But a new obsession with appearances had descended within days of their arrival in Paris. As she’d stepped out of the car at Boulevard Racan, a sort of defensive snobbery had settled on her. He’d first put it down to homesickness – a loss of the familiar – but he could no longer deny that Rhonahad changed fundamentally. No more laughter, no more music. Her life was now all about out-Frenching the French: couture suits and Reboux hats, sending out cards to the correct set of ‘friends’, eating in chichi places and admiring the right kind of art. Even the dogs wore coats in each new season’s colour and went to a fashionable spa to be washed.
Rhona had also changed towards him. He supposedshe wished he was riding alongside her, correctly attired, as she assaulted the citadel. But interestingly enough, it was he who had become the more
authentic
Parisian …
He had taken a mistress. Hélène was the wife of a Polish count who was absent most of the year, preferring Cannes to Paris. Hélène gave Jean-Yves all he needed sexually and intellectually, and left him alone in all other regards.They met three, four times a week.
Rising from his desk, he told Rhona that the Savile Row suithe was wearing was quite adequate for lunch
en famille –
‘But you look upset. What’s troubling you, my dear?’
‘There is a matter I’ve been trying to raise with you since last month. Don’t deny it, Jean-Yves, the minute I catch your eye you come and lock yourself in here.’
He didn’t deny it. ‘Youhave me to yourself now. I’m listening.’
‘It was a Saturday morning … I don’t recall which Saturday, but I was at Maison Javier for a dress fitting and I saw somebody there – a scruffy girl with a basket.’
‘Had she wandered up the wrong staircase?’
‘I have no idea, Jean-Yves. One does not show curiosity about such people. My point is, I knew her. It was the creature you occasionally took outto dinner when we lived in London.’
‘How do you know?’ The words were out before he could stop them. He cleared his throat. ‘What I mean is, I took many people out to dine when we lived in London.’
‘Many young females … really?’
‘Of course not. One or two perhaps, daughters of friends who were stuck in town, that sort of thing. What is your point, Rhona?’
‘This creature – she’s different.She had the most penetrating expression. An appealing quality, like a starving spaniel. Ordinarily I would not lower myself to mention it, but things are different now. Until Christine is safely married, Jean-Yves, this family’s behaviour must remain above reproach. Who you meet,the places you are seen – they matter. People will make judgements about the family allying itself with the Duc deBrioude. Dalliances – or even dinners - with needy Jewesses simply will not do.’
She turned her face from him, presenting a smooth cheek – her way of communicating that she’d said her piece and there was nothing further to discuss. Trembling with an anger that threatened to overwhelm him, Jean-Yves counted ten, twenty heartbeats. When he’d mastered himself, he told Rhona he’d booked dinner atMaxim’s for the Monday coming. ‘Philippe prefers dinners at home, but we should take him and Mme la Duchesse out on her last night, don’t you think? I’m giving you fair warning in case you need to have another dress made.’
‘By Monday?’ Realising he was being funny, she nodded. ‘As you’ve booked, we must go. I will inform the Duchesse.’
As her heels snip-snapped away, Jean-Yves released a longbreath. So, finally, Rhona had bumped into Alix. It must have been Alix – who else possessed eyes worthy of such a quarrel? But what could have brought Alix Gower to Maison Javier? And looking scruffy … though he doubted that. To Rhona, anything but couture that one’s maid had pressed that morning was scruffy. How did she know it was Alix when they’d never met? For he’d made damn sure
Rhona had also changed towards him. He supposedshe wished he was riding alongside her, correctly attired, as she assaulted the citadel. But interestingly enough, it was he who had become the more
authentic
Parisian …
He had taken a mistress. Hélène was the wife of a Polish count who was absent most of the year, preferring Cannes to Paris. Hélène gave Jean-Yves all he needed sexually and intellectually, and left him alone in all other regards.They met three, four times a week.
Rising from his desk, he told Rhona that the Savile Row suithe was wearing was quite adequate for lunch
en famille –
‘But you look upset. What’s troubling you, my dear?’
‘There is a matter I’ve been trying to raise with you since last month. Don’t deny it, Jean-Yves, the minute I catch your eye you come and lock yourself in here.’
He didn’t deny it. ‘Youhave me to yourself now. I’m listening.’
‘It was a Saturday morning … I don’t recall which Saturday, but I was at Maison Javier for a dress fitting and I saw somebody there – a scruffy girl with a basket.’
‘Had she wandered up the wrong staircase?’
‘I have no idea, Jean-Yves. One does not show curiosity about such people. My point is, I knew her. It was the creature you occasionally took outto dinner when we lived in London.’
‘How do you know?’ The words were out before he could stop them. He cleared his throat. ‘What I mean is, I took many people out to dine when we lived in London.’
‘Many young females … really?’
‘Of course not. One or two perhaps, daughters of friends who were stuck in town, that sort of thing. What is your point, Rhona?’
‘This creature – she’s different.She had the most penetrating expression. An appealing quality, like a starving spaniel. Ordinarily I would not lower myself to mention it, but things are different now. Until Christine is safely married, Jean-Yves, this family’s behaviour must remain above reproach. Who you meet,the places you are seen – they matter. People will make judgements about the family allying itself with the Duc deBrioude. Dalliances – or even dinners - with needy Jewesses simply will not do.’
She turned her face from him, presenting a smooth cheek – her way of communicating that she’d said her piece and there was nothing further to discuss. Trembling with an anger that threatened to overwhelm him, Jean-Yves counted ten, twenty heartbeats. When he’d mastered himself, he told Rhona he’d booked dinner atMaxim’s for the Monday coming. ‘Philippe prefers dinners at home, but we should take him and Mme la Duchesse out on her last night, don’t you think? I’m giving you fair warning in case you need to have another dress made.’
‘By Monday?’ Realising he was being funny, she nodded. ‘As you’ve booked, we must go. I will inform the Duchesse.’
As her heels snip-snapped away, Jean-Yves released a longbreath. So, finally, Rhona had bumped into Alix. It must have been Alix – who else possessed eyes worthy of such a quarrel? But what could have brought Alix Gower to Maison Javier? And looking scruffy … though he doubted that. To Rhona, anything but couture that one’s maid had pressed that morning was scruffy. How did she know it was Alix when they’d never met? For he’d made damn sure
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