The Garden Of Dreams. Sara Craven
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tried to mask her disappointment.
‘Au revoir, then.’
Lissa replaced the receiver and finished typing the sheet she was engaged on. It was the second time Paul had broken a date with her, and she felt oddly disconcerted.
‘How funny,’ she thought wryly, ‘if all the time I’m wondering if I want to marry him, he’s wondering exactly the same about me.’
Paul was at the restaurant when she arrived.
‘I’ve ordered dry martinis. I hope that’s what you wanted,’ he said, helping her off with her coat.
‘Perfect,’ she assured him. A waiter arrived for their order and they spent a few minutes wrangling amicably over the respective merits of ravioli and lasagne.
‘Not that it really matters,’ Lissa said when the waiter finally disappeared with his order. ‘All the food here tastes marvellous.’
‘C’est vrai. This is one of the places I shall miss most when I leave.’
‘You’re leaving London?’ Lissa stared at him.
‘Within a week or so.’ He laid his hand on hers. ‘But you see how I arrange things. I must return home, so I pull strings and my Lissa comes with me.’
‘I wondered what lay behind this sudden passion for historical research of yours,’ Lissa said drily.
‘Do you blame me? Ah, I think you do a little. But think, chérie, I want you to see my home—the estate—and meet my family. I had hoped it would be as my fiancée, but I accept what you say, and will wait patiently for you. Maman knows nothing except that Madame Desmond, whose books she so greatly admires, is to stay with us and that her secretary will be with her. She is happy. Madame Desmond is happy, because she will have the Château to look over—and the papers. I am happy, so why should not you be a little happy too?’
Lissa laughed. ‘I’ll try and be a little happy, although actually I feel shattered,’ she confessed. ‘I had no idea you lived in a château. Has it got turrets and dungeons?’
‘A few,’ Paul said airily. ‘Much of the original building was destroyed at the time of the Revolution, you understand, and when Henri de Gue returned to France he decided he’d had enough of the style of the ancien régime, and so had the peasants, so he rebuilt the living quarters in a style he considered modern.’
‘A man of diplomacy,’ Lissa smiled. ‘Are you like him? Is this why you entered the Diplomatic Service?’
‘Non,’ Paul shrugged. ‘One has to do something, and the family business did not interest me.’
He broke off as the waiter arrived with the meal. When they were served and the wine was poured, he went on, ‘Anyway, that is all over now. It has been decided that I am to return to St Denis and learn how to manage the estate. Jacques Tarrand is growing old, and his only son was killed in Algeria during his military service.’
‘Will you like managing the estate?’ Lissa sipped her wine.
‘It will be better than being an office boy at the Embassy,’ he said, and Lissa felt a touch of compunction at the way she had criticised him to Jenny for his attitude to his work.
‘Perhaps this will steady him and give him a sense of purpose,’ she thought. ‘He really is very sweet, but so young for his age.’
As they ate, Paul told her a little about the Château, high on a wooded hill outside the village, which was situated on the banks of a small river.
Lissa wanted to ask about his family, but decided not to press the point when he did not volunteer any information. After all, she thought, she would be meeting them soon, and would be able to draw her own conclusions.
It was the thought of his family that brought the memory of the brooch to mind, and she hunted in her handbag for the flat velvet case.
‘Paul, please don’t be angry, but I can’t accept this from you. It’s a lovely present, but it’s too valuable to give me as things stand at present. If ever we come to—an agreement I’d be proud to wear it, but for the time being I think it would be best if you kept it.’
Paul’s fingers closed over hers as she handed him the case. ‘My lovely Lissa,’ he said. ‘You are the only girl I can think of who would have done that. You are very strong-minded, chérie. Many women would have kept the brooch, I think.’
Lissa’s eyes were stormy. ‘I am not many women,’ she retorted. ‘Are you in the habit of handing out expensive gifts like that to every girl you come across?’
‘Mais non,’ Paul smiled placatingly at her. ‘That was a very special gift, only for you, my Lissa. The brooch is very old. It is among the jewels that Comte Henri took with him when he fled the sans-culottes, and it is always given as a betrothal gift to the bride of the second son … what is it, chérie, are you ill?’
‘No,’ Lissa gulped down some wine, and the colour began to return to her cheeks. ‘Paul, that was unforgivable of you. You should have told me what the brooch was—its significance. You must have known I would never have taken it at all if I had the remotest idea …’
‘Précisément, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, chérie.’ Paul looked like a scolded child for all his sophistication and self-assurance. ‘As soon as I made up my mind I wanted you for my wife I wrote to Maman and asked her to send me the brooch. It arrived after you had told me that you wanted more time to consider, and I could hardly send it back without some explanation.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lissa said bitterly. ‘That would have meant a loss of face. I quite understand.’
‘You are angry with me.’ He stroked her cheek caressingly. ‘Don’t be angry with me, ma petite. What fault have I committed but wanting you too much?’
Lissa gave him a level look. ‘I meant every word I said, Paul. And when I come to the Château, it will be as Maggie’s secretary, no more. I’ll have to trust you not to make life too difficult for me.’
‘Difficult?’ Paul grinned at her disarmingly. ‘When you come to the Château, my Lissa, the sun will shine for you and a million roses will thrill the air with their beauty. I tell you now—you will never want to leave.’
A WHIRLWIND three weeks later, Lissa and Maggie were clutching each other’s hands and laughing nervously as the plane circled above Le Bourget where Paul was to meet them.
‘Flying would be heaven, if it wasn’t for the going up and down,’ Maggie remarked as the aircraft taxied to a halt.
‘Amen to that,’ Lissa said devoutly. ‘Look, I can see Paul. He’s waving to us.’
Paul was suntanned and smiling when, the customs and passport formalities at an end, he greeted them and helped to stow their luggage into a cream Citroën estate car.
‘New?’ Lissa ran her hand appreciatively over the immaculate bodywork.
‘Oui.’ Paul gave a petulant shrug. ‘I preferred my other car, but this is supposed to be more useful for my job.’
Lissa glanced at him a little anxiously. This was part of Paul’s spoiled child act, and not the most pleasing side of his character, although it was rarely seen. Usually his behaviour in front of Maggie was perfect, but on the whole Lissa decided it might not be a bad idea if her godmother got a more balanced view of his nature.
As the journey progressed, however, Paul became more cheerful, and by the time they stopped for lunch at a small auberge where the tables were set outside under a striped awning in the warm sunlight, the atmosphere was as light-hearted as Lissa could have wished for her first