The Demon Lover

Nicole

It was a strange feeling travelling through the Kentish countryside.

The orchards, the hop fields, the oast houses, the meadows and the little woods, they all seemed so fresh, even after the summer. They looked the same as I had seen them many times before. It was I who had changed.

People would surely notice. I could not be the same. I did not look quite the same. Would they ask questions? How should I answer them?

One thing I knew and that was that I could never bear to talk of the shameful thing that had happened to me.

It seemed that every day my hatred for that man grew more intense. If he barbarian that he was had greatly desired me, although I could not have forgiven him, perhaps I might-beneath my resentment have felt a little flattered. But it had not been like that. He had merely wanted his revenge on Bertrand and he had used me for that purpose, taken me as though I were some inanimate object to be picked up and thrown aside when he had finished with it. That was how he saw all people. It did not occur to him that they might have feelings . or did it? Perhaps he simply did not care that they had. Everything . everyone . was for his pleasure.

Well, he should not score this time. He had ruined my life . and Bertrand’s too perhaps . but he was not going to get the result he was looking for. His plot was going to fail. He could say that I had been his mistress albeit most unwillingly-but he could not make me marry Bertrand.

We could snap our fingers at him.

But I must stop thinking of him. He was over as far as I was concerned. I hoped never to see him again. I had to think of myself and what I was going to do. There was only one way to act and that was to carry on as though this had never happened.

Could I do that? I would soon be put to the test.

I took the station fly and very soon I was getting out at the familiar house.

There was a cry from within.

“She’s here. It’s Kate.”

And they were running out. I saw my father first and his face was shining with happiness.

“Kate!” he cried.

“Dear Kate.”

Then I was in his arms. He held me away from him and studied me. I felt myself flushing. Was it obvious? But he gave no sign of anything but the utmost joy . and pride that more than anything.

“My dearest child,” he said.

“It was a great success … beyond my dreams.”

I thought: His eyes are not strong enough to notice the difference.

I saw Clare then. She was standing shyly in the background. Some of the servants were with her Mrs. Baines the cook and Jerry the handyman, and the maids. They were all grinning their pleasure.

Clare came forward and took my hand tentatively. I kissed her.

“You look well,” she said.

“We were all so happy to hear that the picture was such a success.”

Mrs. Baines had cooked a steak pie. I had liked it as a child and had been eating it frequently ever since because it was said to be one of my favourite foods. Supper would be served early, she said. She reckoned that travelling whipped up the appetite.

Clare took me to my room.

“Oh Kate,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

I looked at her steadily and said: “You know about my father now.”

“Yes, he told us all when he came back.”

“What is it going to do to him?”

She was thoughtful.

“Oddly enough,” she said, ‘he doesn’t seem as upset as you would think. It was due to all that success you had. He told us about it. How that Baron was it? had a special gathering and introduced you, and how you were going alone to do the miniature of the princess and how you had other commissions. He feels his talent is a precious gift and it has been passed safely into your hands. “

“You really think that’s how hf feels?”

“Oh, I do. He has talked to me about it.” She lowered her eyes almost apologetically.

“I think it’s because of Evie … and my being a connection of hers. He feels he can talk to me.”

“It’s for you yourself, Clare,” I assured her.

“Evie was a wonderful rock for us, but she wasn’t particularly sympathetic about our painting. She said it was ” very nice” but I think it was only acceptable because it was our livelihood. He feels you understand, Clare.”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“One senses it,” I told her.

“You must have had a most exciting time. You look … I waited apprehensively.

“Different,” she finished.

“Different?”

“Well… more worldly, I suppose. Naturally you would … travelling and being recognized. It has made a difference in you. You look … shall I say? … poised.” She laughed.

“Don’t ask me to explain. I was never good at explanations. When you have washed and changed do go and talk to your father. He is so longing to have you to himself I went to him as soon as I could. He was in his study. Hanging on the walls were two miniatures-one he had done of my mother and the other of me as a child. They were exquisite pieces of work his best, I always thought. He would never part with them.

“Kate,” he cried.

“It is good to have you home. Now tell me everything.”

Everything? I should certainly not do that. I wondered fleetingly how my dear, good and rather innocent father would have reacted to the rape of his daughter.

“The Princesse’s miniature …” he went on.

“It was approved.”

“Did the Baron come to see it?”

“No. I had to take it to him. He has paid for it.”

“My dear Kate, you will be rich. Was the Princesse an easy subject?”

“In a way, yes. She was just a young girl.”

“But a Princesse!”

“She was quite a normal girl really.”

“And the Baron …” There seemed to be a long pause.

“He really did like it, then. Was he as enthusiastic about it as he was about your portrait of him?”

“I don’t know. I think he liked it though.”

‘Wonderful. A man who would not be easy to please. “

I wanted to scream out: Please stop talking about him. The only peace of mind I can have is in forgetting him.

“What about you?” I asked.

“You have come to accept… the inevitable.”

“The fact that you have been recognized makes a lot of difference to me, Kate. I always knew you had a remarkable talent, but I did think it was going to be difficult to make the world realize it. And now thanks to the Baron …”

I said quickly: “Has there been any change in your eyes?”

“I fancy I don’t see as well as I did when we set out on our travels.

It is like looking into a fog. a little way off. but the fog creeps nearer. That was a mad prank of ours, Kate, but the wonder of it was that it worked. If the Baron hadn’t NICOLE i if been a true connoisseur of art, it could never have happened. “

Could he not stop bringing the man into the conversation? He seemed obsessed by him.

“I have other commissions now,” I said quickly.

“Yes. That is wonderful.”

“I shall be going back to Paris to the house of the Duponts in three weeks’ time. I have to paint the two daughters, you remember.”

“It’s quite wonderful. And when I think what you owe to the Baron... ”

I said: “I think we should go to dinner now, Mrs. Baines won’t be pleased if we are late.”

So we dined-my father, Clare and I and I tackled the steak pie to Mrs. Baines’s satisfaction and answered the questions which were fired at me.

Clare looked on with her big doe-like eyes, full of happiness because I was home and my father was coming to terms about his encroaching blindness.

It was amazing how many times my father mentioned the Baron. It was impossible to escape from the man and I felt as though he were sitting at our dining-room table with us.

And that night I dreamed of him. I was lying on that bed in the lodge and he was approaching me. I screamed and awakened, greatly relieved to find myself in my own homely bed.

I wondered then, was I ever going to banish that man from my life?

A few days later a letter came from Madame Dupont. She hoped I would come as soon as possible. Her sister-in-law wanted to talk business with me too. She also had a daughter and was eager to have a Collison miniature other.

“Of course,” she wrote, “I know you are committed to do the wife of Monsieur Villefranche first but please do not let him thrust someone else upon you before you do my sister-in-law’s girl.”

I was indeed a success. And he had done that for me, but I could not be grateful to him. I could feel nothing but hatred and disgust.

I would go earlier than I intended. I felt I had to get away from all the interrogation which I had to endure concerning my stay in Paris and I could not bear my father’s constant references to the Baron.

Moreover, life in Farringdon was not the same. I thought the vicarage family frankly boring and I had never been so very friendly with the Cambomes.

Clare was getting on very well in the village. She had fitted in like a native and was constantly at the vicarage, decorating the church and discussing means of raising money for the bells and involving herself generally in the affairs of the neighbourhood. They all liked her, but her particular friends were the Cambome twins. She talked to me about them. She was a little concerned because Hope had an admirer and she worried a little about poor Faith.

“What would she do,” she said, ‘if her twin married. She can’t join up with them, can she? I do think poor Faith is getting very apprehensive. How strange nature is . to make two people so close. ”

I scarcely listened. The affairs of the village had become very dull to me.

I was glad when the time came for me to leave.

My father said: “It looks as though you will have several commissions.

There is this new one coming along with the sister-in-law. You must take advantage of it. “

“It could mean quite a long stay in Paris,” I pointed out.

“The longer the better … at this stage. You have to get known. Later you can be more selective. It would be a mistake to overload the market, but just at first you must get known.”

