Days of Winter (31 page)

When the children had been put to bed she felt very restless. Wanting to talk to someone, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Clothilde, the cook, had just finished her chores. When she saw Jeanette she was surprised, especially since it was Saturday. Jeanette had never come to the kitchen at this time of night She had liked Jeanette from the very beginning. She wasn’t like that so superior Mademoiselle Valeriese, always trying to put on airs as though she were born to the purple, the very idea. This one was modest along with a spirit Clothilde admired. Clothilde knew how she had conquered the children and how Monsieur Etienne had been her champion when she was hired. Yes, she liked this one more than just a little.

Jeanette returned the older woman’s affection. True, Clothilde tended to rule the other servants, her word was law and few disputed her. She not only had seniority, but in her mind this house was her birthright. She was a woman of violent likes and dislikes; there were no in-betweens. She loved Madame, was completely devoted to her. Although they were about the same age, for all her hard labors Clothilde didn’t look her fifty-five years, whereas Madame, for all her luxurious living, looked much older. Of course, Clothilde had noticed the abrupt change in her mistress almost from the day her husband, Marshal Dupré, had died. …

“Sit down and have a cup of coffee,” she told Jeanette now. And for a while, they drank in silence, Clothilde peering over the rim of her cup, observing Jeanette. Finally, without any preamble, she said, “You’re lonely tonight, yes?”

“I suppose, a little.”

“Well, that’s natural, a young girl on a Saturday night with no boyfriend. Why do you come back so early on your day off?”

“I like it here … besides, I have nothing else to do—”

“You have no friends?”

“Well, one, a dear friend—”

“Ah, a young man, and you come home so early? What kind of a romance is that?”

“No, my friend is a girl, her name is Madeleine. I spent the afternoon with her.”

“Ah ha. I see. But I think you come home for more than one reason.”

Jeanette’s heart jumped. Had Clothilde discovered her need to see Jean-Paul, not to miss the possibility of seeing him for a moment in the evening, which was when he usually came. …But then she reasoned, how could she? She’d said nothing.

“You miss the children, no?”

That was true. In fact, when she left for the day, it was almost with a feeling of guilt, as though she was abandoning them. “Yes, I miss them. …”

“I knew it. You see, dear, our jobs become our lives. Whether good or bad, that’s how it is. Whatever her age, Mademoiselle Valeriese was still a virgin when she left. I’d bet money on it. Why do you think I’m alone in the world today? Because I paid more attention to the Duprés than I did to my husband, Marcel. I gave him too much freedom to stray, and so one day he went off, without a word. …Ah, well, that’s life. …”

“Are you trying to tell me, Clothilde, that I shouldn’t have taken this job?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. I’m just an old party philosophizing. When one decides to go into service, it is like going into a nunnery.” She laughed.

“Why didn’t you ever remarry?”

“Who had time? Besides, this is my home and the Duprés are my family.”

“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?”

“I was practically born here. My mother was here when Marshal Dupré’s mother and father were the masters. I saw the children born.” For a moment she was quiet, then continued. “To think of Denise, that beauty, in her grave … it’s unbelievable. …But of all the children, Etienne is the best. I love him the most. And, I might say, Jean-Paul the least. He’s a scoundrel, that one, although I must admit a most charming one.”

“But how can you say that …? I’m shocked,” Jeanette said, and blushed, in spite of herself.

Clothilde’s eye noted it. “I see he’s gotten to you already, yes?”

Jeanette didn’t answer, certain that her voice would confirm Clothilde’s suspicions.

“No need to answer,” said Clothilde. “I can see that he’s charmed you.” She pursed her lips, then said, “Now listen to me, my dear. I’m going to tell you something I’ve told very few—”

Jeanette came to Jean-Paul’s defense automatically … if it was derogatory she didn’t want to hear it. “Please don’t, Clothilde. I have the highest regard for Monsieur Dupré.”

“Of that I have no doubt. In fact, I suspect you’re already in love with him.”

