The Black Swan

“My dear Lucie,” he said. “I feel for you. Celeste has told me how brave you have been. I must apologize for bringing up this subject on a happy occasion, but when it is so much in our thoughts it seems unnatural to make a studied effort not to mention it. I feel deeply for you... and my sister. I do indeed. But you have to grow away from it.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Belinda will help you, I’m sure.” He turned to her. “I am so glad you came home, my dear.”

“We are glad too,” said Celeste.

“Now we are going to make you put the past behind you,” he went on to me. “Are we not, Belinda?”

“Of course we are,” said Belinda. “Lucie and I are very special friends.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and I am sorry to have introduced such a sombre note to our happy evening. However, I just did not want you and Celeste to think me hard-hearted.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Tell us more about the chateau,” pleaded Belinda.

He did so cheerfully. It had been in the possession of the Bourdons since the days of Charles the Wise and that was in the fourteenth century. It was a typical French chateau. “There are hundreds of them throughout France,” he went on. “Most have the rounded towers at each end which come to a point at the top.”

“They have been described as pepper pot towers,” I said. “A good description. Gray stone... with that medieval look. It has been restored in places, of course, so you will find touches of later centuries here and there, but nothing has been done to it for the last hundred years. Such places are built to stand forever. We even survived the Revolution. I hope you will see it one day.” Belinda exuded satisfied excitement. It was better than she had expected, I was sure. There was a similarity between them and I felt they would understand each other-a fact which made communication between them easy.

She was delighted with her father, and I had the impression that he was not displeased to discover he had such an exhilarating daughter.

It was late when he left the house. Belinda came to my room and sat on my bed.

“What an evening! I have never known one like it.”

“Well, it is very rare for a young woman of your age to come face-to-face with a father whom she has never seen before.”

“Do you think he liked me?”

“Like might be too strong a word. I think he found you... interesting.”

“/ thought he liked me. He kept talking to me and watching me.”

“You kept talking to him and watching him.”

“Do you think he’ll take me to Chateau Bourdon?”

“I don’t know.”

“And to the court at Farnborough?”

“It might be rather difficult to explain an illegitimate daughter in formal society.”

“You beast, Lucie.”

“I’m only stating a fact. The French are very formal and I should imagine particularly so in royal circles... though in exile; but I should not think that detracted from the formality.”

She looked momentarily downcast and I went on, “Yes, Belinda, I think he was impressed. I feel absolutely sure that he will want to see you again... soon.”

She put her arms round my neck and kissed me.

“You’re an angel,” she said.

“I’m glad of the remarkable transformation. All this for just stating the obvious.”

“Yes,” she said musingly, “I think he liked me, too. He also likes you, Lucie.”

“He likes all young women, providing they are not outstandingly unattractive. But daughters would come into a different category. Yes, I am absolutely certain that he was not displeased with his daughter and I have a feeling that he will want to see her again... very soon.”

On that note she said good night and went to her own room. He did come again. In fact he allowed only one day to pass, during which Belinda’s mood changed from despair to hope, and then he arrived. It was obvious to me that he was rather amused to discover a grown-up daughter, and Belinda was just the type of whom he could be proud. She was vivacious and, if not exactly conventionally beautiful, very attractive. She had something more than beauty. Leah’s charm had been her gentleness which had given her the look of a madonna-particularly in the days when we were young and I had often seen the tenderness in her eyes when they rested on her daughter. But there was nothing of the madonna about Belinda. Hers was a flamboyant charm; she was a little mysterious, promising all sorts of excitement to those who went along with her. As soon as she entered a room one was aware of her; the atmosphere changed; she had some special quality. Even here, to this house of mourning, she had brought some relief from gloom.