Resistance Read online

  ‘I should love to be able to do that.’ He spoke without thinking, and flushed as she arched her eyebrows. ‘I mean... if I were in a position to do so, it would be because I would be seeing you again.’

  She gave him another of her considered looks, then said, ‘I have always been told that Englishmen are very slow. But you are very fast.’

  ‘Then I apologize again.’

  ‘No, no. Friends should never apologize to each other.’

  ‘Are we friends?’

  The music had started. ‘Would you like to dance again?’

  ‘I would rather talk with a friend.’

  Another quizzical look, then she said, ‘Why, so would I.’

  It was just getting dark, and was extremely cold, but Madeleine, predictably, was wrapped in a mink. They found a cafe on the Champs Elysees where they were out of the wind, ordered coffee and cognac. ‘Is it not uncanny,’ she remarked, ‘that there is a war on, and yet Paris is still Paris, and the Champs Elysees is still the Champs Elysees. Do you think if we both closed our eyes, held hands, and wished very hard, it would all go away? The war, I mean. Hitler.’

  ‘I should love to close my eyes and hold your hand, but I don’t think it would make a lot of difference to Hitler.’

  ‘That is because you are a soldier. You want to fight.’

  ‘Do you know, I did, up to half an hour ago. Now I would rather spend the rest of my life talking to you.’

  ‘A romantic soldier! But that is a very nice thing to say.’

  ‘I have a confession to make.’

  Again that delicious arch of the eyebrows. ‘To me?’

  ‘My father is not a headmaster. He is a housemaster.’

  ‘Well, what is wrong with that? He will be a headmaster one day.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. But if you forgive me, I would like to take you out to dinner.’

  She made a moue. ‘I have a dinner engagement.’

  ‘Of course. Well, then...’

  ‘I am free tomorrow.’

  ‘And I am due back at camp tomorrow morning.’

  ‘The Fates are against us. When will you next be in Paris?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘I hate the Fates.’

  ‘Would you give me an address, or a telephone number, so that I can contact you next time I get leave?’

  ‘That would do you no good. We go back to Paulliac the day after tomorrow, for Christmas, and we shall be spending the winter there. It is warmer than here.’

  ‘Hell! I beg your pardon.’

  She shook her finger to and fro. ‘No apologies, remember. Listen, we will make a date. My sister Amalie is getting married in May. Give me the name of your regiment and I will send you an invitation, well in advance. Surely they will give you leave to attend the wedding of a family friend?’

  ‘Am I a family friend?’

  ‘You are now.’

  ‘But... May?’

  ‘I know. It is a long time away. You will have forgotten all about me by then.’

  ‘I was thinking that you will have forgotten about me. But... Paulliac? That’s also a long way away.’

  ‘Not Paulliac. Chartres. De Gruchys always get married in Notre-Dame in Chartres. Listen. I will send you an invitation, and you will come to the wedding. You will stay with us. We have a house in Chartres. We will get to know one another better, and I will give you some of our wine to sample.’ She gave a little giggle. ‘You will be able to ask Liane why she was expelled.’

  He had put the whole thing down as a dream, until this very morning, when the invitation had arrived. It had been mailed in March, and that it had taken so long to reach him had been because on that December evening he had still been a line officer, and as he had not had an address for her he had been unable to inform her of his change of status. Thus the envelope had spent several weeks moving around army sorting offices until he had been located. The thought that it might never have got to him, or at least not until after the wedding, made his blood curdle. As was the thought that she might be offended, or have struck him off the guest list, because he had never replied. But he was here at last. ‘De Gruchy?’ he asked the ticket collector.

  ‘Ah, de Gruchy.’ A volume of French.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to speak English? I’m looking for their house. Maison de Gruchy?’

  The ticket collector came to a decision. ‘Fiacre,’ he said, and summoned one. James accepted that it might not be a bad idea to turn up in a taxi, but it took a very long time. Not that the streets were crowded, but they were extremely narrow as they slipped down to the River Eure, while the driver insisted on making a detour to show him the cathedral, which was certainly striking with its spectacular twin towers — although he reflected that he would be taking a closer look at it tomorrow — but the front drive of the de Gruchy mansion was packed.

