The Landower Legacy (30 page)

He came with an armful of hothouse flowers. I was present but he had eyes only for her. He sat by the sofa and they chatted vivaciously; after a while I made an excuse and left them together.

That was the beginning. His carriage was at the house every day. He took her out for drives in the country, to luncheon, to dinner. He dined with us.

“You must put up with our simple ways,
cher
Alphonse …” (They were on Christian-name terms by this time.) “Once I could have entertained you in a manner worthy of you. It is different now …”

She looked so pathetic and helpless that Alphonse’s ever-ready chivalry must certainly come rushing to the fore.

I liked him. In spite of his bombast and flaunting of his worldly goods, there was a simplicity about him. His enthusiasm for his work, his belief in himself, his dedication, his almost boyish susceptibility to my mother’s beauty coupled with his obvious speculation as to how such a beautiful woman could play the gracious hostess to his clients and replace his dead wife … these things endeared him to me.

I think he quite liked me—when he could spare a thought from my mother.

At first my mother was a little anxious because she said I looked older than my years and that made her seem older than she was. “And when you put on that air of knowing everything and talk in that clever-clever way, it makes you seem even older. Men don’t like it, Caroline.”

“If men don’t like me, I shall retaliate by not liking them,” I replied.

“That’s no way to talk. But if you could wear your hair down … instead of piled up in that ridiculous way …”

“Mama, I am nineteen years old, and there is no way of making me less.”

“But it makes
me
seem old.”

“You’ll never be old.”

She was somewhat mollified, and as Monsieur Foucard did not seem to be aware of my mature looks, she decided to forget them. She tripped about the house now. There was no talk of illness; she even gave up the afternoon rest. The new excitement in her life did her more good than all the ice-pads and lotions and creams for her skin. She glowed.

Christmas came. Most of the entertaining was done by the Dubussons. They had the space and were delighted to play hosts. They loved
romance and it was clear that this was brewing between the affluent Monsieur Foucard and the very beautiful Madame Tressidor. The Claremonts were delighted because it was in their territory that the important Monsieur Foucard had found his contentment.

I don’t think any of us were surprised when the announcement was made.

Monsieur Foucard delivered a long speech telling the company that he had been a lonely man since he had become a widower and now he had been given a new lease of life. He would be lonely no longer, for Madame Tressidor had paid him the supreme honour of promising to become his wife.

There was great rejoicing throughout the village, and nowhere more than in our house.

My mother was in a state of perpetual excitement. She talked incessantly of Alphonse’s establishment in Paris and his house in the country near Lyons. He travelled about the country a good deal on business, and she would go with him.

“Bless him, he says he will not let me out of his sight!”

Everton was already talking about the Paris shops.

“They are the leaders in fashion, Madame, say what you will. No others can compete. I shall study them and we shall choose the very best.”

“Oh Caroline,” cried my mother, “I am so happy. Dear Alphonse! He has rescued me. I declare I could not have gone on much longer. I was getting to the end of my tether. It won’t be a grand wedding. Neither of us wants that. After all, it’s not the first time for either of us. There will be a great deal of entertaining later. It’s so fascinating … all that perfume.”

“Mama,” I said, “I am delighted to see you so happy.”

“There is so much to do. I shall keep on this house until I go to Paris. Alphonse thinks we should be married there. What a joy to escape from all this … squalor.”

“It’s hardly that. It’s really a very charming house.”

“Squalor compared with what I had.”

“Everton will go with you?”

“Of course. How could I do without Everton?”

“And Marie … and Jacques … they more or less go with the house. I hope the Dubussons will find good tenants.”

“Of course they will.” She glanced sideways at me. “I suppose you will go and stay with Cousin Mary?”

I couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “Cousin Mary is not really related to me, is she? She is Robert Tressidor’s cousin and he has made it clear that I am no connection of his.”

She was dismayed. “Oh! But you wanted to go!”

I laughed and could not stop myself saying: “You want me to go to Cousin Mary, don’t you, Mama …
now.”

“It will do you good and you liked it there. You were so eager to go a little while ago.”

“Yes, as eager as you were to keep me here then and as eager as you are for me to go now.”

She looked stunned.

“I believe you are jealous, Caroline. Oh fancy that! My own daughter!”

“No, Mama,” I said, “I am not jealous. I do not envy you one little bit. I am delighted that you have found Monsieur Foucard. And I shall go to Cousin Mary.”

She laughed a little slyly. “You’ll be able to renew your friendship with that man.”

“You mean Paul Landower?”

She nodded. “Well, you liked him. I must say he went off very abruptly. He’s not a bit like Alphonse.”

“Not a bit,” I agreed.

She smiled complacently. Life was working out well for her.

I could understand her gratitude to Alphonse. I had to admit I shared it. Alphonse was not only my mother’s benefactor; he was mine also.

Although everything was working out so satisfactorily it was not until Easter that the marriage took place. There was a great deal to arrange; shopping to be done; a visit to Paris for my mother and Everton where they could shop to their hearts’ contentment.

I did not accompany them to Paris but remained in the house. There was a certain amount of packing to be done and every day when I woke up it was with the hope that Paul would come. I was indulging in my usual day-dreams. I had let myself imagine that he would ride to the house one day and would tell me that he had come back to see me because he had been unable to stay away. I believed that he had been on the point of saying something important to me when he had left—but for some reason had refrained from doing so.

