Lost heritage (10 page)

Menais?' she asked, and the old lady smiled agreement, seemingly unaware of the slight huskiness in the voice that asked the question.

'Another Raoul Menais,' she agreed. *My grandson was named for him, although there the resemblance ends.'

Charlotte recalled the use of the past tense and regretted the possible need to reopen old hurts. Tm sorry, madamey

she apologised. *I didn't realise he was—I mean ^ She

used her hands in a gesture of appeal. 1 wouldn't have mentioned anything about him if Fd known.'

Madame Menais looked at her for a moment, then smiled understandingly. *But of course you would not, Charlotte, you are not an unfeeling child, but it is long since over and one cannot weep for ever.'

It was almost like receiving encouragement, and the temptation was too great even if it meant inflicting more hurt Charlotte's gaze clung to the handsome face in the silver frame with almost the same longing as the old lady's did. *He's—he was very good-looking,' she ventured, 'but more like Monsieur Michel in appearance than Monsieur Bernard.'

Obviously the wound was old enough to have healed, for the old lady seemed quite willing to talk about him, and Charlotte clung to every word avidly. 'Bernard is not a true Menais, of course,' Madame Menais said. 'When I married Monsieur Menais he adopted Bernard as his son, but then nine years later Raoul arrived. Oh, he was such a beautiful child,' she remembered soft-voiced, 'and so—^wanted. I beheve that I spoiled him as no child was ever spoiled before!'

'Naturally enough in the circumstances,' Charlotte suggested, but Madame Menais was shaking her head in apparent disagreement.

'Perhaps too much; that is not so good.' Madame Menais made the admission with a touch of regret. 'Perhaps if he

had not been so very spoiled as a child * She broke off

suddenly and seemed to make a conscious effort to pull herself back to the present, carefully replacing the photograph on the bedside table. *But I have too much to be grateful for to dwell too l(Mig on regrets.'

It was slipping away, Charlotte realised anxiously; the moment was slipping away from her before she knew anything about this other Raoul Menais, and she wished for a moment that she had the nerve to teU the old lady diere and then just why she had applied for the post with Lizette.

She wanted to ask if this Raoul Menais had ever married, if he had fathered a child twenty-two years ago. Or even if he had not married, but loved a girl called Elizabeth and then given away their child when the girl died. There were so many questions, so many possibilties, but the one thing she clung to was the very real possibiUty diat this Raoul Menais had been her father.

She was going too fast, she realised. This was only the beginning and by being too impatient now she could ruin everything. This suspicion, this ahnost certainty, was not enough to present to the all-powerful Menais family, and especially Raoul the younger, as proof that she was (me of them. There had to be moire.

'Was he married, like Monsieur Bernard?' she asked, desperate to make one last try before the moment was lost to her, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth when Madame Menais frowned in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of Raoul—-die Raoul she knew.

*Oh yes, he married, but not like Bernard at all!' The thin ringless hands gestured helplessly; unable to remedy things long past and unchangeable. *0h, diere is no use to regret the past and one cannot weep for ever,' she said, reiterating her earlier observation. Then once more she shook her head and made a grimace of regret. *And I must

not keep you from Lizette any longer, Charlotte, or she will scold both of us!'

*Madame Lizette!'

In her anxiety to hear as much as possible about the first Raoul Menais, Qiarlotte had completely forgotten Lizette for the moment, and she stared at her watch in dismay. Madame Menais was smiling at her anxiety and shaking her head as she sipped her coffee.

'Do not look so alarmed, child! You may attach aH blame to me if Lizette is ^gry with you for being late. I believe that I still exert enough authority among my family to be taken notice of, so you may make free with my name in your excuses!'

*Thank you, madcane, Vd better go, if there's nothing more I can do for you.'

*I have all that I need, merciy ma chere^^ the old lady assured her. *So run along to Lizette!'

Charlotte needed no second bidding, she left the old lady's room and hurried along the red carpeted gallery, half-running and hoping that by some chance Lizette might have slept longer than ever before. Her mind was still filled with the stunning fact that there had been another Raoul Menais, and she could still not give her mind completely to what might be happening about Lizette.

She was several metres from the top of the stairs when she caught sight of Raoul coming along the gallery in the far wing, and from the look on his face she knew that her hope of Lizette not yet being awake was a vain one. Raoul always frowned that way when he was displeased, and it was almost certain that she was the object of his displeasure when he came straight towards her on those long, muscular legs.

