Her Lover (105 page)

He took her in his arms, picked her up, laid her on the bed, and threw a fur coat over her, for her teeth were chattering with cold. He tiptoed into the bathroom and came back with a hot-water bottle, which he put under the fur coat. He turned out the ceiling light, switched on her bedside lamp, knelt but did not dare kiss her hand, whispered that she was to call if she needed him, and then, feeling none too proud of himself, he tiptoed out.

In the sitting-room, he stood in the darkness by the door he had quietly closed, pacing, listening for sounds, thinking about the wretched life they led, smoking and touching his chest at intervals with the glowing end of his cigarette. Finally he made up his mind, opened the door carefully, padded across to the bed, leaned over the innocent girl who in sleep was released from her misery, his woman whom he had hurt, she who had given him her heart, she who had danced in wonderment at the Ritz, she who had wanted nothing more than to go away and live with him for ever, his trusting girl who believed her happiness would have no end, who had grown thin believing.  Kneeling, his cheeks lit by tears, he watched over his blameless girl who slept like a child, his woman whom he had hurt. 'I will never, ever hurt you again,' he told her to himself, 'and I will love you with all my might and you shall be happy, you'll see.'

CHAPTER 89

Next morning, after a melancholy shave, he lit a cigarette to get himself back into an optimistic frame of mind, and forced a smile to convince himself that he had found the answer. Of course! They must sever all social links, because constantly rubbing shoulders with other people reminded them that they were outcasts and therefore alone, walled up inside their love. If they had a house of their own, they would have no contact with others and wouldn't be troubled by the contrast, by reminders of the life which went on outside. They would live in their own world and, seeing nobody, would not need other people. And he would do all he could to make their house a temple where he could set before her a life of perfect love.

It was all quite absurd, but he had gone too far down the road to turn back now. The major task ahead was to make her happy, he told himself as he strode breezily into her room, twirling his beads to make himself look keen, like a man whose mind was made up. He kissed her at once on her forehead, her eyes, her hands, to infect her with hope.

'Hello, my angel, my only love! It's all over,
finis,
I'm cured: no more scenes ever again! All things are new made! Glory to God in the Highest! And there's something else,' he announced, with well-feigned exhilaration, and he took both her hands in his. 'Listen. How would you like to have a house of our very own? The one you looked at the other day and said was sweet?'

'Near La Baumette? The one that's to let?'

'Yes, my love.'

She nuzzled up close to him and laughed in the elusive, tremulous way she had that night at the Ritz. A house of their own! And one with such a pretty name: Belle de Mai! (She could already picture herself as Queen of the May.) He looked at her, touched by her resilience, by her youthful capacity for hope! She leaped out of bed.

'I want to see it at once! Let me have my bath! Off you go, darling! Order the taxi while you're waiting! It won't take me long to dress!'

The moment the taxi drew up outside Belle de Mai she fell head over heels in love with the house, which backed on to a modest pine-grove and boasted a lawn which ran down to the sea edge. Oh, those four cypresses! After a tour, punctuated by much excited whooping, of this gem of a house, she came running back to him, covered his hand with kisses, complained that .he wasn't admiring it enough, that he wasn't saying with sufficient enthusiasm that Belle de. Mai was fairyland, declared that she already felt utterly at home and read out what was written on the notice fixed to the gate. 'House to Let. All enquiries to Maitre Simiand, Solicitor, Cannes.' She dragged him by the hand to make him hurry up, threw herself into the taxi, and kissed his silk cuffs. Imitating the doll-woman at the Royal, she sang out that what she wanted was Belle de Mai, so there, Belle de Mai, yah-boo-sucks!

Still dragging him by the hand, she went up the steps leading to the solicitor's office two at a time. Oh, it was the only house worthy of them! She burst through the door and spoke to the oldest of the clerks. 'We'd like to rent Belle de Mai.' The elderly chief clerk, a tall smoked eel in a celluloid wing-collar, asked what this Belle de Mai was. She explained, said that she and her husband had decided that the house was just what they wanted and that they would like to take it. The way the chief clerk shook his head filled her with panic. Was it already let? 'I couldn't rightly say.'

