A Moment in Paris Read online

Diana had little or nothing to say to anyone, and she was glad that they all seemed so preoccupied—Celeste with her fellow-countryman (and he most certainly with her!); Philippe with his friend of long standing, who was beautiful enough and seductively charming enough to have any man she chose eating out of her hand; and Lady Bembridge, who concentrated on feeding her poodle tit-bits.

  Much later that day Madame Armand sought out Diana in her own room, and apologized charmingly for breaking in on her privacy.

  ‘But I wanted to let you know that I still have a certain amount of hope for Philippe,’ she confided. ‘At the moment he is suffering from an idee fixe, but I think I can shake it if I work hard enough. I’ve a feeling I’ve arrived at rather a critical period in his affair with that girl...’ She plainly found it unpleasant to make use of her name, and she laid a delicate stress on the word affair. ‘And that is all to the good!’

  ‘Oh—yes?’ Diana said, and hoped the words didn’t sound too stilted as she turned from her mirror.

  Denys Armand, her toilet for the evening completed, and looking ravishing in tight black silk and some highly spectacular rubies, smiled at her with her rather doe-like brown eyes, and the red lips that parted easily over small, perfect teeth.

  ‘Of course, it is perfectly understandable that a man will want to make love to a girl like that...’ Again declining actually to identify Celeste. ‘She is full of sex appeal, and that assumed helplessness of hers appeals to the essentially masculine in someone like Philippe. She is an adorable kitten whom he would do well to install in a frivolous apartment where he can visit her as often as he pleases ... once he is married to someone quite different! But in order that he shall not quite ruin his life he must marry someone else!’

  Diana put down the brush with which she had been adding to the shine on her hair and found that she could say absolutely nothing. She was too revolted ... too filled with revulsion to formulate even a word.

  ‘Don’t you agree with me, Miss Craven?’

  Diana shook her head, spraying herself mechanically and too lavishly with perfume that Celeste had bestowed on her only the week before ... and she put the bottle down hastily as if it had stung her.

  ‘The Comte’s affairs are nothing to do with me,’ she answered at last, in an unnatural voice. ‘I understand that he intends to marry Miss O’Brien as soon as possible, and ... that is all I know!’

  Denys stood up, and laid an exquisite be-ringed hand lightly, and almost affectionately, on her shoulder.

  ‘That is all any of us actually knows ... that he plans to marry her quite soon! But leave this to me, my dear. I have weapons that I shall make use of, and I shall save him from such supreme stupidity! If necessary, I shall save him from himself!’ And with a much wider, curiously brilliant smile, she turned towards the door.

  Diana felt as if the concerns of the Comte Philippe de Chatignard had become too much for her altogether when she went down to dinner that night. According to Denys, it wasn’t his honour that was so much involved, but the charms of Celeste that he couldn’t resist!

  And, in addition to Celeste, there was Madame Armand herself ... very different, very soignee, very chic. Had she made up her mind long ago that Philippe should marry her? And was she broad-minded enough to overlook Celeste? ... so long as she was merely a part of his background!

  During dinner Philippe’s eyes dwelt on Diana constantly and thoughtfully, but she was armouring herself against them and him; and by the time coffee was served she had more or less made up her mind that this was a situation she must escape from at all costs. To remain where she was in the employ of a man who thought he could make love to her occasionally while going ahead with his plans to marry someone else—and, unlike Denys Armand, she had every confidence that he would marry Celeste, for there was something about her that appealed to him strongly—was, or would prove to be, demoralizing in time, and in any case it was a sign of weakness—the weakness of one who hungered for crumbs, although perfectly well aware that she could never be invited to the main course!

  When they went back into the salon she played piquet with Lady Bembridge until the latter decided to get on with her needlework, and then Diana said good night to her and made for the door. But, as on the night before, and the night before that, Philippe was there to hold it open for her and he said quite deliberately before he touched the door-handle: ‘You will ride with us tomorrow morning, Miss Craven? Madame Armand, Mr. Sherman and myself will be in the courtyard about six.’

