Days of Winter (32 page)

Today when Etienne came to visit, Jeanette was helping Lucien and Nicole with their reading as Desirée sat on her lap and listened. Jeanette looked up and smiled, ready to stop the lesson, but Etienne gestured for her to continue. Quietly he sat down in the large wing-back chair and observed the group, thinking it was a sight worthy of a painting by Renoir. Etienne felt a warm contentment in this place, as though no harsh world existed outside this room.

When the lessons were over, the children greeted Uncle Etienne with kisses, and then Lucien played on the floor with his soldiers, while Nicole and Desirée played house, pouring make-believe tea and serving make-believe pastries.

“Good morning, sir.” Jeanette smiled at Etienne. “I’m sorry we were in the midst of our lessons when you came in.”

“I’m happy you were. The children seem to me to be reading remarkably well, or is that just a doting uncle’s pride?”

“No, you’re quite right. They’re really exceptional in their comprehension. They learn so quickly that I’m giving them more advanced lessons. Monsieur Dupré, I’ve hesitated until now, but there are some things I’d like to ask your permission to do with the children. …May I?”

“Of course.”

“Well, they’ve never been to the carousel or the park. I thought it would be great fun if we visited the zoo. And I know they’d enjoy an excursion to the Bois de Boulogne.”

“I see no objection to that. Whenever you’re ready to go I’ll have André drive you.”

“Monsieur, another thing … in their own best interests, I think they should have more exposure to people. Instead of being driven, I’d like to go by metro … and have lunch at a sidewalk café. And, also, I suspect they’d enjoy a boat ride down the Seine.”

“I hope you don’t intend to complete this safari in one day.”

She laughed. “No, sir … we’ll do it gradually. I want the children to learn that life can be full of adventure.”

“You make it sound so exciting I almost wish I were seeing Paris for the first time with such a governess. …”

Etienne understood very well why the children loved her. What a remarkable young woman she was. He was more grateful than ever to Monsieur Dryfus for recommending her, and shuddered to remember that he had almost sent her away. …

T
RADITIONALLY, BY THE
Twenty-fifth of June the Dupré household was in preparation for the exodus to the château in Provence, where they would spend the summer. They usually left Paris on the first of July, returning September first. This year was no exception. This year it would be an especially welcome respite after the sorrow the family had suffered. It would be good to feel the serenity of the countryside, to walk in the Dupré vineyards, to feel the good earth of Provence under their feet … the summer should help to restore their spirits.

Following their departure, the furniture was draped in white linen, giving the enormous rooms a ghostlike atmosphere. The Baccarat crystal chandeliers were covered, and also the Sèvres and the paintings, since only a caretaker and his elderly wife would remain in the house during their absence.

At eight o’clock on July first, Madame, dressed entirely in black, was escorted by Jean-Paul to the waiting limousine. Marie Jacqueline Eugenie Mallette, Jean-Paul’s wife, was already seated when Madame got in. Jean-Paul sat between them, and Etienne took the seat attached to the partition that divided the family from the driver, in front of his mother.

In all, there were four vehicles. The second limousine was reserved for the children and Jeanette, who brought toys and books along to hold the children’s attention on the long drive. A large touring car carried Clothilde and her staff, and a lorry took the remaining household servants and all the provisions for the journey, which took almost two days.

The trip was broken with a stop at the Auberge de la Fontaine aux Muses, where the Duprés had a standing reservation each year. Several times during the journey Phillipe, the driver of Jeanette’s car, tooted his horn, which was the signal to stop. All four conveyances then came to a halt and the potty chambers were brought from the lorry. Once relieved, the children climbed back into the limousine and the entourage continued. By eleven o’clock they were halfway to Lyon, and the lead car turned off the road into a green meadow with shade trees. Soon there was a flurry of excitement. The household staff seemed to know exactly what to do. Within minutes a small striped-canvas cabana was erected. Inside were potty chambers both large and small, towels, soap, pitchers of water and wash basins for the family to refresh themselves. Collapsible canvas chairs were arranged for the adults around a big white linen cloth, spread out on the grass. The wicker hampers were unpacked. The wine, which had been chilled on a block of ice inside a large metal tub, was brought out. Clothilde was, of course, in charge of all these arrangements.

