The Pool of St. Branok (24 page)

“Well, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t nearly assaulted and murdered.”

“No.”

“You mustn’t shiver like this. I am going to send for some brandy. It’ll steady you. It’ll soothe you. My poor, poor Angelet, and you have had this on your mind ever since!”

He went to the bell rope and pulled it. Then he came back to me and put his arms about me.

“I’m glad you told me,” he said. “And all that time you kept it to yourself.”

I nodded. “I’m glad you know. I nearly told my mother once or twice … but I didn’t. There are only two of us who know … Ben and myself … and now you, of course.”

He kissed me tenderly.

There was a knock on the door. It was a waiter. Gervaise ordered the brandy and came back to me.

He said: “Where is Ben now?”

“He’s in Australia. He went there to find gold.”

“And you have not heard from him all these years?”

“I expect Uncle Peter hears from him now and then.”

“My dear, dear Angelet, how old were you when this happened?”

“Ten … I think.”

“My poor child.”

“Gervaise, were we wrong? What should we have done? You see, we didn’t know what to do. He was lying there dead.”

“Perhaps you could have told people what had happened.”

“But Ben said they would say we killed him. You didn’t know about my grandfather. He was sent to Australia for seven years for killing a man. It was in more or less the same circumstances. He was with some gypsies and a man tried to assault one of the girls. My grandfather fought with him and killed him. He would have been hanged for murder if my grandmother had not had an influential father.”

“Surely this was different.”

There was a knock on the door. The brandy had arrived.

“Drink this,” said Gervaise. “It will soothe you. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel better now I have told you.”

“I’m glad of that.”

“I had to, hadn’t I? Otherwise you would have thought I didn’t love you. I do love you, Gervaise. I want everything to be right between us. It was just then … that it all came back to me.”

He put an arm round me as I sipped the brandy.

“You mustn’t worry,” he said. “It’s all long ago. You’ve got to put it out of your mind.”

I shivered. “Can you ever put such a thing out of your mind?”

“I think you will in time. You’ve taken a step towards it tonight. I’m here with you … for the rest of our lives … here to help you … to care for you.”

“That’s a wonderful thought.”

He took the glass from me and kissed me.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “You helped to hide him, it’s true. It was the best way perhaps. His death was accidental. He brought it on himself. You have to forget it.”

“I have tried to forget. I do for long periods … and then it comes back as it did tonight.”

“It’s left a scar,” said Gervaise. “I understand. But we are going to heal that scar. I’m going to help you forget. I shall do everything I can to make you happy. What you saw on that day was ugly, but ugliness exists in the world. You have confused it with love. Believe me, the two are miles apart. You will understand. I will make you understand, and then you will know the difference and you will not be afraid any more.”

How tender he was. He soothed me. I felt as though a burden had been lifted from me. It was no longer the secret locked within me. I had shared it and it had become lighter.

I shall never forget that night—my wedding night. He understood so well. His greatest quality was that he respected the feelings of other people and he could put himself in their place. He had sympathy for everyone, I was to discover. If he wanted to make life easy for himself, he did for others at the same time. His sympathy and understanding was balm to me.

I lay in his arms all night—just that. He knew my feelings; I had shown them clearly enough. He knew that I had to banish the horror of that encounter from my mind; I had to understand the difference between lust and love before we could be lovers.

I realized later how fortunate I was in him, how much I owed to him.

I slept at last, comforted, because he shared my secret.

We traveled through France to the
auberge
on the edge of the mountains. We were staying in a village about a mile from the big and fashionable resort on the coast. Gervaise had stayed there in his student days and it was clear from the start that Madame Bougerie was rather taken with him.

Madame Bougerie was the power behind the Auberge Bougerie. Alphonse, the husband, was a small man who must have learned over the years that his wife demanded absolute obedience. There was a daughter and son-in-law. The whole family worked in the
auberge.