Leaving his own apartment, to reach the stairs he had to pass by Charlotte's room and he had obviously heard her bell ringing as he passed; shrilling its summons in vain

go LOST HERITAGE.

because she was not there to hear it. His brows were drawn and the grey eyes had the familiar steely look that she knew so well, so that she knew even before he said anydiing that he was going to make his displeasure known.

A light grey suit seemed to add to his already considerable height and die white shirt he wore with it contrasted widii the tanned, outdoor look he always managed to have despite the hours he spent m an office. He looked very virile and masculine, and very discouraging.

Fastening his gaze on her slighdy flushed face, he drew his black brows together, speaking as he so often did without prior greeting; getting straight to the point. *You are late, mademoiselle; he informed her shordy. *It is ahnost nine-diirty and Madame Lizette has been ringing for you for almost fifteen minutes I * *rm sorry!' Slighdy breadiless, Charlotte attempted to

explain. *I got caught up widi '

*I am not concerned who you have been gossipmg with,' Raoul interrupted impatientiy. Tlease go to Madame Lizette before she has die whole household running to her aid! Can you not hear the bell?'

Charlotte had not realised it before, but it was perfecdy possible to hear die bell in her room, out diere on die gallery. Neverdielcss she was not inclined to let his suggestion diat she had been gossiping go. imchallenged and she made one more try to put him in the picture.

1 can hear it, monsieur; she agreed. *But you're being very unfair in suggesting that I was gossiping.'

*Unfair?' He echoed her accusation derisively, then indicated widi one hand die direction of Lizette's apartment. Tour presence is required elsewhere, mademoiselle; please attend to the needs of your employer! Do not waste more time in gossiping further!'

Charlotte flushed a bright angry pink as she glared at him, and she ignored die bell for die moment while she

gave vent to her indignation. *I am not gossiping, Monsieur Raoul,' she told him determinedly, *I was simply trying to explain that I am a litde late because I was attending to Madame Menais. There was some kind of a crisis and I lent a hand—that's all!'

Having made her point she would have walked off, but it was he who now detained her with a hand on her arm, and an anxious frown overlaying the impatient one of a moment before. 'You have been with Madame Menais?' he asked, and Charlotte puzzled briefly over his concern.

•That's right, monsieur^ I was lending Celine a hand.'

The hand on her arm pressed more firmly into her flesh suddenly and she recognised anxiety in the grey eyes as they searched her face. 'A crisis, you said—is Madame Menais ill? What is wrong?'

It was such a temptation to let him go on thinking the worst that for a second she allowed the impression she had given to stand, for she still smarted from his assumption 5iat she had been gossiping instead of attending to Lizette. Pulling her arm free, she rubbed a palm over the marks his fingers had left, and did not look at him.

*I don't have time to explain,' she told him. *As you say, my job is to attend to Madame Lizette and her bell is still ringing. Celine, I'm quite sure, will tell you what happened, if you ask her.'

*Damn you!' Raoul swore violendy and snatched at her again, his grey eyes burning fiercely in the tanned face. *If there is something wrong with Grand'm^re I wish to be informed, and you will tell me now, ma file \ '

It was an indication of his concern that his brows were drawn close, and the eyes that searched her face for some definition of the trouble, more anxious than she had ever seen them. He genuinely loved the old lady, whatever shortcomings he had in other directiods, and she could not keep up the pretence for long.

*I didn't say Madame Menais was ill,* she told him a litde breathlessly. *She's perfecdy all right—or she was a moment ago.'

*You ' Relief was overtaken by anger and there was

a steely ghnt in his eyes that set her heart racing hard. *You deliberately let me think that something was wrong,' he said in a deceptively soft voice. *It was your way of what you call getting even, eh?' Charlotte started nervously when his kmg hard fingers once more took possession of her arm and he narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. 'Because you object to being told to attend to your duties?' he suggested, and Charlotte shook her head firmly.

*No, monsieur, I wouldn't object if you'd had groimds for complaint, but you hadn't. I simply pointed out to you that you were wrong to assume I was gossiping.'

Charlotte would have given much to know what was going on behind those steady grey eyes and even though she felt herself in ±e right, she uneasily avoided them. *And you feel yourself entided to an apology, is that your meaning?' Raoul asked, and she looked up at him warily.

'Don't you?' she challenged.

'Taking into accoimt the manner in which you took your revenge, I would consider that we are now even,' he informed her in a quiet, reasonable voice. Then he briefly inclined his head and let the hand on her arm drop away. 'However,' he went on, 'since you obviously consider yourself ill-used I will concede that I was mistaken initially and for that I apologise. But you have still not told me the nature of the crisis that required your assistance.'

