‘You met a lady?’
‘Yes, she smelt heavenly and Papa has gone to tea with her. I think she is his type.’
‘A pretty lady?’
‘Very Frenchified.’
‘So on the whole you had a good time?’
‘Smashing,’ said Sigi with conviction, his hour of restless boredom on the tabouret quite forgotten.
When Charles-Edouard got back he found Grace in the little library next door to her bedroom where she generally sat when she was alone. She was tucked up on a chaise-longue looking pretty and comfortable and a little fragile, since she was expecting a child.
‘Who was it you met on your walk? She’s made a great hit with Sigi, he said she smelt too delicious.’
‘Yes. I wish I knew what scent she uses, but it has always been a state secret. Albertine Marel-Desboulles.’
‘Marel. Oh! Isn’t that the woman Hughie’s in love with?’
‘Exactly. She tells me she has fourteen English suitors, it’s very amusing.’
‘Not very amusing for poor Hughie. He’s terrified that she’ll go into a convent, according to Carolyn. Do you think it’s likely?’
Charles-Edouard roared with laughter. ‘Convent indeed! Never, in a long life, have I heard anything so funny.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Just round the corner in the rue de l’Université, in that house you always look at with the two balconies.’
‘Oh, the lovely house. Does she live there?’
‘As you would know if you ever listened to what I say. She has extraordinary furniture, and the most famous collection of old toys in the world. Her husband’s family made all the toys for the French court from the time of Henri II to the Revolution.’
‘Does she live with her husband?’
‘He is dead. He was vastly rich and he died.’
‘And she’s an old friend of yours?’
‘Since always. We had the same nurse.’
‘Take me to see her one day?’
‘Perhaps – I’m not sure. Albertine is not very fond of women.’
Three or four days later Grace was driving home at tea-time when she saw Charles-Edouard leaning against the great double doors of Madame Marel’s house. He had evidently just rung the bell. A small side door flew open and he disappeared through it. For the first time since her marriage Grace felt a jealous, heart-sinking pang. By the time he came in, some two hours later, she was so nervous that she thought it better to speak.
‘But Charles-Edouard,’ she said, ‘you went to tea with Madame Marel again today?’
Charles-Edouard always acted on the principle with women, of telling the truth and then explaining it away so that it sounded highly innocent.
‘Yes,’ he said carelessly. ‘It’s an old habit of all my life. I go there every day, at tea-time.’
‘Then you are in love with her?’
‘Because I go to tea?’ He raised his hand and shook his head reassuringly, but with his inward, guilty laugh.
Grace was not reassured. ‘Because you go there every day. That’s why you never come and have tea with us, in the nursery.’
‘Only partly why.’
‘When you told me about M. de la Bourlie visiting your grandmother every day you said in such a case there is always love. I remember so well, they were your very words, Charles-Edouard.’
‘Now listen, my dearest Grace. As life goes on each person develops many different relationships with many different people, and each of these relationships is unique in quality. My relationship with you is perfect, is it not?’
‘I thought so,’ she answered sadly.
‘If you think so it is so. Is it spoilt if I have another relationship, much less intense, much less important, but also perfect in its way, with Albertine Marel? Be frank now. You didn’t mind me being alone for hours with my grandmother; you wouldn’t mind if I went to a club, or spent hours with some old school friend, a man. You are not sad because the hours are not spent with you, you realize we can’t be together every minute of the day; you mind because Albertine is a still desirable woman. And yet we are old school friends – nursery friends, in fact, and we share a great interest and hobby, that of collecting. I will tell you something very seriously, Grace. If you don’t empty your mind and heart of sexual jealousy, if you let yourself give way to that, you will never be happy with me. Because I really cannot help liking the company of women. Do you understand what I have said?’
‘It sounds all right,’ said Grace.
‘Try and remember it then.’
‘Yes, I’ll try.’
‘Are you happy again?’
‘Yes. But, oh dear, how nice it would be if you had tea here with us every day.’
‘In the nursery? With Nanny? Are you mad?’
12
On Madame de Valhubert’s birthday, in February, Charles-Edouard, Grace, and Sigismond went to the Père La Chaise with a bunch of spring flowers for her. It was beautiful weather, a respite between two particularly sharp spells of winter. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the blue gnomes who keep order in the streets of the dead were all beaming cheerfully. Even the floating widows looked as if they did not much object to being left alone a few more years above the ground.
‘Have a good look at everything, Sigi,’ said Charles-Edouard, ‘you will be longer here than anywhere on earth.’
‘Oh the funny little houses,’ said the child, running from one to another and looking in, ‘can I come and live in one?’
‘All in good time. So, we’ll pay some visits as we go.’
They climbed the long, steep hill, Charles-Edouard pulling Grace up by the hand.
‘Many friends. Here are the Navarreins. The first ball I ever went to was