  The house stood on the banks of the river, the gardens reaching down to the water. The long entry drive also made its way through clustering flower beds, and was crammed with delivery vehicles of every description. The taxi driver considered the situation, and made a remark. James couldn’t understand what he said, but his meaning was obvious enough. ‘I’ll walk the rest,’ he volunteered, and held out a sheaf of notes. The driver selected two of these, and James picked up his valise and made his way through the throng. People cast curious glances at his uniform but did not appear to comment. However, when he went up the huge wide front steps to the open double doors, he encountered a formidable-looking individual in a frock coat, who looked him up and down, identified his khaki uniform, and inquired, in English, ‘Your business, sir?’

  ‘I’m a guest at the wedding,’ James explained.

  The butler looked sceptical, but then a voice said, ‘You must be James.’ In its quality, low and musical, yet clear and resonant, James thought it the most attractive human sound he had ever heard. He turned, not knowing what to expect, and was for a moment rendered speechless. Here was another Madeleine, only the handsome features were overlaid with a crisp softness which made for real beauty, dominated by the eyes, huge and blue and wide set, the whole framed in wavy yellow hair, worn loose and unfashionably long, well past her shoulders, kept in place by a bandeau. She wore a white silk blouse and loose black pants. He never doubted that she had a splendid figure: her blouse was full and her hips slender, and although she was no taller than her sister, her legs were also long, and her bare feet, thrust into high-heeled sandals, were exquisite.

  ‘Do I pass muster?’ she inquired.

  He flushed. ‘I am most terribly sorry. I...’

  ‘Was expecting Madeleine, perhaps. But you will have to do with me, for a while.’ She held out her hand. ‘I am Liane.’

  ‘Madeleine’s elder sister.’

  ‘That is correct. And you are Captain Barron. Madeleine has told me all about you.’

  ‘I must apologize for not having sent an acceptance. The invitation only reached me this morning. It got lost in various regimental post bags.’

  ‘But you came anyway, and at such short notice. That was sweet of you.’ Men carrying boxes of glasses hurried by. ‘Shall we get out of the line of fire?’ Liane suggested. ‘It is all right, Antoine, he is not going to steal anything.’ She led the way down a vast hall, with a chandelier hanging above their heads, and a grand staircase mounting on the right, and turned into a drawing room, as spacious and luxurious as everything about this family. ‘Champagne?’

  ‘I haven’t missed the wedding, I hope?’

  ‘We always drink champagne. Don’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not always on offer in an army mess.’

  ‘I know. Soldiers have a difficult time. Laurent!’

  An under-butler hurried forward with a tray and presented two glasses. Liane raised hers. ‘Welcome to Chartres. My brother is a soldier.’

  ‘Madeleine told me. About Madeleine...’

  ‘She is having a last fitting. She did not like her gown for tomorrow, and it
had to be altered. You will see her at dinner.’

  ‘About tomorrow... and dinner. I have only my uniform.’

  ‘You look divine. Should a man not always be in uniform?’ Thank God for that, he thought, remembering Paris. ‘Mama, this is Madeleine’s friend, Captain Barron.’

  The woman who had just entered the room offered him her hand, in such a manner that she clearly expected him to kiss it, so he hurriedly put down his overnight bag and did so. She was not a day under fifty, he estimated, but he could tell immediately where the sisters had got their looks. ‘Welcome, Mr Barron,’ Madame de Gruchy said, her accent establishing that she was as English as himself. ‘Would that be the Devon Barrens?’

  ‘Ah... we come from Worcestershire.’

  ‘Of course.’ Laurent was back, and she took a glass. ‘I must apologize for all the fuss and botheration. Weddings are such tiresome things, and this is our first.’

  ‘Where are we putting Captain Barron?’ Liane asked.

  ‘The list is in the study. You will have to check with Antoine as to a room for the Captain’s man.’

  ‘Ah...’

