She glanced at it, "What's this, Carlo?"
"A threat to your peace of mind and my pocket," said Léon de Valmy, smiling. "The 'mandarin' line, or some such thing, I don't doubt, and just on the hither side of decadence at that. I confess I can't see you in it, my dear. I doubt if I shall permit it."
Florimond laughed. "Only the material, I do assure you, only the material! And that's as much as I shall tell you. Rose Gautier and I have concocted something between us that ought to flutter the dovecotes next November, and I came up to keep a father's eye on it in the making." He grinned amiably at his host. "At least, that's the excuse. I always try to desert Paris at this juncture if I possibly can."
"How's the collection going?" asked Madame.
Florimond dropped a gout of ash down his shirt-front, and wiped it placidly aside across his lapel. "At the moment it's hardly even conceived. Not a twitch, not a pang. I shall not be in labour for many months to come, and then we shall have the usual lightning and half-aborted litter to be licked into shape in a frenzy of blood and tears." Here his eye fell on Philippe, silent on his stool, and he added, with no perceptible change of tone: "There was thick mist lying on the road between here and Thonon."
Léon de Valmy was busy at the cocktail tray. He handed his wife a glass. "Really? Bad?"
"In places. But I fancy it's only local. It was clear at Geneva, though of course it may cloud up later along the Lake. Ah, thank you."
Léon de Valmy poured his own drink, then as his chair turned again into the circle round the hearth he caught sight of the chessboard on the low table.
The black brows rose. "Chess? Do you never move without that thing, Carlo?"
"Never. May I hope you'll give me a game tonight?"
"With pleasure. But not with that collection of dressmakers' pins, I beg of you. I don't play my best when I've to use a telescope."
"It's always pure joy to play with that set of yours," said Florimond, "quite apart from the fact that you're a foeman worthy of my steel-which is one way of saying that you beat me four times out of five."
"H'm." Léon de Valmy was surveying the board. "It would certainly appear that Red was playing a pretty short-sighted game in every sense of the word. I knew you were not chess- minded, Héloïse, my dear, but I didn't know you were quite as bad as that."
She merely smiled, not even bothering to deny it. There was no need anyway. He knew who'd been playing, and Philippe knew he knew.
"Ah, yes," said Florimond calmly. He peered at the miniature men. "Dear me, I have got myself into an odd tangle, haven't I? Perhaps I need spectacles. You're quite right, my dear Léon, it's a mistake to underrate one's opponent. Never do that." The big hand shifted a couple of men with quick movements, The mild clever face expressed nothing whatever except interest in the Lilliputian manoeuvres on the board.
I saw Léon de Valmy glance up at him swiftly, and the look of amusement that came and went like the gleam on the underside of a blown cloud. "I don't." Then he smiled at Philippe, silent on his stool. "Come and finish the game, Philippe. I'm sure your aunt won't drive you upstairs just yet."
Philippe went, if possible, smaller and more rigid than before. "I-I‘d rather not, thank you."
Léon de Valmy said pleasantly: "You mustn't allow the fact that you were losing to weigh with you, you know."
The child went scarlet. Florimond said, quite without inflection: "In any case we can't continue. I disarranged the pieces just now. The situation wasn't quite as peculiar as your uncle supposed, Philippe, but I can't remember just what it was. I'm sorry. I hope very much that you'll give me the pleasure of a game another time. You do very well."
He pushed the board aside and smiled down at the child, who responded with one quick upward look. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, smiling amiably at his host, launched without pausing straight into one of his improbable stories, thus effectively forcing the general attention back to himself. Philippe remained without moving, small on his stool, the picture of sulky isolation. I watched him, still feeling in my damn-them mood. He must have felt my glance, because eventually he looked up. I winked at him and grinned. There was no answering gleam. The black lashes merely dropped again.
Then the door opened, and Seddon, the butler, came in. He crossed the floor to Madame de Valmy's side.
"Madame, a telephone message has just come through from Monsieur Raoul."
I saw her flash a glance at her husband. "From Monsieur Raoul? Yes, Seddon?"
"He asked me to tell you he was on his way up, madame."
The base of Léon de Valmy's glass clinked down on the arm of his chair. "On his way? Here? When? Where was he speaking from?"
"That I couldn't say, sir. But he wasn't at Bellevigne. He said he would be here some time tonight."
A pause. I noticed the soft uneven ticking of the lovely little clock on the mantel.
Then Florimond said comfortably: "How very pleasant! I don't know when I last set eyes on Raoul. I hope he'll be here for dinner?"
Seddon said: "No, monsieur. He said he might be late, and not to wait for him, but that he would get here tonight."
Léon de Valmy said: "And that was all the message?"
"Yes, sir."
Madame de Valmy stirred. "He didn't sound as if there was anything wrong… at Bellevigne?"
"No, madame. Not at all."
Florimond chuckled. ''Don't look so worried, my dear. They've probably had a week of the mistral and he's decided to cut and run for it. The original ill wind."
"He doesn't usually run in this direction," said his father, very dryly. "Very well, Seddon, thank you."
Madame de Valmy said: "Perhaps you'll be good enough to see Mrs. Seddon straight away about a room?"
"Of course, madame." Seddon, expressionless as ever, bent his head. I saw Héloïse de Valmy glance again at her husband. I couldn't see his face from where I sat, but she was biting her bottom lip and to my surprise she looked strained and pale.
A nice gay welcome for the son of the house was, it appeared, laid on. Him and Philippe both… As a cosy family home the Château Valmy certainly took some beating. The Constance Butcher also ran.
Then the central chandelier leaped into a lovely cascade of light. Seddon moved forward to draw curtains and replenish drinks. Glasses clinked, and someone laughed. Philippe moved cheerfully to help Florimond pack away the tiny chessmen… and in a moment, it seemed, under the bright light, the imagined tensions dissolved and vanished. Firelight, laughter, the smell of pine-logs and Schiaparelli, the rattle of curtain-rings and the swish as the heavy brocades swung together… it was absurd to people the lovely Chateau Valmy with the secret ghosts of Thornfield.
The Demon King turned his handsome grey head and said in English: "Come out, Jane Eyre."
I must have jumped about a foot. He looked surprised, then laughed and said: "Did I startle you? I'm sorry. Were you very far away?"
"Pretty far. At a place in Yorkshire called Thornfield Hall."
The black brows lifted. "So we're en rapport? No wonder you jumped." He smiled. "I shall have to be careful… And now will you take your charge away before Monsieur Florimond corrupts him with vermouth? No, Philippe, I do assure you, you won't like it Now make your adieux-in English, please, and go."
Philippe was on his feet in a flash, making those adieux correctly, if rather too eagerly. I think I was almost as thankful as he was when at length, his hand clutching mine, I said my own quiet goodnights and withdrew.
Léon de Valmy's "Goodnight, Miss Eyre," with its wholly charming overtone of mockery, followed me to the door.