He touched the starter button and the engine snarled to life. He thrust the big car very gently forward and to the left; she moved, jerked, hesitated, and then the front wheels swooped down with a plunge to the level of the road. The back wheels seemed to mount for a moment, then slid down after them, and the car rolled onto the level road and stopped there, rocking gently on her superb springs.
‘Et voilà,’ said Raoul de Valmy, and smiled at me.
As his hand moved on the hand-brake I said, in a small voice: ‘Monsieur de Valmy.’
The hand paused. ‘Yes?’
‘Before you take me back I – I’d like to apologise. I’m most awfully sorry, really I am.’
‘Apologise? And for what? My dear, ma’am—’
I said: ‘Don’t be so nice about it, please! I know it was really my fault and you’re making me feel a worm!’ I heard him laugh, but I went on doggedly and not very clearly: ‘I had no business to be in the road and you saved my life by doing what you did and then I went and was rude to you and you were nothing but nice to me when ninety-nine drivers out of a hundred would have blasted me from here to Madagascar, and it’s true, I do feel a worm. An utter crawling worm! And’ – I took breath and finished idiotically – ‘if you’ve damaged your car you can stop it out of my wages!’
He was still laughing at me. ‘Thank you. But it’s not damaged, as it happens.’
‘Is that the truth?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘Yes. Not a scratch. I thought I heard something as she skidded, but it was only a bit of a fallen branch hitting the wheel. Not a mark. So no apologies please, Miss Martin. If anybody should apologise, it’s I. I believe I swore at you. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said, a little awkwardly. ‘We were both a bit shaken up, I suppose. I didn’t quite know where I was or what I was saying.’
He said nothing. He seemed to be waiting. He made no move to start the car. I stole a sidelong look at him and saw that he was watching me steadily, with the amusement gone from his face. It was an oddly daunting look, and, though he had been much nicer to me than I deserved, I found that I was gripping my hands between my knees to give myself courage to go on.
I said: ‘I knew so little about what I was saying that I’m afraid I gave myself away to you.’
‘When you spoke to me in French.’ It was not a question.
‘Yes.’
His hand moved to the ignition, and the engine died. He cut off the headlights, so that the car stood islanded in the little glow of side and tail-lamps. He half-turned towards me, his shoulder propped back against the door. I couldn’t see his face now, and his voice told me nothing. He said: ‘This is interesting. So I was right?’
‘That they didn’t know I was partly French when I got the job? Yes.’
He said: ‘I’m not your employer, you know. You don’t have to explain. But as a matter of curiosity, do I understand that you did deliberately deceive my father and Madame de Valmy over this?’
‘I – I’m afraid so.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted the job.’
‘But I don’t see why—’
I pressed my hands tightly together, and said carefully: ‘I needed the job. I – I’ll try and tell you why, though I don’t suppose you’ll understand …’ He started to say something but I went on quickly and not very coherently: ‘I’m partly French and I was brought up in Paris. When I was fourteen Maman and Daddy were killed in a plane crash. Daddy was writing a script for a film to be made in Venice, and Maman went with him for the holiday. The – oh, the details don’t matter, but I finished up in an orphange in London … I don’t know if you’ve ever been inside an orphange?’
‘No.’
‘Well, the details don’t matter there, either. They were very kind to me. But I wanted – oh, to live, to find some place in the world that was mine, and somehow I seemed to be getting nowhere. My schooling was all to blazes, what with the war and – and everything, so I can’t do much, but I got a job at a small private school. I – I wasn’t very happy there, either. Then when one of our governors heard that Madame de Valmy wanted an English governess it seemed like a gift from heaven. I told you I’m not qualified to do much, but I can look after children and I knew I could make a good job of Philippe’s English and I thought it would be so wonderful to be in France and living in a real home again.’
He said, very dryly: ‘So you came to Valmy.’
‘Yes. That’s all.’
There was a pause. He said: ‘I do understand, I think. But there was no need to explain all this to me, you know. I’ve no right to question you.’
