Daughter of Deceit (38 page)

I talked to him about Roderick. I told him about the Roman remains and the fearful adventure when Lady Constance and I had come near to being buried alive, and how Mrs. Carling had removed the warning notice.

He listened with the utmost interest.

“You have been through a great deal,” he said. “It seems that it all began with the death of your mother. My poor Noelle, how you have suffered!”

“You, too,” I said.

“Differently. Do you think you could ever forget Roderick?”

“I think I shall always remember.”

“Always with regret? Even if … there were someone else?”

“I think Roderick would always be there.”

He was silent for a moment, and I said: “And you … and your marriage?”

“I shall never forget Marianne,” he answered.

“I understand. She was so beautiful. She was unique. No one else could take her place. You loved her … absolutely. I understand, Gerard.”

“Noelle,” he said slowly, “I have been on the point of telling you several times. I have to talk to someone. It is like a great burden on my mind. I hated Marianne. I killed her.”

I gasped. I could not believe I had heard him correctly.

“You … killed her?”

“Yes.”

“But she was thrown from her horse!”

“Indirectly … I killed her. It will haunt me all my life. In my heart, I know I was responsible for her death. I killed her.”

“How? Her nurse told me she found her in the field near
Carrefour. She had been thrown from her horse. Her neck was broken.”

“That’s true. Let me explain. I quickly learned how foolish I’d been. She never cared for me. I came from a rich family. All she wanted was flattery, admiration and money. There was plenty of the first two.”

“How can you say you killed her?”

“We were at La Maison. We quarrelled. There was nothing strange about that. She taunted me. She repeated that she had never cared for me. She had married me because I was a good match for an artist’s model. She hated me, she said. She was mocking … taunting me in every way. I said to her: ‘Get out of this house! Get out of my life! I never want to see you again!’ She was taken aback. She thought she was so desirable that she could act as she pleased and still be irresistible. She changed immediately. She said she had not meant what she said. She did not want to leave me. We were married and we must be together. We must make the best of things. I said to her: ‘Go! Go! Get out of my life! I never want to see you again.’ She started to cry. ‘You don’t mean that,’ she said. Then she went on: ‘Forgive me. I’ll be different.’ She knelt and clutched at me. I did not believe in her tears. She wanted to stay with me because life was easy and comfortable … but at the same time she wanted to go her own way. I had had enough. I could endure no more. I saw her beauty as evil. I knew my only chance of a peaceful life was to be rid of her. I wanted to forget I had married her.”

His face was distorted with grief and pain.

He went on: “I said: ‘Get out of here. Go … go anywhere … but keep away from me.’ She said: ‘Where could I go?’ ‘I don’t care,’ I told her. ‘Only get out before I do you some harm.’ She was crying, begging me to forgive her. Then suddenly she ran out. She ran down to the stables. She took her horse and was gone. The next thing I heard was that she was dead.”

“She had had an accident.”

“She had an accident because she was in such a state of despair. She was galloping madly and she came suddenly to the crossroads. She was not caring where she went because she was so
upset
… I
had upset her … turned her out … and she was thrown. You see, I killed her. It haunts me and I know it will throughout my life.”

“So … you did not love Marianne.”

“I hated her. And I am responsible for her death.”

“That’s not true, Gerard. You did not plan to kill her.”

“I told her to get out … out of my life, and she was so distraught that she lost hers in doing it.”

“You are wrong to blame yourself.”

“I do blame myself, Noelle. I should not have been so harsh with her. I should have said we would try again. I had married her … made my vows. I drove her away because I was tired of her … and because of her state of mind, she died. Nothing will convince me that I am not responsible for her death.”

“Gerard,” I said, “you have to forget this. You must stop blaming yourself.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I’m glad you did. I understand more now. It was not your fault. You must see that. Lots of people quarrel. You have explained it to me, and I must tell you that, as a looker-on, I think it is ridiculous to blame yourself.”

“No, Noelle, I was there. I saw her stricken face. I know she was superficial, heartless … but her position meant everything to her. She liked being secure. And when she was in danger of losing that, she went off … riding recklessly. She could have wild moods, she could be fiercely unreasoning and angry. She was killed because of what I had done to her. That is murder, as surely as taking a gun and shooting someone.”

“It is not the same. It’s not deliberate, for one thing.”

“You will never make me see that, Noelle.”

“Gerard,” I said. “I have made up my mind, and that is exactly what I am going to do.”

He smiled at me, and I said: “I am glad you told me.”

Gerard’s revelation had amazed me. It astounded me that the melancholy brooding I had seen at times was not a longing for Marianne but due to a sense of guilt.

It was two days after his confession that he said to me: “I have felt different since I told you. I feel as though I have shed the burden to some extent. You are the only one I have told. I could not bring myself to talk of it to anyone else. With you, it seemed natural to do so.”

“You did right to tell me, Gerard. I think I can make you see that you must not blame yourself.”

“I cannot stop doing it. I never shall. She was so distraught when she left. Not that she cared for me. She saw the comfortable life disappearing. Of course, she could have gone back to Carrefour, but that was what she had escaped from, and was the last thing she wanted. She could have gone back to Paris and become a full-time model. But she was at times lazy and extravagant. It was rather an unexpected trait in her character that she wanted the security of marriage.”

“Gerard,” I said, “it is over. She is gone. You must forget her, stop blaming yourself. Put her out of your mind.”

“As you should Roderick.”

