“I am sure I am keeping you from your work.”
He stood a few paces from me and bowed. I smiled and turned towards the castle.
I went to bed early that night to make up for the previous night’s lack of sleep. I dozed and my dreams were hazy. It was strange, because at home I rarely dreamed. This was muddled dreaming of the Bastides, of cellars containing bottles of wine, and through these dreams flitted a vague faceless shape whom I knew to be the dead Comtesse. Sometimes I felt her presence without seeing her; it was as though she were behind me whispering a warning, “Go away. Don’t you become involved in this strange household.” Then again she would be jeering at me. Yet I was not afraid of her. There was another shady shape to strike terror into me. Monsieur Ie Comte. I heard the words as though from a long way; then growing so loud that it was like someone shouting in my ears.
I awoke startled. Someone was shouting. There were voices below and scurrying footsteps along the corridor. The chateau was waking up although it was not morning. In fact the candle I hastily lighted showed me my watch lying on the table and this told me it was only just after eleven.
I knew what was happening. It was what everyone was waiting for and dreading.
The Comte had come home.
I lay sleepless, wondering what the morning would bring.
The chateau was quiet when I awoke at my usual time. Briskly I rose and rang for my hot water. It came promptly.
The maid looked different, I told myself. She was uneasy. So the Comte had his effect even on the humblest servants.
“You would like your petit dejeuner as usual, mademoiselle?”
I looked surprised and said: “But of course, please.”
I guessed they were all talking about me, asking themselves what my fate would be. I looked round the room. Perhaps I shall never sleep here again, I thought. Then I was unhappy thinking of leaving the chateau, never really knowing these people who had taken such a hold on my imagination. I wanted to know more of Genevieve, to try to understand her. I wanted to see what effect on Philippe de la Talle his cousin’s return would have. I wanted to know how far Nounou was responsible for the waywardness of her charge. I should have liked to hear what had happened to Mademoiselle Dubois before she had come to the chateau. Then of course there were the Bastides. I wanted to sit in that cosy room and talk about the vines and the chateau. But most of all I wanted to meet the Comte not just once and briefly to receive my dismissal, but to learn more of a man who, it seemed generally believed, had been responsible for the death of his wife, even if he had not actually administered the poison dose.
My breakfast came and I felt too excited for food, but I was determined none of them should say that I was so frightened that I had been unable to eat, so I drank two cups of coffee as usual and ate my twist of hot bread. Then I went along to the gallery.
It was not easy to work. I had already prepared an estimate which Philippe de la Talle had said would be given to the Comte on his return. He had smiled at me when I gave it to him and glancing through it had remarked that it looked like the work of an expert. I was sure he was’ hoping it would please the Comte-partly, I imagined, to justify his having allowed me to stay, but there was an element of kindness in him, I was sure, which made him want me to have the job because I had betrayed how badly I needed it. I summed him up as a man who would be kind, unless being so made too many demands upon him.
I imagined the Comte’s receiving my estimate, hearing that a woman had come instead of a man. But I could not picture him clearly. All I could imagine was a haughty man in white wig and crown. It was a picture I had seen either of Louis XIV or XV. The King . the King of the Castle.
I had a note-pad with me and tried to jot down a few points which I had passed over on my previous examination If he will let me stay, I told myself, I shall become so absorbed in the work that he can have murdered twenty wives for all I care.
There was one painting in the gallery which had particularly caught my attention. It was a portrait of a woman. The costume placed it in the eighteenth century mid or perhaps a little later. It interested me not because of the excellence of the work there were better pictures in the gallery but because although it was of a later date than most of them it was in a greater state of deterioration. The varnish was very dark and the whole surface was mottled as though it suffered from a skin disease. It looked to me as though it had been exposed to the weather.
I was contemplating this picture when I heard a movement behind me. I swung round to find that a man had entered the gallery and was standing there watching me. I felt my heart pound and my legs tremble.
I knew at once that I was at last face to face with the Comte de la Talle.
“It is Mademoiselle Lawson, of course,” he said. Even his voice was unusual deep, cold.
“You are the Comte de la Talle?”
He bowed. He did not come towards me. His eyes surveyed me across the gallery, and his manner was as cool as his voice. I noticed that he was tallish, and I was struck by his leanness. There was a slight resemblance to Philippe; but there was none of Philippe’s femininity in this man. He was darker than his cousin; his cheekbones were high and this gave his face the pointed look which seemed almost satanic. His eyes were very dark sometimes they could seem almost black, I discovered later, depending on his mood; they were deeply set and his lids were heavy; his aquiline nose gave to his face the look of haughtiness; his mouth was mobile; it changed according to the man he was. But at this time I knew only one man the arrogant King of the Castle on whom my fate depended.
He wore a black riding-coat with a velvet collar and above his white cravat his face was pale, even cruel.
“My cousin has told me of your coming.” He advanced towards me now. He walked as a king might have walked through the hall of mirrors.
I had regained my poise very quickly. There was nothing like haughtiness to bring out my bristling armour.
“I am glad you have returned. Monsieur Ie Comte,” I said, ‘for I have been waiting several days to know whether you wish me to stay and do the work. “
“It must have been tiresome for you to be uncertain whether or not you were wasting your time.”
“I have found the gallery very interesting, I assure you, so it will not have been an unpleasant way of wasting time.”
“It is a pity,” he said, ‘that you did not tell us of your father’s death. It would have saved so much trouble. “
So I was to go. I felt angry because I was so miserable. Back to London, I thought. I should have to find a lodging. And how could I afford to live until I discovered a post? I looked down the years and saw myself becoming more and more like Mademoiselle Dubois. What nonsense! As if I ever should! I could go to Cousin Jane. Never, never!
I hated him in that moment because I believed he guessed the thoughts which were passing through my mind. He
would know that a woman as independent as I, must have been desperate to have come in the first place, and he was enjoying tormenting me.
How she must have hated him, that wife of his! Perhaps she killed herself to get away from him. I should not be surprised if that were the answer.
“I did not realize that you were so old-fashioned in France,” I said with a touch of venom.
“At home I have done this work with my father.
No one minded because I was a woman. But as you have different notions here there is nothing more to be said. “
“I disagree. There is a great deal to be said.”
“Then,” I said, lifting my eyes to his face, ‘perhaps you will begin to say it. “
“Mademoiselle Lawson, you would like to restore these pictures, would you not?”
“It is my profession to restore paintings and the more in need of repair they are, the more interesting the task becomes.”