It was Charlotte who now felt most concerned about Lizette's bell ringing so persistendy, and she glanced over one shoulder before she answered him. 'Celine had a disagreement of some kind with a Monsieur Renaud, and I took Madame Menais' coffee tray to her.'

'Ah!'

Apparently he was satisfied at last, and he too recognised the priority of the bell. *You had best attend your own business now, mademoiselle^ I shall require your services myself in an hour's time.*

*Yes, monstViir.*

Whether or not he suspected her rather meek-sounding agreement, he put a^hand beneath her chin so suddenly that she caught her breath as her face was lifted towards him. He spoke softly but with a hint of menace in the deep quiet voice that sent Utde thrills fluttering up and down her spine.

*But you will remember, ma filUy he said, *that you will never again attempt to mislead me into thinking that there is something amiss with my grandmother. Do you understand me?' She would have attempted to deny it, but he tightened his fingers and she caught her breath. *I do not take kindly to anyone taking revenge in such a way and I will not tolerate it, hmm?' The grey eyes swept briefly over her flushed face and he shook his head. 1 did not think you cruel, but what you did a few moments ago came very close to it, and you must know that.'

It was incredibly hard not to look up at him when he held her face tipped up with his hand beneath her chin, but she kept her eyes downcast and hid the expression in her eyes with thick tawny lashes. *I didn't mean it to be,' she murmured. *And Fm sorry if you thought so, Moftsieur Raoul.'

'Hmm!' He looked at her a moment longer, then took away his hand, thrusting both into his pockets. Looking back along the gallery he inclined his head. 'Attend to Lizette,' he told her, 'and see me in an hour in my office.'

He turned and went striding off along the gallery before Charlotte had fully recovered herself, and she watched him for a moment, until he got to the top of the stairs, then she turned swifdy and went nmning along the carpeted gallery to answer Lizette's call.

Charlotte had an invitation to drive into Paris with Jean a few days later, and she was still toying with the possibility of asking him if he knew anything about the other Raoid Menais, although she realised she would have to tread carefully.

They were driving along a sunny lane towards Paris, looking forward to spending a Sunday afternoon together, when the complex of buildings that made up Menais and Company appeared ahead of them, showing through the trees. Set in rural surroundings it looked freshly white in the spring sun and had none of the ugly brashness of the old type of industrial development and, as she always did, Charlotte glanced at the single-storey complex speculatively.

It was not immense by some standards, but its success had, so Charlotte had been led to understand, saved the wealthy Menais family from ruin. Founded by Madame Menais' father-in-law in the days when engineering was a new industry, it had grown rapidly, gobbling up its old original buildings in the process, and it now showed profits far in excess of anything its founder could have visualised for it when he gambled his dwindling fortune on a new industry.

It was a rich inheritance that the older Raoul Menais would surely have inherited in the natural course of things, and it was the fact that Bernard now headed the family firm that suggested Raoul had died before his father did. It would have been because Raoul was no longer there to inherit that Bernard had reaped the benefit of his stepfather's industry and wealth.

*You seem very—thoughtful,* Jean observed as the Menais complex loomed ever nearer, and Charlotte laughed instead of admitting it.

*Am I? I'm sorry, Jean.'

He looked very attractive in a bright blue shirt and grey

slacks and Charlotte could have wished that she had nothing else in mind but enjoying their Sunday afternoon together. Jean had made it fairly clear during the past month that he had something more than friendship on his mind, and he was not the kind of man to let the grass grow under his feet, but Charlotte had not so far delved too deeply into her own feelings. She supposed that sooner or later she might fall in love with him and she was not completely averse to the prospect, but so far it had not happened and she was in no hurry for it to.

'You have spoken scarcely a word since we left Les Chlitaignes,' he complained with mock severity, then caught her eye and winked. 'And I am not accustomed to being ignored by pretty girls, ma chere; it is very bad for my ego!^ He reached out a hand and pressed warm, reassuring fingers over hers for a moment. 'If there is something wrong, Charlotte, I hope that you know you can trust me, eh?'

She believed she could, Charlotte thought, but what she had in mind was not something she could trust anyone with without thinking very carefully about it first. So instead she hedged his curiosity with a half-truth and hoped he would not press too hard. 'There's nothing wrong,' she assured him. 'I was just thinking, that's all.'

'Something on your mind?'

She smiled agreement. 'Something on my mind,' she said.

Jean flashed her a brilliant smile. 'Me?' he guessed. 'Or am I being too optimistic? One of the Menais perhaps? Which one, ah?'