They sat down. 'Perhaps we could buy it?' she said, prompting him. He did not have time to reply, because at that moment Maitre Simiand himself suddenly appeared at the door of his office, perfectly groomed and exuding clouds of royal fern. He made way for them with the courteous deference which earned him the lasting respect of his fellow citizens until the day when, several years later, he was charged with misappropriation and fraud. She sat facing him across his Empire desk and, shaking slightly, spoke her little speech, giving a delightful description of the house, to which the young solicitor listened appreciatively.

'I felt immediately at home there,' the poor girl repeated. (She's happy now she's having dealings with someone other than myself, thought Solal.) 'The two cypresses on either side are absolutely marvellous,' she said with a social smile. (A whiff of adultery there, thought Solal.) 'I hope it isn't let already?'

'Well, negotiations are under way with a second party.'

Solal saw through his little game but said nothing. The rent would be put up, but what did it matter? It wasn't much of a sacrifice to pay slightly over the odds so that she could have the pleasure of a sham conversation with someone other than the hotel waiter or her hairdresser, someone almost of her own sort. Go ahead, make the most of it, my darling.

'But nothing's been signed yet?' she asked.

'No, but the party concerned are personal friends of the owner.'

She wanted to say something bold along the lines of business is business, but didn't dare. Instead, she made do with remarking that she would be prepared to offer more than these other people, well just a little more. He watched his innocent girl, who was born to be swindled. Who would look after her later on, when he was no longer there to do it?

'Such is not our practice,' said the solicitor with impressive coolness. 'The figure quoted to the other party is forty-eight thousand francs per annum. In all honesty, we cannot ask you to pay more. That is the price. (He normally asks for half that and gets no takers, thought Solal.) But the other party are having second thoughts, hedging, haggling.'

'I see,' she said with a smile. 'But don't you think it's rather expensive?'

'Not at all.'

'And you're quite sure that the house is satisfactory from all points of view?' asked the woman of business. 'Because we haven't seen round inside yet.'

' Quite sure.' (She inhaled contentedly, sensing that here was a bargain not to be missed.)

'We'll take it.'

The solicitor yielded with a nod, and she told herself that really it wasn't expensive at all. In fact everything was cheap in France, since all you had to do was divide by six. Eight thousand Swiss francs wasn't dear. Excellent, a snip. The solicitor concluded their business by saying that the key was with the estate agent, who was located just a few doors up the street, at number twenty. He would draw up a tenancy agreement for them to sign, it being understood, of course, that a full year's rental was to be paid in advance.

The agent was a vast, verbose shark on whose desk were a three-inch shell, a picture of Marshal Foch and a statuette of the Virgin, all designed to inspire confidence. The solicitor had just phoned and he knew what sort of people he was dealing with. While his mute, myopic assistant sat at his desk opposite, beavering away with a quill beneath the low, smoke-begrimed ceiling, he spent a quarter of an hour drawing freely on a copious stock of platitudes, expatiating on divers complex matters concerning the leasing and sale of property which had absolutely nothing to do with Belle de Mai. In the end he declared that, unfortunately for them, the other party had telephoned him that very morning to say that they were prepared to accept the figure of forty-eight thousand, a development of which Maitre Simiand was unaware. And naturally, given that they were friends of the owner. 'Oh no,' she murmured. There might just be a way round it, added the agent. Yes, their rivals were baulking at the prospect of having to pay the land tax, though it came to a mere six thousand francs. The estate shark would have quoted a somewhat higher figure had it not been for the impenetrable attitude of the husband. He was wondering whether he was really as stupid as he seemed, or whether he would put his oar in at the last moment.

'Done,' she said.

The agent inserted his little finger into one ear and asked Ariane if the fifty-four thousand francs could be paid then and there. She turned to Solal, who reached for his cheque-book.

'And naturally, there are the costs of drawing up the tenancy
agreement, the registration fee and sundry other expenses to be considered.'

Naturally,' she said, 'I quite see that. So can we sign the contract at once? Because we'd like the key so that we can see inside.'

