The Exiles (33 page)

The girl knew little about riding, but she fell in love with the horse, and the two sisters rode over the plantation daily. One afternoon they traveled down the road that led to New Orleans. They came to a river spanned by a bridge, and Chantel pulled up Bravo abruptly. He snorted and threw himself sideways, insulted at her rough treatment.

“What’s wrong, Chantel?” Veronique said. “Don’t we want to cross the bridge?”

“I—I don’t really like to cross it.”

Veronique touched Lady, and the mare moved forward obediently so that she was even with the big stallion.

For a moment Chantel hesitated, and then she said, “This is where our mother died, Veronique. I was on the other side, and she was crossing the bridge holding you in her arms. I saw the bridge break, and the carriage went into the river, and you were carried away in the flood. Ever since that day I’ve hated to cross this bridge.”

Veronique stared at the river, which was now placid and slow moving. She reached out suddenly and took Chantel’s arm. “But we’re together now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are, my sister.” Chantel made herself smile. And truly, the river did not seem so ominous and formidable. She had dreamed about it many times, but now somehow she felt that time was over. “Come, we’d better go home.”

They rode homeward in silence until Veronique asked, “Doesn’t Mr. Neville ever come to see you?”

“Sometimes.”

“But he hasn’t been here since I came but one time, and then he didn’t stay long. All he did was let you sign some papers, and then he went away.”

“I think he’s been very busy.”

“I like him a lot. I wish he’d come back.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Veronique was not the only one who had noticed Neville’s absence. It had been a month and, as her sister said, he had come only the one time. And even then he had behaved strangely. Chantel had been so happy to see him, but he had smiled only briefly and refused to stay the night.

“I wish he’d come back. We could go riding in the buggy, and he could let me drive again.”

Chantel said abruptly, “There is a ball at the Taylors’ next week. We’re invited.”

“Me too?”

“Yes, of course you, too! I’ll write Neville and ask him to take us.”

“But can’t dance, me!”

“You will by the time the ball comes. I’ll teach you. We’ll get new dresses, and we’ll be the prettiest girls at the whole ball.”

“And Neville. Do you think he’ll come?”

“I hope so. I’ll write him today.”

As they made their way homeward, Chantel thought, not for the first time, of how much she missed him. And with a start she realized she had thought only briefly of Yves.
He came into my life like a whirlwind, and I was carried away with him. He was not the man for me. I see that now.

“Does Mr. Neville have a sweetheart?”

“Why—I don’t know.” The idea of Neville having a sweetheart was very disturbing. Chantel had taken him for granted, but now the question that Veronique had so innocently asked would not leave her. As soon as she got home, she wrote the note and had Brutus take it to be posted. Then she found Veronique and said, “Come along. We’re going to teach you to dance.”

Veronique had been staring out the window, waiting for Neville to arrive. She finally turned to Chantel and asked, “Are you sure he’s going to come?”

“Yes, I’ve told you three times already. He said he’d be here.”

“But it’s late, and I thought he would come early for us.”

Chantel had received only a brief note from Neville saying that he would be glad to take them to the ball, and he had signed it:
Sincerely, Neville.
The note was strangely unsatisfying, but there was nothing for it but to go on.

The sisters had bought new dresses, and Elise fussed over them and helped them fix their hair. The dresses were made from light green silk. Chantel’s was sleeveless with a dropped neckline, tight bodice, and a long, flowing skirt with two rows of white lace at the bottom. Veronique’s had a high neckline, a tight bodice decorated with tiny white bows down the front, three-quarter length sleeves ending with white lace at the elbows, and a long, full skirt with a large white bow trailing down the back.

“You look beautiful, Veronique,” Chantel said.

“It’s the prettiest dress I ever saw!” Veronique did indeed look pretty. She had gained some weight, and the dress had been carefully tailored for her. Now her violet eyes were beaming with excitement. “I wish Neville would come.”

Five minutes later Marie opened the door. “Mr. Neville is here. Oh, you two look lovely!”