  Liane put down her glass and held his hand. ‘Come along and I’ll sort you out.’

  James picked up his bag. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Madame de Gruchy...’

  ‘Don’t let her bully you. Laurent! I really do not like that vase on that table. Kindly move it.’

  Liane led James out of the room and down the hall to another door. ‘You don’t have a man, do you?’

  ‘I have a batman. But I didn’t bring him with me. Do you think I should find an hotel?’

  ‘Certainly not. We would be insulted. I would be insulted,’ she added, leaving no doubt that that was far the more serious consideration. She opened the door. ‘Papa! This is Captain Barron, of the... I don’t know the name of your regiment.’

  ‘I’m in Intelligence, Monsieur de Gruchy. I hope you don’t mind my barging in like this.’

  Albert de Gruchy was seated behind a large desk, in the centre of another enormous room, lined with bookshelves. He made James think of a St Bernard dog; even his bow tie, as large as everything else in this house, suggested a flask of brandy strapped to his neck. He didn’t get up, but extended his hand to be shaken. ‘Intelligence, eh? Do you know what the Boches are up to?’

  ‘Ah... I’m afraid it’s all theory at the moment, sir.’

  ‘Intelligence!’ Liane said. ‘How terribly exciting. You must tell me all about it. Papa, do you have the list?’

  ‘Which list? I have twelve lists. I have a list for the wine, a separate list for each course of the wedding banquet, a list for the dinner tonight, a list of car parking places, a list of the children’s positions at the ceremony, a list of who leaves the cathedral with whom... Do you know what our army needs, Barron? And probably your army as well. My wife as chief of staff.’

  ‘I want the list of sleeping arrangements,’ Liane said.

  ‘It is here somewhere.’

  She went round the desk and sifted through the papers. ‘Here we are. Let me see... You’re not here!!’

  ‘I would say I was not expected, as I did not reply.’

  ‘We’ll have to put that right.’

  ‘I think Marengo is still vacant,’ Monsieur de Gruchy suggested.

  ‘Marengo! But that is on the third floor. Who is in Wagram?’

  ‘I imagine it is Pierre.’

  ‘Then he will have to move. He isn’t here yet, anyway.’ She picked up a pen, stroked out the name, and replaced it. ‘There. Now you are next door to me. We will share a bathroom.’ James cast a hasty glance at M de Gruchy, but he was already studying another list. ‘And you’ll have Joanna on your other side,’ Liane said. ‘What fun. Come along. I’ll show you.’

  James’s head was spinning. ‘If you’ll excuse me, monsieur...’ M de Gruchy waved his hand. James picked up his overnight bag and followed Liane into the hall. ‘I can’t share your bathroom.’

  ‘Why not? You can lock the door when you want to be alone.’

  He watched the black slacks moving in front of him as she climbed the stairs, and tried another tack. ‘Is Joanna another of your sisters?’

  ‘No, no. Joanna is a friend. Like you. We were at school together.’

  ‘And she’s English?’ Oh, what he would give to encounter an average Englishwoman, educated to his own middle-class code of conduct, in this den of aristocratic eccentricity. Except that he supposed any friend of the de Gruchys would probably be an aristocrat in her own right.

  ‘Joanna is American,’ Liane explained. ‘Well, half American.’

  ‘And the other half?’ He remained optimistic.

  ‘Her father is Swedish.’ They reached the top of the stairs, and James found himself in another hallway as long and as high as the one below, this one with doors to left and right at regular intervals. ‘They’re split up. Americans are always splitting up.’

  He followed her along the hall. ‘And she was at Benenden?’

  ‘No, no. She was at Lucerne with me.’

  ‘Oh. Lucerne.’ He wondered if he dared ask about that.

  ‘Here we are.’

  The name, Wagram, was in gilt over the door. To the left was Austerlitz, to the right Borodino. ‘Are all the rooms in the house named after Napoleonic victories?’

  ‘Napoleonic battles. Papa is very broad-minded.’ James had already deduced that. ‘He and Mama sleep in Waterloo. Well, Mama is English. I suppose you saw that.’

