The Garden Of Dreams. Sara Craven
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Paul.’ Lissa swirled across the tiny bedroom and across the living room to the door and flung it open. She dropped in a mock curtsy. ‘Bonsoir, monsieur.’
‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle.’
The right answer. The wrong voice. Lissa looked up for the first time and found herself confronting a complete stranger. He was tall and very dark. His hair was black and his thin face was tanned. The expression in his low-lidded eyes as he stood looking down at Lissa was unreadable, but a faint smile played without warmth about his firm mouth.
There was something vaguely objectionable in the way he was looking her over, and Lissa lifted her chin and stared back.
‘You must forgive me, monsieur. As must have been obvious, I was expecting someone else.’
‘That is why I am here.’ He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. It bore her name and she tore it open with a feeling of anxiety. Inside was a typewritten note from Paul.
‘Lissa, chérie, forgive me, but I cannot make it to the party tonight. Something totally unexpected has cropped up, and I am obliged to change my plans. I will see you tomorrow instead and make up for it, I swear. Your loving Paul.’
‘I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’ The stranger’s voice did not sound particularly regretful. ‘Paul was unable to come himself to explain, and of course you have no telephone, so I was happy to oblige him.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’ In spite of her bitter disappointment Lissa did not forget her manners. ‘Won’t you come in for a moment? I am Lissa Fairfax as you have already guessed, and this is my flatmate Jenny Caldwell.’
He stepped into the living room, and stood looking at the small room with its clutter of easy-chairs, and the small sofa before the gas fire. His expression gave nothing away, but Lissa could guess that he was not impressed.
‘You have not told us your name, monsieur,’ she reminded him a little tartly, and he turned, giving her another of those sweeping looks from head to foot that she was beginning to find so disconcerting.
‘I am Raoul Denis, at your service, mademoiselle.’ His dark eyes considered her again. ‘Now that I have seen you I can understand why Paul should be so désolé at having to sacrifice his evening with you.’ He paused. ‘I have a proposition for you, mademoiselle. I too have suffered the same fate this evening. My partner has been suddenly overtaken by illness, and I have a cocktail party to attend, with the theatre afterwards. As we have both been left in the lurch, shall we take advantage of the situation and spend the evening together?’
Lissa stared at him. ‘But I don’t know you,’ she exclaimed. ‘Paul has never mentioned a Raoul Denis to me. Are you close friends?’
He shrugged. ‘Let us say we have been acquaintances for a very long time—and he did trust me to come here and deliver this note. And it would be a tragedy to waste that gown and all that radiance at home, when all the world is waiting. And you need have no fears. Paul would not be jealous of me.’
‘For your information, monsieur, Paul has no real right to be jealous of anyone,’ Lissa said a little coldly.
She looked at Raoul Denis in some perplexity. It was true. She was all dressed up, with nowhere to go, and his alternative suggestion was appealing.
At last she spoke. ‘Very well, monsieur. I shall be happy to be your companion. If you will just allow me to fetch my wrap.’
She walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door. Jenny was sitting on one of the beds, staring at her.
‘You have all the luck!’ she exclaimed. ‘If that had been Roger, I would have been condemned to an evening’s television.’
‘I don’t know.’ Lissa took her black velvet coat out of the wardrobe, and checked over the contents of her silver kid purse. ‘He seems polite enough, and if he knows Paul, I suppose that must make him respectable. But I can’t understand his invitation.’
‘Why not?’ Jenny was intrigued. ‘He’s an absolute dish.’
‘Yes,’ Lissa said slowly, ‘I suppose he is. But all the time he was talking to me, though he was civil enough, I felt there was something there. That he didn’t really like me. That there was something—just slightly wrong about the whole thing.’
‘I think you have too vivid an imagination,’ Jenny said decisively. ‘I think it’s a most sensible solution. You’re both on your own. Why not take advantage of each other’s company? If you don’t like him, you don’t have to talk to him all the time. You’re going to the theatre, remember.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m just being a fool.’ Lissa put on her coat and gasped, ‘I’d forgotten—the heirloom! What am I going to do with it this evening? Where can I hide it?’ She gazed round the room, a little desperately. ‘There’s nowhere really safe.’
‘Well, it hardly seems worth building a strongroom just for my Indian necklace and your copper bracelet that Aunt Rosemary-sent to ward off rheumatism,’ said Jenny. ‘If you’re worried about it, leave it where it is. It looks good there. I think Monsieur Thing thinks so too. I noticed him giving it a keen glance as he came in.’
‘It seems wrong to wear it, when I meant to give it back tonight.’
‘Well, at least you’ll have the comfort of knowing exactly where it is,’ argued Jenny. ‘And Paul will never know.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lissa agreed. ‘And to be honest, I like the way it looks.’ She fastened the silver clasps on her coat. ‘I’m not looking forward to this evening. He seems rather a chilly mortal.’
‘Unlike Monsieur Paul de Gue, for instance,’ Jenny said mischievously. ‘I’ve got a feeling that Paul will live to bless this evening. Seriously, doesn’t the Pirate King out there remind you of someone?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Lissa took a last look in the mirror. ‘Who were you thinking of?’
‘I don’t know. Just for a second—as you opened the door—he looked familiar.’
‘It can only have been for a second. I don’t think familiarity is his strong point. In fact I’m expecting to be turned into a pillar of ice as the evening wears on,’ Lissa said drily.
On her return to the living room, she found Monsieur Denis standing by the small sideboard looking at a glossy magazine. It was one of their landlady’s few personal indulgences that she liked reading magazines that showed ‘how the other half live’, as she put it, and she always passed these magazines on to the girls and seemed disappointed that they were not more interested in the gala evenings and hunt balls that were largely featured.
This particular magazine had been pushed under the door when the girls came home from work with a note attached: ‘Wait till you see this’. Neither of them had even scanned through it, however, because Paul’s parcel with the brooch had also been delivered.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Jenny had commented, picking the magazine up from the carpet. ‘Her favourite deb’s just got herself engaged to her favourite chinless wonder.’
As Lissa entered, Raoul Denis flung the magazine down and turned towards her. She was startled to encounter a sudden blaze of anger in his eyes, but before she could fully assimilate this, or begin to wonder at the reason, it had faded, and the mask of rather enigmatic aloofness had returned.
Lissa smiled rather more cheerfully than she actually felt. She wished now that she had turned down his invitation and spent the evening by the fire with a book. He hardly seemed likely to turn into a boon companion from what she had seen of him so far.
‘I’m quite ready, monsieur.’ She turned to Jenny, who was standing behind her. ‘ ’Bye, love, have a wonderful time at Roger’s. I suppose you’ll be spending the night there.’
‘Well,