“I feel I can leave you in safe hands.”

“Clare is wonderful. Shall I whisper something? She’s easier to get on with than Evie was.”

“That’s exactly what I think. Evie was a marvel of efficiency but Clare is more … what shall I say? She’s softer … more human . “

“You’re right. You couldn’t leave me in better hands. So … no need to worry about anything at home. Keep your mind on your work. You’re going to be the best Collison of us all.”

I was rather relieved when the time came for me to set out for Paris.

In spite of everything, I couldn’t help feeling exhilarated when I arrived in Paris. It was early evening when I stepped out of the train at the Gare du Nord and immediately caught that whiff of excitement which the city had previously aroused in me. I was caught up in the bustle and noticed immediately the noise. The French talked so much more loudly than we did in England and their hands were as expressive as their voices. I heard strains of music coming from somewhere; and I smelt the familiar smell of trains and perfume.

I thought then: The past is done with. I shall begin again from here.

But when the porter carried my bags and hailed a cab for me and I caught sight of the cocker with his blue coat and white hat, I could not stop the tremor of apprehension running through me. I would never entirely forget. Even as I stepped into the cab and was asked in a friendly voice where I wanted to go, I looked suspiciously into the smiling face and saw another there.

I pulled myself together and gave Madame Dupont’s address. I felt deeply moved as we trotted down the familiar

Boulevard Haussmann. The Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore was not far off.

The Duponts’ house was in the Boulevard Courcelles nestling among a row of tall white houses which I came to recognize as typical of the town houses of those who had estates in the country.

I suspected the Duponts were of that genre, as they had been guests of the Baron. I was sure he would only know people who were rich or of noble lineage.

I was almost surprised when the cab drew up and the cocker courteously helped me with my bags.

The door was opened by a manservant in dark blue livery with touches of silver about it. He greeted me with deference. I was evidently expected.

“Madame has asked that you be taken to her as soon as you arrive,” he told me.

“Pray come this way.”

He signalled to a boy in the same dark blue livery but with less silver braid, which I presumed indicated that he was of inferior rank, to take my bags, while I followed him into a large room with dark blue walls and white draperies which were most effective. It was a sort of reception hall. The man knocked on a door and with a flourish opened it and announced that Mademoiselle Collison had arrived.

Madame Dupont swam towards me.

“Welcome, Mademoiselle Collison,” she cried.

“It is a great pleasure to have you with us. We are looking forward to what you are going to do for us. Now, we want you to be very comfortable while you stay with us… and I do hope you will be able to work for my sister-in-law. She is most anxious for you to make a pretty picture of her young daughter.” Madame Dupont put a finger to her lips as though to conceal a smile.

“I don’t think you will find her such a rewarding subject as my girls. But you’ll do something beautiful with her, I know. I think perhaps you would like to go to your room first and then … shall we say … meet the girls? I believe you have to talk to them. draw them out. That was what the Baron suggested, I think. “

“Thank you, Madame Dupont,” I said.

“You are very kind.”

“And it has been a trying journey I have no doubt.”

“Well, it is long and the crossing is always difficult.”

“Yes, of course. Now would you like some refreshment or will you wait for dinner? It is for you to say.”

I said I would wait for dinner and she replied that she would summon a maid without delay to take me to my room.

This she did and I was conducted to a charming room on the first floor with windows which reached from ceiling to floor. It had dark walls and white curtains -which seemed to be the motif of the house. It was very attractive.

My bed had a beautiful tapestry headpiece in what I recognized as the Fontainebleau pattern near-white swirling flowers on a dark blue background. The coverlet was white broderie anglaise-charming and fresh. My dressing-table was curtained in dark blue velvet and it had a white-edged mirror with three sides.

My feelings rose in spite of everything.

It had been the best thing possible for me to come to Paris, I was sure, and after such brutal handling as I had suffered, after such bitter humiliation, it was comforting to be treated with respect. My spirits were rising. I was an artist to be recognized and appreciated.

I must put that horrifying episode behind me and make a new start. I was lucky in the fact that I had been given a chance to do so.

I changed into a dress of green brocade. I was prepared to live in an elegant society, and although I had not brought many clothes those I had were all quite adequate. I had learned something of what the French called chic during my brief stay in their country and I had, I think, been born with something in common with them: I loved the way in which they mingled colours and that elegance which could make the most plain among women look interesting. The fact was I had taken a step away from the past. I was on my way to a new life and I believed that in time I would forget the Baron.

I was interested in the house and longing to see my new subjects.

Already I was concerning myself with where I should work and how I should approach the portraits of the Demoiselles Dupont.

A certain feeling of elation continued throughout the evening. I diried with the family and Madame Dupont treated me as though I were a person of considerable importance. I was the great painter acclaimed by the Baron de Genteville. Monsieur Dupont was a mild gentleman who seemed intent on humouring his wife’s wishes and deferring to her in every way. I discovered later that he kept a pretty mistress in a little house on the Left Bank and his great aim was to keep his wife content so that she did not interfere with this very happy arrangement of his. The two daughters, Emilie and Sophie, did not interest me greatly as people, and only because they were subjects did I force myself to be concerned with them. They were seventeen and sixteen respectively on the verge of being brought out into society-hence the miniatures. They giggled a great deal and had a habit of whispering together, which I found irritating and rather bad manners.

But that was no concern of mine. I thought I could make reasonable pictures of them. I would try to flatter them, for it was no use seeking hidden character in those vapid little faces.

I was an object of interest to the girls, who took covert looks at me throughout the meal and met each other’s eyes across the table conveying secret messages. They were the sort of girls who made you wonder whether you had a smut on your cheek or some buttons undone.

Madame Dupont, however, doted on them, and I was sure she saw them through a rose-coloured haze. Her great aim, I soon discovered, was to find suitable husbands for them both, while Monsieur Dupont’s was to keep his family occupied with each other while he retained his love-nest on the Left Bank intact.

Madame, during the meal, informed her husband that, in spite of my youth, I was an acclaimed painter. One of the Collisons and everyone . but everyone . knew of the Collison miniatures. They were said to be in the top grade of miniatures throughout the world. All the family had done them for hundreds of years. Wasn’t that wonderful? I believe she thought she was very astute to secure me before my prices soared.

She knew I was a great artist because the Baron de Centeville had made that very clear to her, and everyone knew that the Baron was one of the most respected connoisseurs in the country. He even advised the Emperor and Eugenie. The miniature I had done of the Baron was quite superb . and so was that of the Princesse de Crespigny.

“I am sure those of our girls will be equally successful. The Baron will present his to the Princesse and she will give hers to him. Is that not a charming gesture for affianced people to exchange objects of beauty? A miniature set in jewels-the Baron’s was set in diamonds and sapphires-more appealing than an exchange of rings, I think. Well, you girls will have your miniatures when the time comes . “

Madame Dupont was a great talker. I was glad of that. It made one’s own contribution less demanding.

I was to paint Emilie first as she was the elder, and the next morning I was taken to an attic which was fairly light and gave me enchanting views of Paris. I sat Emilie with the light on her face. Like my other model, the Princesse, her nose was too large, but whereas there had been character in the Princesse’s face, I could detect little of that nature in my new model.

She was happy though, and that gave something pleasant to her face. The eyes dark brown-were not bad at all. Her skin was on the olive side not easy. But I wanted to get that sheen of freshness because I could see that Emilie’s main attraction was that which is given to us all at some time: Youth.

She watched me mix my paints.

“I hope you’ll make me prettier than I am,” she said.

“I shall try to make an attractive picture. I like your dress.”

It was pale mauve and suited her dark colouring.

“Maman chose it.”

Trust Maman! Whatever else she was, she understood how to dress herself and her daughters.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

“Just talk to me … comfortably … easily … as though I were a friend.”

“What shall I talk about?”

“About what you like doing. About your clothes … your friends .. “

She was tongue-tied. I imagined how she would giggle with her sister when telling her about this sitting.