'In a way it was about you,' Charlotte allowed, and rose to the bait as she was bound to. 'I was wondering if you knew anything about Madame Menais's other son; her younger son—the one who died.'

'AhI' He flicked a swift and curious glance at her over

his shoulder. 'So you have discovered that there was another son? That is interesting, ma cherel '

Charlotte hesitated uneasily, unsure how to go go. now that he had made it clear that she had told him something he was unsure of before. *Didn't you know there was?* ^e asked, and Jean shrugged.

'There are always rumours when one comes new into a company,' he said. *Vague rumours, half-truths, but no (me knows anything for certain, except perhaps the—^how do you call them?—the old-timers, and they are so tight-lipped that one would diink it was their own family secrets diat they ccHiceaL Also,* he added with a meaningful smUe, 'there are always much more interesting topics of conversation than one's employers, eh?*

*I suppose so.' Charlotte once more felt a vague sense of frustration and disappointment, for judging from die way he spoke Jean knew even less about the other Raoul dian she did herself.

He gave another brief glance over his shoulder and she could guess the slighdy wry half-smile that curved his mouth for a nuxnent. *And you do not mean to enlighten me any more about this other Raoul Menais,* he guessed.

'I can't,* Charlotte insisted. 'I don't know anything else —^I just thought you might.*

He was silent for a moment, then he half-turned and glanced at her once more. *He interests you? This—^past Raoul Menais?*

'I'm just a litde curious about him, that's all,* Charlotte admitted cautiously.

'Then I am sorry to have to disappoint you,* Jean said. 'Now if you were interested in the activities of Michel,* he went on with a definite leer, 'on that subject I could be a litde more informative! *

'Reallyl'

Charlotte*8 dislike was unmistakable, but Jean was in a

mood to tease, it seemed, and he turned his head and smiled at her wickedly, his eyes gleamingly dark. *You see the petite maison ahead?' he asked, and Charlotte nodded, unsure whether or not she wanted to hear what he had to tell her.

She had noticed the litde house he mentioned each time they drove that way. Set apart and yet still an integral part of the Menais complex, it always looked rather attractive amid its sheltering trees. The sprawling expanse of low white buildings spread out over the country landscape; office blocks and airy modem machine shops, then right at the end, nearer the road and set behind its own neat little driveway, was the house he spoke of.

'I know it,' she said as they flashed past the factory premises. *Who lives there?'

*You truly do not know?' Jean asked, and slowed the car's pace to one that made it possible to really see the house. *0h, Charlotte, how innocent you are!'

*I don't see ' Charlotte began, and then thought she

did see exactly what he was getting at and liked the subject even less.

*The house was built to house a gardien —a caretaker, yes?' He laughed and leaned forward a litde in his seat to peer through her window as they rolled past the house. *But Michel Menais found a better use for it! That, ma belle Charlotte, is where the delectable Mademoiselle Villeaux lives; not, I have no need to add, at her own expense! Vive Vamour, hah?'

He seemed to find the whole thing a tremendous joke and in fairness Charlotte reminded herself that he could hardly be expected to take quite the same view as she did herself, for he did not have the same intimate knowledge of the situation that she did. Also he was seeing it entirely from the masculine point of view, which probably made Michel appear as a rather dashing tou6. But all the same, just for

a moment while he sat there laughing, Charlotte came close to actively disliking him for his insensitivity.

*You see,' he said, using his thumb to indicate. *The company's Mercedes parked not quite out of sight!'

It was irresistible to turn her head just fractionally, and she caught a glimpse of a shiny black car and a rear number plate, not quite, as Jean said, out of sight from the road. Turning back, she set her mouth firmly and angled her chin in determined disapproval, no matter what opinion he had of her for it.

*Let's drive on,' she told him. *I suddenly find this particular country air rather less than fresh!'

CHAPTER FIVE

It was difficult for Charlotte to keep up an appearance of politeness towards Michel Menais when she thought of him installing Annette Villeaux in the company house and spending all his free time with her. He had a certain charm, she had to admit, but always when he spoke to her she sensed a kind of bravado in his manner. She assumed Annette had told him that Charlotte knew of their association and diat Michel was slighdy wary of her reaction where his wife was concerned.

Lizette welcomed the chance to have Charlotte's exclusive attention again now that Mademoiselle Duclair was back on duty, although she did Utde else but read the inevitable magazines once they had dealt with what litde correspondence there was. Charlotte was quite certain now that Lizette was English in origin despite her name, although she never spoke about a life in England, and her

English had lost something of its French accent since Charlotte arrived.