  But she answered politely enough: ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer to have breakfast with Celeste.’ She smiled across at the American girl. ‘It’s cosier, if you have no very great objection to my being lazy.’

  ‘Don’t pester her, Philippe,’ Madame Armand said quickly, as the Comte’s lips grew thin and compressed. ‘It isn’t everyone who enjoys exercise, and I shall be in the courtyard at the very moment that the sun rises!’ she added, catching him by the arm and drawing him back into the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For the next few days life at the chateau followed much the same pattern.

  In the early mornings the host and his two guests who had arrived together rode the mountain paths until it was time for a late breakfast, and then they either drove or rode into the nearby mountain town and did some shopping, or merely engaged in sightseeing.

  Celeste had taken to getting up quite early, and she always accompanied them on their drives, although she frankly confessed herself too terrified of horses to attempt to ride. Robert Sherman treated her nervousness with indulgent humour, declaring that he perfectly understood it, and that, in any case, she wasn’t built to be a horsewoman.

  ‘Anyone as delicate and fragile as you ought never to be allowed on a horse—ought never to be risked on a horse, I should say!’ he corrected himself. He glanced towards the Comte, whose face remained quite impassive. ‘But in the front seat of a car ... I wonder whether you’d like to try mine? It’s built for speed, but I’m used to mountain country—I’ve a ranch in Dakota—and I promise not to overturn you on an awkward bend. Madame Armand gave me quite a few marks for driving on our way here, isn’t that so, madame?’

  She smiled at him, her slow, brilliant smile.

  ‘That is so, Mr. Sherman.’

  ‘Then may I...?’ Celeste turned like a child to Philippe, and perhaps it was the very eagerness of her appeal that touched him. Anyway, he gave his consent, and Celeste climbed into the American’s low-slung car and settled down as if this was something in the nature of a real treat.

  Madame Armand touched Philippe’s arm.

  ‘And I will drive with you, Philippe,’ she said, it will give me an opportunity to have a chat with you about all sorts of things.’

  Sometimes Diana accompanied them on their sightseeing tours, but more often than not she excused herself. This was made quite reasonable by Lady Bembridge developing a cold and wishing to remain indoors, and Diana announced that someone ought to keep her company.

  But Philippe looked, on several occasions, as if he would like to protest.

  Lady Bembridge declared with amusement: ‘My nephew dislikes anyone to go against him, or to override his plans. It is his nature to be dominant. And I expect he would like you to be with them in order that you could keep Robert Sherman amused, and away from his Celeste. The poor, pathetic child is so transparently at home with him already! But then birds of a feather flock together, or so they say.’ Diana made no reply, and Lady Bembridge picked up her petit-point and regarded her somewhat curiously over the top of it.

  ‘Or would you say Philippe has some other reason for not wishing to leave you behind? It could be that he finds Denys a little too much to cope with in her present mood ... She is determined to break up that engagement, you know! She and Philippe have always been very close, very honest with one another, and maybe she is assailing him with too many home truths! We all thought they would marry one day, and I suppose it isn’t yet too late.�
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  Diana rescued a skein of wool that had fallen to the carpet, and Lady Bembridge thanked her and tucked it into her work-basket. She spoke as if she was turning something over in her mind.

  ‘There could, of course, be yet another reason why Philippe is so disinclined to have you left out of things.’ She smiled in a very friendly fashion at Diana. ‘It could be purely and simply because he finds you a pleasant addition to the party. Possibly a very pleasant addition!’

  No sooner had the others departed one morning than Michael Vaughan drove over from the Duchesse de Savenne’s great fortress nearby.

  ‘I’ve an invitation for all of you to lunch tomorrow, or the next day, if you can manage it,’ he said. ‘That is my ostensible reason for being here! But frankly, Diana, I want you to ride with me one morning, if you will. Tomorrow morning?’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she answered, a little reluctantly.

  ‘It’s a long time since we rode together,’ he reminded her sombrely. ‘It’s high time we did it again.’