Finally she forgot her shyness and told me how she was going to be taken to Court. Her cousin Francoise would be coming soon and she and Francoise would be taken together. Sophie had to wait another year.

She was having new dresses made and she was looking forward to it. She would be presented to the Emperor and the Empress Eugenic. Then of course there would be balls and she would meet all sorts of people. It would all be very exciting and if she were a success she might be married very soon.

“And you would like that?”

“It would depend on …”

“On the bridegroom,” I said.

“Well, naturally. What sort of bridegroom do you hope for?”

“Handsome, brave, noble and Maman will insist that he is rich.”

“That’s a big bill to fit. Now if you could only go for one of those qualities, which would it be?”

She looked at me in bewilderment. I could see it was no use trying to introduce a light note into conversation with Mademoiselle Emilie.

She said: “First of all there’s the wedding. That will be a big occasion. Sophie will be allowed to attend the reception.”

“Oh, what wedding is this?”

“The Baron de Centeville and the Princesse de Crespigny.”

“Oh,” I said faintly.

“Next week … at Notre Dame. The streets will be crowded. Oh, it will be such fun.”

I had been promising myself to forget him and now it seemed he was back as vividly as ever. I could not go on painting. My hand had lost its steadiness.

I said: “The light is not good enough. I’ll have to stop.”

Emilie was nothing loath. She was the sort of sitter who would tire easily.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“Well, it is rather soon yet.”

“Can I see?”

“I should wait a day or so.”

“All right. Goodbye. Can you find your way to your own room?”

“Oh yes, thank you very much.”

She ran off to giggle with Sophie about the sitting and the curious ways of the artist, I supposed.

I went to my room and sat for a long time looking out of my window at the Paris street.

So next week . he would be married . What did that matter to me?

I had cut him out of my life. Poor little Princesse! I wondered what Marie-Claude was thinking at this moment.

The miniature was progressing well. It was not difficult. Just a stroke of the brush to get the line of the jaw. She had a heart-shaped face which was rather appealing. I would accentuate that. The colour of the skin bothered me; but when she was excited there was a faint rosy tinge in her cheeks. I would try for that. It worked wonders and made her eyes look bigger.

Yes, I was making a pleasant picture of Mademoiselle Emilie. I should finish in good time and then start on young Sophie.

I thought: It is money easily earned. The Baron had fixed the price for me. He had said: “People value you as you value yourself. If you charge too little they will consider you second-rate. Put your prices high and they will believe you are worth it… even if you’re not.

People always like to think they get what they pay for. “

Thanks to him, I could become a rich and fashionable artist with many commissions like this.

I had worked steadily, feeling there was no need for delay. I had probed the nature of the little sister-not that it was necessary to dig very deeply. So much the better. In a way it made the task easier if not so interesting. How different it had been working on the Baron.

In him I discovered something new every day.

I could not get him out of my mind. I supposed it was because he was going to get married soon.

There would be no sitting on the wedding day.

It dawned bright and sunny. It was going to be hot as the day progressed. I thought of the frightened little Princesse awakening on this morning-her last day of freedom. How would she fare with that monster of iniquity? I shuddered to contemplate the union. He would take her back to the chateau, I supposed. I imagined her—little Marie Claude-awaiting him in the nuptial chamber, all her fears upon her. For she was frightened of him. I had discovered that much-and no doubt she had good reason to be.

The house was quiet. The family had gone to the wedding. The servants would be out in the streets because it was something of an occasion, and I imagined crowds would be gathered around Notre Dame to see the bride and groom arrive separately and depart together.

And then there came the irresistible urge to go into the streets to mingle with the people, to see him once more. Just once, I told myself, and then never . never again.

I put on my cloak and went out into the street. I hailed a cab -still something of an uneasy adventure for me and I asked the cocker to take me to the Sainte-Chappelle. I thought that would be near enough and I would walk the rest of the way.

He chatted to me. He recognized my accent at once as that of a foreigner, as they all did. It amused me to see the different reactions. Most were amused in a friendly way, eager to help; but there were some who were a little resentful and inclined to despise one for not being French. It was a common trick, I knew now, to pretend not to understand what I said. But this one was decidedly friendly.

Had I been to see the Louvre, the Pantheon? I should take a cab to Montmartre. I told him it was not my first visit to Paris and I had already seen a little of the city, which I found fascinating.

He was delighted and talked incessantly.

“It’s a bit crowded down this way. There’s this society wedding … That brings out the crowds. The Baron de Centeville is getting married. I think the Empress will be there. It’s the Princesse de Crespigny he’s marrying.”

“I had heard that,” I told him.

“I’d keep out of the way, if I were you. You’ll see nothing but the crowd.”

I thanked him for his advice, paid him and alighted at the SainteChapelle.

For once I forgot to marvel that this old building had stood there for six hundred years and made my way in the direction of Notre Dame.

The crowds were thick. I thought: I was a fool to have come. I shall see nothing—and in any case I don’t want to.

But there I was mistaken. There was a sudden hush in the crowd and then a shout. I saw them in an open carriage. He looked magnificent. I had to admit that. He was wearing some uniform of blue with gold braid which made his hair look fairer than I remembered it, and on his head was a cocked hat which might have been an admiral’s. I had known he was connected with the Navy. Probably an honorary post, I imagined.

And there seated beside him was Marie-Claude looking very beautiful in a gown of white satin sewn with pearls and a head-dress of laces and lilies-of-the-valley.

The crowd gave a cheer. I stared at him. He didn’t see me, of course; and if he had, what would it have mattered to him?

The carriage passed out of sight and the crowd was dispersing; and I felt a great desire to go inside the cathedral and be quiet for a while. I must stop myself thinking of them. It was no concern of mine.

Poor little Marie-Claude. She had been forced into marrying him but there was nothing more anyone could do about that.

It was strange how quickly the crowds had gone. I went to the porch and looked up at the face of the demon . the most wicked of them all. As I watched, the stone seemed to change and take on the shape of his features. It was like a replica of the drawing I had made.

I went inside and sat down. I tried to superimpose other images on that of them sitting together side by side in the carriage. but I could not do this. The marriage of opposites I thought, and I believed there would be little happiness for either of them. I was not concerned for him. He deserved nothing but revenge. But I was very sorry for the Princesse.

Stop thinking of them! There was one charming story I had heard of a hundred poor girls to whom Louis the Sixteenth had given a dowry on the occasion of their marriages as a thanksgiving for the birth of his daughter, Marie Therese Charlotte. He had been present at the wedding of those girls here in Notre Dame and had sealed their marriage licences with his fleur-delis ornamented sword. A hundred young men advancing, each giving a hand to one of the waiting girls it must have been an enchanting sight.

It was rare that the cathedral saw such charming events, and I immediately thought of a more recent one when, seventy years before, during the revolution, the cathedral had been turned into a Temple of Reason and a harlot seated on a litter had been carried in, while half naked women and men danced obscenely around her in the name of Liberty.

I had a sudden desire to look down on the city, every aspect of which was of great fascination to me, and I left the darkness of the exterior and found my way to the turret from which one can look down.

It was silent as I entered the dark turret and started to climb the stairs. There was a chill in the air. I counted the steps and when I was halfway up I thought I heard someone labouring up behind me. I suppose that was natural. Why should I be the only one who thought it worthwhile making this long climb up to the summit to look down on Fresh air at last! Oh, indeed the view was magnificent. I could look right down on Paris and on either side of me were the north and south banks. I could see the Marais behind the Tour Saint-Jacques to the north and in the south the Rue de Bievre and the Boulevard St. Michel with the district which lay between.

While I stood there I was aware of someone beside me. My heart started to hammer and for a moment I felt as though I was unable to move.

Terror seized me, as it had when I had suddenly realized the man in the blue coat and white hat was no ordinary cocker.

Then a voice said: “You remember me?”

I turned. I was looking into the face of Nicole St. Giles.

“I think I startled you,” she went on.

“Yes. I … I thought I was alone up here.”

“People don’t often trail up those steps. Do you know there are three hundred and ninety-seven of them?”

