you … In three years you’ll be twenty-one. You can do what you please then.’
‘I won’t obey you,’ said Marie-Thérèse, raising her pale, tense face.
‘You have to obey me. And you know it. You’re a child. You’re a minor. You have to obey me.’
‘But why? Why wait?’
‘Because you’re too young,’ Gladys said again, quietly, automatically, ‘and because these hasty marriages turnout badly. I don’t want you to be unhappy. Yes, I know; you’re thinking right now that I’m the cause of your unhappiness. But it isn’t true. All I’m asking is a few months of a secret, delightful engagement that will light up your life and give you happy memories. You’re still a child, Marie-Thérèse, you don’t understand. There is only one thing that makes life worth living and that is the beginning of love, love that is timid at first, that then becomes desire, impatience, anticipation … I’m offering you all that and you’re holding it against me. I don’t want to make you unhappy,’ she said again, looking at her daughter in despair. ‘Oh, heaven forbid! If you and that young boy love each other, well, then, get married, be happy. I’ll be delighted to see you happy. I love you, Marie-Thérèse. But wait a little. Three years will go by quickly and you know very well that I have to consent. But while you wait, take pity on me. Don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to, I don’t want to,’ she whispered, hiding her face in her hands. ‘It hurts so much. I want a little peace, a little happiness. Try to understand me. Be my friend …’
‘I don’t want to be your friend! You’re my mother! If you won’t give me your support, your help, your affection, then I don’t need you,’ Marie-Thérèse said quietly.
‘Oh! Marie-Thérèse, how cruel you are!’
‘Then give your consent, Mama. You know very well I’ll be happy! You’re stealing three years of happiness from me, that’s all there is to it.’
‘No, no, no,’ Gladys said weakly.
She was crying; slow, heavy tears flowed down hercheeks. ‘Let me be!’ she begged. ‘Have pity on me! Don’t say anything else. Don’t you realise it’s pointless?’
‘Yes,’ said Marie-Thérèse, in spite of herself.
Gladys was holding her hands. Marie-Thérèse pulled away in disgust, pushed away the beautiful, soft white arms that tried to hold her back and ran out.
8
The very next day Olivier asked to see Gladys, but it was the same scenario at Sans-Souci as it had been at the Esslenkos’ house: he could only see Gladys with her friends present. That same evening he went to the Middletons’ home, where Gladys was invited to dinner.
When he got there the meal was over; a few couples were dancing to the music of a small orchestra. He saw Gladys waltz past in the arms of Georges Canning, Lily Ferrer’s lover. She was smiling and looked happy. When she saw him she looked startled and turned pale. He waited until the dance ended, then went up to her and asked to speak to her in private. She was fiddling with a long white glove she held in her hand, gently tapping it against her skirt.
‘A word in private? My dear Olivier, can’t you come and see me at my house whenever you want? Why so formal?’
‘Because it is actually with regard to a rather formal matter,’ he said, smiling.
‘This is hardly the appropriate time or place …’
‘In that case, I am begging you to tell me when I can see you.’
She hesitated, then sighed. ‘All right, come with me.’
He followed her into a small adjoining sitting room. They were alone. She looked at his face; he looked so like Claude that she felt almost as if no time had passed at all. Like Claude, he had a long, delicate face, fair hair and a slim mouth that looked harsh and severe when closed, but very sweet when slightly open. She smiled shyly at him; he kept his eyes fixed on her, yet didn’t seem actually to see her.
‘I know that
‘I won’t obey you,’ said Marie-Thérèse, raising her pale, tense face.
‘You have to obey me. And you know it. You’re a child. You’re a minor. You have to obey me.’
‘But why? Why wait?’
‘Because you’re too young,’ Gladys said again, quietly, automatically, ‘and because these hasty marriages turnout badly. I don’t want you to be unhappy. Yes, I know; you’re thinking right now that I’m the cause of your unhappiness. But it isn’t true. All I’m asking is a few months of a secret, delightful engagement that will light up your life and give you happy memories. You’re still a child, Marie-Thérèse, you don’t understand. There is only one thing that makes life worth living and that is the beginning of love, love that is timid at first, that then becomes desire, impatience, anticipation … I’m offering you all that and you’re holding it against me. I don’t want to make you unhappy,’ she said again, looking at her daughter in despair. ‘Oh, heaven forbid! If you and that young boy love each other, well, then, get married, be happy. I’ll be delighted to see you happy. I love you, Marie-Thérèse. But wait a little. Three years will go by quickly and you know very well that I have to consent. But while you wait, take pity on me. Don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to, I don’t want to,’ she whispered, hiding her face in her hands. ‘It hurts so much. I want a little peace, a little happiness. Try to understand me. Be my friend …’
‘I don’t want to be your friend! You’re my mother! If you won’t give me your support, your help, your affection, then I don’t need you,’ Marie-Thérèse said quietly.
‘Oh! Marie-Thérèse, how cruel you are!’
‘Then give your consent, Mama. You know very well I’ll be happy! You’re stealing three years of happiness from me, that’s all there is to it.’
‘No, no, no,’ Gladys said weakly.
She was crying; slow, heavy tears flowed down hercheeks. ‘Let me be!’ she begged. ‘Have pity on me! Don’t say anything else. Don’t you realise it’s pointless?’
‘Yes,’ said Marie-Thérèse, in spite of herself.
Gladys was holding her hands. Marie-Thérèse pulled away in disgust, pushed away the beautiful, soft white arms that tried to hold her back and ran out.
8
The very next day Olivier asked to see Gladys, but it was the same scenario at Sans-Souci as it had been at the Esslenkos’ house: he could only see Gladys with her friends present. That same evening he went to the Middletons’ home, where Gladys was invited to dinner.
When he got there the meal was over; a few couples were dancing to the music of a small orchestra. He saw Gladys waltz past in the arms of Georges Canning, Lily Ferrer’s lover. She was smiling and looked happy. When she saw him she looked startled and turned pale. He waited until the dance ended, then went up to her and asked to speak to her in private. She was fiddling with a long white glove she held in her hand, gently tapping it against her skirt.
‘A word in private? My dear Olivier, can’t you come and see me at my house whenever you want? Why so formal?’
‘Because it is actually with regard to a rather formal matter,’ he said, smiling.
‘This is hardly the appropriate time or place …’
‘In that case, I am begging you to tell me when I can see you.’
She hesitated, then sighed. ‘All right, come with me.’
He followed her into a small adjoining sitting room. They were alone. She looked at his face; he looked so like Claude that she felt almost as if no time had passed at all. Like Claude, he had a long, delicate face, fair hair and a slim mouth that looked harsh and severe when closed, but very sweet when slightly open. She smiled shyly at him; he kept his eyes fixed on her, yet didn’t seem actually to see her.
‘I know that
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