Hot s6up was brought in. I had no idea what it contained, but it was delicious. But I was living in an exalted state and anything I imagine would have tasted like ambrosia.
It is the mountain air, I told myself. That . . . and Paul Landower.
I studied him intently. My mother had said he had dark looks . . . secret looks. Yes, there was an element of that. I did not know him. Not as I had known Jago ... or Jeremy. But had I known Jeremy? I could not have been more surprised when I had received that letter jilting me.
No, I had not known Jeremy. I was gullible where people were concerned. But I was changing. Once I would have believed my mother wanted me to stay with her because she loved me. Now I saw clearly that she only wanted me to relieve the boredom a little. If someone else could do that, I might go out for the day and she would not mind in the least.
I would be more prepared now for people to act in an unexpected way; and there was something secret, mysterious about this man. I longed to know what it was and I was excited at the prospect of discovering.
After soup there was lamb served in a way I had never had it before; it was delicious; and the wine, which was proudly shown to Paul before it was poured out, was nectar.
I said: "I shall have no room for the famous damson pie."
At last it came. Madame told us that during the season she set one of her maids doing nothing else but preserving damsons for several weeks.
She served it with her special garnishing and we both agreed that it came up to expectation.
Paul was amused to see me counting the stones.
"Ah," he said, "that looks significant. Tell me, what is your fate?"
"There are eight stones. They indicate whom I shall marry. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief."
"You have too many."
"Oh no. I just start again. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief. Oh dear! I'm destined for the thief. I don't like that at all. I think I'll try something else."
I began to quote:
"He loves me
He don't
He'll have me
He won't.
He would if he could
But he can't
So he won't."
Paul was laughing. "You've one left over."
"So I start again. He loves me. Well, that's a little more satisfactory. But if he is a thief I'm not very happy about my future."
"You should be," he said seriously. "I have an idea that you are the sort of person who will be happy and make others happy."
"What a charming assessment of my character. I can't imagine how you can be so knowledgeable in such a short time."
"There are things one knows . . . instinctively."
I thought: I am falling in love with him. What a fool I am. I have just been bitterly deceived. I have vowed I would never fall in love again, and here I am ready to begin it all once more. Oh, but I was never really in love with Jeremy. It was infatuation. This is different. Besides, wasn't I always in love with Paul Landower?
He was watching me intently. "Your eyes are a brilliant green."
"I know."
"They glitter like emeralds."
"I like the comparison. We had a cook once who used to say 'Blue eyes for beauty, brown eyes for cherry pie' (which I believe in her eyes was another way of saying beauty) 'green eyes for greedy guts.' That must have been because I had filched some titbit from the table which I believe, at an early age, I was inclined to do."
"You are revealed as a green-eyed monster."
"That means jealousy."
"Are you jealous?"
"I think I might well be."
"Well, it's natural."
"I think I should be a veritable fiend."
"I can imagine how those eyes would flash. It would be rather like facing the gorgon."
"We are getting very classical this afternoon. It all began with the golden apple, I suppose."
"How do you feel?"
"Replete."
"So do I. I hope they haven't fed the horses as well as they have fed us or they'll be too lethargic to move."
"Is that how you feel?"
He nodded. "I should like to stay here for a long time."
"It's delightful in the mountains."
"Awe-inspiring. I am glad I found you. I shall report my findings to Miss Tressidor. When can I tell her you will come to see her?"
"Soon. After Christmas ... if I can get away."
"Your mother will try to stop your going to Cornwall."
"She is very frustrated here. She misses the old life. I suppose I help a bit."
He smiled and continued to study me.
Our hostess came in and we told her that her damson pie was beyond our expectations and they had been very high. We would extoll its virtues to all those with whom we came into contact.
She looked well pleased and told us not to hurry but to take a look round. "The view's well worth seeing half a mile on. That's a regular beauty spot. You have a good view of the gorge there."
We came out to the stables. "We must not forget," said Paul, "that it gets dark early. Alas, I think we should be wending our way homewards. This delightful day is coming to an end."
We rode in silence for a while. The path was uneven; we went down, then up, and there were a great many stones underfoot, so we had to pick our way with care. Paul was riding on ahead of me as the path was so narrow.
I was not sure how it happened. My horse must have tripped over a stone; in any case she side-stepped and caught me unaware. At one moment I was following Paul quite serenely and the next I was being thrown out of the saddle.
I cried out just as I saw the ground coming up to meet me. Then I lost consciousness.
From a long way off I could hear my name being called.
"Caroline . . . Caroline ... oh, my God, Caroline . . ."
He was kneeling beside me. I felt his lips on my forehead and I opened my eyes and saw his face close to mine.
In that moment I felt nothing but happiness. It was the tender way in which he said my name; it was the deep concern in his voice; it was the fact that he had kissed me.
"What . . . happened?" I asked.
"You fell."
"I-I don't understand . . ."