Perhaps he had thought our acquaintance was too brief. He could not think I was too young now. So I let myself dream.

Therefore I was glad to stay in the house while my mother went to Paris. If he should return I must be there.

The spring had come, and I must say a rather regretful farewell to all the friends I had made. The kind Dubussons, the Claremonts who were so grateful to us for providing their greatest and most important business associate with such joy, to Marie with her memories of
le petit soldat
and Jacques who had still not succeeded in persuading his widow.

I was sorry to leave them and yet I was longing for complete freedom. I was looking forward to arriving at the station and finding the trap waiting for me. It all came back so vividly—the winding lanes, the lodge with the thatched roof and garden full of flowers and beehives, and Cousin Mary with her cool but staunch affection and her common sense. I wanted to see Jago again—and more than anything I wanted to renew my exciting friendship with Paul Landower.

I had written to Cousin Mary and told her that my mother was about to get married. She wrote back with enthusiasm. I must come as soon as I could.

I had also written to Olivia.

Her wedding would soon take place and she hinted that she would be very happy if I came. But that was something I could not do. Since Paul had come back into my life I felt less bitter about Jeremy—but I did not think I could face seeing him married to my sister.

Olivia understood. Her letters were cautious. She did not want to say too much about her happiness, but it shone through. I sincerely hoped that she would not be disillusioned, but I did not see how she could fail to be.

I went to Paris for my mother’s wedding and I stayed in a hotel with her and Everton for a few days, as Alphonse thought that my mother should not be under his roof until after the ceremony.

Alphonse had not exaggerated; there was no doubt that he was a very wealthy man. As for my mother, she looked younger and more beautiful every day. She was now attired like a lady of fashion and Alphonse was so proud of her that I hoped he would never discover her somewhat shallow and selfish nature.

I decided that I would leave France the day after the ceremony although Alphonse said the house was at my disposal for as long as I
wished; and if at any time I wanted to make my home with them, I was welcome.

I thought that very generous of him and told him so.

“My dear, you are the daughter of my dearest wife. This is your home.”

I told him he was charming and I meant it. And I marvelled at my mother’s good fortune.

They went to Italy for their honeymoon. I saw them off on the train, my mother attracting glances of admiration from passers-by and Everton struggling with all the bandboxes, feverishly counting the cases, as happy as my mother to say goodbye to what they called penury.

Affluence suited them both.

I would cross the Channel and take the night train to Cornwall.

At last I was on my way.

THE LOST

ILLUSION

Seated in the train, watching the countryside rushing past, it was inevitable that I should recall that
other occasion. It all came back so vividly. I could almost see Miss Bell sitting opposite me, making sure that I should profit from everything which came my way. I even remembered the two ladies who had left us at Plymouth although I had forgotten what they looked like.

I could remember so clearly that apprehension, that bewilderment, the terrifying experience of being wrenched away from all that was familiar, and being thrust without much warning into a new life. I could laugh now at my fears of Cousin Mary the ogress, the harpy, who had turned out to be so different from my imaginings.

Crossing the Brunei bridge, looking down at the ships below, I was seeing those two, Paul and Jago, and laughing to myself at the memory of Miss Bell who had disapproved of their addressing us. That was the beginning, I thought.

When I alighted there was Joe waiting for me in the trap just as he had five years before.

“My patience me,” was his greeting, “I wouldn’t have known ‘ee, Miss Caroline. You’m grown a bit since I last did see ‘ee.”

“It’s the usual thing, you know,” I replied.
“You
haven’t changed a bit.”

“A few more of the white hairs, Miss Caroline, a wrinkle or two I
shouldn’t wonder. Travelling alone this time you be. Last time it was that governess woman. A bit of a Tartar she was.”

“As you say, Joe, I’ve grown up.”

Then we were rattling along. No need to warn me this time of the “bony” road. I knew it well. Everything was agreeably familiar.

I said: “It looks exactly the same.”

“Nothing much changed down here, Miss Caroline.”

“People change.”

“Oh … ah! They do grow older.”

“More white hairs, more wrinkles,” I said.

“You get along with ‘ee, Miss Caroline.” He began to laugh. “My missus was saying Miss Tressidor be right glad you’m coming.”

“Oh, did she? That’s a nice welcome.”

“She took to you, Miss Tressidor did. My missus says t’aint right for women to be all alone in this world. They want a husband and children … that’s what they do want. So my missus says.”

“She should know, having acquired both.”

“Well, yes, Miss Caroline, there be our Amy married to the wheelwright over Bolsover way and our Willy he’s doing well at Squire Trevithick’s place near Launceston. Then there’s our Jimmy who went out to Australia … caused us a bit of trouble, our Jimmy did.”

“You can’t expect everything to work out smoothly, can you?”

” ‘Tis something a man looks for, and I sometimes says to my missus, ‘Well, there be Amy and Willy … and we don’t see so much of them … and there be Jimmy in Australia.’ And there’s my missus herself … She keeps a tight hand on me. Sometimes I says to her, ‘Maybe the old maids ‘as the right idea.’ That’s if they’re placed comfortable like Miss Tressidor.”

“People make their own way in life,” I said. “The art is to be content with what you have.”

I thought I sounded just like Miss Bell.

Then I laughed and went on: “This is a very serious conversation, Joe. What’s been happening here at Lancarron?”

“There’s been tidy changes at Landower. The family be back there now.”

“Yes, I heard. What changes, Joe?”