“It seemed like a thousand.” Aa She laughed.

“I was so pleased to see you in the crowd, but you didn’t see me. I saw you start up the stairs and I guessed you were coming to look at the view. You’re at the Duponts’ in Courcelles, I believe?”

“Yes,” I said; and I thought: She would know, of course. She was at the chateau when it was arranged. How much more did she know?

“I couldn’t resist coming to see the wedding,” she said.

“Couldn’t you?” I looked at her searchingly. Did she care very much?

She did not seem to.

“I hope it’s a success,” she said, and I noticed she had not said that she hoped they would be happy.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I hope, too, that you will come and see me while you are in Paris. I have a house on the Left Bank. Let me give you a card. It’s not very far from the Sorbonne and near the Luxembourg Gardens. Quite pleasant.”

“You live there … all the time.”

“Yes, now. All the time.”

I thought: It is over for you then. You are just thrown aside.

But she seemed very happy.

“How are the portraits going?”

“Quite well. I have done the elder young lady. Now I have the younger and then there is a cousin. I think it better for me to do the three before I move on to the house of Monsieur Villefranche.

“So you will be in Paris for some time yet. I think the Villefranche house is in the Avenue de 1” Alma just off the Champs-Elysees. “

“Yes that is so.”

“You vvl^ be we^ acquainted with Paris by the time you have finished.

What shall you do after the Villefranche picture? “

“Go back to England unless ” Unless there are other commissions? I should think there might well be. I hear your name mentioned a great deal. “

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, with considerable awe. The fact that you are a woman seems to have added a piquancy. The Baron saw to that.”

I was silent.

“Do come and see me,” she said.

“I should love to show you my house.”

“Thank you.” I took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my coat.

“I shall expect you. I am really very pleased that we have met again.”

“Thank you. Do you think it is a little chilly up here?”

“Yes, let’s go down. Will you go first or shall I?”

I followed her down. I thought how elegant she looked, how serene.

But what was she really feeling this discarded woman?

I had finished Sophie’s portrait and had begun that of Francoise when the fearful certainty came to me. I was going to have a child.

The horror of this crashed down on me. It had been a faint black cloud in the sky for some little while and then came the certainty. I should have realized that it was highly probable. I think I had felt that I could not contemplate anything worse than what I had already endured and had refused to look this possibility in the face.

A child. His child! I had promised myself that I would forget that humiliating incident but as this had happened, it

“I think I startled you,” she went on.

“Yes. I… I thought I was alone up here.”

“People don’t often trail up those steps. Do you know there are three hundred and ninety-seven of them?”

“It seemed like a thousand.”

She laughed.

“I was so pleased to see you in the crowd, but you didn’t see me. I saw you start up the stairs and I guessed you were coming to look at the view. You’re at the Duponts* in Courcelles, I believe?”

“Yes,” I said; and I thought: She would know, of course. She was at the chateau when it was arranged. How much more did she know? “I couldn’t resist coming to see the wedding,” she said.

“Couldn’t you?” I looked at her searchingly. Did she care ; very much? She did not seem to.

“I hope it’s a success,” she said, and I noticed she had not said that she hoped they would be happy. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I hope, too, that you will come and see me while you are in Paris. I have a house on the Left Bank. Let me give you a card. It’s not very far from the Sorbonne and near the^ Luxembourg Gardens. Quite pleasant. ”

“You live there … all the time.”

“Yes, now. All the time.”

So I thought: It is over for you then. You are just thrown aside. But she seemed very happy.

“How are the portraits going?”

“Quite well. I have done the elder young lady. Now I havens the younger and then there is a cousin. I think it better former to do the three before I move on to the house of Monsieur’s Villefranche. ”

"So you will be in Paris for some time yet. I think the Villefranche house is in the Avenue de 1”Alma just off the Champs-Elysees.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“You wu! be well acquainted with Paris by the time you have finished.

What shall you do after the Villefranche picture? “

“Go back to England unless ” Unless there are other commissions? I should think there might well be. I hear your name mentioned a great deal. “

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, with considerable awe. The fact that you are a woman seems to have added a piquancy. The Baron saw to that.”

I was silent.

“Do come and see me,” she said.

“I should love to show you my house.”

“Thank you.” I took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my coat.

“I shall expect you. I am really very pleased that we have met again.”

“Thank you. Do you think it is a little chilly up here?”

“Yes, let’s go down. Will you go first or shall I?”

I followed her down. I thought how elegant she looked, how serene.

But what was she really feeling-this discarded woman?

I had finished Sophie’s portrait and had begun that of Francoise when the fearful certainty came to me. I was going to have a child.

The horror of this crashed down on me. It had been a faint black cloud in the sky for some little while and then came the ^ftsinty. I should have realized that it was highly probable. I think I had felt that I could not contemplate anything worse than what I had already endured and had refused to look this possibility in the face.

A child. His child! I had promised myself that I would rorge^ (hat humiliating incident but as this had happened, it would mean that that terrible interlude would be with me for the rest of my life.

It now seemed an inevitable consequence. We had been together for three nights . three nights of incessant rape, I called it. And now a child . living evidence of what had happened to me.

Had he thought of this? I was sure he had. He had thought I was going to marry Bertrand and had no doubt considered that it would be rather amusing for me to bear a child to whom Bertrand could give his name.

There was, however, to be no marriage. I had not heard from Bertrand and I felt that I never would. I did not want to really.

But now . what was I going to do? I, an unmarried woman, was to bear a child.

I was amazed that I could work, but I did. I could throw myself wholeheartedly into work and forget everything while I was thus engaged. There was nothing for me but that young face which I had to produce for immortality. A hundred years from this moment people would look at my miniature of Francoise and know how she had looked at this time.

My work soothed me; in a way it revitalized me; it took strain from my mind; it gave me blessed forgetfulness of a future which must be fraught with difficulties.

But as soon as I had ceased to work the clouds settled round me.

Perhaps I had made a mistake. In my heart I knew it was no mistake.

Something had warned me when I had seen him in the carriage with Marie-Claude that I had not seen the last of him.

I spent a lot of time in my room. Soon I should have to pass on to the house of Monsieur Villefranche. After that I would go home. I tried to imagine myself telling my father and Clare.

How could I do that? Well-brought-up young ladies did not suddenly announce that they were about to give birth to a bastard.

I heard myself telling my father: “I was abducted, forced to submit to the wicked Baron. This is the result.”

It sounded feeble. Why had I said nothing about it until now? The inference would be that I had willingly dallied with the Baron knowing full well that he was betrothed to the Princesse.

“I hate him! I hate him!” I said aloud and then laughed at myself.

What was the use of reviling him now?

But what was I going to do?

Here I was on the brink of a great career and this had happened to me.

If it hadn’t I could have forgotten in time. Perhaps I could have settled down to a normal life with someone else, although at the moment I felt that to be impossible. He had damaged me mentally as well as physically, I had heard this could happen. He had made me shrink from men because if ever one approached me I should see his face leering at me, looking like the demon-gargoyle of Notre Dame.

As I considered the implications of what had happened to me I began to get frightened. I had time to ponder, it was true. Moreover, i had another portrait to do before I returned to England so had not to go immediately. I kept wondering how I could tell my father. He would be kindly and understanding, I knew; but he would be very shocked and I did not see how I could stay at Collison House with all the village knowing about my child.

I walked a great deal during those days. I had plenty of time to myself, and if I worked all morning I did not take up my brush during the rest of the day. In the early afternoon I need relaxation and I never felt the light was good enough after four o’clock.

I had lost my eager interest in the city. I would walk without even seeing the objects of beauty and antiquity. I was confronted all the time by my own seemingly insoluble problem.

One afternoon I sat down outside the Cafe Anglais where little tables had been set up under pink and white sunshades. It was getting a little chilly now, for we were well into September and there was a touch of autumn in the air. I wondered vaguely how much longer one would be able to sit in the streets and watch the people pass by as one drank a cup of coffee.