Madame usually sat at the reception desk with papers before her—a stern woman dressed entirely in black; she wore jet earrings and a jet necklace; her graying hair was taken straight back from her face and was worn in a knot, nestling in the nape of her neck.

We were all in awe of her, from the humblest pot boy to the most exalted guest.

I was enchanted by the place from the moment I saw it. It seemed to be hanging on the hillside. There were stables with a few horses, for in such a place horses were necessary and patrons were allowed to hire them. The
auberge
was of gray stone. There were wicker seats on the terrace which allowed one to sit while contemplating the superb scenery. There were urns containing colorful shrubs. The flowers were plentiful and wherever one looked one could see the beautiful bougainvilleas and oleanders blooming in abundance.

Below us were small houses gleaming white in the sunshine with pink roofs and green blinds to shut out the intruding sun.

It was an enchanting place.

Over the years Madame had had many English visitors to her
auberge
and she prided herself on her command of our language. If we spoke to her in French she would always reply in English. Gervaise was amused and tried to force her into her own language. I think she did the same with him. It was amusing to listen to them—he with his French just about adequate, and she with her English which was scarcely that; and neither giving way.

We were given a room with a balcony which overlooked the bay. It was the perfect setting for a honeymoon. We rode and we walked and I felt more at peace than I had since that encounter, which now seemed to have diminished in importance because Gervaise knew of it.

Sometimes Madame Bougerie would give us a packed lunch of crusty bread and cheese, fruit and wine; and we would go off on the hired horses right into the mountains. We laughed a great deal … and we talked. When Gervaise mentioned my experience at the pool, it no longer set me shivering. I found that through him I was beginning to see it differently. I had had a lucky escape—a very narrow one. Perhaps it would have been wiser for us to have confessed what had happened and not hidden the body. But no one would blame us. Gervaise had made me see that. There had been a fight and the murderer had fallen and in falling killed himself. No one could blame us for that. But it was over. Nothing could change what we had done. The wise thing to do was to forget it … or see it as it really was. A lucky escape for me and a man meeting his deserts, a happy release for him when it was considered what the law would have done to him.

And during those happy days, the inevitable happened. I was sure Gervaise knew it would but I would never forget his restraint and patience in waiting until I was ready.

We were lovers in truth and I was happy through this new relationship with this wonderful husband of mine. I felt I had laid my ghost to rest. That incident had receded far into the past. It was no longer a shadow over my life.

So I was happy.

There came a day when we went into the town. The atmosphere down there was quite different. There were several big hotels, a promenade along which the fashionable strolled; outside the cafés were tables under brightly colored awnings; people sat there sipping their aperitifs.

The sun shone on the water making it look as though it were sprinkled with diamonds. Gervaise told me that it was one of the most fashionable resorts, and visitors were predominantly English.

We took our place outside the Café Pomme d’Or. I sipped my aperitif trying to look as though I were quite accustomed to such sophistication and that this was not all new and wonderful to me.

“The Golden Apple,” I said. “I wonder why they call it that.”

“There are golden apples all over the world,” said Gervaise, “ever since someone gave one to somebody.”

“It was Paris. I think he had to choose the most beautiful woman and he gave it to Aphrodite. There were two other contestants.”

“He couldn’t have been very popular with those two.”

“Poor man. What could he do? He had to make a choice.”

“It was rather foolish of him to get himself into such a situation.”

“Apples seem to be a popular fruit in those classical legends. I believe they grew them in the Garden of the Hesperides, too.”

“You would need rather a big nugget to make it into an apple. I wonder if your friend Ben has found any of that size.”

“I don’t think he can have done so. We should have heard if he had.”

It was wonderful. I could speak of Ben easily and naturally without feeling that shiver of apprehension … that dreaded memory coming back to me.

“I suppose the owners of these places like to remind people of these things. Perhaps the Golden Apple suggests that all the ladies who come here are as beautiful as Aphrodite and the men as handsome as Paris. After all, where you come from legends are just everyday gossip.”

