lived in a spacious apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement, a section of the city that encompassed the ancient village of Chaillot but was now filled with wide boulevards, prestigious schools and numerous parks, including the Bois de Boulogne. Less than a hundred years ago, the private mansions of Parisian nobility and high society graced the area housing well known figures such as Victor Hugo, Prince Bonaparte and Baron de Rothschild. Slowly these mansions had been turned into highly desirable apartments.

By
the second week of May, the green canopy of Paris shimmered in humid, lazy air as the family assembled in the morning room, a room with none of the formality of the salon, where heavy drapes and richly coloured fabrics made visitors aware of the family’s position in society, or the dining room, where mahogany and silver spoke of deep ancestral roots. Instead, the morning room spread like a country canvas of tranquil colours and soft contours to create an aura of calm.

Papa had summoned the family for ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Curious and a bit worried at the unusual nature of her father’s request, Helene arrived a few minutes early. No one was speaking when she entered the room, and she had the odd feeling
that her parents and grandmother were posing for a portrait and the painter had told them not to move.

Maman, her back rigid, sat with a saucer in one hand and a coffee cup halfway to her lips as though uncertain whether to take a sip. Her face was blotchy, and Helene thought her mother might have been crying. She glanced immediately at Papa for reassu
rance, expecting his usual warm smile, but instead he frowned at her, shaking his head ever so slightly. Grandmere was over by the window fingering her rosary and dressed in black since the year of mourning for her husband was not quite over. Grandmere did not smile either.

Deciding that conversation would not be welcome, Helene walked silently to the sofa where she waited, with correct posture and carefully arranged skirt, for her brothers to appear. At five minutes after ten, Guy arrived with Jean trailing behind.

Guy’s jacket was more formal than a Saturday morning called for, Helene thought, admiring the set of his tie. At the age of fourteen, her older brother had learned many intricate ways to knot his tie and she had watched him practice for hours in front of the mirror in his bedroom. That was several years ago, a time when she was still allowed into his bedroom. Last year, Guy declared his room off limits to her. Maman had tried to explain, but Helene still felt rejected.

For many years, she and Guy had been very close, sharing secrets, banding together when their parents were overly strict, spending hours outdoors in the days when Helene wished she were a boy with the freedom that went along with being a member of that sex. When their little brother, Marc, had died of scarlet fever, they had comforted one another, longing for the time when Maman would no longer spend her days in tears. After Guy turned fifteen, their easy relationship had changed.

“Sorry, Father. Jean was out with Tout Tout. It took me awhile to find him.”

“Jean, you’re thirteen, old enough to dress properly and arrive on time. I’m not pleased with you.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.” Jean took a seat on the padded bench in front of the fireplace, his light brown hair tousled, freckles marking the bridge of his nose. He was much shorter than Helene, with a thin, wiry frame, and had yet to experience any growth spurts.

Guy stood a few steps away from Papa, emulating his upright bearing, and Helene thought again of the portrait painter as the family tableau arranged itself to accommodate more people. She almost chuckled but caught herself in time; clearly no one was in the mood for frivolity.

“Maman and I have something important to discuss with you.”

Papa’s gruff, measured voice reminded Helene of the eulogy he had given at his father’s funeral. Her mother’s mouth tightened as if she had just swallowed some nasty medicine.

“France is facing a troubling situation right now,” Papa continued. “Germany has become very aggressive and the Balkans are still festering. Many feel that we may soon be at war.”

As her father spoke, Helene realized he was describing the same concerns she had overheard in the library, omitting some of the more alarming aspects. She glanced at Guy, who was nodding at his father’s words.
Papa has already told him
, she thought, anger pinching her cheeks.

“Why does Germany hate us?” asked Jean.

“It’s more complicated than that, Jean. Countries like Germany seek advantages by forming alliances with other countries. Those excluded from such alliances often counter with their own arrangements. Sometimes these relationships are based on trade. Sometimes they are for military purposes. When arrangements become unbalanced, disagreements can follow.” Helene found her father’s calm tone reassuring.

