The next morning, Berthe brought my hot water at seven-thirty and told me she would be back with my petit dejeuner.
I guessed that everyone took their breakfast in their bedrooms. Breakfasts here were not the meal they were at home, with a sideboard full of delicacies like devilled kidneys, eggs, bacon and kedgeree.
My French was adequate enough to enable me to deal with Berthe, and I told myself it would improve during my stay in France.
In due course, Berthe arrived with a tray, on which was hot crusty bread, a pot of coffee and a jug of hot milk.
I was surprised not only that was I able to consume it with relish but that I was also looking forward to the day’s experiences.
I found my way down to the hall and to the garden. The air was fresh and the scent of flowers was everywhere. I made my way to the pond in the centre of the lawn, in which two nymphs stood, their arms entwined. I could look back at the house now. I studied the towers, the grey walls and the shuttered windows. The sun glinting on the stones picked out little brilliants here and there. Grey, menacing in a way … but there was the terrace with the white tubs of flowering shrubs, and the green climbing plant, the tentacles of which clung in places to the grey stone as though determined to soften it.
“Good morning.” Robert was coming towards me.
How kind he was! How eager to make me happy. Charlie had been the same, and his kindness had led me to that acute unhappiness. How I yearned to be back in the old days, which I had believed would never end.
“I trust you slept well,” said Robert.
“Very well indeed. My room is lovely. I feel like Madame de Pompadour.”
“Oh … nothing so grand as that! But we do want you to be comfortable here.”
“I can see that. If I am not, it will be no fault of yours or your sister’s.”
He put his hand over mine. “Dear Noelle,” he said. “I understand how it is. We are going to try to make you put all that behind you. It is the only way.”
“I know. If only it were as easy as it sounds.”
“It will come in time. Angele was saying she was going to show you the house this morning.”
“That will be interesting.”
“And this afternoon, you have promised to go riding with Marie-Christine.”
“She seems to be a nice girl.”
“She’s a little difficult at times, I understand. Angele makes excuses for her. She lost her mother … and being brought up with older people … Mademoiselle is something of a dragon, I believe. However, come to the stables. I want to choose a suitable mount for you.”
“Now?” I asked.
“Why not?”
We walked across the garden to the stables. Jacques was there.
He said: “Bonjour, ” and Robert spoke to him about the horse. Jacques was ready. He produced a small chestnut mare. Her name was appropriately Marron. She was docile and not one for tricks, said Jacques. She liked a nice steady rider, and she could be trusted.
“It seems we have the right horse for you, Noelle,” said Robert. “For a beginning, at least.”
He explained to Jacques that I should be riding with Mademoiselle Marie-Christine that afternoon and Marron should be prepared. Jacques asked at what time. Well, dejeuner was at one o’clock. What about two-thirty? He was sure that would be all right.
When we left the stables we met Angele, who was looking for me.
“I wish to show Noelle the house,” she said. “These old houses can be a little … unexpected … you lose your way … but you quickly learn. It is only at first that it is a little … baffling.”
Robert passed me over to Angele and we began our tour of the house. She explained that, like many old houses, it had been repaired over the years. There had been additions and embellishments which make a house change its character. It must be different now from when it was first built.
“That is what makes it so interesting,” I said.
“Well … perhaps, in a way. In this hall, you see …there used to be a fireplace in the centre of the room … a sensible place to have a fireplace, for people could sit round it.”
“But dangerous,” I said.
“As all fires are, I suppose. You see, the smoke used to go up through a hole in the ceiling. Well, the roof has been repaired so many times that you can’t see it now. But you can see the outline on the floor.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Then there are the weapons that were used in battles. These are relics of the Hundred Years’ War, when your country was fighting mine. And here are the weapons from the Napoleonic Wars, when we were enemies once more.”
“I hope we never are again.”
“Let us hope. Our Emperor is eager for friendly relations with England. We have commercial treaties and that sort of thing. Then there are our interests in the Suez Canal. So let us hope that we never go to war with each other again.”
“The Emperor, I believe, is very popular here in France.”
“Oh yes … but he has his enemies. What ruler has not? The Empress Eugenie is beautiful and charming. There is a son and heir. So … all seems well. They are gracious and handsome, and wherever they go the people cheer them. Robert and I are sometimes invited to certain functions and we have been received with the utmost graciousness.”
“It seems that all is well, then.”
“Who can say when all is well? We remember that it is not so very long ago that we were in revolution. That is something a country does not very easily forget.”
“There would be no reason now.”
“People find reasons,” she said soberly. “But what a dismal conversation! It is all those weapons. I shall suggest to Robert that they be removed and we put up tapestries in their place. They are far more attractive. Well, this is the great hall and, apart from the removal of the central fireplace, it is almost the same as it has been through the ages.”
“It is very impressive.”
“Now, through there are the kitchens. We’ll leave those. The servants will be there.”
We went up a staircase and she took me through several rooms. They were all furnished in a style similar to that of the room I was occupying. Most of them were shuttered.
We mounted more steps and I was taken through a gallery in which several portraits hung. We paused to look at them and she pointed out members of the family, among them Robert and herself.
“This is my husband,” she said. “And here is Gerard.”
I paused before Gerard. He was more interesting to me because he was living and I should probably meet him.
He wore a dark coat with a white cravat; his hair looked almost black against his white skin. He had dark blue eyes and he reminded me of Marie-Christine. It was natural that there should be a likeness. Was she not his daughter? There was the same restlessness in his eyes which I had detected in hers; it was as though they were burdened by something … one might say haunted.
Angele said: “You find my son, Gerard, interesting?”
“Yes. He looks unhappy.”
“It was a mistake to have it painted at that time. But it was all arranged, you see. It was painted by Aristide Longere. Do you know his name?”
“No.”
“He is one of our fashionable painters. Oh yes, it was a mistake to have it painted so soon after …”
“After … ?”
“He had just lost his young wife. It was a terrible time.”
“I see.”
We moved away. “This is our father … mine and Robert’s.”
I could not stop wondering about Gerard as we went on through the gallery.