Excellent women. When they marry. The oldest is ready. My favorite. Quite beautiful. You mustn't think I exaggerate. I'll offer some evidence, monsieur. Just a few photographs. I always carry them with me.” He extracted two small photographs from the inside of his coat and handed them to me. “You see? What do you think? Tell me what you think of my wife and girls.”
I was surprised. The women were indeed beautiful. One photograph showed the mother with two small children. A woman with dark eyes, a heart-shaped face, sensuous lips. The other photograph apparently showed the girls as they were at present. Two beauties, indeed. The faces were striking. I told M. Fontan he was fortunate to have the affection of three beautiful women. He smiled as I returned the photographs to him. He chuckled as he replaced them in the pocket of his coat. “Are you married, monsieur?”
I said I was not. M. Fontan inclined his head and winked at me. He seemed amused. He looked at the countryside through the window and began talking about his travels in Spain.
We had dinner together in the dining car and the conversation continued. Fontan was always animated, always talking, his hands and lips moving. I told myself the man wasn't as boring as I'd feared. I told myself it was better to have a travelling companion than to travel alone. The trip to Paris, after all, would be long and tedious.
After dinner, Fontan revealed to me that his daughters were also Anglophiles. “It's my own doing, of course. They adore everything about England. They pine to make their first visit to London.” He said his fondest hope was that his daughters would marry Englishmen. I was amused. The idea that a Frenchman might have such strong feelings for England was unknown to me.
When we returned to our compartment, we bantered about England and France. Fontan proved quite familiar with London. We played cards. Fontan brought a bottle of Spanish wine out of one of his travelling bags and I found the wine enjoyable. The long hours passed one after the other, a long day, a long night, then another long day and night. Finally at dawn one morning we were almost in Paris. Fontan asked about my plans. I said I had none. My expectation was that I would remain in Paris a week and then move on to London. I was in no hurry to return to England. It was the end of a long holiday for me and my travels had been completely enjoyable.
Fontan seemed pleased. He invited me to meet his family while I stayed in Paris. I accepted the invitation. I was intrigued by the beauty of the women. We talked about my hotel arrangements. Then Fontan had a sudden inspiration. “You must stay with us. What a clever idea. Yes, I insist. You must be our guest.”
He said the Fontan house was small but they did have a guest room. He said it would be no inconvenience. He said that his family would be delighted to have me.
At first I was reluctant. The offer was extremely cordial, but I thought I needed the comfort provided by a hotel. I should have less freedom in a private home. But Fontan pressed me to accept his invitation. He talked of how his daughters would be so pleased to have an Englishman in the house. Once again I considered the beauty of the Fontan women. I finally agreed to go with Fontan directly to his house in Boulevard Houssmann.
And so my first meeting with the Fontan women occurred on the day M. Fontan and I arrived in Paris. A fateful day. One never knows the really important days until they are long gone.
Madame Fontan looked exactly as she had in her photograph. Older by ten years or so, but the beauty was still there. The daughters were twenty and sixteen. The older was Claire and the younger one Julie. They were as beautiful as their mother. M. Fontan and his photographs had not lied. He had also been truthful about the liking of his daughters for England and Englishmen. I was quickly overwhelmed by the warm hospitality of the Fontan family. It wasn't something to be trifled with. Chance had thrust me into the bosom of a Parisian family and I told myself I had certain responsibilities as an ambassador. But of course I wasn't that naive about the business. Fontan had two marriageable daughters and I was yet unmarried and apparently with a decent income. I understood the situation perfectly. I told myself a few days in the Fontan house would be an intriguing diversion and nothing more. I had no intentions to marry a French woman. I could never imagine such a thing and the idea of it seemed ridiculous. It wasn't very clever of me. It's an amusement now, but I certainly wasn't the cleverest bachelor in England.
I found the guest room comfortable. The furnishings were ordinary. The Fontans were obviously not aristocrats, but there were signs of a former elegance in the house. Perhaps Fontan expected his daughters would restore the family's fortune. At the moment, the girl to be married off was Claire. She was slender and tall, with a haughty look that I found intriguing. The younger girl seemed more gay and vibrant. Two lovely girls. There were also two maids that shared a small room off the pantry. Five women in the small house with Fontan. I thought at times he must feel bedeviled. Did he rule the household? Or was it Madame Fontan that ruled? I suspected it was Madame Fontan, the dark-eyed mother, the one with the sensuous mouth. She seemed in total possession of herself, confirmed and comfortable. Yes, it was Madame Fontan that ruled. She ordered the maids to put fresh flowers in my room. I was to be treated like an honored guest.
At dinner that first evening, Fontan talked of his travels in Spain and Portugal. There was also some discussion of a farm in Normandy that Fontan had recently inherited from his parents. Then I was questioned about my life in England. The fact that I was a marriageable bachelor was of obvious interest to Hector and Odette. The youngest girl blushed when Madame Fontan pointedly asked if I intended to marry soon. The older girl remained aloof. She said nothing. She seemed totally disinterested in me. If her manner belied her inner feelings, I had no way to know it.
After dinner we moved to the drawing room and continued talking. Fontan offered a cigar and I accepted. Once again I was charmed by the beauty of the women. Or was it the effects of the table wine? I decided there was something to be said for the sparkle of French women. The girls were animated as we discussed the differences between Shakespeare and Moliere. Fontan looked on with a smile. He seemed content with his family.
We had coffee and brandy. I hadn't had any female contact in some time, and before long I began to look at the Fontan women more closely. There is always something to look at. An ankle, the curve of a breast in a tight bodice, the smooth skin of a throat, the play of slender fingers as they turn a wine glass. I was amused because it was Madame Fontan who actually appealed to me more than the daughters. Her face and figure promised an abundance of passion. I envied Fontan such a wife. Then I told myself that appearances were often deceptive. Madame Fontan might indeed be cold. One never knows. One never knows a woman until a degree of intimacy occurs.
During the next few days, I was constantly in the presence of the family. They dined with me several times in the Odeon district as my guests. They seemed pleased. I suspected the restaurants were more lavish than those familiar to them. I bought presents for Madame Fontan and her two daughters, a necklace of pearls for each, and a new hat for each of the girls. The Fontans seemed delighted by it all. In the beginning the idea that I might be a suitor to one of the girls was nothing more than a game. After four days it was an idea I decided to consider seriously. Why not? I wanted a wife. I had always found French women sexually appealing. I had no family of my own, and here was a family that seemed eager to welcome me into its arms. Claire seemed more and more interested in looking upon me as a suitor. When Fontan spoke to me privately, I said yes, I would consider the possibility of marriage to Claire. He was quite happy. He insisted we drink a toast. He was so French. I had a sudden feeling that I'd gone completely mad.