“Oh,” said Jean. “So Germany is in a different alliance than France.”

“That’s right,” her father said.

“What will we do, Papa?” Helene spoke for the first time.

“As I said, Maman and I are very concerned. We think you’ll be safer away from Paris, so I’ve arranged for Tante Camille’s house in Beaufort to be prepared. In a few months, the situation will no doubt calm down and you will return home.”

Helene wondered whether her mother really agreed with her father. Maman seemed to dislike their holidays in Beaufort, and they had not been for many years. She looked at the three adults in the room. Since her father was the only one speaking and Grandmere never interfered, she appealed to her mother.

“Maman, we can’t leave Paris for a tiny village in the country with no fashion houses, museums or art galleries.” Helene listed activities she thought were of great interest to her mother. “What about my friends?” Her mother did not respond, so Helene looked at her father. “And my schooling. They won’t teach English there, Papa. Guy, tell Papa we have to stay in Paris.”

“Umm . . . I’m going to remain in Paris with Papa. It’s already decided. I’ve secured a spot at the
Ecole Militaire in Fontainebleau for a special training program. And if war is declared, I will enlist and defend my country.” Guy puffed out his chest.

Helene’s mother set her coffee cup down with a clatter as colour drained from her face. “Guy, you can’t enlist. You’re far too young.”

“But Maman, in two months I’ll be nineteen. If France needs me, I will heed the call. It’s my duty.”

“I could not persuade him otherwise, Lise. I tried. You must believe me.” Papa looked apologetic, although he made no move to comfort Maman.

Helene’s grandmother rose from her chair. “Henri, I do not like to interfere, however, I’m the only one in this room who has lived through war. It’s a despicable venture. Nothing grand or glorious about it. Yes, you’ve served in the military, but France was at peace during that time. So what do you really know of war?” She wagged her finger in his direction. “Think carefully before you put your son at risk.” Without another word, she proceeded towards the door.

“Maman, please understand . . .”

Grandmere did not even pause to acknowledge her son. She left the room with deliberate steps and a stiff mouth. Words slipped from Helene’s lips before she could stop them.

“Will Monsieur Ribot’s and Monsieur Sembat’s families leave
Paris?”

Papa tipped his head to one side. “What do they have to do with this?”

“I . . . I heard your conversation with them in the library.”

“What? You were in the library? Listening to our private conversation? You deliberately hid from us?” Her father’s face changed from incredulous to furious, his eyebrows drawn into a solid line.

Helene braced her shoulders and kept her head high. “Tell me, Papa, will they be leaving Paris? Because if they’re not, why should we?”

“You were not meant to hear that conversation. Disgraceful behaviour. Leave the room, Helene. At once.”

“No, Papa. I’m very sorry that I listened, but I’m sixteen and deserve to be treated as an adult. You exclude me from serious matters, but you tell Guy. It’s your own fault that I wanted to listen when Monsieur Ribot started talking about Germany. You said a lot more then than what you’ve said this morning.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Papa, perhaps Helene deserves to know more,” said Guy.

“And now you’re supporting her?”

“You’ve brought this on yourself, Henri, with your autocratic approach. They aren’t little children anymore.” Maman’s eyes flashed.

“Well, I want to go to Beaufort,” Jean said. “And perhaps we can stay long enough for me to go to school there. I hate my school, and at Tante Camille’s I can go fishing and learn to hunt.”

The dog began to bark. Helene and her mother spoke at the same time. Guy told Tout Tout to be quiet. The conversation tumbled into disorder.

“Jean, please take Tout Tout out to the kitchen,” Papa said. “We’ll talk about fishing and hunting later. This conversation is giving me a headache. I believe Beaufort is the best course of action. I hope you will all trust that I’m trying to do what’s right for my family.”

“But . . .” Helene tried again.

“No more, Helene. I’ll revisit my decision in a few months time.”