They were going through the mail one morning when Charlotte came across one addressed to Bernard Menais and put it to one side. Looking at her curiously, Lizette frowned. 'What is that one?' she asked. *One for you, Charlotte?*

*No, madame, it's for Monsieur Bernard,' Charlotte said with a smile. *I must have picked it up by mistake when I collected your mailo'

Lizette reached across for the long blue envelope and studied it for a moment, then thrust it aside with a gesture of disdain. 'Business!' she decided. 'You'd better take it down to him, Charlotte, in case it is important. We have no more mail to open, have we?'

'No, madame.^

'Then you'd better take it downstairs,' Lizette advised with a wry face, 'or someone will be crying out for it!'

Charlotte left her drafting replies to her own letters and slipped downstairs to Bernard's office. A tentative knock on the door brought no reply, so she opened it a fraction and peered in. Neither Bernard nor his secretary was there and she remembered having seen one of the cars drive off a litde earlier. Probably Bernard was needed at the factory, for he was the technical one and quite happily left the administrative side of the business to Raoul and Michel.

The room was much the same as Raoul's office, only here somehow the atmosphere was different, less businesslike and more homely. There were photographs hung on the walls and more stood oa the desk—a huge old-fashioned piece of furniture with a leather-covered top and twin columns of brass-handled drawers either side. Its top surface was literally covered with a chaos of papers and objects including, right in the centre of the mess, a large buff-coloured folder with rolls of drawings poking out top and

bottom. Not at all the neat and tidy kind of desk his son kept.

Uncertain where to put the letter so that it would be immediately obvious, Charlotte spent a second or two looking for the best place. Among the rest of the chaos was a small bronze statuette of a nymph, and she eventually decided to prop the letter against it, leaning across the desk to do so.

It was when she started to draw back that her eye was caught by a family photograph just beside the statuette, and she leaned further forward to get a better look at it. There were eight people in the group, including a boy of about ten or eleven whom it took her a moment or two to recognise as a youthful version of Raoul, taken probably more than twenty years ago.

Standing beside Madame Menais she recognised younger versions of Bernard and his wife Marie, dieir hands on Raoul's shoulders; and beside the man she assumed was Hilaire Menais stood two young men and a girl. One of the men, she realised after a moment or two, was the same one she had seen portrayed in the photograph beside Madame Menais's bed, and the other was unmistakably Michel.

It was the identity of the girl that eluded her for just a second or two until she peered even more closely at the pretty face and wide eyes, the blonde head angled with a suggestion of defiance. She stood with the arm of the older Raoul about her shoulders and Michel standing rather stiff and serious the other side of her, and Charlotte put down the heavy silver frame carefully when realisation dawned at last.

*Lizette! * she said to herself, anid went on gazing at the group as she drew back.

But the wide sleeve of her dress trailed across the desk as she did so and caught on the comer of a pile of papers, sending them plopping to the floor, followed by the buff

folder and its contents. Charlotte made a wild grab for the folder, missed it and knocked over the photograph. She managed to prevent the folder from reaching the floor, but its contents spilled out and landed among the rest of the papers, scattering plans and closely typewritten sheets in every direction.

She felt incredibly guilty about it, as if she had done something dreadful, and she scrabbled up the sheets she thought had come out of the folder and was busily pushing them back into it when the door opened. Glancing up swifdy, she knew just how guilty she must look, as if she was caught in the act of going through Monsieur Bemard^s papers, and she noted the sudden narrowing of Raoul*s eyes with a sickening sense of inevitability, as he stood there for a moment in the doorway.

*I trust,' he said as he came across the room, 'that you have a good reason for being in my father's d£ce, mademoiselleV

It was annoying to realise it, but Charlotte felt like bursting into tears. The framed photograph lay flat on its face and seemed to tell its own story, and with the folder still in one hand and some of the papers from it in the other it looked bad for her. She knew too that Raoul would be putting the worst possible interpretation on it, no matter what she could produce in her own defence.

Putting down the folder, she placed the loose papers from it carefully down on top, then clasped her two hands together in front of her, the tip of her tongue anxiously moistening dry lips as she looked at him. 1 brought down a letter for Monsieur Bernard that I took by mistake among Madame Lizette's mail,' she explained.

Her voice sounded very small and uncertain, and she had no doubt he would take note of that fact as well. Facing her across his father's desk, there,was disbelief in every line of him> and a chilling glint of suspicion in his eyes. 'And