The Black Swan

“I told you, I met them on the boat.”

“That is not knowing them.”

“Oh, you are so formal. I could see they were perfectly nice ordinary people. They invited me to see the place they had rented and to have some coffee. That’s all. It was a very pleasant morning.”

“What is their name?”

“Fitzgerald.”

“I’ve not heard of them.”

“It’s hardly likely that you would. They are visitors from England just on holiday here.”

Jean Pascal looked displeased. I thought he was a little annoyed because I had not accompanied them to the vineyard.

“By the way,” he said, “I’ve asked some people to dine with us tomorrow night. The Comte and Comtesse de Grellon and Monsieur and Mademoiselle du Pont. Just a small dinner party to begin with.”

Belinda looked excited. “A real Comte and Comtesse!” she cried.

Jean Pascal smiled at her indulgently. “There are some still around, you know.”

“Tell us about them,” pleaded Belinda.

“The Comte is about sixty, the Comtesse a year or so younger. They have a chateau about five miles from here. They will stay the night. Then there are the du Fonts. Monsieur is a about forty, a widower, with a charming daughter, Genevieve. I am sure you will like them all. The rest, my dear Belinda, you must discover for yourself.” He was smiling blandly now. I believed his vague annoyance that I had eluded them and spent a pleasant morning elsewhere had passed.

Belinda was very excited at the prospect of a dinner party although, as she said to me, the guests did not appear to be very exciting.

“How can we tell until we meet them?” I asked.

“An old Comte of sixty and his Comtesse! Another old man with his daughter. I should have thought mon pere would have invited some young people... young men.”

“I daresay some will be provided at a later date.”

“Why waste time?”

Early in the morning a man arrived at the chateau with a special message for Jean Pascal. We learned what it was at dejeuner. “There will be an extra guest tonight,” he told us. “I have had a note from the Comte. He tells me that a friend from England has arrived unexpectedly and he is asking if he might bring this guest along tonight. I have said that of course I shall be delighted. I am sure you young ladies will be pleased that you will be able to speak to someone in English.”

We admitted that we would. “French people speak too fast,” said Belinda. “No faster than you do, my dear,” her father retorted. “It is just that you can’t follow quickly enough.”

Belinda dressed with care. Her father had a Frenchman’s eye for what was chic and he was inclined to be critical. I often watched the manner in which he took notice of our appearance; and I must admit that at times I felt an inclination to wear something of which he would not approve. Belinda, on the other hand, set out to please him, which was not difficult for her. She had a natural flair for choosing what suited her and dressed with a certain panache and a touch of flamboyance which was in keeping with her looks and personality.

We went down to the hall to receive our guests. The du Fonts arrived first. He was a small man with sleek dark hair and pince-nez which gave him a somewhat severe look. His daughter Genevieve I imagined to be in her early twenties; there was a certain primness about her and she appeared to be devoted to her father. I saw Belinda study them and dismiss them as dull. I had a notion she might be right.

Then the Comte and Comtesse arrived and with them their mystery guest.

I was aware of Belinda’s excitement. He was tall and very fair with a fresh complexion, light blue eyes, and features set in a somewhat classical mold. I guessed him to be in his early twenties-good-looking in a bland way. The Comte and his Comtesse could not be anything but French. Aristocratic, both of them, unconsciously implying that they were accustomed to deference and formality. They were both silver-haired, elegantly dressed, immaculate. The Comte kissed our hands and we murmured that we were enchanted to meet him. Jean Pascal looked on with approval.

Then the Comte presented his guest. He was Sir Robert Denver, whose father had been a great friend of the Comte. Sir Robert always visited the Comte when he was in France and so here he was.

Jean Pascal said how pleased he was that Sir Robert’s visit had coincided with the Comte’s and Comtesse’s to Bourdon. These platitudes continued for some little time and then we all went in to dinner.

Sir Robert was seated between Belinda and me.

Dinner was served with special formality. I had not realized how many servants there were at the chateau. They tiptoed about the dining room, unobtrusive and efficient. Sir Robert was as glad as Belinda and I were to have someone to whom he could chat in English.