Jeanette was stunned. How transparent her feelings for Jean-Paul must be. Suddenly, she had to confide in someone. “Yes, yes, I am, Clothilde. I know it’s ridiculous but I can’t help it But he must never know …
please
…”

Clothilde sighed. “You asked me not to tell you, but I’m going to, all the same. I’m going to tell you because you’re very young, and vulnerable and … well, I am a mother, with a daughter, of course older than you. But when she was young, your age, she met and fell in love with and went off with a sailor from Marseille. I thought I would die … and today I don’t even know where they are. …I guess my own experience, my daughter’s, makes me feel as I do toward you. So listen to what I have to tell you. …”

She began with the birth of Etienne, when Jean-Paul was four. Until Etienne’s arrival, Jean-Paul had been not only the baby, but also the idol of his mother, who showered him with love. He was, too, the first boy, the great gift Antoinette had given her husband to carry on the name of Dupré. And, in return, Jean-Paul not only loved his mother, he possessed her. He wanted her to love no one else but him. Even at that age his jealousy had been obsessive. Then, suddenly, a stranger had come into his life, a deformed stranger, and had taken his mother away from him. From the moment of Etienne’s birth, Jean-Paul had despised him, not only because the new one had replaced him in his mother’s affection, but because she left him for long periods of time, taking the deformed monster away, seeking, searching, for a cure. They went from one European specialist to another—to Germany, to Vienna, to Switzerland. Wherever she heard there was a new specialist, they went. …None of the doctors had a cure. Finally she became resigned to the fate of her youngest child.

Once, when the family was at the seashore, the children were playing in the surf. Jean-Paul swam out a little farther, and insisted that Etienne swim out to meet him. Etienne, only five, tried to walk out to meet his brother. Although the water was shallow, Etienne lost his footing and the undertow began to drag him away. He panicked, calling out to Jean-Paul and filling his lungs with water. Jean-Paul did nothing. He
wanted
this wicked monster who’d deprived him of his mother to drown. If it hadn’t been for Denise, who saw what was happening, Etienne would have drowned. Denise had awakened the governess, who had fallen asleep on the beach. The governess had managed to swim out to Etienne and tow him in. She laid him face-down on the beach and pumped the water from his lungs. When the grandmother, Madame Dupré, learned what had happened, she blamed the governess entirely and dismissed her at once.

Clothilde continued, “Now you see, my dear, why Madame was so concerned when you came to take charge of the children, feeling that only an older woman was qualified?”

“Yes, I can understand that. But how can you accuse Monsieur Dupré of wanting something so dreadful to happen to his brother? A brother’s jealousy, perhaps, but—”

“Believe it, my dear. I know what I speak about. Once when the boys were older, in the heat of an argument, Jean-Paul became so angry he shouted at Etienne, ‘She should have let you drown.’”

Jeanette shook her head. She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe this was true.

“All right, maybe it’s good to have illusions,” the older woman said.

“Clothilde, the Jean-Paul Dupré I have met is not an illusion. He’s kind, and understanding. He’s helped me tremendously with the children. I could never have won Lucien over so quickly if it weren’t for him.”

“I’ve no doubt of it … but don’t you see? He must always
look
good.”

Jeanette hesitated before speaking. Finally she said, “Clothilde, forgive me for asking this … but why do you hate Monsieur Jean-Paul so much? Isn’t it, perhaps, because Monsieur Jean-Paul is everything his brother isn’t?”

“No. It’s because he isn’t honorable.”

“He isn’t
honorable
…? How can you say that? Among other things, I understand he has a very responsible job with the government, very unusual for so young a man—”

Clothilde laughed until tears came to her eyes, and she wiped them away with her apron. “Oh, my dear, did you ever hear of a government, especially ours, that was honorable?” And then she became serious again. “I also dislike him for this … he tries to appeal to poor Madame to give him the inheritance that should have been Denise’s, instead of sharing it equally between himself and Etienne. If he could he’d deprive Etienne of this house—”

“How do you know all this?”

“Why, you silly little duck, you think that because I stay in the kitchen I don’t know what goes on in this house? I know everything. Jean-Paul is avaricious, and vicious … money hungry. He’ll go to any lengths to get what he wants. He probably won’t be content until he becomes Mr. President himself.”

“But he already has so much. Why should that be so important to him?”

