The Demon Lover (7 page)

I could not really explain this exultation which I felt now. I could only say that I was enjoying this ride as I had never enjoyed a ride before.

Of course it had its beginnings in this young man’s company. I was more drawn to him than I had ever been to anyone else on such short acquaintance. It was fascinating to talk to him and the little pitfalls of language into which now and then we fell amused us both.

We talked and we laughed and the time flew by most pleasantly.

I said to him: “We seem to have become friendly in a very short time.”

“Time is always too short when good things happen,” he answered.

“Life is too short. I tell myself that you have come here with your father who is to paint a picture and you will soon be gone. How am I to get to know you if I do not do so quickly? How long will it take to paint the miniature?”

“I cannot say. So much depends on how the work progresses.”

“Not long, I am sure.”

“I imagine the Baron will want it done with the greatest speed.”

The mention of the Baron brought a chill into the afternoon. I must have been enjoying it so much that I had forgotten him.

I didn’t realize what was happening to me that afternoon, but it was an enchanted one. I began to believe afterwards that this was what people meant by falling in love something which had never happened to me before. I had met very few young men; I supposed I had lived a fairly sheltered life. I had certainly never met anyone in the least like Bertrand de Mortemer. His outstanding good looks, his elegant clothes, his determination to do everything he could to help, his gentleness which mingled with a certain worldliness enchanted me. And yet on the other hand I felt protective towards him, which was a strange way to feel. I didn’t know why-but then my emotions were so mixed and so strange to me. I was in the first place overcome with astonishment that I could feel so strongly about a man who was almost a stranger.

So naturally I was excited as we galloped across the meadow and the castle came into sight. The wind caught at my hair under my hard bowler hat and I loved the feel of it. I loved the sound of thudding hoofs; and he was beside me, laughing, enjoying it as much as I did.

Excitement. Adventure, Daring. And Danger . oh, definitely danger.

To come here under false pretences, to work out a devious plan for painting a picture which would be mistaken for my father’s work. that was surely courting danger.

Oh, but it was exciting.

Even as we rode into the stables I was aware of the change. One of the grooms came running to us.

The Baron had returned.

I felt my excitement immediately tempered by apprehension. I looked at Bertrand de Mortemer. He seemed to have shrunk.

The testing time had come.

I had not expected it quite so soon, for as we came into the great hall the Baron himself was there.

There was a second or so of silence while he looked at us. I felt then that my greatest fears had some foundation.

He was an overpowering man but I had expected that. He was very tall and broad, which gave an impression of bulk rather than height. He was dressed in dark riding clothes which accentuated the blonde ness of his hair, which was thick and glistened in the light which came through the narrow windows. His eyes were steely grey, his nose was rather prominent but straight, and he had a fresh colour which gave the impression that he was full of health and vigour. There was something about him which set the alarm bells ringing in my head. I suppose I was wondering how we were going to deceive such a man.

He came towards us, his eyes on me. His brows were raised slightly ironically.

“Bertrand,” he said, ‘why do you not present me to your friend? “

“Oh,” replied Bertrand with a little laugh which could only indicate embarrassment, ‘this is Mademoiselle Collison. “

“Mademoiselle Collison?” He paused and looked at me quizzically.

I had always believed that when one was on the defensive one must go into the attack, so I answered quickly: “I came with my father. He is Kendal Collison who is to paint the miniature of the Baron de Centeville.”

He bowed.

I hurried on: “I travel with my father. I can be of some use to him.”

“I trust they have looked after you,” he said.

“I mean within the household. I can see that Monsieur de Mortemer has performed his duty as host in my absence.”

“So,” I replied, ‘you are the Baron de Centeville. I am glad to meet you. “

“You have been riding, I see.”

“While we were waiting for your arrival I thought I would show Mademoiselle Collison the countryside,” Bertrand explained.

“What do you think of our countryside, Mademoiselle Collison?” His English was good but his accent slightly more foreign than that of Bertrand.