  Lady Bembridge agreed with him. In fact, she was extraordinarily affable to him, and between them Diana found it difficult to get out of a promise to put on her jodhpurs and a thick sweater the following morning and meet him a little way up the path which led out of the chateau courtyard. The fact that it was the very same path she had once ridden alone with Philippe made her more than ever reluctant; but Lady Bembridge called for sherry and insisted that Michael sit down and make himself thoroughly at home.

  Unfortunately the Comte and his party came back earlier than was expected because the weather had deteriorated, and he strode into the salon. He looked grim at sight of Michael—in fact, he could hardly have looked grimmer—and without giving him time to get over the unwelcome surprise, his aunt launched into an explanation for the visit, the Duchesse’s arrival and invitation, and Diana’s plans to go riding the following day.

  She made it sound as if Diana could hardly wait to be alone with her ex-fiancé.

  ‘Now don’t be unreasonable, Philippe!’ She held up a chiding finger. ‘Diana has a right to a certain amount of free time, just like any other employee, and I was only thinking the other day that it was a pity she hadn’t any friends of her own, or at least a few acquaintances. Mr. Vaughan is a very old friend, and I’m sure he can be trusted to take care of her...’

  Her lips curved in faint relish. ‘Can’t you, Mr. Vaughan?’

  Michael gazed at Diana with all his heart in his eyes. ‘Diana and I have known one another since she was a little girl in pigtails,’ he returned. ‘I’ll look after her!’

  ‘It’s a pity you weren’t always obsessed with the idea of looking after Miss Craven!’ Philippe observed, with such a harsh note of acid in his voice that the others all looked at him in astonishment.

  Michael flushed brilliantly, and this time it was Madame Armand who intervened.

  ‘Oh, come now, Philippe!’ she protested, in her soft, silken voice. ‘Because something has gone wrong with your morning, and you are a little annoyed, that is no reason why you should vent your ill humour on the rest of us!’ Her glance slid past him and alighted on Celeste. ‘It may upset you because your pretty little fiancee is still attracted by the idea of seeing her name in lights above all the important cinemas in the civilized world, but that is a purely personal matter, and you mustn’t inflict it on others. As an employer you must be reasonable, and not mar the pleasure of Miss Craven!’

  Philippe looked at her for a moment with very dark eyes, and then he swung round and looked at Diana.

  ‘Will it spoil your pleasure if we make up a party? We will all go riding tomorrow morning!’

  At his elbow Denys laughed with faint mockery. ‘Tut, tut, cheri! Have you no tact?’

  Philippe’s eyes darkened so much that they were positively sombre. He addressed himself again to Diana.

  ‘Would you rather go riding with Monsieur Vaughan alone?’

  It was easy for Diana to answer without a moment’s hesitation. That reference to Celeste—possibly quite skilful on Madame Armand’s part!—and Philippe’s ill humour had been more than enough to make up her mind for her.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered simply, and quite firmly.

  Philippe swung away from her.

  ‘Very well,’ he said curtly.

  When she rode out of the courtyard in the morning Diana was still glad she had made use of that single affirmative. Philippe’s behaviour had been freezing all the rest of that day—to her, that was—but to Celeste he could not have been more attentive if he had tried.

  Diana had unwisely entered a room somewhat hurriedly to find them in each other’s arms, and she had backed out of it feeling a trifle sick. Philippe had looked at her almost insolently, while Celeste’s childish white arms were still round his neck, and although he unwound them somewhat deliberately there was nothing uncomfortable in his voice when he addressed Diana.

  ‘You wanted something, mademoiselle?’

  His voice was polite, and chill, and waiting.

  ‘No, nothing, monsieur. I beg your pardon!’ Diana backed out, scarlet with mortification, although once outside the door she turned as white as a sheet. And it was then that she became aware of the sensation of nausea.

  It was all that was needed to send her out to meet Michael with a tremendous sensation of relief in her heart ... the relief of escaping the four walls of the chateau. And perhaps Michael could help her to get away ... anywhere, back to Paris, or back to England.

