“It had something to do with that time when we were in great danger together. I think we revealed ourselves to each other.”
“Yes, it was after that. It certainly had an effect on her. She has talked of you once or twice. She had an admiration for you. It was a terrible shock to her when she believed you were my daughter … in more ways than the obvious one. She had known for a long time of my attachment to your mother.”
I thought of the scrapbook I had seen in her room. How her jealousy must have tormented her over the years! And it seemed more miraculous than ever that there could have been that friendship between us.
“Yes,” mused Charlie. “She would have been very happy for you to marry Roderick.”
What did it matter now? All our feelings went for nothing, all our discoveries were too late.
“You have not thought of marrying?” said Charlie.
I told him about Gerard du Carron.
“The one who was killed?”
“Yes.”
“And if he had not been?”
“I don’t know. I could not forget Roderick.”
“As he cannot forget you. What a tragedy!”
“For others, too. Poor Lisa! I am sorry for her. She was so ambitious, and I knew she loved Roderick.”
“We are an unhappy household. One feels it as soon as one enters the place. Roderick is thinking of going away for a time.”
“Where?”
“There’s a family estate in Scotland. He would not be away all the time, but periodically. I can’t help thinking he regards it as an escape … an excuse to get out of the house for periods.”
“And Lisa?”
“She could not leave Leverson. She is not well enough to travel. I shall have to tell them the news. Roderick must know, and I must tell my wife.”
“Do you think it will help?”
He lifted his shoulders. “And you and I, Noelle … this makes no difference to my feelings for you. I have always been so fond of you. We must keep in touch. If there is anything you need, I shall always be at hand. Remember that. This makes no difference to my feelings for you.”
“Nor mine for you.”
“If you need money …”
“I don’t. Robert has left me this house … and money, too. Marie-Christine, his great-niece, lives with me. I think it will be permanently. When she lost her family, I was the only one she could turn to. She, too, is comfortably off. It was fortunate that we were already good friends.”
“I am glad she is with you. As I was saying … if there is anything you need … at any time …”
“We do not need that sort of help, Charlie. But thank you. You have been wonderful … as always.”
“It is so good to see you again, Noelle … and here in this house …”
“So full of memories,” I said.
“Is it good for you to be here?”
“I really don’t know what is good for me. I am hoping that I may discover what I should do.”
“I wish … how I wish …”
“And I, too, Charlie.”
Marie-Christine came in and I introduced them. She knew who he was and I guessed she was speculating what the outcome of his visit would be.
She had a youthful belief that miracles could happen and, as ever, I was touched by her determination not to accept the present state of affairs.
She believed that something wonderful was going to happen, and to a certain extent for a time she carried me along with her.
It was three days later. I was in my room when Jane came to tell me that Mr. Claverham had called and was in the drawing room.
I wondered what had brought Charlie back so soon and hurried down. Roderick was there.
“Noelle!” he cried.
I ran to him. He put his arms round me and held me tightly.
“I had to come,” he said. “My father told me.”
“Yes.”
“It was cruel. What on earth … ?”
“Don’t blame her, Roderick. She did it out of love and care for me. We discovered by accident. Sometimes I think it would have been better if we had not. It seems so much worse.”
“I have missed you,” he said.
I could not bear the sadness in his eyes and I turned away.
“What shall we do?” he asked desperately.
“What can we do? You married …”
“It is no real marriage. Why did I do it? She was so wretchedly unhappy. Her career gone, her life broken. I feared for her … and on impulse … I knew as soon as I had spoken that I had made a terrible mistake. I might have helped … I could have looked after her, but …”
“I understand, Roderick. We had parted. We both saw we had to do that. And all the time those letters were in the bureau. I can’t bear to think of what might have been.”
He said: “There must be some way.”
“We should not see each other,” I said.
“I want to be with you. I want to talk to you. It is no longer there … that insurmountable barrier. It gives me a sense of freedom. I can’t help feeling that, now that is no longer there, there must be hope.”
“Lisa,” I said. “She is there.”
“We might come to some agreement.”
“She is very ill. She must be suffering a great deal.”
He did not answer for a few moments.
Then he said: “Noelle, we must talk.”
“Let us go out,” I answered. “Let us sit in the park as we used to. I want to be out, Roderick. At any moment we shall be interrupted. Marie-Christine, who lives here with me, will come in. She will want to meet you. I want to be somewhere where we can be alone.”
“I just want to talk … anywhere.”
“Wait. I will get a coat.”
I felt it was safe out of doors. In the drawing room the temptation to be close to each other was too great to be resisted. I had to remember all the time that he was Lisa’s husband.
We walked to Green Park, where we had often sat together. I kept thinking of those occasions when Lisa joined us. We sat on the seat where we had been in happier times.
“Tell me what has happened to you, Noelle,” he said. “You know what happened to me. I married. If only I had waited. Why did I do such a thing?”
I said: “I went to France with Robert Bouchere. I met his nephew. Marie-Christine is his daughter. Her father, grandmother and Robert were all blown up in their Paris house during the siege. That left Marie-Christine with me, and she has been with me ever since.”
“My father has told me something of this. We knew you were in France, and were all terribly worried about you.”
“I could have been in the Paris house. Marie-Christine and I happened to be in the country.”
He took my hand and pressed it. “I can’t bear to think that you could have been in such danger.”
“I was thinking of you all the time,” I told him.
“You must understand about Lisa.”
“I do. You were filled with pity for her. You thought we had lost each other … and that you could put things right for her by marrying her.”
“I had lost you. I thought it would be the best for her … and it would be someone for me to look after … to care for.”
“We were both trying to make a new life for ourselves. Marie-Christine’s father asked me to marry him.”
“And you would have done so if he had not been killed?”
“I don’t know. I always held back. I couldn’t make up my mind. He was an artist … a good one. I think if I could have forgotten you, I could have been tolerably happy with Gerard.”