I was sitting there, deep in thought, when a voice called out: “Why, hello. It’s you again.” It was Nicole St. Giles.

“May I sit with you?” she went on.

“I’d like a cup of coffee.” She called to the garçon to bring it to her; then she turned to me.

“You look worried. Isn’t the picture going well?”

“Yes, the picture is going very well.”

“How fortunate you are to be so gifted! I suppose you feel that having this gift… well, it’s a compensation for so many things, isn’t it… almost everything?”

She was looking at me steadily and after a slight pause she said: “Do tell me what’s wrong. I’d like to help if I can.”

Perhaps it was the kindliness in her face. Perhaps it was the gentleness in her voice as she took my hand and pressed it. It might have been because I was so desperate. In any case, I clutched her hand and said: “I am going to have a child.”

She looked at me intently and said: “We can’t talk here very well.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know why I told you.”

Her coffee had come and she stirred it absentmindedly.

“You told me because you had to tell someone,” she said.

“I’m so glad I came along then. Come to my house. There we can talk in comfort.

Don’t worry. I am sure I can be of help. It’s not such an unusual state of affairs you know. It has happened before . many times.

The thing is to keep a cool head. “

Strangely enough I felt tremendously relieved, and when she had finished her coffee and the bill was paid she hired a cab and we sped away together.

The cab pulled up in one of the streets leading from the Boulevard St. Michel. We were before a white house of some four stories.

“Here we are,” said Nicole, and led the way up three steps to a door guarded by lions. She opened the door and we were in a hall of quite large proportions with a moulded ceiling which was decidedly elegant.

A door opened and a man whom my knowledge of the city immediately told me was a concierge appeared.

He said good day to Madame St. Giles and eyed me curiously while we passed into a room with long windows looking out on a patio in which grew potted plants.

There was a grand piano in one corner, several settees, comfortable-looking chairs, and one or two tables; an ormolu clock chimed four on the mantelpiece over the fireplace and on either side of it were figurines, flimsy draperies covering their anatomy in those sections which it would have been considered, in polite society, immodest to reveal.

She certainly had a comfortable-even luxurious home.

“Do sit down,” she said, ‘and tell me. “

I told her frankly what had happened. She nodded as I went along, and what was so comforting, did not question anything but believed all I said. Of course, she knew the Baron as well as anyone could.

She said at length: “It’s not an easy situation, but you can manage.”

“Manage!” I cried.

“I don’t know what to do. I could go home, I suppose. Can you imagine what it would be like in a small confined English village.”

“Very much what it would be like in a small confined French one,” she said.

“But of’ course you won’t go back there.”

“How how … where …”

She looked at me and smiled. I had always thought she had a sweet smile.

“Will you let me help … advise?”

“I am in such a state of anxiety that I would welcome any help and advice.”

“Don’t panic,” she said.

“Remember it is not an unusual situation.”

“You mean … rape … and such consequences.”

“I really meant respectable young women finding themselves pregnant.

You are fortunate. You have your work. That must be a great solace.

Moreover, it is a means of livelihood . quite a good livelihood I imagine. “

“It is becoming so.”

“And it will go on getting better and better. You are on the road to fame and fortune. This … matter … must not interfere with that.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I do. Because you are going to let me help.”

“I have no idea what I… or anyone … can do. Here I am a stranger in this city. I shall work while I can. Then I suppose I must go home.

I know my father will help but it will be a great shock for him. He has had one shock. His eyes . you know. “

“Yes, I do know.” She leaned towards me and touched my hand briefly.

“Will you … let me be your friend?”

I looked at her in astonishment.

“It is difficult for me to say all I feel,” she went on.

“You probably regard me as little more than a stranger. I don’t feel we are. You know a good deal about me. I know of you. And we both know the Baron . intimately.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about that wretched experience.”

“I understand. Listen. I am alone here. You are in this situation.

Please let me help you? “

“How could you?”

“To begin with I could talk to you. It is always a good idea to discuss these matters, to consider what is the best way of tackling them. I know Paris very well. I would know where you could go to have your baby. I have this house. It is large. I don’t use it all. I have thought of letting part of it. At night it seems so quiet here.

Sometimes I give parties. I Lave many acquaintances . people I knew in the past. but very few real friends. I am putting a proposition to you. I know I can help you. Take some rooms in this house. Make one your studio. You need quarters in Paris. You want people to come to you to be painted. You don’t want to go to their houses just when they call you. You have to set yourself up as a great artist . act like a great artist . live like one. Now this would be a good address for you. We are on the Left Bank. that is where the intellectual people are gathering . clerics, professors, students, artists are here . I am talking too much. “

“Of course you are not. Please go on. It is so kind of you. I could see no way out of my problem … I don’t know why you take so much trouble about me.”

She was silent for a moment, then she said.

“In a way we are both .. victims. No, I mustn’t say that. It’s not true.”

“You mean of the Baron de Centeville.”

“It is not fair to say that I am a victim. I’ll explain all that to you some time, but now let us think of you. I realize this is all very sudden and you want time to think about it. But really, Kate … May I call you Kate? … I think we are going to be good friends. You have a great deal of planning to do and the sooner you begin the better.”

“You talk as though everything is so simple.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but most things are not as difficult as one first thought if they are approached in a sensible and realistic way.”

“But I am going to have a child!"

“I always longed for children,” she said.

“I could envy you.”

“This child will be the result of something I want more than anything to forget. If only I could go back in time. If only I had gone straight home instead of making that journey …”

Again she touched my hand.

“Don’t think back. Think forward.”

I contemplated her earnest face. I was a little unsure as I must be of anything connected with the Baron, and I reminded myself that she had been his mistress and probably his confidante. How could I be sure that this was not some fresh plot?

She understood the trend of my thoughts.

“You’ll want to consider this very carefully,” she said.

“Go back now. The concierge will get a cab for you. You have my address. Think about everything. There is an attic right on the rooftops with plenty of glass. It was built for an artist. I will help you … having the child. I can put you in touch with the people you will need. You can make this your home, and let me tell you that in this part of Paris you are not expected to live the conventional life that you would be in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. You could work here. Your patrons could come to be painted. It is a proposition. But I do understand that you will need time to decide.”

“It is very grand,” I said.

“Should I be able to afford it?”

“My dear Kate, you need to be grand to show how successful you are, and if you are successful you will be able to afford it. Come. You need to contemplate all this. Such decisions should not be made lightly.”

“I have a great deal of thinking to do, I know.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Go now,” she said.

“You have my address. You know where to find me.”

“But how can I thank you.”

She saw me into the cab.

“Remember,” she said.

“You are not alone … unless you want to be. I will be your friend if you want me. It is for you to decide.”

That encounter changed everything. I could see before me an avenue of escape, however bizarre it seemed. I occupied myself during the next few days thinking about it. It was a mercy that while I worked I was able to shut out everything else but the portrait.

The more I thought of Nicole’s suggestion, the more possible it appeared. It seemed the only possibility. I went to see Nicole again.

She was delighted that I had come and I fancied that my predicament had given her a new interest in life which she badly needed at this time. True, I was a little suspicious. Surely anyone who had been treated as I had would be. This was chiefly because of her past connection with the Baron. Everyone who had been near to him could be polluted.

On my second visit, she said: “I want you to come, Kate. I want to help you. I’m feeling very lonely .. lately.”

“Because of… him?”

“I was with him for eight years. It’s a long time. You don’t speak. I can see that you do not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. We were both used by him. You happened to agree and I did not.”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. But don’t waste your sympathy on me. I knew this would happen eventually. He would marry and that would be the time for me to disappear. It was understood from the first.”

“Do you mean it was a sort of contract?”

“Not in the usual understanding of such a term. My mother was … well, not exactly a courtesan. Shall we say a demimondaine She was the mistress of a great nobleman. He provided for her and looked after her when her services were no longer required. It was a life she was bred to. So was I. I was married when I was seventeen to Jacques St. Giles.