“Very beautiful.”

“And the castle?”

“What was your description,” Bertrand asked, turning to me.

“Impressive. Impregnable. Majestic …” ;

“I am delighted, Mademoiselle Collison. I confess I am gratified when people admire my castle. I wish to meet your father.”

“I will bring him to you. He is resting at the moment.”

He shook his head.

“No matter. I shall meet him for dinner. Will you tell him that I wish to start on the portrait tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning. That’s rather early. My father likes to get to know his subject a little before he embarks.”

“He will quickly sum me up, I am sure. Arrogant, overbearing, impatient and self-willed.”

I laughed.

“You have a poor opinion of yourself, Baron.”

“On the contrary, it is very high. Those are the qualities necessary I believe to enjoy life fully. Tell your father to be ready to start tomorrow morning. I do not wish to waste too much time sitting.”

I lifted my shoulders and glanced at Bertrand. I said:

“That is not really the way in which to approach the matter. It is not simply a process of putting paint on ivory or vellum or whatever the support is to be.”

“Oh? Then what else is involved?”

“Getting to know the sitter. Finding out what he or she is really like.”

“Ah, Mademoiselle Collison, I should not wish anyone to know what I was really like, particularly the lady to whom I am affianced. There are some things in life which are better hidden.”

He was studying me intently and I was aware of my untidy hair which was escaping from under my bowler hat. I felt the colour rise to my cheeks and I thought: He is laughing at me, while all the time he is putting me in my place, reminding me that we are employed here to carry out his wishes. I disliked him immediately and I thought: Is this the sort of treatment we are to expect from the wealthy? Do they regard artists as tradesmen?

I felt defiant and did not care if I offended him. We could go home and he could find another miniaturist to paint the sort of picture he wanted for his fiancee. I was not going to let him treat me in this way.

I said to him: “If you want a pretty, conventional picture, Baron de Centeville, it is not necessary to call in a great artist. If you will excuse me, I will go to my room and tell my father that you are here.

He will see you at dinner and then plans can be made for tomorrow’s sitting. “

I felt his eyes watching me as I turned away and went upstairs.

Then he said something to Bertrand which I did not hear.

I dressed myself in the green velvet for dinner and attended carefully to my hair, piling it high on my head. I looked slightly older than my years and the green velvet always gave me confidence. I knew I was going to need it.

I had warned my father that the Baron might well prove difficult.

“Of course, I only saw him briefly in the hall. He has a great opinion of himself and is inclined to patronize. A rather obnoxious character, I’m afraid … quite different from Monsieur de Mortemer.”

“Ah,” said my father, ‘there is the perfect gentleman. “

I agreed.

I said: “Father, I don’t know how we are going to deceive this Baron.

It is going to be difficult. And if he discovers what we are doing, he will be most unpleasant I am sure. “

“Well, let’s look at it this way,” said my father.

“He can only send us back to England and refuse to have the miniature. If he does that it will be because he knows nothing about art. Your miniature will be every bit as expert as anything I can do. He’ll get a Collison, so he’ll have nothing to complain about. Don’t worry. If he sends us back . then we shall have to think what we are going to do in the future.”

When we were ready, Bertrand arrived. He said he had come to take us down.

That was very thoughtful of him. He must have guessed that my first encounter with the Baron had been disturbing.

“The Baron is so used to everyone agreeing with him immediately,” he said by way of explaining the Baron’s manner.

“And he clearly does not like it when they do not.”

“I think it is more astonishment than anything else. In any case, you can stand up to him. After all, your father is the well-known Kendal Collison. I think the Baron will have a great respect for him. He really does admire artists.”

“And clearly does not admire their daughters.”

“Oh … he was quite amused.”

“He has a strange way of showing amusement. In any case I am not sure that I like being a figure of fun.”

“You will do very well. Do not let him see … how do you say it? that he rattles you? If he realizes that he does he will try it all the more to discountenance you.”