I said shyly: ‘I felt I sort of owed you something. And you did ask me why I wanted the job.’
‘No. You misunderstand me. I asked you why you had deceived my father and Héloïse about it.’
I began, rather stupidly: ‘I told you—’
‘I should have said, rather, why you had to deceive them. I’m not concerned in the least with the fact that you did do so.’ I caught the glimmer of a smile. ‘I merely find myself wondering why it was necessary. Are you trying to tell me that you concealed the fact you were partly French because you wouldn’t in that case have got the job?’
‘I – yes, more or less.’
A little silence. ‘Indeed.’
‘It wasn’t put like that,’ I said hastily, ‘not said in so many words. But – but I honestly did get the impression that it might have mattered. I mean, once we had got past the point where I should have told Madame de Valmy I couldn’t very well go back and confess or she’d have thought there was something queer about me and she’d never have looked at me. And she’d made rather a lot of the fact that I wouldn’t be tempted to lapse into French when I was talking to Philippe – I’m supposed always to talk to him in English, you see. I didn’t really see that it mattered, myself, because I could have taken care to speak English with him anyway, but – well, she was so emphatic about it that I – oh, I just let it slide. I know I was silly,’ I finished miserably, ‘and it’s such a stupid little thing, but there it is.’
‘And I suppose I’m to understand,’ he said, still rather dryly, ‘that they still don’t know.’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ To my relief he was beginning to sound amused again. ‘Haven’t you found that such a deception – I’m sorry I started by using such a harsh term for it – has its socially embarrassing moments?’
‘You mean overhearing things I’m not meant to? No, because Monsieur’s and Madame’s manners are too good.’ Here he laughed outright, and I said rather confusedly: ‘I mean – when I meet them without Philippe they always talk English, and when I take Philippe to see them they talk about his lessons, which I know about anyway; and in any case I don’t listen.’
He said: ‘Well, I should stop worrying about it. As far as I can see it can hardly matter one way or the other.’ He turned in his seat and started the engine. The lights sprang up. I could see him smiling. ‘And I certainly didn’t mean to add insult to injury by turning this into an inquisition! Forgive me; it’s not my affair.’
‘Monsieur,’ I said quickly, in a rather small voice.
‘Yes?’
‘I – I wonder if you’d not – I mean—’ I floundered and stopped.
He gave me a quick glance. ‘You wondered if I’d not give you away?’
‘Yes. Please,’ I added, feeling even smaller.
There was a fractional pause. ‘For what it’s worth,’ said Raoul de Valmy, slowly, ‘I shan’t … And now I think we’d better make tracks …’
The car moved forward and took the first slope at a decorous speed.
He drove in silence, and I had time to reflect with wry surprise that shock produces some very odd after-effects. What on earth had impelled me to blurt out that naïve and stumbling betrayal of my pathetic needs to Raoul de Valmy’s no doubt hard-bitten sophistication? Daddy and Maman … they were very kind to me at the orphanag
e … What did it matter to him? A dreary little fool, that was what he’d think of me. And that’s what I was, anyway, I thought, remembering my depression of earlier that evening. I bit my lip. What did it matter anyway? He probably hadn’t even been listening. He had more important things than Philippe’s governess on his mind. Bellevigne, for instance, or whatever had driven him up to see his father in the face of what appeared to be his normal welcome at the Château Valmy.
I found myself remembering Florimond’s presence with a species of relief, and then felt amused. Raoul de Valmy would hardly need the same kind of protection as Philippe.
I said: ‘Monsieur Florimond’s here this evening.’
‘Oh? Is he staying long?’
‘I think he only came to dine, but if the mist gets thicker he’ll probably stay.’
‘Ah,’ said Raoul, ‘that’s something else to put down to the fog’s account. It’s an ill wind, they say.’
I was still working that one out when the Cadillac swung off the last rise and came to a whispering halt at the foot of the steps.
Seddon was crossing the hall as we came in. He turned when he saw Raoul and came hurrying to meet him, then his eye fell on me, and a slight twitch of dismay crossed his impassive features.
