“What shall you wear?” demanded the Princesse.
“You haven’t &nyfite champetre clothes have you?”
I agreed that that was very likely, and she said that she thought her seamstress could make a dress for me in an afternoon. It had to be rather simple . it was that sort of occasion.
“Rather like Marie Antoinette playing at being a country girl at the Hameau.”
“You seem to know a great deal about our history. More than I do.”
“You would find it interesting to know more perhaps.”
“What I do know is the sort of dress you must have. Muslin with sprigs of flowers on it… green for you … and a white straw hat trimmed with green ribbons.”
She was as good as her word and the next day the dress was made. The material was not muslin but fine cotton and the decoration little green bells not sprigs of flowers. It didn’t matter. It was charming to see the Princesse so pleased and determined to make me look right for thejete champetre.
She and I went off together in the carriage. There was a certain air of recklessness about her which puzzled me. I thought how childish she was since the prospect of an entertainment like this could drive all thoughts of her marriage from her mind; she certainly knew how to live in the moment, which was perhaps just as well.
It was a very pleasant afternoon. I was warmly received by Evette L’Estrange a young woman with a much older husband. There was a stepson, Armand, who must have been about twenty years old.
Several people came up to tell me that they had heard of the wonderful portrait I had done of the Baron de Centeville, and they hoped they might be allowed to see the one I was painting now.
It was all very enjoyable.
And then I had my surprise. The food was about to be served and tables had been set up in the large field. Flunkeys were running about in all directions and the white tablecloths looked very pretty fluttering in the light breeze. They were undoing the hampers and taking out cutlets, cold venison, chicken and pies with a variety of sweetmeats. Wine was sparkling in the glasses.
Someone from behind me said: “Shall we find a place and sit together.”
I swung round. Bertrand was smiling at me.
He took my hands and held them tightly; then he kissed me on either cheek.
“Kate,” he said, ‘it’s wonderful to see you. “
“Did you …”
“Did I know you would be here?” He nodded.
“Evette L’Estrange is a great friend of my mother. My mother is here. She is with my father and sister. They wish to meet you. They are delighted and are wondering what such a famous lady can possibly see in me.”
I gasped.
“Famous!” I cried.
“But it is only since the …”
I stopped, not wanting to mention his name on such a day. This was a day for happiness.
The weather was perfect. The sun warm but not too hot. Elegant men and women . they all seemed beautiful and they were all charming and kind to me. It was indeed a wonderful day.
I was warmly accepted by the Mortemer family. I knew then that I wanted this marriage. It was the first time I had felt so sure.
Previously I had thought that I had been carried along too fast and too many new impressions had come too quickly. Bertrand had seemed delightful because he was such a contrast to the Baron. Everything had been so different from what I had known before. I had been bemused, bedazzled by different customs and people who seemed so far apart from the mundane life at Farringdon. But now I felt at home here, and it was Bertrand’s people who had made me feel that.
I had a long talk with his mother, who said she quite understood that I should want to wait a little time before marrying. She had explained this to the impatient Bertrand. She said:
“It has all been so quick, my dear. You have been rushed off your feet. Go home and tell them all about it… and then you will see that it is right for you.”
I thought she was charming and I liked his father and sister. Elegant as they were, there was a homely charm about them-and by that I meant a naturalness. And I was happy with them.
“You must bring your father out to visit us,” they said.
“The families must get to know each other.”
That seemed an excellent idea, I replied. I had some commissions to do and should have to come back to France very soon. I wanted to go home first, though, because I was a little anxious about my father.
She understood perfectly.
That was a cloudless afternoon and one which filled me with delight-almost-because I felt I knew which way I was going. But two things did happen in the late afternoon which caused me a prick or two of anxiety.
Bertrand and I had left the rest of his family and taken one of the boats to row down the river.
I sat back under my sunshade while Bertrand rowed. He sat there smiling contentedly, talking of our marriage.
“We shall not be rich,” he said, and added smiling: “But you will have to earn a lot of money for us with your painting.”
“I should like to do that.”
“Not for the money … for the love of art, eh? I want you to be happy, Kate, and you never would be without your painting. We will turn one of the rooms at Mortemer into a studio for you.”
“That would be lovely.”
Oh, it was a perfect day.
“You will plan how you would like it when you come to stay with us. My mother said you have promised to come … you and your father. Perhaps then we can make all the necessary arrangements.”
“For the room?”
“For our marriage. For both.”
“I should like a room similar to the one at Centeville.”
It was tactless. I had brought a shadow into the perfect day. I should never have mentioned Centeville.
He was silent and I saw the anger in his face. He clenched his fist and said: “I could murder him.”
“Don’t think of him … on a day like this.”
But Bertrand could not stop thinking of him.
“If you could have seen him …” he went on.
“He sat there … smiling.
“I want her settled,” he said.
“I’m fond of Nicole You like her, too. You won’t suffer for it…” I could not believe my ears. “
“Never mind,” I said soothingly.
“It’s over. You told him clearly what you thought of such a suggestion.”
“He looked at me as though he could have killed me when I shouted at him. It’s not often people shout at him. I said:
“Keep your castoff mistress. I wouldn’t touch any woman of yours. It would make me sick every time I went near her. I’d think of you with her … all the time.”
“Forget it,” I pleaded.
“It’s over.”
But Bertrand could not stop. He went on: “He said:
“You’re going to marry my mistress and not be a fool. It’ll be the making of you.” I went mad then. I shouted at him. I told him: “Never, never, never …” And then I came away. I don’t suppose anyone has ever spoken to him like that before. “
“You made your feelings very clear to him. Now, do let’s forget him.
You need never see him again. He might try to harm you. But how could he? Financially? Never mind. We don’t want money that comes through him. I’ll paint. It will be a wonderful life. “
He smiled at me and went back to his rowing in silence But the magic had gone from the day.
The other incident concerned the Princesse.
I saw her come out from the woods along the river bank, hand in hand with Armand L’Estrange. She looked flushed and very happy and there was about her an air of. what I can only describe as proud defiance.
For a moment I was startled; and then I thought: She is only a child.