Marie-Thérèse spoke to you yesterday,’ he said, ‘and you told her you would agree to our marriage under certain conditions. We must wait … We must wait three years?’
‘That’s right,’ she murmured.
‘But why, Madame? You have known me for such a long time. My mother was your first cousin. You know everything about me. Everything a mother needs to know. You know my family, how wealthy I am, my state of health. Why impose such a delay, such humiliation?’
‘I don’t see anything humiliating about it,’ she said, lowering her head. ‘A long engagement is considered natural and very wise in many countries.’
‘If the engagement is official …’
She shuddered. ‘No, not now, no, not right away. Official – that’s ridiculous. All the congratulations, the visits, all the hideous bourgeois trappings, no, no, how horrible. Once it has been decided, you will get married straight away and then it will all be public …’
‘I love Marie-Thérèse.’
‘Marie-Thérèse is still a child and so are you. This is a childish whim …’
‘We love each other as a man and a woman,’ said Olivier quietly. ‘She is a woman, even though you may never have noticed it. And I’m not just talking about her age: she is courageous, affectionate and loyal the way a woman is. Let us take our chance to be happy. Life is so short …’
She started, upset. ‘That’s certainly true …’
‘Three years … Think about it: isn’t it terrible to miss three years of happiness, three years of life?’
‘You must learn how to deserve happiness,’ she said flippantly. ‘Be patient. Believe me, you’ll only love each other more. I imagine this isn’t the official way to reply to a request of marriage. I never thought it would be necessary this soon; I wasn’t expecting it. Good Lord, Marie-Thérèse is still just a little girl to me. How can you not understand that? Until now, I’m the only one she’s ever loved …’
He quickly shook his head. ‘No. Marie-Thérèse is a woman like any other, thank God. When she was a child, she loved you, of course. She had, and still has, great affection for you. But you know very well that the love of a child is nothing when true love comes along. You must have had the same experience yourself … like all men and women. So you shouldn’t be surprised that Marie-Thérèse loves me more, chooses me; if you continue to oppose our marriage, she will end up considering you an enemy.’
‘Oh, no!’ murmured Gladys. ‘That isn’t possible …’
Two distinct feelings tore at her heart: she couldn’t bear the idea of being hated by Marie-Thérèse, the way she had hated her own mother. But what upset her even more was the thought that, for the first time in her life, she wasstanding face to face with a man who saw her only as his fiancée’s mother, the person standing in the way of his happiness.
‘I’m not a woman any more,’ she thought. ‘I’m just Marie-Thérèse’s mother. Me, me … Oh, I know very well that it happens to everyone. But death also happens to everyone and who thinks of death without horror? I love Marie-Thérèse, I do, with all my heart; I want her to be happy. But what about me? Me? Who will take pity on me? Of course I think I’m still young and beautiful, but I’m already old to other people, an old woman who will soon be laughed at. “She used to be beautiful,” they will all soon be saying. “So many men used to be in love with her.” And this young man …’
She would have liked him to find her attractive. Not so she could steal him from her daughter. The very idea that Marie-Thérèse might know the desire she felt filled her with shame. She just wanted to see herself in a better light, wanted to obliterate the cruel feeling of humiliation that filled her heart, the pain of wounded pride. She would have loved to make him desire her, even for just a moment …
‘I only want him to look at me once with desire, no,
‘That’s right,’ she murmured.
‘But why, Madame? You have known me for such a long time. My mother was your first cousin. You know everything about me. Everything a mother needs to know. You know my family, how wealthy I am, my state of health. Why impose such a delay, such humiliation?’
‘I don’t see anything humiliating about it,’ she said, lowering her head. ‘A long engagement is considered natural and very wise in many countries.’
‘If the engagement is official …’
She shuddered. ‘No, not now, no, not right away. Official – that’s ridiculous. All the congratulations, the visits, all the hideous bourgeois trappings, no, no, how horrible. Once it has been decided, you will get married straight away and then it will all be public …’
‘I love Marie-Thérèse.’
‘Marie-Thérèse is still a child and so are you. This is a childish whim …’
‘We love each other as a man and a woman,’ said Olivier quietly. ‘She is a woman, even though you may never have noticed it. And I’m not just talking about her age: she is courageous, affectionate and loyal the way a woman is. Let us take our chance to be happy. Life is so short …’
She started, upset. ‘That’s certainly true …’
‘Three years … Think about it: isn’t it terrible to miss three years of happiness, three years of life?’
‘You must learn how to deserve happiness,’ she said flippantly. ‘Be patient. Believe me, you’ll only love each other more. I imagine this isn’t the official way to reply to a request of marriage. I never thought it would be necessary this soon; I wasn’t expecting it. Good Lord, Marie-Thérèse is still just a little girl to me. How can you not understand that? Until now, I’m the only one she’s ever loved …’
He quickly shook his head. ‘No. Marie-Thérèse is a woman like any other, thank God. When she was a child, she loved you, of course. She had, and still has, great affection for you. But you know very well that the love of a child is nothing when true love comes along. You must have had the same experience yourself … like all men and women. So you shouldn’t be surprised that Marie-Thérèse loves me more, chooses me; if you continue to oppose our marriage, she will end up considering you an enemy.’
‘Oh, no!’ murmured Gladys. ‘That isn’t possible …’
Two distinct feelings tore at her heart: she couldn’t bear the idea of being hated by Marie-Thérèse, the way she had hated her own mother. But what upset her even more was the thought that, for the first time in her life, she wasstanding face to face with a man who saw her only as his fiancée’s mother, the person standing in the way of his happiness.
‘I’m not a woman any more,’ she thought. ‘I’m just Marie-Thérèse’s mother. Me, me … Oh, I know very well that it happens to everyone. But death also happens to everyone and who thinks of death without horror? I love Marie-Thérèse, I do, with all my heart; I want her to be happy. But what about me? Me? Who will take pity on me? Of course I think I’m still young and beautiful, but I’m already old to other people, an old woman who will soon be laughed at. “She used to be beautiful,” they will all soon be saying. “So many men used to be in love with her.” And this young man …’
She would have liked him to find her attractive. Not so she could steal him from her daughter. The very idea that Marie-Thérèse might know the desire she felt filled her with shame. She just wanted to see herself in a better light, wanted to obliterate the cruel feeling of humiliation that filled her heart, the pain of wounded pride. She would have loved to make him desire her, even for just a moment …
‘I only want him to look at me once with desire, no,
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