“Because he wants everything, to be the most important one. …And even that wouldn’t satisfy him. He even married a woman he despises because she could help him to win his goals. It wasn’t a marriage at all, it was a merger. But he’s been punished … the one thing he wanted was a son. His wife has had four miscarriages—and he doesn’t give a tinker’s damn for her, only her money. Jean-Paul has three loves—himself, money and his mother. Probably in that order.”

Jeanette was stunned and angry. “Why have you told me all this—”

“Because I don’t want you to be taken in. Jean-Paul is irresistible to women. He has a mistress now. The first, you think? No, dear. I’ve stopped counting. He can’t resist the temptation of a female, and I don’t want you to be the next one hurt. Everything Jean-Paul puts his hands on he maims and destroys. I don’t like him, I don’t approve of him, and I never shall. I warn you, I ask you, to take care. Don’t let your feelings run away with you. At best you would only be a conquest.”

“Clothilde, you’re just wrong … he’s never intimated, nor made a gesture that was not gentlemanly—”

“For your sake, I hope he continues to act that way, but I doubt it. …Well, I’ve at least shown the charming Monsieur Jean-Paul Dupré to you for what he is. He’s not worth the little finger of Monsieur Etienne. And now, dear, we’re both tired. Tomorrow is another day. …Please don’t dismiss what I’ve told you.”

As she lay in her bed in the dark, the night seemed foreboding, frightening … Jeanette thought of things she’d never wanted to recall again. …But the past couldn’t be ignored. Who knew better than she what brothers could do to one another? Maurice had cheated her father. The circumstances were different from those Clothilde had spoken of, but still, it couldn’t be forgiven. Rubin had been denied his inheritance because he’d violated convention, supposedly brought shame to his name by marrying her mother. But the situations must be different. They
must
be. Maurice was a cheat, a thief. How could anybody compare him and Monsieur Jean-Paul. …

Jeanette told herself that Clothilde had spoken sincerely but totally out of prejudice, as though in some way she could transform her favorite, Etienne, into Jean-Paul by degrading Jean-Paul. It was just impossible for her to believe otherwise. …Oh, God, she wished that Clothilde hadn’t told her such things. But it didn’t matter, Jean-Paul
was
all the things she felt about him. He had to be. …She blocked out what she didn’t want to believe, couldn’t believe.

She hadn’t known, though, until tonight that Jean-Paul was married. It had been a startling surprise. His wife had never come to visit the children even once. All she’d known was that he didn’t live in his mother’s home. Since he was twenty-nine, and away so much of the time on official business, Jeanette had concluded that it was simply a better arrangement for him, but now that she knew he was married, she suddenly felt threatened. Of course, he could never have been hers. But still, she had at least been able to fantasize that one day she’d become a great beauty, maybe even the toast of Paris. And that suddenly he’d discover her and fall hopelessly in love with her. As she was with him. Of course, she knew it could never happen, but still …

And as for Jean-Paul’s wife … well, she no doubt was petulant and arrogant, and independent … like her father’s wife … no wonder he didn’t care for her. …She didn’t even have the decency to visit the children, or their grandmother. If Jean-Paul despised his wife, as Clothilde had said, then surely he was justified.

As the weeks passed Jeanette felt a peace and contentment she’d not known before. What she’d felt from the very first for Jean-Paul didn’t diminish, but she was satisfied merely to be in his presence when he came to visit.

The children adored her. She thought she understood now something of what Clothilde had meant when she told her that going into service was a way of life. They seemed to be her children; she felt they had transferred their love for their mother to her. In fact, they felt so close to her that they now called her Jeanette. Their memories of Mademoiselle Valeriese were distant and no longer a threat.

Only Madame was appalled that the children called her by her first name, but Etienne quickly overruled his mother’s objections, a task made easier since she, too, had seen the enormous change in the children since Jeanette’s arrival. They were, undeniably, happy, contented children, when just a short time ago they’d been bewildered and confused.

So Jeanette’s life was full. She had her children, and her love … though the latter had to be secret. And each day Etienne made a contribution with his understanding, gentleness and concern, always supporting her. He came to visit at least twice a day, which pleased her. He complimented her on how well the children were doing and listened patiently to the simple piano recitals the children were only too eager to perform, a considerable accomplishment in itself, she thought wryly.