He was a respectable young man who worked in one of our banks. We lived together for a year, but it was never meant to last. My mother wanted me to marry. I would then have a right to call myself Madame which, she always said, gentlemen preferred to Mademoiselle. A young girl could make demands which a married woman could not so marriage made the situation so much more comfortable. “

“It all seems rather cynical.”

“Call it realistic. Then I was introduced to the Baron by my mother, who hoped that I would please him. I did. I had been well educated, brought up to appreciate art and to be what is called a cultivated woman. I was taught how to carry myself, how to dress, how to converse with grace. That was the theme of my education … to please. Well, it is what I did. And here I am. Thirty years of age, with my own house and a comfortable settlement. I need never work again as long as I live. You might say I was brought up in a rewarding profession, one which brings good returns and security. Better, I was always taught, than becoming a drudge and mother of many children. Do you understand?”

“I still think it very mercenary and, I must confess, immoral.”

“Oh, you will never understand. I don’t suppose this sort of thing would happen in England. It’s part of French life the life of the demimondaine I was born into it. I found a generous lover … and here I am. I see you are more than a little shocked. Please don’t be and don’t be sorry for me. It was a very pleasant life.”

“With that man!”

“Let me tell you I became quite fond of him. I began to learn something about him.”

“And that made you fond of him?”

“It made me see why he was the man he was.”

“And you could really be fond of such a man?”

“Kate, what he did to you was unforgivable. Don’t think I

don’t realize that. If it had happened to me . and I had been like you . I should have felt the same. “

“It was monstrous,” I said fiercely.

“It is treating people about him as though they are of no importance beyond the use they can be to him.

It is picking them up . exploiting them . and then throwing them aside. “

“I know. It was his upbringing. His father and his grandfather were like that. He was brought up to believe that that was the way men such as they were behaved.”

“It is time someone taught them differently.”

“No one will ever do that. You see how it is now. A word from the Baron and-everyone acclaims you. He has power … even in these days he has it.”

“You mean money! Position!”

“Yes, but more than that. It is something in his personality. If you could understand you would realize why he is the way he is.”

“I don’t care why. It is because he is that way that he maddens me. He should be punished, taken to law.”

“Would you be prepared to go to law, to accuse him of rape? Would you stand up in a court? Think of the questions they would ask. Why did you not complain at the time? That is what they would ask. You would hurt yourself more than you could hurt him. Be practical. Don’t go on brooding on what has happened. Think of what you are going to do now.”

I said: “I shall soon have finished Francoise’s portrait. There is to be a ball. The miniatures will be shown there.”

“What the Baron does today the world does tomorrow. Madame Dupont is slavishly copying the style he sets. Never mind. It’s all to the good.

It may well bring in fresh business. From that ball I’ll swear you get two more definite commissions at least and perhaps many more. “

“After that I leave for the house of Monsieur Villefranche for his wife’s picture.”

“And then?”

“I should go home and see my father.”

“And tell him?”

“I don’t know whether I could do that. Perhaps when I come face to face with him I shall know whether or not I can tell him.”

“And if you could not?”

I turned to her.

“You have been so kind to me... so helpful.”

“I hope I shall be your friend.”

“I can tell you that since our meeting I have felt so much better. You have made me realize that I have to stop looking back. I have to plan.

I am afraid I shall hate this child. “

She shook her head.

“Women like you never hate their children. As soon as this baby arrives you will love it and forget the way it came.”

“If it should look like him …”

“I will make a wager. You will love this child more because of the problems of its birth.”

“You are a very worldly woman, Nicole,” I said.

She smiled at me and said softly: “It is the best way to survive.”

Madame Dupont gave her ball, which was to launch Emilie into society.

There were many guests and I was treated with great respect. My work was admired and Nicole was right. Two people gave me definite invitations to visit their houses and paint portraits.

I was effusively complimented on the miniatures. Madame Dupont had had them set in frames embellished with diamonds and rubies. She could hardly copy the Baron so blatantly as to choose sapphires, but I felt sure she would have liked to.

However, it was very satisfactory and I could see that I was really being projected into a successful career.

How gratifying it would have been but for the part the

Baron had played in my life. if only I had never met him! But then all this would not have happened if I had not.

I was meeting Nicole regularly and getting to like her more and more.

She was frank about herself. She told me she was lonely and wanted friendship. Perhaps she felt a little resentful about being cast off by the Baron (although she always insisted that he was not to blame and that the position had been understood from the first), perhaps she felt that we who had both known him would understand each other; however, the friendship between us nourished, and the more I thought of her proposition the more it seemed that it was the only road open to me.

I left the Duponts and went to the Villefranche house. Madame Villefranche was a pretty little woman with a happy temperament and very contented with her lot. She gave me little difficulty and I was able to produce a very beautiful picture other.

I was feeling more calm now and no longer awoke in a cloud of horror.

Nicole had convinced me that with a little careful planning, I could come through the ordeal which lay before me. Moreover, I was beginning to feel something for the child, and I realized that if I were to discover it were all a mistake after all, my feelings would be very mixed.

Nicole was right. I should love the child when it came, and the thought of its coming gave me a strange sense of fulfilment.

By the time I had finished the Villefranche portrait I had made up my mind that I would go to see my father immediately. I would stay at home for a week and then come back to carry out my next commission.

During that time I would definitely decide what I was going to do.

Nicole said that was a wise procedure.

It was the beginning of October when I went back. I felt emotional as the train carried me across the Kentish country. I noticed that the hops had been gathered in. They would be storing them in the oast houses scattered across this part of the country; and now was the time for the fruit to be gathered in.

Ladders were propped against the trees and rosy apples and russety pears were being packed into baskets.

Home! I thought. I shall miss it. But it is not so very far away. I can come back sometimes. Nicole will think of something.

So much would depend on what happened within the next week. If I could bring myself to tell my father, he might have some plan. Perhaps he and I could go away together. No, that would not do. Besides, how could we live? I knew he had saved enough to live on in a modest way, but that would not include travelling and how could he live away from Collison House, and how could I live there with my child? It would be in the minds of everyone in the village even if they were kind as I knew my friends would be that my child was a bastard.

A warm welcome was awaiting me. How comfortable it was! More homely than in Evie’s day. A little untidy perhaps, but I could only repeat myself homely. That was Clare’s influence.

She came out with my father when I arrived and they both hugged me tightly.

“It is wonderful to see you,” said my father, and Clare echoed:

“Wonderful, wonderful. Your room is all ready. I have made sure the bed has had a good airing.”

“Clare is always fussing about airing.” said my father fondly.

“She coddles us, in fact.”

Clare tried to look severe, which was impossible.

“It is something I insist on,” she said.

I felt more grateful to her than ever. Having someone like Clare to look after everything at Collison House made my decision so much easier.

My father wanted to know all that had happened. I told him about the portraits I had done and the new commissions I had. , He was completely delighted.

“Splendid! Splendid!” he cried.

“It’s like a miracle. Who would have thought on the day we received that letter from France all this would grow out of it.”

Who indeed? I thought. And if only he knew what had grown out of it!

“It’s the most wonderful thing that could have happened to you, Kate,” he said.

“But for this you would have stayed here with me. Nobody would have given you credit for the work for years. It’s changed you, Kate. You even look different.”

“How different?” I asked.

“Ready to face the world. Ready to take all it offers you.”

“Can you see a difference then?”

“I know you so well, my dear. You now look and talk like the assured artist you are .. I wish I could have seen those portraits.”

“I knew they were good,” I said.

“You have been doing fine work for a long time now.”

“And what of you, Father? What have you been doing?”

“I do a little painting. I have taken up landscapes and can manage quite well. One doesn’t have to produce exactly what one sees. If you miss something you say, ” That’s art. This is not copying”.”

“And you enjoy this landscape painting? I must see some of it.”

“Well, we have plenty of time for that.”

“I have only a week, you know. Then I must go back. I’ve promised.”

“Yes, yes, of course. You have to paint as many miniatures as you can while this fashion for you lasts.”

“Do you think it is just a fashion?”

“It may not be. In fact I think you’re too good for that.