The family then settled down to a marvelous luncheon of cold meats, salads, bread, cheese and fruits. Although Clothilde had outdone herself again, none of the family seemed impressed, but to Jeanette it was like a fairy tale, or something out of
Uncle Vanya
.
Madame was sitting there like a
grand dame
, which, indeed, she was. Alongside her sat her daughter-in-law. It was the first time Jeanette had seen her. She was shocked. Marie Jacqueline was not at all what she’d expected. She was almost ugly. Her nose ran, and her eyes watered. She was constantly using her handkerchief. She apparently suffered from dreadful allergies, complaining continually about the weather. One minute it was too hot, and the next it was too cold. The insects were almost intolerable to her, although no one else complained. No
wonder
Jean-Paul had mistresses, Jeanette thought. She also realized, with small credit to herself, that Marie Jacqueline’s discomfort was giving her a guilty sense of pleasure.

Desirée was full of mischief, since she had slept a great part of the way. Now she wanted to play tag with Lucien, who refused. Then she begged Nicole, but Nicole refused, too. Finally she said, “Jeanette, please chase me …?”

As Jeanette got up, Etienne said, “No, Desirée. Let mademoiselle rest. She’s tired like the rest of us.”

Madame shot an imperious glance at Etienne. How dare he include Jeanette with the rest of them … the very idea!

Desirée persisted. “Please, Jeanette?”

Etienne was about to speak again when Madame said, “Oh, very well, go along, my child, with mademoiselle. But be
careful
.
…
”

By two o’clock the entourage was again on the dirt road to Lyon. At seven they arrived at the Auberge de la Fontaine aux Muses, and with considerable pomp, the management staff came forward to greet the Duprés. A bouquet of flowers was presented to Madame. How privileged, as always, they were to see her and her family. The Duprés were taken to their suites, where bottles of chilled champagne awaited them, while the servants retreated to quarters reserved for them in another building. The Duprés occupied the entire second floor, along with Jeanette. Madame’s suite consisted of a large bedroom, a smaller room for her personal maid, Renée, an oversized sitting room and a bath. Jean-Paul and his wife had the suite next door. This suite, however, had two bedrooms, since Jean-Paul and his wife hadn’t shared the same bedroom since just after their marriage. The suite also had a sitting room and two separate baths. Etienne’s suite was less imposing, with one large bed-sitting room and a bath. Jeanette and the children were given the fourth suite down the hall—a spacious room with three single beds placed close to one another, two large wing chairs, a small, round dining table and four matching chairs. Jeanette’s room connected, and there was one bath to accommodate the four of them.

Because of the long trip the children were attended to immediately. Dinner was brought to them, and they ate with great relish. Soon after they became restless and cranky and were bathed and put to bed. They fell asleep, uncharacteristically, almost immediately. Jeanette went to her bedroom and wrote to Deborah and Leon, and to Madeleine. Then she bathed, and finally fell asleep, with sweet thoughts of Jean-Paul. …

Madame, too exhausted to dress and go downstairs, had decided to have dinner sent to her room, and Jean-Paul, not wanting to eat alone with his wife, suggested that they all join their mother.

Shortly after dinner they all said good night and kissed Mother on the cheek, told her they hoped she’d feel more rested in the morning and went to their separate rooms.

