dining alone in an appalling climate, for he looked scrubbed, meticulous and English. And she also discovered later that he could be very charming. “There is something I didn’t expect, Armand! A little house party already under way! And now we shall be able to swell your numbers, and I’m sure we shall get on excellently together, and you can show Helen something of the district while I have a rest after far too much travelling about for my years! And Christopher can get Caroline here to show him the district!” as if that was an idea that rounded off things very nicely, even if it left Diane a little unclaimed.
But Diane merely looked faintly amused, and accepted another drink when it was brought to her by Christopher with her own particular brand of slow, seductive smile, and looking her over with brightening eyes he thought she was proof positive that French girls had something.
Armand said nothing, but went on pouring drinks as if it was an occupation that helped him just then; and later there was a certain amount of confusion when Monique was summoned to deal with the problem of the beds.
“Don’t trouble if everything isn’t as it should be,” Lady Pen said, as if she naturally didn’t expect trimmings such as constant running hot water and a service of chambermaids in an infrequently used chateau; but would be disappointed if there wasn’t a hot-water bottle in her bed, even on a June night, and someone on hand to answer the bell if she should ring. “We are not sybarites, and we can make do with very little. If only someone will unpack one of my cases for me, and see that I’m not too far from a bathroom!”
Caroline rose to the occasion, and went to help a completely bewildered Monique cope with a whole series of utterly unexpected problems. Armand watched her go, but he said nothing, and frantically searching through an ill-stocked linen cupboard for the required amount of linen, and afterwards stripping dust-covers from beds, filling hot-water bottles, and even lighting a fire in Lady Pen’s room, because it was big, and damp, and bleak, she had little or no time to think of him standing there in the little card-room, looking as if something had gone very badly wrong with his world, and that he was mutely protesting against it even if just then it was impossible to do so verbally.
And, later still, checking over a possible dinner menu with Monique, while they both sought to make certain there were enough materials in the larder to ensure that it ever materialised, she still had no time to think of him. She washed Thibault and put him to bed—with Jacqueline for company—in order to have him out of the way, persuaded Marie-Josette to put herself to bed, and then listened to the endless sound of running water that seemed to fill every corridor of the chateau while the invading army prepared to enjoy baths. After which, having promised to help with the laying of the table when she had changed into another dress, she made her way to her own room, and encountered Diane—on her way to one of those noisy baths—journeying gracefully through echoing corridors in a peach-coloured dressing-gown that floated out behind her, and was so transparent that it hardly seemed to be necessary as a garment at all. She sent Caroline a queer, cat-like smile of enjoyment—the smile of a cat who has just lapped up a bowl of thick, rich cream—and then disappeared into her bathroom and bolted the door noisily.
A precaution that was unnecessary because the bolt was the type that would yield to a heavy push, as Caroline had discovered during her early days at the chateau.And in her own case she had simply selected another bathroom, which had meant a longer distance to travel from her room.
When she reached her room she leaned against the door and stood looking around it. It was exactly the same as she had seen it last—exactly the same as she had seen it on that first night, when old Pierre had stood at her elbow
But Diane merely looked faintly amused, and accepted another drink when it was brought to her by Christopher with her own particular brand of slow, seductive smile, and looking her over with brightening eyes he thought she was proof positive that French girls had something.
Armand said nothing, but went on pouring drinks as if it was an occupation that helped him just then; and later there was a certain amount of confusion when Monique was summoned to deal with the problem of the beds.
“Don’t trouble if everything isn’t as it should be,” Lady Pen said, as if she naturally didn’t expect trimmings such as constant running hot water and a service of chambermaids in an infrequently used chateau; but would be disappointed if there wasn’t a hot-water bottle in her bed, even on a June night, and someone on hand to answer the bell if she should ring. “We are not sybarites, and we can make do with very little. If only someone will unpack one of my cases for me, and see that I’m not too far from a bathroom!”
Caroline rose to the occasion, and went to help a completely bewildered Monique cope with a whole series of utterly unexpected problems. Armand watched her go, but he said nothing, and frantically searching through an ill-stocked linen cupboard for the required amount of linen, and afterwards stripping dust-covers from beds, filling hot-water bottles, and even lighting a fire in Lady Pen’s room, because it was big, and damp, and bleak, she had little or no time to think of him standing there in the little card-room, looking as if something had gone very badly wrong with his world, and that he was mutely protesting against it even if just then it was impossible to do so verbally.
And, later still, checking over a possible dinner menu with Monique, while they both sought to make certain there were enough materials in the larder to ensure that it ever materialised, she still had no time to think of him. She washed Thibault and put him to bed—with Jacqueline for company—in order to have him out of the way, persuaded Marie-Josette to put herself to bed, and then listened to the endless sound of running water that seemed to fill every corridor of the chateau while the invading army prepared to enjoy baths. After which, having promised to help with the laying of the table when she had changed into another dress, she made her way to her own room, and encountered Diane—on her way to one of those noisy baths—journeying gracefully through echoing corridors in a peach-coloured dressing-gown that floated out behind her, and was so transparent that it hardly seemed to be necessary as a garment at all. She sent Caroline a queer, cat-like smile of enjoyment—the smile of a cat who has just lapped up a bowl of thick, rich cream—and then disappeared into her bathroom and bolted the door noisily.
A precaution that was unnecessary because the bolt was the type that would yield to a heavy push, as Caroline had discovered during her early days at the chateau.And in her own case she had simply selected another bathroom, which had meant a longer distance to travel from her room.
When she reached her room she leaned against the door and stood looking around it. It was exactly the same as she had seen it last—exactly the same as she had seen it on that first night, when old Pierre had stood at her elbow
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