"You're here with me in the mountains. Something happened. I didn't see. I was going on ahead. How do you feel? You can't have done much harm, we were only ambling. See if you can stand."
He helped me to my feet, holding me tightly.
"How's that?"
"All right ... I think."
"Good." He spoke with great relief. "I don't think you've broken anything."
I clutched him, feeling dizzy. The mountains swayed ahead of me.
"You fell on your head but your hat would have saved you. I don't think you should attempt to ride back."
I was beginning to grasp the situation and the first thing I felt was shame. I had prided myself on my horsemanship and here I was coming a cropper when I was only walking my horse.
Paul said: "I'm going to get you back to the auberge."
"Oh no. We must go home. It'll soon be dark."
"No," he said authoritatively. "I should be afraid for you to attempt that long ride. I think not much harm has been done but one can't be sure. I am going to get you back to the auberge and send for a doctor to have a look at you. Don't worry, we can get a message sent to your mother."
"I'm sure I'm all right."
"I feel sure you are too, but I'm not taking risks."
"Oh dear, you must think me very stupid. I'm a good rider really."
"I know you are." He picked me up in his arms and sat me on his horse. "There! We'll go back. We'll be there shortly."
And leading the two horses, he took us back to La Pomme d'Or.
Madame was deeply concerned. Yes, they had two rooms which were kept ready for travellers. Yes, she could send for a doctor, and yes, one of the stable-boys could take a message to my mother.
"There," said Paul. "Nothing t
o worry about."
"I feel so foolish."
"Look at it like this. It gives us a little more time in this really rather attractive place."
He had a certain effect on me. I was able to cast aside my anxieties about my mother's reaction to the situation. I was sore and a little lightheaded, but when the doctor came he said that I had broken no bones; he had left a little liniment for the bruises and a sedative which I was to take before settling down for the night if I found sleep difficult.
He was sure I should feel a little stiff in the morning and might experience a few twinges of discomfort, but apart from that I should soon be perfectly all right. But I should rest until the effect of the shock wore off.
I was given a very pleasant room with a view over the mountains. Paul had the next room. There was a balcony with French windows leading onto it, and his windows opened onto the same balcony.
Darkness came. Oil lamps were lighted and the scenery in the glow of a faint crescent moon was like something from another world.
The mountain air was crisp and cold and our hostess gave me extra blankets. She said I should need them for the nights were very cold in the mountains.
I can remember very vividly every waking moment of that strange night.
Paul and I took supper together in my room. There was soup and cold chicken served with a delicious salad; and we asked if there was more of the far-famed damson pie.
Paul studied the stones on my plate and asked: "What have you got this time?"
There were six stones.
"Poor man," I said. "An improvement on the last. But the other isn't so good. Last time he loved me. This time he can't."
"Your fate has changed within a few hours. I shouldn't have thought that possible, would you?"
"I suppose in life everything is possible."
He looked at me steadily and said nothing.
The stable-boy had returned with the news that he had delivered the note to my mother and impressed on her that there was nothing to worry about. I should be home next day.
The doctor had been right about the twinges. Some of the bruises were painful. I still felt somewhat lightheaded, but I did wonder if that was due to all that was happening.
I kept thinking of coming out of my stupor and seeing Paul's face. I could feel the touch of his lips on my forehead. I thought, The world is a happy place after all. And I was glad that Jeremy Brandon had jilted me. My experience with him was to be welcomed rather than deplored.
I felt gloriously free to be happy.
And I was happy that night. I marvelled that out of disaster could come such pleasure. If I had not tumbled from my horse I should now be playing piquet at home or listening to my mother's account of what she would wear for the Christmas festivities, for she would have forgotten her fears about a possible marriage for me in the prospect of further flirtation with Monsieur Foucard.
So we sat in the lamplight and we talked. I told him quite a lot about myself, about the Jubilee and our visit to Waterloo Place and its consequences. I think he already knew that I was not Robert Tressidor's daughter. I wondered if Cousin Mary had told him. If so, the animosity between the two families must have diminished considerably. I hesitated about telling him of Jeremy Brandon, but I found myself blurting that out too.
"So you see it was the money he thought would be mine that he wanted. When he knew I wasn't going to get that, he didn't want me."
"I see," he said. "Perhaps it was as well that you found out in time."
"That's what I tell myself. But it is hard to see these things when they happen. And now he is going to marry my sister. I often wonder what I should do about that."
"Does she want to marry him?"
"Oh yes . . . very much. She was in love with him before I knew him. I didn't realize that at the time, but I guessed there was someone. It turned out to be him. I wish I could make her see she must not marry him."
"That would not make her very happy."
"No, but he is marrying her for her money."
"She wants him, you say."
"Oh yes. But he is deceiving her. I can well imagine him. He will tell her how much he loves her. He will urge her to marry him, explaining that he really loved her all the time . . . even when he was engaged to me. I can't believe it is right for me to say nothing. My mother thinks it is all right. In her world that is normal conduct."