Jean-Paul was restless. He sat on the edge of his bed, overcome with boredom. Marie Jacqueline had been especially tiresome today. He had loved Provence since childhood, but having to spend the long summer there with her was like drinking hemlock. At least in Paris he could escape … service in the diplomatic corps took him, thank God, to faraway places, such as the one he’d only recently returned from, Algiers, where he was attached to the foreign office. And he’d still be there if it weren’t for Denise’s death. The only time he was really happy was when he was away from Marie Jacqueline. Out of town, he did miss his mother, but he missed neither Paris nor his mistresses, whom he could always replace wherever he went. And he could always visualize his dear wife hanging the large crucifix over her bed, religious fanatic that she was. He wondered how she would survive the summer without the divine help of Father Verdous. He had to laugh. She couldn’t possibly sleep, not even one night, without the protection of the image of Christ above her bed. When she went to confession, what the hell did she have to confess? She led a completely celibate life, and had in recent years become a recluse, taking care of her cats, numbering six at his last count. Those damned cats, of course, were the reason for her allergies. She’d been to one specialist after another. They all gave her the same diagnosis: her condition was caused by the animals. When she refused to give them up, saying she’d rather be ill than be deprived of what she considered were her children, the doctors all suggested she see a psychiatrist. Perhaps, they said, it was anxiety that initiated the attacks she had, which brought with them not only the wheezing, but the runny nose, the watery eyes and the headaches. The awful headaches.

Damn it, he thought, maybe he had been just a bit too ambitious at twenty-four in marrying her. Was all the money worth it? He asked himself the question often, and the answer was always the same. Yes, it was. Maybe the cats would kill her; in that case, there’d be no question about it. What bothered him the most was that Marie Jacqueline, unproductive bitch that she was, hadn’t even been able to provide him with a son. She’d become pregnant all right, but she had always miscarried after three or four months.

These trips to Provence were always difficult. The mere fact that she was with him made them so. He avoided her as much as possible but he couldn’t leave her in Paris, if not for the sake of propriety, at least out of respect for his mother. As far as his mother was concerned, where a husband went so went his wife. Talk about crosses!

It was late, but he decided to go down to the dining room. The last guests were leaving as he came in. He sat at a small table and a young girl approached him.

“Good evening, monsieur. What is your pleasure?”

His eyes strayed to the full bosom that overlapped the peasant blouse, then to the flaxen hair. He wanted to say, “You,” but instead he smiled his famous disarming smile. “Brandy, mademoiselle.”

When she placed the snifter in front of him, Jean-Paul reached for it and tipped it over. The young girl blushed and became flustered as the liquid dripped on his clean white trousers.

“Forgive me, monsieur, I’ve ruined your trousers. Please pardon my clumsiness.” On the edge of tears, she tried to repair the damage by wiping the spill on his pants leg. When she bent down, he was pleased to look inside her blouse.

He took her hand and gently guided it. “My dear, you’re making too much of this. Accidents happen. …”

“I know, monsieur, but this is unforgivable—”

“Anyone as pretty as you is easily forgiven.”

“You’re too kind, monsieur.”

“Not at all. Trousers can be cleaned, but feelings are not so easily repaired. It could happen to anyone,” he said, still holding her hand.

“Thank you, monsieur. May I get you another brandy?”

“Only if you’ll join me.”

“But I can’t do that—”

“Why?”

“It’s against the rules to become friendly with the guests—”

“But there’s no one here now.”

“I know. But still, if anybody should see me sitting with you, I’d lose my job … you do understand? Although of course I’d be most honored. …”

“Of course. I shouldn’t even have suggested such a thing”—he smiled—“and now I will have the brandy, if you don’t mind.”

When she brought him another drink, he took the glass between his hands and twisted it back and forth. His eyes had not left her for a moment.

“Can I get you anything else, monsieur, before I leave?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were through.”

“That’s quite all right.”

“Are you on your way to meet your husband?”

“Oh, no, monsieur. I’m not married. I live with my mother.”

“But I bet there’s a young man waiting for you.”

“No, monsieur. …”

“But you do have a young man? Maybe more than one?”

“No,” she said, “just one.”

“Just one … then it must be serious.”

“No … I haven’t decided whether to marry him or not.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s a farmer and I want to see Paris before I get married.”

“Paris?”

“Yes, monsieur. I’ve never been far from Lyon. And if I don’t go to Paris before I marry, perhaps I never will. …Please forgive me, monsieur, but I really have to go now. Good night, sir.”

She walked back through the kitchen to get her coat, then went out through the back entrance and walked down the gravel path.

Standing at the end of it was Jean-Paul. She was startled, and breathing a little too hard. “Good night, monsieur,” she said again, and walked past him.

Jean-Paul followed her. “Please allow me to walk you home, mademoiselle.”