‘Mr. Raoul! Miss Martin! Has there been an accident?’
‘I nearly ran Miss Martin over on the Valmy bridge. I suggest that you get her some brandy now, and send someone upstairs—’
‘No, please,’ I said quickly, ‘I don’t want any brandy. I’m all right now, Seddon. Mr. Raoul never touched me; I slipped and fell as I was getting out of the way. It was all my fault. I’ll just go upstairs and have a bath and then make some tea in the pantry.’
Seddon hesitated, glancing at Raoul, but I said firmly: ‘It’s all right, really it is. I don’t want a thing.’
‘Well, miss, if you’re sure …’ He looked at Raoul. ‘I’ll have your things taken straight up, sir. You’re in your usual room.’
‘Thank you. How are you, Seddon? And Mrs. Seddon? The asthma keeping away?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir, we’re both well.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll come upstairs in a moment. Where’s everyone? The small salon?’
‘Yes, sir. Monsieur Florimond is here, sir, and he’s staying the night. Shall I tell Madame you’ve arrived?’
‘If you will. Say I’ll join them in a few minutes.’
‘Very good, sir.’ And, with a final glance at me, he went.
As I turned to follow him, Raoul said: ‘You’ve torn your frock.’
I looked down, unable to suppress a movement of dismay. My coat was open. At the hem of my frock a tear showed.
‘Oh, yes. I remember now. I felt it catch on something. But it’s nothing much. It’ll mend.’
He was frowning. ‘The bumper must have caught you. I really am most—’
‘Raoul?’
The voice came from behind me. I jumped and spun round. Raoul must have been inured to his father’s methods of approach, for he merely turned, said ‘How d’you do, sir?’ and held out a hand. As Léon de Valmy took it his brilliant dark gaze turned to me.
‘What’s this? Did I hear something about a bumper catching you.’
I said: ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Miss Martin and I,’ said Raoul, smiling, ‘met – rather abruptly – down on the Valmy bridge.’
His father’s eyes went to the torn hem of my frock; went lower to a laddered stocking and the stain of a muddy graze on my leg. ‘You mean you knocked her over?’
I said quickly: ‘Oh, no, nothing like that. I fell down and bumped my knee, that’s all. Monsieur Raoul didn’t touch me. It—’
‘That tear wasn’t done by falling down. That stuff’s been ripped. Was that done by that damned great car of yours, Raoul?’
Temper flicked suddenly, patently, through the words, like a whip. For a moment I was reminded of the way I had heard him speak to Philippe, pilloried beside the yellow-brocaded chair, and, damn it, Raoul was – what? thirty? I felt myself going hot with embarrassment, and glanced at him.
But this was not Philippe. He merely said, unruffled: ‘I imagine so. I had only just noticed it. I was abasing myself when you came in.’ He turned back to me. ‘Miss Martin, I really am most terribly sorry—’
‘Oh, please!’ I cried. ‘It was nothing. It was my own fault!’
Monsieur de Valmy said: ‘What were you doing down on the bridge at this time of night?’
‘I went out for a walk,’ I said. ‘It was damp in the woods so I went down the road.’
‘What happened?’
Raoul began to speak but I said hastily: ‘I stopped in the middle of the bridge. I was going to turn back and I stood for a minute or two listening to the water. It was a silly thing to do, because there was a drift of mist there over the river, and Monsieur Raoul ran slap into it. But I’d forgotten he was coming.’
‘Forgotten?’
I looked at him in faint surprise. Then I remembered that the conversation in the salon had been in French. I said steadily, hoping my colour hadn’t risen: ‘Mrs. Seddon told me this evening that he was coming.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ The dark eyes were unreadable under the heavy black brows. He looked at Raoul. ‘And then?’
I said quickly: ‘So of course Monsieur Raoul didn’t see me – he couldn’t have seen me till he was just about running me down. It was entirely my own fault and I’m lucky to get away with a bruise and a torn frock. If it was the car that tore it that’s all it touched, honestly. The bruise I got myself by slipping and falling in the gutter.’