Let’s say it began as a fashion because of the glowing comments of a man whose opinion is respected in art circles . and in society. “

“I have to make it more than that, Father.”

“You are doing so. As I said: Do as much as you can now. I am glad you found time to come and see me.”

Now was the time to tell him. He looked almost contented. He had come to terms with his disability; he was finding satisfaction in his landscapes. He would not be able to continue indefinitely with them, of course, but they were forming a pleasant bridge for him. He was not going to be catapulted into blindness without having time to prepare for it. And I knew that my success had been the greatest help of all in this sad matter. He could bear his own disability while he could think of my carrying on the family tradition.

I thought in that moment: “No, I cannot tell him. I have to play it Nicole’s way.

“There is something I want to talk to you about, Father,” I said.

“Do you remember Nicole St. Giles?”

“Wasn’t she a friend of the Baron?”

“Yes. He’s married now. He married the Princesse. I saw something of the wedding. But I wanted to talk to you about Nicole. She is a very sophisticated woman and has a largish house on the Left Bank. I have become quite friendly with her.”

“A very pleasant woman, as I remember.”

“She is very pleasant. She has suggested that it would be better for my career if I took a place of my own in Paris … as that is where the work is. Her own house is too big for her and she has offered to let me part of it.”

He was silent for a few moments. I felt my heart beat uneasily. I thought: He doesn’t like it. But the cloud passed. He said: “You have to plan your career very carefully, Kate. You’re handicapped by being a woman. I’ve always thought that was foolish … foolish and unworthy. A good painting is a good painting, whoever does it. You would live there on your own, Kate?”

“Well, Madame St. Giles would be in the house … a sort of chaperone.”

“I see.”

“Sharing the house is her idea. There’s an attic which could be turned into a studio and a magnificent room where I could entertain clients.

Madame St. Giles knows many people and it is her opinion that if I just carry out commissions that come in the way they have so far there will be a time when I shall run short of them. I should then return to England . and obscurity. “

He lapsed again into silence for a few seconds. Then he said slowly:

“I think she may be right. It’s a bit of a venture. And, Kate, remember, if it doesn’t work you can always come home.”

I put my arms round him and held him close to me. How I hated deceiving him! But I simply could not tell him that I was going to have a child. He was happier now than he had been since the fearful discovery. He was seeking so many compensations. Because he had lost his keen vision I was taking on the family mantle. I was being given my chance which he realized I might never have had. Evie had gone and at the time that had seemed a calamity but lo, here was Clare, to bring a warmer atmosphere into the house.

He was happy as things were and I had made my decision.

It was moving to see how pleased they all were to have me home and yet in a way it gave me an uneasy qualm to think of what I had to do. Mrs. Baines had made the usual steak pudding, and as I knew the amount I ate would be reported, I did my best.

I had to hear what was going on in the village.

Clare knew a great deal about village life. She had thrown herself into it so wholeheartedly. Dear Clare, I sensed her delight in having

become part of a family, part of a community. She must have been very lonely before coming to us.

Dick Meadows was fully qualified now and there was a new curate at the vicarage. Dick was doing a stint as curate somewhere in the Midlands and Frances was still keeping house for her father.

“Poor Frances,” said Clare with feeling, ‘that will be her life. “

Her eyes filled with tears of compassion. She was, I knew, thinking of what Frances’s life would be . looking after her father until she was middle-aged, and when he died it would be too late for her to have a life other own. A fate which befell many daughters and could have been Clare’s own.

“And what of the twins?” I asked.

There was silence. I looked from my father to Clare.

“There was a tragedy,” said my father.

“Poor Faith.”

“A tragedy!”

Clare shook her head and turned appealingly to my father.

“You tell her,” she begged.

“It upset Clare very much,” said my father.

“She was one of the last people to see her alive.”

“You mean Faith Camborne is dead?”

“It was an accident,” my father explained.

“You know Bracken’s Leap.”

Indeed I knew Bracken’s Leap. It was always forbidden to me when I was young.

“Don’t go near the Leap!” I could hear those words now. They had been used so often, Bracken’s Leap was that spot where the road wound upwards to a high headland. It rose stark up from the valley below. Someone had committed suicide there two hundred years before, and I had never known whether he had been named Bracken or whether it was so called because of the bracken which grew there.

“You mean Faith Camborne …”

“She fell,” said my father.

“We don’t know exactly whether it was an accident… or suicide.”

“You mean someone may have …”

“Oh, no, no, no! Whether she did it herself or slipped and lost her balance …”

“But she would never kill herself. She was such a timid creature. Oh dear, what an awful thing. Poor Faith! It is terrible when something like that happens to someone you have known.”

I kept seeing Faith and I couldn’t see Faith without Hope. They were always together. Faith clinging to her twin as though her life depended on that support. Poor, poor Faith.

Clare was clearly too overcome for speech. I remembered how friendly she had always been with the twins.

“It’s dangerous up there,” my father went on.

“They’ve fenced it off now.”

“Rather like shutting the stable door when the horse has run away,” I commented.

“Oh poor Faith! What about Hope and the doctor and his wife?”

“Very cut up … all of them. It’s a good thing that Hope is getting married and going away.”

“Do you think that Faith … Do you think it was because of Hope’s engagement?”

“We don’t know,” replied my father.

“The verdict was accidental death.

It’s better to leave it like that for everybody’s sake. “

I nodded.

Clare was quietly crying.

I leaned over and touched her hands. She turned her swimming eyes to me.

“She was my special friend,” she said.

“They both were … but I think Faith specially … more than Hope. It was terrible.”

There was silence at the table. Then my father said: “I wonder what she would have done when Hope married.”

“Poor Faith,” said Clare, ‘she would have been lost without her sister. ”

My father sought to change the subject which so clearly upset Clare. He said: “Kate has had a wonderful offer. Someone she met in Paris has offered to rent her an apartment in the heart of Paris.

There is a studio and everything that is necessary for her work. She can take it for a while and see how things work out. Commissions at the moment are rolling in. “

Clare was smiling at me.

“Oh, Kate. I’m so happy for you. It is wonderful how everything is turning out for you. I love to hear about that party when that … what was he … Baron or someone .. told them all what a great artist you are.”

“It’s not more than she deserves,” said my father.

“How will you like living in a foreign city … away from everyone?” asked Clare.

“I shall miss you all,” I told her.

“But I shall come home when I can.

And it seems to me the right. the only thing . to do. “

“Let’s drink to Kate’s success,” said Clare.

The tears for Faith were still in her eyes as she lifted her glass.

I often thought how much I owed to Nicole.

She was practical in the extreme and as soon as I returned to Paris to the house of the Regniers my next commission-I went to see her.

“Well?” she said.

But I didn’t have to tell her. She knew. She put her arms round me and held me close to her for a moment.

Then she said: “Now we start to plan.”

After that I saw her almost every day. There was so much to talk about, so much to arrange. It was immediately decided that the attic should be my studio, and that I should have a room in which to receive people and discuss appointments and terms. We should share the salon and I should have a bedroom next to the attic.

“There is a suite of rooms up there,” she said, ‘and you can have those when the baby arrives. They’ll be suitable for the first few months anyway . until the child begins to walk. “

She had worked out everything. I must, of course, remain Kate Collison. But instead of being Mademoiselle I should become Madame. We could have a vague story in the background about a husband who had unfortunately died.

“The tragedy is fairly recent,” she explained, ‘so we do not wish to discuss it. It is too painful. You retained the name of Collison because it means a great deal in the art world and you are carrying on the family tradition. ” She paused and then went on: ” As soon as the present commissions are completed you will expect clients to come to the studio to be painted. In the meantime we will prepare it and make sure it is all that it should be to accommodate a fashionable and famous artist. You can go on painting right until the last month, I should think. In any case we can see about that when the time comes. I shall engage a midwife who I know is efficient in her job and does in fact attend the nobility. In the meantime we shall prepare for this infant. We shall have everything of the best for it.

Leave that to me. “

“I want to be careful with money,” I insisted.