“Thank you, Marie. Let’s go, Veronique.”

Neville was wearing evening dress and looked very distinguished. He came forward at once and took Veronique’s hands. “My word! I have never seen such a lovely young lady.”

“Do you like my new dress?”

“Very much. As a matter of fact, I claim the first dance with you. And maybe all the rest of them.”

Chantel waited for him to turn to her, and when he stood, he smiled briefly and said, “You look very nice, Chantel.”

Chantel felt again a vague sense of disappointment. “Thank you,” she said rather stiffly. “I’m glad you could come.”

Neville hesitated, then gave a half bow. “I expect we’d better be going.”

Chantel accompanied him to the carriage. He lifted Veronique in and then gave her his hand. Chantel gave it an extra pressure, but he simply released her and went to take his own seat. Chantel could not understand his attitude. He had been so excited when they had found Veronique, and now it was as if he were a stranger. She bit her lip and wished that she had not thought of asking him to come for the ball.

The Taylors’ ballroom was not as large as some, but there were at least twenty couples there. There was also a group of young people somewhere close to Veronique’s age, and she was overcome with shyness when she was introduced to them.

The room itself was beautifully decorated, and five musicians began at once to play the music for the first dance. Neville came and said, “I believe this is our dance, Miss Fontaine.”

Veronique giggled and said, “I’m not very good.”

“Well, I’m an excellent dancer. I’ll teach you what you don’t know.”

Chantel watched as the two went around the floor. Veronique concentrated on her steps, but soon Neville said something that made her giggle.
He’s so good with her,
Chantel thought.
He can make her smile so easily.

At that moment she was asked to dance, and for the rest of the evening she had many partners. But to her anguish, Neville danced several times with Veronique but did not come to her.

At one point she managed to encounter him at the refreshment table.

“Veronique seems very happy, Chantel. Does she ever talk about her old life?”

“Not much anymore. Once, after she had been here about a week, she talked for a long time about it. It almost broke my heart.”

“Well, she’s a beautiful child. She’s going to be a beautiful woman.”

The conversation floundered. Neville was watching Veronique, and Chantel felt awkward and ill at ease. Finally she cleared her throat and said, “Neville, you haven’t been to visit us lately.”

Neville gave her a strange look. “I’ve—been rather busy.”

At that instant a thought that had been dancing around Chantel’s mind since Veronique suggested it found expression as clearly as if it were carved in bronze.
He’s found a sweetheart!
She looked away blindly, not seeing the dancers.
He could at least tell me if he’s found someone he likes.

At that moment young Donald Mayfield came and pulled her out to the dance floor. She danced with him and others, but was dully aware that Neville was not even watching her.

The dance ended fairly early, and on the way home Veronique talked more than she ever had. “It was such fun! I hope there’s another ball soon. You’ll come back if there is, won’t you, Neville?”

“I don’t know. I hope so, Veronique. You’re a fine dancer, but you don’t want to be dancing with an old man like me.”

Chantel had expected that Neville would stay all night with them, and when they returned home, the servants were waiting. She said, “We might have a little snack. You have something, don’t you, Marie?”

“Oh, yes, there is plenty.”

“I’m not really very hungry,” Neville said. “And I’m a little tired. I think I’ll turn in. Would you excuse me?”

“Certainly. Good night,” Chantel said stiffly. “Are you hungry, Veronique?”

“Yes, I could eat anything.”

“I’ll go with you then.”

She stayed until Veronique had eaten and then walked to her room, kissed her, and said, “You were beautiful tonight, and your dancing was wonderful.”

“I like dancing with Neville, don’t you?”

“I—” She broke off, because the hurt of his refusal to dance with her was more painful than she had dreamed it could be. “Good night,” she said. She bent over and kissed the smooth cheek, then went to her room.

Chantel stood in the middle of the room for a moment, then sat down before the dresser and stared at her face in the mirror. She could think of nothing but Neville’s strange attitude.
Have I done something to offend him? I don’t know what it could be.