  James followed her into a luxurious bedroom. ‘Yes,’ he said absently.

  ‘She was a Howard. Do you know them?’

  ‘Not the...?’

  ‘She’s a cousin of some sort. We were taken to Arundel once, but I don’t think the duke knew who we were.’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘I don’t think he wanted to. Will this be all right?’

  ‘This is stupendous. But if it’s your brother’s room...’

  ‘It isn’t really. Only when we happen to be in Chartres. We only come here once a year as a rule, and he isn’t always with us. Mama only put him here this time because we haven’t seen him since Christmas, and she thinks he is a good influence on me.’

  ‘Well, then...’

  ‘I hate good influences. Especially Pierre. He lectures me. You aren’t going to lecture me, I hope? In fact, I’m rather hoping you’ll be a bad influence. I do like bad influences.’

  ‘Ah...what time do you expect Madeleine home?’

  ‘Oh, she’s home. In the housekeeper’s apartment, being fitted. You could be a good bad influence on her as well. She’s terribly strait-laced.’ Liane opened an inner door. ‘This is the bathroom. And that door leads to my room. If you want to come in, do knock first. I may be doing something you shouldn’t see.’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be more proper to lock your door?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. I hate locked doors. Come in when you’re ready, and we’ll go down together. Or would you rather I sent Madeleine to you?’

  ‘Well, I suppose, as I am her guest...’

  ‘You are the guest of all of us. But I’ll tell her you’re here.’

  *

  She went through to her room and he regarded the door for some seconds. He wanted to use the bathroom, but he didn’t want to offend her. He had never before been so swept off his feet. Carefully he turned the key, then unlocked the door again when he was finished. Then he unpacked, a matter of seconds, as he had only a single change of shirt, socks and underclothing and his toiletries. He hung up his tunic and took off his boots, then carried his wash bag into the bathroom, and arrived before the sink to gaze at toothbrush and toothpaste, and a razor, and several tubes and bottles. What to do? He had never shared a bathroom with a woman before, and he was not even supposed to be interested in her. But how could anyone not be interested in Liane de Gruchy?

  He arranged his things a safe distance from hers, then returned to his room and lay on the bed, which was a tester, and gazed at the canopy.
He actually was quite tired, having been travelling all afternoon after poring over maps and photographs all morning. And there was so much to think about, so much to savour over the next three days. Could he possibly fit into such a society? Did he want to? Oh, he wanted to. But he simply could not envisage himself taking Madeleine, just for instance, back to Worcester to meet his parents. Liane, perhaps. He suspected that she would take anything in her stride. But he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Liane.

  He woke up with a start when there was a knock on his outer door. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep. Now the afternoon was drawing in; his watch told him it was just past six. ‘May I come in?’ Madeleine! He leapt off the bed, looked desperately left and right, but he didn’t have a dressing gown, and the door opened. ‘Or were you asleep?’

  ‘I was. I do apologize.’

  She wagged her finger at him. ‘There you go again.’

  ‘I mean, well, I’m not dressed.’

  ‘You have pants on.’

  ‘But I should be downstairs. Shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Come down whenever you wish. Dinner isn’t until eight thirty.’ She closed the door behind herself as she came into the room, and he realized she was wearing a dressing gown, and her hair was loose. He also realized that while she was every bit as attractive as he remembered, she was not Liane. Who, apart from any other consideration, had to be at least four years older than himself. ‘I’m so glad you made it.’ She continued to approach him. ‘Do you like the room?’

  ‘It’s fabulous.’

  ‘And next door to Liane. That can be wearisome.’

  ‘She put me here herself.’

  ‘I know she did. My sister believes that everything in this world, but especially every man to whom she takes a fancy, has been put here for her delectation. But you’re my guest. Do you agree?’

  ‘Well, of course. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘You can thank me by kissing me.’ Her arms went round his neck and her body became wedged against his. Her lips were moist, her tongue eager. James had never been kissed like that before. And Liane considered her strait-laced? ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I should try to avoid kissing Liane.’

  ‘Is she dangerous?’