A Moment in Paris by Rose Burghley

belatedly. And Philippe’s breathing was still so uneven that even his hand shook as he attempted to light himself a cigarette. He threw it away, selected another, and threw that away, also. At last he returned his cigarette case to his pocket, and confronted her.
    ‘Diana, I ought to apologize, but I can’t and I won’t! I love you! ... You know that I love you!’
    ‘I love you too, Philippe. ... But I should never have let you guess!’
    ‘Why not, my darling?’ He moved nearer to her, his eyes swimming with tenderness, his voice so gentle that it shook her to the very core of her being. ‘I think we’ve loved one another from the very moment that you walked into my office in Paris, and that sort of love is quite inevitable, quite uncontrollable. Oh, my sweet one,’ putting his fingers under her chin and lifting it, ‘don’t you believe that some things are really and truly ordained?’
    She nodded, swallowing a little.
    ‘But we’re both forgetting ... Celeste.’
    Instantly she could feel him stiffen. ‘I have not for one moment forgotten Celeste. I do not forget my obligations even when it would be more comfortable to put them out of my mind!’ His face looked thin and ascetic, the mouth firm, the jaw strong. ‘No, my little one, you must understand that when I enter into a contract—whether it is a business contract, or a marriage contract—I do not set it aside, or attempt to wriggle out of it. Celeste is my future wife, and that is something no circumstance can alter ... unless she herself decided she no longer desired to marry me!’
    Diana swallowed again, and she found it quite impossible to say anything at all. She had expected that that would be his attitude, of course—she wouldn’t have had it any other way!—but the faint rebuke in his voice, the cool clarity of the way in which he made their position clear, was like a slap across the face after the bewildering experience of finding herself in his arms.
    Suddenly his eyes softened again, grew very dark.
    ‘My dear one!...’ he began. But she put out a hand as if she was warding him off, and moved a little away from him.
    ‘I didn’t mean, of course, that you had really forgotten Celeste ... I haven’t forgotten her since we left the chateau this morning. But we ought not to have behaved as we—have behaved—knowing that you are engaged to be married, and particularly as I happen to be an employee of yours!’
    A suggestion of tenderness stole to his lips.
    ‘So far as I am concerned, Diana, my dearest,’ he told her, ‘you are not an employee. You ceased to be that at our second meeting, when you wore an enchanting green hat and defied me at lunch. After that you became the woman I love!’
    ‘But...’ she stammered, ‘but that isn’t possible! You can’t love two women at the same time—’
    He regarded her gravely.
    ‘There is no question of my loving two women at the same time. I have never been anything but mildly amused by Celeste, and frequently I have felt so highly critical of her that even the amusement was swamped. But I decided to marry her as the result, you can call it, of a whim. She was pretty, and helpless, and rather stupid, but I could do a lot for her; and as I had no desire to marry for normal reasons that seemed good enough. I knew that my relations would be horrified, and of course they were!’
    She stared at him, astounded.
    ‘But why should you want to shock your relatives...?’
    He shrugged.
    ‘Sometimes it is a relief to be perverse, and I have heard so much about settling down and providing myself with an heir. According to my godmother it was simply a question of picking upon a suitable young woman. But as a suitable young woman failed to come along ... I picked on Celeste. And it does not please anyone,’ he concluded slowly, ‘that she will one day be the mother of my son, if I am to be blessed with a son.’
    Diana turned quickly away, her face burning scarlet. She was conscious of a