The adulteress (46 page)

"Don't forget," he said, "you hold your doctor's good name in these hands. Your own too. Don't throw it away. And don't forget I want to please you."

"You can do that by going away and never coming back."

"You will feel differently one day. Now I must go and find my sweet Lottie. I will say au revoir to her and assure her of my undying devotion."

How I hated him—handsome, debonair, so devastatingly attractive, the hero now to whom so many owed their lives. He had been so modest about his achievements—shrugging them aside as though saving life and playing the hero was commonplace with him.

With what relief I watched him ride away.

Now the days were long and meaningless. I felt that my visits to Isabel and Derek only saddened them because I reminded them of Charles.

Evalina came to see me to show me her bonny baby, of which she was very proud.

"The image of his dad," she said. She regarded me with sympathetic eyes. "I was sorry about the doctor," she said. "He was such a good man ... a lovely man . . . but I always thought he was too serious for you. You want someone to make you laugh because you can be a bit too serious yourself. You want someone like that Frenchman . . . you remember?"

I wanted to shout to her to get out; but I knew she was only trying to cheer me up.

James Fenton was a very sad man. He had been genuinely fond of Jean-Louis. Sometimes he looked a little wistful and I wondered why.

I sounded Hetty and she told me that he had always wanted a farm of his own. Farming was his first love really. He just hadn't wanted to share with anyone.

"Of course," she said, "he has the money now."

I said: "Does he want to go?"

Hetty answered firmly: "We'd never go as long as you needed us."

I felt I should tell them to go and find their farm. I was sure it was what they wanted. Yet how could I manage without James?

Everything had changed now. I was alone.

I felt desolate. I had lost Jean-Louis and Charles, and even Lottie preferred to be with Dickon and was indeed planning the day when she would marry him—although so far in the future, and even she accepted that in view of her extreme youth.

My mother had been close to me in my childhood but when I married Jean-Louis and her lover Dickon came back— although he married Sabrina instead of her—I seemed to move into the background of her life. And on the birth of Sabrina's son it was Dickon who claimed first place in her attentions.

I had been so loved ... so wanted . . . and now I was a lonely woman.

I tried to look into the future. What was I going to do? Was I going to stand by and see Lottie marry Dickon? Or was I going to refuse my consent to the marriage, cut Lottie out of my will . . . and lose her forever. Although, of course, without Eversleigh she would not be so attractive to Dickon.

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Whichever way I looked I was faced by a mighty dilemma. And there was no one to advise me.

Then one day when I sat in my bedroom there was a knock at my door and one of the maids entered to tell me that there was a visitor below to see me.

When I saw him standing in the hall my heart leaped with an excitement which I had not known for a long time.

He had changed a little. He was obviously older. He wore a neat wig, very white and wavy, which made his bright eyes seem darker than I remembered them. He held his feathered hat in his hand; his sword showed beneath his loose coat which had a more elegant cut than those I was accustomed to seeing.

I came down the stairs and he hurried toward me. He took both my hands in his and kissed first one then the other.

I had forgotten how he could excite me. I felt young again . . . young and foolish and reckless.

"You sent for me," he said, "at last."

"Gerard," I said quietly. "And you came."

"Certainly I came. Did you think I would not? And we have a daughter."

"Gerard," I said, "we must talk . . . together . . . undisturbed. First I must explain. . . . Have you anyone with you?"

"Two servants."

"Where are they?"

"I left them with the horses."

"I will send word for them to be looked after, but first come in here." I took him into the winter parlor and shut the door.

"There was a child," he said. "Why didn't you tell me . . . ?"

"How could I? My husband thought she was his. She was a great comfort to him."

"Where is she?"

"She is here."

"I long to see her."

"You shall. I want you to help me."

"What danger is she in?"

"I have to explain everything. Please, Gerard, listen to me."

I told him as briefly as I could what had happened. Of how Jean-Louis had suffered, of how the doctor and I had become

lovers; I told of the wickedness of Dickon, of his ambitions through our daughter.

That was the most difficult part for him to understand. I could see that he did not understand why Dickon was such a villain in my eyes. But he listened intently and he would help me.

I said: "I am going to tell Lottie that you are her father. But first I want her to meet you ... to like you ... as I know she will. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," he said.

"Then I want you to take her back with you. You can say you wish her to see your country ... to show her your home . . . and then I want you to see that she is fascinated by all she sees ... so that she does not believe the height of bliss is to settle down and marry Dickon. I want her to see something of the world . . . meet other people. ... I want to get her away for a while."

"It shall be as you say."

"Now," I said, "I am going to have a room made ready for you. I shall tell her that we have a visitor from France. I want you to get to know each other. How does that seem?"

He was looking at me intently as I remember he used to look at me all those years ago.

"It seems to me perfect," he said.

Of course he fascinated Lottie. His elegance, his charm, all that had fascinated me and swept me off my feet when I was young. It was all there. It hadn't changed very much except perhaps to become more subtle, more mature.

I felt as I never thought I would again and before a week was out I found that I could explain to Lottie.

When I told her she stared at me incredulously. Her father! This exciting, fascinating man. He had talked to her of his chateau, of his life at the French court, of Paris, of the French countryside . . . and so vividly, as he had one purpose and that to make her wish to see them, and he succeeded admirably.

I saw the look of wonder on her face which she immediately suppressed because she felt it was disloyal to Jean-Louis. She kept looking at me as though she were seeing me in a new light.

Life had been revealed to her. It was not good and bad,

neatly divided into black and white. People were not always what they seemed.

She was very thoughtful. But I could see that she was excited at the thought of having such a father.

He would take her back with him for a visit. How did she feel about that?