"In a lot of people's worlds, it would be."
"I despise it."
There was silence in the room. I could hear the faint sound of water rushing down the mountainside.
I said suddenly, "Do you think I should warn Olivia?"
He shook his head. "Let her be happy. It is what she wants. It is what he wants. She knows he was engaged to you. There is nothing new you can tell her. It must have been very hurtful to you."
"Oh, I've got over it now."
"I'm glad."
He reached for my hand and pressed it.
"I'm also glad that you are not badly hurt," he went on. "When I turned and saw you on the ground . . . well, I cannot describe my feelings."
I laughed happily. "I was thinking that out of mishaps sometimes the nicest things come about."
"You mean this . . . here. Are you enjoying it?"
"So much . . . more than I have enjoyed anything ... for a long time."
"Do you know," he said, "I can say the same."
We smiled at each other and some understanding seemed to pass between us, some fellow feeling.
I never want this to end, I thought.
We sat there in silence and that seemed as wonderful as when we talked. A clock striking eleven broke in on the silence.
"The doctor said you were to go to bed early," said Paul. "I'm afraid I've been forgetting the time."
"I forgot it too," I replied. "Surely that clock can't be right."
"It is, I'm afraid. You must sleep now. You'll feel absolutely right in the morning, I feel sure."
"How quiet it is here! It seems so strange to be in the mountains."
"You're not afraid?"
I shook my head vigorously.
"There's no need to be. I'm next door ... to offer protection should you need it. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I answered.
He leaned forward suddenly and kissed me on the brow just as he had when I was coming into consciousness as I lay on the road.
I smiled at him. I thought he was going to say something, but he appeared to change his mind and went out.
I knew that I should not find sleep easily. I was not sure that I wanted to. I wanted to lie in my bed and look out over the mountains and go over everything that had happened on this wonderful day.
If I had not fallen from my horse I should not be here now. If Jeremy had not jilted me, this day would never have happened. Perhaps something good always comes out of evil. It was a comforting thought.
Was I in love? Perhaps. But I must remember that my emotions were easily aroused. I had adored Captain Carmichael. Then Jeremy had come and I had been over ready to fall in love with him. And even before that I had made a hero of Paul Landower, and he had figured in my dreams ever since . . . apart from the time when I had been obsessed by Jeremy.
Could I really trust my feelings? I suppose people would say I was too young—and immature with it.
One thing I was sure of. I was happy. I would go to Cornwall soon. There I should see Paul often. Our relationship would strengthen. I was going to be happy.
I dozed and awoke with a start. I was not alone. I lay still, my eyes only half open, my heart beating wildly. The room was full of moonlight, and there was a shadow at the French window.
I knew that it was Paul who was standing there. He was looking in at me.
I dared not let him see that I was awake. I did not know what would happen if he did. He had his hand on the door. I thought, he is coming to me.
I felt a great yearning for him to do so. I was almost willing him to come.
But I
lay there, my eyes half closed, feigning sleep.
And still he stood there and made no move.
I repressed a desire to call him. How could I welcome him into my room at that hour of the night? If I did it could surely be for one purpose.
I must not . . . and yet I wanted him to come in.
I could hear my heart hammering beneath the bedclothes. I had shut my eyes tightly . . . waiting.
I was aware that the shadow had disappeared. I opened my eyes. He had gone.
I slept little but my sleeplessness was not due to my fall. He said nothing about the night, but just asked how I had slept. I replied: "Intermittently."
He nodded. "After such a shock you would expect to."
I wanted to ask him, "Why did you stand outside my window last night?" But I said nothing and he seemed different by morning light. The intimacy of the previous evening had gone, he was aloof almost.
He said: "We must have breakfast and set off right away. Your mother will be anxious. How do you feel about mounting the chestnut?"
"Perfectly all right. It was my carelessness really. I should have been more watchful. The poor creature was plagued by that stony path."
"You're too good a horsewoman to be bothered by a little spill, I'm sure."
We had the usual French breakfast of coffee and brioche with lots of creamy butter and honey; and apart from a certain stiffness I did feel normal.
He regarded me with some concern. "All the dizziness has gone?"
I nodded.
"You'll have those bruises to remind you for some time, I should imagine."
"I shall remember after they have gone."
"We'll neither of us forget, shall we?"
"Oh, will you remember too?"
"But of course."
He went on ahead as the road was narrow and very soon we had left the mountains behind us.
Everton came to the door when we arrived.
"Your mother has been so anxious," she said.
"You had a message, did you not? The stable-boy from the auberge
"Yes, yes," said Everton, "but your mother has been most upset."
"Miss Tressidor has been upset also," said Paul.
He had dismounted and helped me down.
"Would you like me to wait and see your mother?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No, I think I'd better go in alone."