‘What is Chèvres?’
‘Chèvres-Fontaine, where I live, in the Seine-et-Oise.’
‘But it must be quite a large house,’ said Lady Montdore, ‘if that table is in it?’
‘A little larger, in every dimension, than the central block at Versailles, and with much more water. At Versailles there only remain seven hundred bouches (what is bouche in English? Jets?). At Chèvres we have one thousand five hundred, and they play all the time.’
Dinner was announced. As we moved towards the dining-room Cedric stopped to examine various objects, touched them lovingly, and murmured,
‘Weisweiller – Boulle – Caffieri – Jacob. How is it you come to have these marvels, Lord Montdore, such important pieces?’
‘My great-grandfather (your great-great-grandfather), who was himself half French, collected it all his life. Some of it he bought during the sales of royal furniture after the Revolution and some came to him through his mother’s family, the Montdores.’
‘And the boiseries!’ said Cedric, ‘first quality Louis XV. There is nothing to equal this at Chèvres, it’s like jewellery when it is so fine.’
We were now in the little dining-room.
‘He brought them over too, and built the house round them.’ Lord Montdore was evidently much pleased by Cedric’s enthusiasm, he loved French furniture himself but seldom found anybody in England to share his taste.
‘Porcelain with Marie-Antoinette’s cypher, delightful. At Chèvres we have the Meissen service she brought with her from Vienna. We have many relics of Marie-Antoinette, poor dear, at Chèvres.’
‘Who lives there?’ asked Lady Montdore.
‘I do,’ he replied carelessly, ‘when I wish to be in the country. In Paris I have an apartment of all beauty, One’s idea of heaven.’ Cedric made great use of the word one, which he pronounced with peculiar emphasis. Lady Montdore had always been a one for one, but she said it quite differently, ‘w’n’. ‘The first floor of the Hotel Pomponne – you see that? Purest Louis XIV. Tiny, you know, but all one needs, that is to say a bedroom and a bed-ballroom. You must come and stay with me there, dear Lady Montdore, you will live in my bedroom, which has comfort, and I in the bed-ballroom. Promise me that you will come.’
‘We shall have to see. Personally, I have never been very fond of France, the people are so frivolous, I greatly prefer the Germans.’
‘Germans!’ said Cedric earnestly, leaning across the table and gazing at her through his goggles. ‘The frivolity of the Germans terrifies even One. I have a German friend in Paris and a more frivolous creature, Lady Montdore, does not exist. This frivolity has caused me many a heartache, I must tell you.’
‘I hope you will make some suitable English friends now, Cedric.’
‘Yes, yes, that is what I long for. But please can my chief English friend be you, dear dearest Lady Montdore?’
‘I think you should call us Aunt Sonia and Uncle Montdore.’
‘May I really? How charming you are to me, how happy I am to be here – you seem, Aunt Sonia, to shower happiness around you.’
‘Yes, I do. I live for others, I suppose that’s why. The sad thing is that people have not always appreciated it, they are so selfish themselves.’
‘Oh, yes, aren’t they selfish? I too have been a victim to the selfishness of people all my life. This German friend I mentioned just now, his selfishness passes comprehension. How one does suffer!’
‘It’s a he, is it?’ Lady Montdore seemed glad of this.
‘A boy called Klugg. I hope to forget all about him while I am here. Now, Lady Montdore – dearest Aunt Sonia – after dinner I want you to do me a great great favour. Will you put on your jewels so that I can see you sparkling in them? I do so long for that.’
‘Really, my dear boy, they are down in the strong-room. I don’t think they’ve been cleaned for ages.’
‘Oh, don’t say no, don’t shake your head! Ever since I set eyes on you I have been thinking of nothing else, you must look so truly glorious in them. Mrs Wincham (you are Mrs I hope, aren’t you, yes, yes, I can tell that you are not a spinster), when did you last see Aunt Sonia laden with jewels?’
‘It was at the ball for –’ I stopped awkwardly, jibbing at the name, which was never now mentioned. But Cedric saved me from embarrassment by exclaiming,
‘A ball! Aunt Sonia, how I would love to see you at a ball, I can so well imagine you at all the great English functions, coronations, Lords, balls, Ascot, Henley. What is Henley? No matter – and I can see you, above all, in India, riding on your elephant like a goddess. How they must have worshipped you there.’
‘Well, you know, they did,’ said Lady Montdore, delighted, ‘they really worshipped us, it was quite touching. And of course, we deserved it, we did a very great deal for them, I think I may say we put India on the map. Hardly any of one’s friends in England had ever even heard of India before we went there, you know.’
‘I’m sure. What a wonderful and fascinating life you lead, Aunt Sonia. Did you keep a journal when you were in the East? Oh! please say yes, I would so love to read it.’
This was a very lucky shot. They had indeed filled a huge folio, whose morocco label, surmounted by an earl’s coronet, announced ‘Pages from Our Indian Diary. M. and S.M.’
‘It’s really a sort of scrap-book,’ Lord Montdore said, ‘accounts of our journeys up-country, photographs, sketches by Sonia and our brother-in – that is to say a brother-in-law we had then, letters of appreciation from rajahs –’
‘And Indian poetry translated by Montdore – “Prayer of a Widow before Suttee”, “Death of