Léon de Valmy was still frowning. ‘That’s a bad corner … as we all know.’ The cutting-edge was back on his voice. ‘Raoul, if you must come up that road on a night like this—’
Raoul said gently: ‘I have already told Miss Martin how sorry I am.’
Something sparked inside me. My employer had a perfect right to catechise me, but not to make his son look a fool in front of me. And I’d seen a little too much of his tactics tonight already. I said hotly: ‘And I have explained to Monsieur Raoul that the fault was mine and mine only. So please may we drop the subject? It isn’t fair that he should be blamed. If he’d been any less brilliant a driver I’d have been killed!’
I stopped. I had seen the faintest, least definable shade of amusement in Raoul’s face, and in his father’s something that was, less mistakably, anger. He said smoothly, but with the edge still on the carefully pedantic words: ‘A brilliant driver should not have to call upon his skill to that extent at such a dangerous corner.’
Raoul smiled at him and said, very pleasantly: ‘The corner was relaid last autumn … by the Bellevigne estate, remember? And are you sure you’re qualified to criticise my driving? You forget that both roads and cars have altered considerably since you were last able to drive.’
In the sharp little silence that followed I saw the lines round Léon de Valmy’s mouth deepen, and the white hands moved on the arms of the chair. He said nothing. Raoul smiled lazily down at him. No, this was not Philippe. No wonder he’d been amused when I wild-catted to his defence. I thought, with an absurd rush of pleasure: that for Philippe, Monsieur the Demon King!
Raoul turned to me and said easily: ‘Are you sure you won’t have something sent up to you, Miss Martin?’
‘Quite sure.’ I looked from one to the other a bit uncertainly. ‘Goodnight, Monsieur de Valmy. Goodnight, Monsieur Raoul.’
I went quickly upstairs, leaving the two of them together.
Fifth Coach
8
Thou art more deep damn’d than Prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Shakespeare: King John.
Next day all traces of mist had gone, and the trees moved lightly in their Lenten green. Since the winds of March had whipped some of the buds into tiny leaf, our favourite walk had been the way through the
woods that stretched northwards down the valley, and this afternoon we went that way again.
We started down the path that short-circuited the zigzag. For all its steepness it was not bad walking, as the path itself was ribbed across with sunken logs to give a foothold, and the occasional flights of steps were in good repair, with wide flat treads scored and clear of moss. Here and there the path crossed a trickle of water; sometimes the bridge was only a step, a slab of stone over a mossy trough where water chuckled; but in places some streamlet had cut deeply through the rock into miniature cascades, spanned by sturdy little bridges no more than two planks’ width, with a single handrail of untrimmed pine.
It was on these bridges that Philippe loved to linger, gazing down at the ferns and grasses swaying in the wind of the cascade, and counting what he fondly imagined to be the fish attempting to leap up the spray. This afternoon we hung happily together over the biggest of the pools where fingers of bright sunlight probed the ferns and made an iridescent bloom of fine spray.
‘There,’ said Philippe, triumphantly. ‘Voilà, did you see her? Beside the stone there, where the waves are!’
I peered down at the whirling pool some fifteen feet below us. ‘I can’t see anything. And it’s not her, Philippe.’
‘It was. Truly it was. I am seeing her—’
‘I’m sure you are. But a fish isn’t her, it’s it.’
‘A trout is her in French,’ said Philippe firmly. It was a great source of pride to him that my French was worse than his English.
‘No doubt,’ I said, ‘but not in English. Oh, look, there’s one, Philippe, definitely! I saw her – it jump!’
‘Four.’ Philippe knew when to pursue his triumphs and when to hold his tongue. ‘Four and a half, because I do not know if that shadow is a truite – trout, or a shadow.’ He gripped the rail and leaned over, peering eagerly down.
‘Let’s go on,’ I said. ‘If it’s still there when we come back, it’s a shadow. Let’s go down into the big wood again.’