I was silent, and he said: “You see, it is easy to tell others what they should do.”

“I know. Other people’s troubles always seem to have a solution. It is only one’s own that do not.”

“I must forget Marianne. You must forget Roderick. Noelle, could we perhaps do that together?”

I looked at him in surprise. “Together … ?” I murmured.

“Yes. I have grown very fond of you. These days when we have been together have been wonderful for me. Why shouldn’t we stay together?”

“You mean … ?”

“I mean, why don’t you marry me? I have felt different since you came … different about everything. I know you will go on thinking about Roderick. But he has gone out of your life. He can never come back. You can’t go on grieving for him forever. You have to start afresh. There is a chance for us both together.”

He was looking at me appealingly. It was true that our friendship had grown; we understood each other. I could find a certain relief from my memories when I was with him.

But there had only been one man whom I had wanted to marry, and though I could not marry him, that did not mean that I could easily turn to someone else.

And yet I was fond of Gerard. The most enjoyable times since I had lost Roderick had been spent with him.

I was bewildered, and he knew it.

He took my hand and kissed it. “You are uncertain,” he said. “But at least you do not give a definite no. So the idea is not entirely repulsive to you.”

“No. Of course not. I am fond of you, Gerard. I look forward to being in the studio more than anything else, but I am so unsure. I think it would not be fair to you. You see, I loved Roderick. I still love him.”

“Yet he has realized he has a life to lead. He is now married.”

“I think he did it because he was sorry for Lisa. It was pity.”

“No matter what, he has married. Think about what I have said. You might come to realize that it is best … for both of us. Think about it, will you?”

“Yes, Gerard,” I said. “I will.”

I did think about it. It was never out of my mind. I was very fond of Gerard. I was drawn to the life of the studio. It had given me great pleasure to prepare meals for him; and now I was overwhelmed by a desire to comfort and care for him. I wanted to banish from his mind forever that notion that he had been responsible for Marianne’s death.

In a way I loved him. Perhaps if I had never known Roderick, that would have been enough. But Roderick was there. The memory of him would never go away. I knew that for the rest of my life I would dream of him.

And yet I was fond of Gerard.

And so my thoughts went on.

I would go to the studio as usual. There was always a great deal
of coming and going, with the usual talk; but something else was cropping up. It had gradually seeped into the atmosphere for some time now. I sensed a general uneasiness; there were differences in opinions, and the young men were fierce in their arguments.

“Where is the Emperor leading us?” demanded Roger Lamont one day. “He thinks he is his uncle. He will end up at St. Helena if he is not careful.”

Roger Lamont was an ardent anti-royalist. He was young, dogmatic and fiery in his views.

“You’d have another revolution on our hands if you had your way,” said Gerard.

“I’d rid France of this Bonaparte,” retorted Roger.

“And set up another Danton … another Robespierre?”

“I’d have the people in command.”

“We did once before, remember? And look how that turned out.”

“The Emperor is a sick man with grandiose ideas.”

“Oh, it will work out all right,” said Lars Petersen. “You French get too excited. Let them get on with their business and we’ll get on with ours.”

“Alas,” Gerard reminded him. “We are involved, and their business is ours. We live in this country and its fortunes are ours. We’re in trouble financially. The press is not free. And I think the Emperor should restrain himself in his quarrels with the Prussians.”

They would go on arguing for hours. Lars Petersen was clearly not particularly interested. He interrupted them to talk about a certain Madame de Vermont, who had given him a commission to paint her portrait.

“She is in court circles. I’ll
wager that before long I’ll have the Empress sitting for me.”

Roger Lamont jeered, and Lars turned to me. “Madame de Vermont saw your portrait and asked the name of the artist. She immediately engaged me to paint her. So you see, my dear Noelle, that it is to you I owe my success.”

I said how delighted I was to have been some use to him. And I
was thinking how pleasant it was, sitting here and listening to their talk. I felt I was one of them.

It was a pleasant way of life. Was it possible that I could truly be part of it for the rest of mine? At times I believed I could, and then the memories would come back. I would dream of Roderick, and in those dreams he was urging me not to marry anyone else: and when I awoke the dreams seemed so real.

But
he
had married Lisa Fennell. That was the final gesture. He had accepted our fate as irrevocable. Surely I must do the same?

It was impossible. I could not do it, I told myself. Then I would shop in the markets, buy some delicacy, take it to the studio and cook it. And I would say to myself: This might be the way for me. But later … there would come the doubts.

Dear Gerard! I wanted so much to make him happy. I thought a great deal about Marianne. I could not believe that she was the kind of girl who would ride recklessly because she was so upset. I thought she was too superficial to have cared very deeply.

I wished that I could put an end to his terrible feelings of guilt. Perhaps I could discover something from Nounou.

I was obsessed by Marianne, and when our stay in Paris came to an end, I was almost eager to return to La Maison Grise, because I had a belief that from Nounou I might glean some useful information.

When Gerard said goodbye, he asked me to come back soon, and I promised I would.

“I know it is not what you hoped for,” he said. “But sometimes in life one has to compromise … and the result can be good. Noelle, I shall understand. I shall not reproach you for remembering him. I am prepared to take what you can give. The past hangs over me as it does over you. We can neither of us expect to escape entirely. But we should be good for each other. Let us take what life has to offer.”

“I think you may be right, Gerard, but as yet I am not sure.”

“When you are, come to me … come at once. Do not delay.”