“I know I am highly paid now and I have saved quite a bit. But I have the future to think of.”

“The future is assured if you will let it be. You have to act like a great artist. That is of the utmost importance. Money affairs are mundane matters. They should not concern you overmuch. You are deeply interested only in art. I think we are getting everything arranged nicely. All we have to do now is to await the birth and in the meantime go on painting and piling up the shekels.”

“Nicole,” I said one day, ‘why are you doing all this for me? “

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “Friendship.” And after another pause: “I’m doing it for myself in a way. I was lonely. The days seemed so long. They don’t any more. I always wanted children. “

“Do you mean … his … ?”

“Well,” she said, ‘it wouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t want a wife then. He wanted a mistress. “

“And, of course, he thought only of himself, as always.”

“I never told him I wanted children.”

“He might have guessed that any woman would.”

“Not my sort of woman.”

“How can you talk of sorts of women! They are all individuals … no two alike.”

“No, perhaps not. But we can be roughly sorted into types. I mean, the women who choose the way of life I chose do not usually want children.”

“That way of life was chosen for you.”

“Well, most of us have something chosen for us. It is the bold ones who break away. No. I must be fair. I accepted that way of life because it was amusing and interesting. I had tried respectability, hadn’t I, and I knew it wasn’t for me.”

“Nicole, I fancy I’m growing up fast, through you.”

“I’m glad to be of help and what I wanted to say is that it is no use blaming anyone for what we are. It’s in our hands.”

‘“Not in our stars but in ourselves …” I quoted.

“Oh yes, I see that.”

“And we should be lenient in our judgement of others.” She looked at me almost appealingly.

“The way in which we are brought up does affect our lives. You see, in my case, I was made to see a great deal that was desirable in pandering to the pleasure of someone who could give me a secure future. It’s like many people’s approach to marriage in a way. Think of all those fond Mammas parading their daughters for the highest bidder, one might say. It was the same with me. More honest in a way. I had to give more in return for what I received. I had to continue to please.” She laughed at me.

“It sounds immoral, doesn’t it, to one who has been brought up carefully in a pleasant household. But you see, heredity and upbringing have made you a painter; the same thing has made me a courtesan. “

“They made you clever, understanding and kind, and I’m grateful to you, Nicole. In fact, I don’t know what I should have done without you.”

“Well, it is not all for you. I was lonely. I wanted an interest. Oh Kate, I am looking forward to our baby.”

“Nicole, so am I. So am I!”

On another occasion she said: “You don’t feel so vehement about him now, do you?”

She nodded.

“I hate him as intensely as ever.”

“You mustn’t.”

“I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. I shall always hate him.”

“You shouldn’t. It might be bad for the child. He is the father, remember.”

“I wish I could forget that.”

“Try to understand him.”

“Understand him! I understand him too well. He’s a throw-back to the age of barbarism. He has no place in a civilized world.”

“He used to talk to me about his childhood sometimes.”

“I am sure he was the most horrible child who tortured little animals and tore the wings off flies.”

“No, he did not. He was fond of animals. He loves his dogs and horses.”

“Was it really possible for him to love anything besides himself?”

“Now you are working yourself up and as I told you that’s bad for the child.”

“Anything connected with him is bad for everyone near him.”

“But he is the child’s father.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Nicole, don’t keep reminding me of that.”

“I want you to see him in a new light. You must understand what sort of man his father was.”

“Just like him, I should imagine.”

“He was the only son. Everything was concentrated on him.”

“He liked that, I am sure.”

“No. It meant that he was always under observation … he was brought up in a way which made him what he is. He had to excel at everything.

He was constantly made aware of his ancestry. “

“Those savage marauding Normans who raided the coasts of peaceful people, stole their goods and raped their women. I can well believe that.”

“A child is brought up like that … forced to excel in all manly sports, taught to be a stoic, taught the importance of power, brought up to see his family as the greatest in the world. He has even been named after one of them. Rollo-apparently was the first leader who came to Normandy.”

“Yes, I know. He raided the coast and so harassed the French that to keep the invaders quiet they gave them a part of their country which was called Normandy. He was very anxious to tell me at the very beginning of our disastrous acquaintance that he was not French. He was Norman. I think he really believed he was back in those dark ages.

He certainly behaved as though he were. “

“Yet in spite of this there was a certain sensitivity.”

“Sensitivity!”

“This love of art. I’ll tell you something else: he wanted to be an artist. You can imagine the storm in the Centeville camp when that was discovered. There had never been an artist in the family. They were all hoary warriors. That was stamped on at once.”

“I am surprised he allowed that to be.”

“He didn’t, did he? He became both … and because his efforts were divided he wasn’t entirely successful at either.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is not a painter but I have heard it said that there is not a man in France who knows more about painting. He is ruthless, upholding his power and yet he has a sentimental streak which is quite alien to everything else about him.”

“Sentimental streak! Really, Nicole. You are romancing.”

“Didn’t he proclaim your talent? Don’t you owe the fact that you are on the way to him?”

“That was simply because he admired my work … recognized it for what it was, and he knew that I could paint a miniature as well as my father could.”

“But he did it, didn’t he? He went to considerable pains to advance your career.”

“And then went to even greater pains to destroy it. No, I shall always hate him. I see him for what he is and that is … a monster.”

“Don’t get excited,” said Nicole.

“It’s bad for the child.”

I became more and more grateful to Nicole as the months passed. She carried off our masquerade with aplomb; everything she did was done in the true spirit of generosity which was to make me feel that the benefit was hers. She had been lonely, bored, and I had given her something to plan for. My desperate situation had relieved the monotony other days. The only time she was impatient was when I tried to express my gratitude.

The arrangements in the house were perfect. The studio was large, airy and light. It was all a studio should be. She had one day a week when she received her friends. I was always with her on these occasions and this brought me many clients. I had worked right up to the time of my confinement so I was not going to be short of money and was able to pay Nicole a reasonable price for my rent, although I knew full well that she did not want to take it. However, I insisted on this.

She was introducing me to a new way of life. I had become Madame Collison, the famous artist; and Nicole, who certainly did not observe the rules of convention for herself, had decided that it might be advisable for me to give some regard to them. Therefore she hinted at a deceased husband and the posthumous child-to-be. It made a very interesting situation and surrounded me with a certain amount of mystery which made me an intriguing personality as well as a talented artist.

I enjoyed the evenings until I began to get too large and then I felt the need to rest. All sorts of people came to the salon. There was. a great deal of music. Nicole played the piano with spirit and sometimes she engaged professional musicians. She liked, though, to choose people who were trying to get a hearing in that field. She was very sympathetic and whatever anyone thought about her past life, fundamentally good. I had reason to know that. Artists, writers, musicians came. It was an absorbing and exciting life; and I was beginning to be happy, for Nicole insisted that I should be. She would shake her finger at me and I would rush in with it before she had time to say it: “For the sake of the child …”

During the last months I would lie on a sofa in the salon with a velvet cover to hide my body, and people came and sat beside me, and sometimes they knelt, which made me feel like a queen.

The midwife, chosen by Nicole, had moved in. My time was approaching.

Then came the all-important day and my child was born.

I came out of exhaustion to hear the cry. loud and lusty.

I heard the midwife say: “This one will give a good account of himself

Then I knew I had a boy.

When he was laid in my arms, Nicole was there, smiling proudly. She told me that he weighed nine pounds, which was very big-and he was perfect in every way.

“He is going to be something… our boy,” she said.

She doted on him from the hour of his birth and we talked of nothing else but this marvelous boy.

“What shall you call him?” she asked, and for a moment I thought she was going to suggest Rollo and I felt anger welling up within me.

I said quickly: “I am going to call him Kendal… after my father.

There must be a K . just in case . “

She was laughing.

“But of course he must be Kendal,” she said.

“He must have the magical initials just in case he should turn out to be a great artist.”

She rocked him in her arms. She marvelled at him. I liked to see her happy.

Then she gave him to me and I held him close against me. I knew that anything that had gone before was worth it for his sake.