  He might even know someone who could employ her.

  But he wouldn’t fail her if she appealed to him to help her get away. She was convinced that Michael wouldn’t fail her a second time.

  He pointed out to her the Duchesse’s stronghold, perched on a ridge against a backcloth of snow-capped mountains, and looking towards Spain. It had a watchful look, as if at any moment the occupants expected marauders to come sweeping up from the valley, and were prepared for them.

  If marauders did come sweeping up from the valley while the Duchesse de Savenne was there Diana was certain she would most decidedly be ready for them!

  ‘Do you know,’ Michael said, referring to her affectionately, ‘she has an amazing spirit. She never lets up. When she gets an idea into her head it buzzes round like a bee, and then all at once she becomes active. At the moment she keeps talking about you. Today’s luncheon-party was very largely arranged in order that she could have another good look at you.’

  Diana recalled the Duchesse’s shrewd eyes, and she knew herself in no mood to be closely inspected by them. The Duchesse could look for something and discover it, if she suspected that it was there; and one glance at Diana would tell her that she was hiding a heavy secret in her heart.

  The mounts which she and Michael bestrode picked their way in a sure-footed manner round the occasional encroachments, such as boulders, which abutted on to the path. Michael’s mount came from the Duchesse’s stables, but Diana was once more riding the grey.

  Suddenly he halted his horse and turned in his saddle. ‘Diana, if you’re not happy working for the Comte—and something tells me you’re not—why do you stay? I didn’t like his attitude yesterday. It’s dictatorial, to say the least, and he hasn’t any right to behave in a dictatorial manner to a girl like you. Why, you’d find it the simplest thing in the world to get any job you set your heart on...’

  She shook her head, deciding it was best not to attempt to discuss the Comte’s attitude towards her.

  ‘I’m not trained, you know. It isn’t easy for untrained people to find jobs.’

  ‘But you’ve other qualifications.’ He smiled at her, with a warm glow in his eyes. ‘For one thing, you’re you! And there are a lot of people who would be only too happy to have someone like you helping them to cope with their problems. The Duchesse might know of someone if I mentioned the matter to her. Would you like me to do so?’

  Once more she shook her head.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting that t
he Comte is her godson?’ She must be far away from the Comte when she got a new job, in no danger—ever—of bumping into him and Celeste, once Celeste was his wife! ‘And, as an employer, he’s very generous ... I’ve nothing against him.’

  ‘Except that you’re not happy in his household! Granted it’s rather an extraordinary household, made up of a self-centred old aunt and a girl who’s got to be licked into shape before he can marry her. That, to me, is quite extraordinary!’

  Diana looked down at the grey’s arched neck.

  ‘She’s terribly attractive, and he’s—well, something of a connoisseur. He knows that she hasn’t had the advantages that a girl born and brought up in his own social circle would have had, and so he’s trying to give her a little extra polish before—’

  ‘The members of his own social circle start tearing her to pieces—with their tongues if nothing else!—when he really and truly launches her upon them as the Comtesse de Chatignard!’ Michael shrugged. ‘Well, each to his choice. But if I were picking a life partner, and I had the Comte’s money, and there was nothing at all to prevent me picking the best—’ with a meaning look at Diana—‘I wouldn’t plump for a colourless little nonentity like Celeste O’Brien, or whatever her name is!’

  Diana leaned forward a little over the horse’s neck, looking at him almost eagerly.

  ‘She wouldn’t appeal to you at all? I mean ... even that American, Robert Sherman, thinks she’s devastatingly attractive.’

  ‘Sex appeal,’ Michael said, smiling at her. ‘Some women would rather have that than bags of personality.’

  ‘Would you say that ... men like the ... Comte—perhaps rather harried in their daily life, with plenty of business distractions, and so on, and not much time for ordinary family life—would prefer to have someone like Celeste—someone with a lot of sex appeal, as you call it—fitting in to what little spare time they have, than someone with ... well, personality?’