She walked the floor for a time and then washed her face. After she had dried it off, she walked over to the window. A movement caught her eye, and she leaned forward and peered out into the darkness. By the faint light of the lantern, she caught sight of Neville walking along the brick walkway that led out to the gardens. His head was down, and he disappeared into the shadows.

At once she grabbed up her coat, slipped it on, and left her room. She ran quickly down the stairs and out the front door and ran down the walk. The moon was full overhead, a huge silver disk.

“Neville!” she called out, and then halted. She had come on a sudden impulse, and now that he turned and came to stand before her, she had not the vaguest idea what to say.

“I—I saw you walking. I was wondering if there’s any trouble. Something you haven’t told me.”

“No, not really. I just wanted some fresh air.”

His words sounded lame to her, and she said, “Let me walk with you.”

“Fine. It’s a little cold. People will think we’re crazy walking in December in the middle of the night.”

Chantel walked beside him and could not think of one thing to say. She finally asked how his work was going.

“All right.”

“And the mission. Have you started it yet?”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time there. I rented an old building that needed a lot of repairs.”

“So that’s why you haven’t been to see me.”

There was enough of a pause that Chantel knew he was struggling for an answer. “Well, of course, it’s been a little hard to get away.”

The silence continued, and finally he said, “I saw Yves a few days ago.”

“Is he all right?”

“Oh, completely recovered. I don’t know how you’ll take this,” he said. “Dominique’s husband died.” He seemed to be fumbling for words, and finally he said, “I think they’re seeing each other.”

“Really? I’m not too surprised. I didn’t think he ever got over her.”

“I’m sorry. I know you had feelings for him. I hated to tell you.”

“Why, Neville, I may have felt something for him once, but it could never have come to anything. I knew that.”

Neville stared at her, and she saw consternation in his eyes. “Do you mean that, Chantel?”

“Why, yes. Did you think it was something else?”

“I thought you were in love with him. He is a romantic fellow. The kind of man I always wanted to be. Dashing and romantic.”

“Neville! You don’t need to be like Yves. You need to be exactly what you are.”

Her words seemed to surprise Neville, and finally Chantel realized that she had to know the truth. “I want to ask you something, Neville.”

“Why, go ahead.”

“Have you found a sweetheart?”

“What?”

“You’re seeing a woman, aren’t you? Someone you care for.”

Neville stared at her in shock. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you haven’t been to see me. You were once in love with me, or said you were—but now you’ve found somebody else.” Chantel found these words hard to say, and she turned her head away.

“Wait a minute!” She felt his hand on her arm, and when she turned around, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be hurt again, Chantel. No man likes rejection. But I will tell you once more, I still love you. I always will. But I’m not the kind of man you want. Despite what you say, I know you want a big man who’ll sweep you off your feet. If not Yves, somebody like him.”

When she didn’t speak, he added, “You do remember, Chantel, that you told me you could never think of me as a lover—that we were too much like brother and sister?”

“I—I did say that, but I’ve changed.”

Neville’s face lightened with hope, but he asked cautiously, “How have you changed?”

“I was swept away by Yves,” Chantel replied, realizing even at that moment what had happened. “Perhaps because he looked like my father, but I was in love with love. I would have been miserable married to him.”

She reached up and put her hand on Neville’s chest. “I could never have been happy with him, Neville. When I think about the man I could spend my life with, I want someone who is steady and true and never changes.” Even as she spoke these words, Chantel knew that she was, in effect, saying good-bye to the image that she had had of her father, for he did not have these qualities.

Her lips trembled, and she said, “I think of your patience and your kindness and how you put up with all my moods, and—” She could not finish, for he had put his arms around her and drawn her close.

As he kissed her, the heat of something rash and yet eternal touched them both. She knew at that moment that she had the power to stir him, and even more startling she knew he could stir her more than she had thought possible. She had always thought of love as something that came upon a woman like the striking of a bell, clear and complete, a roundness with no uncertainty to it. And she realized that he had been there for her all along, but she had been too foolish to recognize it.