“A most unpleasant character.”

“He would agree with you on that.”

“He’s a throw-back to a different century from this,” I said.

“Fortunately we have moved forward into civilization.”

Bertrand laughed.

“How vehement you are. He was not so bad, was he? I think you take too much interest in this Baron.”

“I have to …” I paused. I was going to say ‘if I am going to paint a picture of him’. I finished lamely . ‘to help my father. “

My father had come out of his room. He looked frail and I was filled with the urgent need to protect him. If the Baron slighted him in the smallest way, I should definitely tell the man what I thought of him.

The Baron was already in the room with the painted ceiling and with him was a woman. I was struck immediately by her appearance. At first I thought she was a great beauty, but I realized as the evening progressed that she owed that impression to her gestures, her clothes and the manner in which she wore them, to her poise and sophisticated manners. She was the sort of woman who could put on beauty as one might a piece of jewellery. It was an illusion but a clever one. Her mouth was too large, her eyes too small and her nose too short for beauty. and yet she exuded that soignee, chic and really beautiful impression.

The Baron turned to greet us. He wore a dark blue velvet dinner-jacket and very white linen. He looked very elegant. I felt my green velvet was somewhat outmoded, and it no longer did for me the things it did at Farringdon Manor.

“Ah,” said the Baron, ‘here is the artist. You are indeed welcome, sir, and we are honoured to have you with us. Nicole, this is Monsieur Kendal Collison and his daughter, Mademoiselle Collison. They have honoured us . you know for what purpose. Mademoiselle Collison and I have met already. Oh briefly . too briefly. My dear Monsieur and Mademoiselle Collison, allow me to present Madame St. Giles. “

I was looking into that beautiful face. The small dark eyes were friendly, I thought, and if she made me feel gauche and unattractive, that was not her fault. I did not dislike her as I did the Baron.

“Bertrand, I think we should go in to dinner,” said the Baron.

“Yes,” said Bertrand and gave Madame St. Giles his arm. The Baron took mine.

I was startled. I had not expected this formality, and I found close proximity to the Baron something which repelled me.

Oddly enough, I think he knew that I was shrinking from him and disliked laying my hand even on his coat sleeve.

He looked over his shoulder at my father.

“Alas, Monsieur Collison,” he said, ‘we have no lady for you. Well, you are the guest of honour so that is your compensation. “

My father said it was a great pleasure to be here and the Baron was too kind.

I thought grimly: We will wait and see if that is so.

Dinner was an elaborate meal-more so than it had been on the previous night, but not nearly so enjoyable. This was due to the Baron’s presence.

The conversation, out of deference to my father, generally concerned art.

“My father was a collector,” the Baron told us, ‘and he taught me to follow in his footsteps. I have always had a strong appreciation of the creative arts . whether it be in literature, sculpture, music, or painting . I have always believed in absolute honesty regarding them. I know you will agree with me, Monsieur Collison. All great artists must. I do not like because I am told I must like. A work of art must please me. I think it is a disservice to art to abandon honesty for the sake of being in the fashion. I like a work of art for what it means to me . not for the signature in the corner if it is a picture, or on the cover of a book if it is literature. “

I couldn’t help applauding this sentiment. I would remind him of it if he were to discover I, a woman, had painted his portrait-that would be after he had expressed approval of it, of course.

“You are quite right, Baron,” said Madame St. Giles.

“I could not agree more.”

He looked at her mischievously.

“In your case, Nicole, it might be wiser to take note of the name of the artist … because, my dear, I’m afraid you lack the judgement to decide for yourself Nicole laughed.

“The Baron is right, you know,” she said, looking at me and my father.

“You will find me a complete ignoramus. One virtue I have, though. I am aware of my ignorance. So many people are completely oblivious of theirs. Now this is a virtue, is it not?”

“A very great one,” said the Baron.

“Ah, if only everyone had your good sense.”

“But who is to say whose judgement is to be respected?” I asked.