I thought of the knackers who had mined gold in the tin mine; and I remembered how long ago Ben and I had lain on the moor and I had told him the story.

It was comforting to be able to look back on that without fear of remembering beyond it. Gervaise had done that for me.

Afterwards we strolled along the promenade. We came to a round building with gardens in front in which bloomed the exotic flowers to which I was accustomed.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“It is a casino.”

“Oh?” I replied. “That is where they gamble.”

“Shall we take a look inside?”

“May we?”

“Of course.”

It was quite fun at the time. I should have remembered the warnings.

There were a great number of people there. We walked round. They were playing games I did not understand.

I stood for a moment with Gervaise watching the wheel spinning round on the big table. I noticed the strained eager faces and how those people kept their eyes on the numbers all the time.

Then the wheel stopped and the croupier’s stick pulled in the chips.

It was all a mystery to me but I was aware of Gervaise’s growing excitement.

“Shall we go?” I said.

“Just a moment. I’d like to try my luck. Sit down. I won’t be long.”

He left me there. I waited. What a long time it seemed! I watched the people. They talked excitedly. Some were elated. Some melancholy. There was an atmosphere here which I had never been aware of anywhere else. It was a sort of feverish excitement.

I hoped Gervaise would not be long.

It seemed to me that I waited a very long time; when he came to me he was flushed; his eyes were brilliant; he was elated.

“I’ve won,” he cried. “My luck was in.”

He showed me a handful of money.

“At first it went wrong,” he said. “I lost three times running. I was almost cleaned out … then it started to change. I’d have gone on and on making us millionaires if I hadn’t thought of you sitting here … waiting. So I came away.”

“I’m glad you did. It seemed so long.”

“I was afraid it would. You don’t notice the time when you are at the tables, you know.”

“No, I suppose not. Shall we go now?”

It seemed to me that he left reluctantly; but as soon as we were out in the fresh air his spirits revived.

“I’ll tell you what I am going to do,” he said. “I am going to buy a present for someone.”

“For whom?”

“For Mrs. Gervaise Mandeville, of course.”

“Oh no. Let’s keep the money.”

“Money is not for keeping.”

“Isn’t it? I had always thought it was.”

“That is where you have to learn. It’s for giving presents … making people happy.”

“I’m just as happy without a present.”

“You’re going to get one all the same and I know what.”

“What?”

“I noticed your eyes on that dress in the window of a shop we passed this morning. That glorious blue velvet creation.”

“Oh … that. Yes, it’s lovely. It must be very costly.”

“Well, you have a rich husband now.”

“Gervaise, buy something for yourself if you must spend it.”

“Certainly not. I’m going to buy something for you. Come on.”

He led me back to the shop. It was true I had admired the dress. I had rarely seen one so elegant and beautiful.

“There is something about it,” he said. “Is there not?”

“It’s certainly very fine, but I daresay it will cost a great deal.”

“We’ll go and see.”

Reluctantly I was led into the shop. A tall thin woman in black came out to us. She reminded me of something between a spider and Madame Bougerie.

The dress? Oh, yes. It was indeed a special dress. She gesticulated wildly. And for Madame. Yes, yes. It was Madame’s size. One could say that it had been made for Madame.

I was scurried into a cubicle and there I was divested of my dress and stood before the mirror in the glorious creation. I had to admit it was beautiful and it suited me.

It fitted
comme les gaunts.
It was Madame’s dress. No one else must have it. It must be Madame’s.

The price appalled me, but Gervaise took it lightheartedly. I know that it swallowed up all his winnings.

This was what he wanted.

The dress was packed up and Gervaise carried it proudly from the shop.

I said: “It is a great extravagance and you shouldn’t have spent all that money.”

“But it had to be Madame’s. It was made for Madame. It fits like a glove. There was no question about it. And you look quite superb in it. I am sure had you been present, Aphrodite would never have got her golden apple.”