It was just what she needed. Her horizon would be widened; she would see another world apart from the small one in which she had lived. She would meet people—perhaps as fascinating as Dickon had been. She was already very conscious of the worldly charm of her father.

She was delighted.

"But to leave you, mama," she said. "Now that you are so sad."

I said: "You will come back to me."

"Yes," she said, "I have to come back . . . and marry Dickon."

It was almost as though she remembered him for the first time in several days.

I watched them go.

"I will write to you, dear mama," said Lottie. "I will tell you all the exciting things that are happening to me."

"I will write to you," said Gerard, "and tell you how much we miss you."

So they went. And how desolate I was watching them leave. His visit had brought back so vividly memories of the past. I would never forget him. Nothing would ever have effaced the memory of him. Not even Charles. I had loved Charles. I had loved Jean-Louis. But I realized that the feeling Gerard had roused in me was different from what I felt for either of them.

There was mystery about him. What did I know of him? That he lived excitingly. That he was deeply immersed in the affairs of his nation. That he had been in England on some secret mission.

He had come into my life and changed it; and if I knew little about him I had learned something about myself.

For the rest of my days I would think of him; I would relive my youth through him. I felt young when he was near. I wondered if I should ever see him again.

How long the days seemed. I missed Lottie very much.

Almost two weeks passed before I heard from them.

Lottie was ecstatic. She had been to Versailles. She had been presented to the aging king, who had spoken very kindly to her; she had met the young dauphin. I should see the gown her father had bought for her to go to court. There had never been such a gown.

I scanned the letter. There was no mention of Dickon. There was a letter from Gerard. It was not long but it was of such significance that I did not believe what I read and read three times before I really accepted those words.

He had seen me again. He had thought of me over the years. So often he had wanted to come to see me. It was not easy. When we met he had been married. He was married when he was very young, after the custom of families such as his. It was no love match; and he had made no secret of his amours. Yes, there had been others. But it was different with us. His wife had died five years ago. He was free. He was enchanted with his daughter. He could never let her go and it occurred to him that the parents of such a daughter should be together. We knew each other well. We knew we were ideally suited. Would I consider uprooting myself . . . giving up my home in England and becoming Madame la Comtesse d'Au-bigne?

"Dear Zipporah," he wrote, "It is not because of Lottie. Though I like her very much. It is because of you . . . and of what we were to each other . . . which I have learned through the years is something that comes rarely and when it does is to be cherished. It never died with me. Did it with you? If it did not . . . then we should be together. I await your answer."

I was in a daze of delight.

I don't think I hesitated for a moment. I was young again. I was the girl who ran out to meet her lover so eagerly all those years ago.

Then I thought of Eversleigh. Of my responsibilities.

Well, the estate could go on. James Fenton . . . But James wanted a farm of his own.

Then I knew what I would do.

I wrote to Dickon. I asked him to come and see me immediately as I had come to a decision. I knew that would bring him.

Then I went to see James and Hetty.

I said: "James, I know you want a farm of your own."

"We would never leave you," said Hetty quickly.

"Suppose it was possible for you to do so?"

"Do you mean you have got someone else?"

I said: "Just suppose it were possible. Would you go?"

They looked at me in amazement.

"But James knows the estate."

"There might be changes. Please, I don't want to say anything yet. I just want you to answer a simple question. If it were easy ... if I were suited . . . would you prefer to get your own farm? You could do that easily now, James. You know you could."

"Well," said James, "if you put it like that . . . naturally, most men like to be their own masters."

"That's what I wanted to know."

I went to them and kissed them. "You have been good friends to me," I said.

"What has happened?" asked Hetty. "You look as if you've seen some miracle."

"Yes," I said. "Perhaps I have. Be patient with me. If it works . . . you'll know soon enough."

Dickon arrived confident and certain of himself, sure, I knew, that I would have by now, what he would call, come to my senses.

I said to him: "Dickon. What would you say if I told you I was passing Eversleigh over to you?"

I had rarely seen him taken off his guard, but he was then. He looked at me suspiciously.

"I mean it," I said. "After all, it is Eversleigh you want. You'd be ready to forego Lottie for Eversleigh, wouldn't you?"

"Dear Zipporah, you talk most amusingly but somewhat obscurely. This is one of the few matters about which I do not care to joke."

I said: "Lottie is in France with her father."

His face clouded. "What is your game, Zipporah?"

"Very simple. You wanted to marry Lottie for Eversleigh. Eversleigh is what you want. You would manage it perfectly, I know. The ancestors would rise up and sing Hallelujah, I am sure. They never liked the idea of its being in the hands of a woman . . . although I had a husband to help me. Could you forget Lottie if you already had Eversleigh?"

"Do you mean could I be persuaded to forego my courtship?"

"I mean would you stop writing to her, talking to her of marriage ... for Eversleigh?"

"Please, please explain."

I said: "James Fenton will buy a farm. He wouldn't stay here with you around. There will be many things to be worked out. I have had an offer of marriage from Lottie's father. I have decided to accept. I shall live in France after I'm married . . . and so will Lottie. Dickon, I am going to make over Eversleigh to you now. You are, after all, the male heir."

He stared at me. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Eversleigh!" he murmured and I had never seen him look so tender. I saw then that he loved the place as he could never love anything else.

I said: "You will have to put a manager in at Clavering. You will have to come to Eversleigh with Clarissa and Sabri-na . . . your courtiers, as it were, and you will reign supreme ... as you schemed so basely to do." I laughed suddenly. "It's virtue rewarded ... in reverse."

Dickon looked at me admiringly.

"I do love you, Zipporah," he said.

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