She jumped out of the taxi, opened the gate, unlocked the front door, and stopped dead in her tracks, bowled over by the spacious hall and the high gallery which circled it. Oh, she would turn Belle de Mai into such a delightful home that it would be a pleasure to live there. And it was such a fine day too! The first of December and the sun so hot! She took both his hands and, leaning her head back, made him wheel round and round with her until the two of them were quite dizzy. She stopped suddenly, overwhelmed by a feeling of tender compassion for him. He had whirled round clumsily, like a child being taught a marvellous new game, and it struck her that he could not have played much when he was a boy.

They wandered from room to room. Forcefully, her voice ringing loudly through the empty, echoing rooms, she pointed out where their bedrooms would be, and the drawing-room and the dining-room. When she realized that there were two bathrooms, she gave a delighted little shriek. Really, fifty-four thousand francs, which was nine thousand francs in real money, wasn't a lot. After a quick inspection of the cellar and the attic, she decided they must go back to Cannes to choose furniture and carpets, or at least get some ideas.

'We'll spend the whole afternoon at it, all right?' she said in the taxi. 'That won't be too long, because there are so many things that need to be decided. But first we'll have lunch. I'm absolutely ravenous! Look, darling, let's not go to the Moscow this time. We'll go to some little restaurant, if that's all right with you. To start, I'll order a huge
omelette aux fines herbes,
or maybe one with ham in it, but only if you promise you won't think too badly of me. Happy? Me too! Ecstatic!'

That evening at the Royal they talked endlessly about their very own Belle de Mai, sang its praises, discussed the furniture they'd already bought, drew up plans, and kissed a great deal. At midnight they separated. But shortly afterwards he heard a shy knock, saw a sheet of paper which had been slipped under his door, picked it up, and read: 'Doth it please my Lord to share the bed of his servant?'

An hour later, as he slept pressed up against her, she was busily thinking in the dark. It would have to look very grand, very attractive inside, because they'd be spending the rest of their lives there. Two bathrooms was perfect, and Sol's room connected with one of them. It was annoying that there was only one lavatory, which would be awkward. That's it, have a lavatory installed in each of the bathrooms while Sol was away. Yes, get him out of the way while the house was being done out, so that she would have peace to get on with various not very romantic improvements. Oh yes, an absolute must, a lavatory in each bathroom, that was the answer. That way there'd be no embarrassing moments.

At eight next morning, already bathed and dressed, they went downstairs. After having breakfast in the dining-room, much to the surprise of the hotel staff, they set off. Taking his arm, she reverted to her brisk, social voice.

'Darling, I have something serious to say, which is that I'd rather you left everything to me and didn't see the work on the house being done in bits and pieces. You see, I want it to be like a wave of a magic wand for you, I don't want you back here until everything is good and ready. I'll wire Mariette and ask her to come at once. She'll come all right. She does everything I want her to. But you mustn't stay in Agay, because if you do we'll be tempted to see each other.'

And besides, though this she did not mention to him, there was the crucial issue of the two lavatories which were to be put in, and she must make absolutely sure that he didn't get wind of the scheme nor the briefest glimpse, even a distant peek, of the two china pedestals being delivered. And, furthermore, she also wanted to feel free to be a bit hoydenish and wind-blown while everything was being got ready, to feel she could gossip with Mariette without anyone peering over her shoulder, and polish and scrub to her heart's content: it would be such fun.

'So, darling, you'll shoot off to Cannes tonight, won't you? You'll stay at the best hotel, of course: you can let me know which. I'll give you a ring as soon as everything is ready here. I reckon it'll all be done and dusted in a couple of weeks. We won't write, and it will be heavenly when you get back! But now I've got something rather important to say, darling. I've made up my mind to be your Chancellor of the Exchequer. I don't want you to have to bother with money matters. Now that we have our very own house, I shall be the one who looks after the accounts.'

It was agreed that he would give her a cheque each month and that she would take care of everything. But she did not tell him that she intended to write to her bank in Geneva and ask them to send a hundred thousand French francs after they'd sold the requisite number of shares. In this way, by using the Chancellor of the Exchequer subterfuge, she would be able to contribute to their expenses without his being any the wiser. Was a hundred thousand French francs too much? No, not when it was divided by six. Oh yes, she'd turn the house into a temple where they would lead a life devoted entirely to love. She took his hand in hers and looked at him with all her soul.