The Black Swan

“French people?”

“No. English. It was rather a coincidence. I met them first on the ferry going over... just briefly, you know, and it turned out that they were staying near us. We became friendly. You know how it is ... meeting your fellow countrymen in a foreign land. I saw them several times, and when I heard they were coming back, I thought I’d take the opportunity to travel with them. They will be calling tomorrow, so you will meet them.”

“It’s lovely to have you back,” she said.

“It is wonderful to be back,” I replied.

“It’s been rather lonely without you.”

“Dear Celeste, you should have come with us. The chateau is so beautiful. You must know every inch of it.”

“Well, it was where I was born, where I lived my early days. But I made a new life here. This is my home now.”

I thought then that her life was as tragic as mine.

We went up to my room together. My bags were already there.

“I’ll send one of the maids up to help you unpack,” said Celeste.

“I’d rather do it myself.”

“Would you like something sent up on a tray... and then you can get to bed?”

“Hot water to wash off the stains of the journey. Then the tray.”

“It shall be done. Then... later we’ll talk.”

“Thank you, Celeste. It was a nice welcome home.”

I washed and the tray came up. I was surprised to find I was really hungry. I did not feel sleepy so I wrote a letter to Rebecca telling her I was home. I had a great desire to go and see her, and toyed with the idea of going down to Cornwall the very next day.

I could not do that though. The Fitzgeralds were coming tomorrow, and I could not leave Celeste who was so delighted that I was back.

I would stay in London for a week at least, so in the meantime I would console myself by sending a letter to Rebecca.

I wrote to her at some length, telling her that I was home. But I did not mention Jean Pascal. That was something I could only convey to her when we were alone. The letter would be posted next day.

One of the maids came in, took the tray away and asked if there was anything I needed.

I told her there was not.

How peaceful it was! How different from that room in the chateau which had aroused in me such feelings of foreboding. It was as though it were warning me. Of marriage with Jean Pascal? Even to contemplate that sent a shiver down my spine. Why should I be so scared? People could not be made to marry where they did not want to. Here I felt safe from Jean Pascal. There would be no need to lock my door.

That night, before getting into my bed, I went to the window and looked out across to the enclosed gardens and the street lamp. Just for a moment I fancied I saw a figure lurking in the shadows. It was merely the effect produced by the light, but for a second or so it startled me. I thought, am I going to be haunted all my life? The next day the Fitzgeralds called, and Phillida’s gaiety and Roland’s quiet charm made a good impression on Celeste.

Phillida talked amusingly about her adventures in France and the trouble she had had with the language; and Celeste laughed a good deal, which was rare for her. Before they left they received an invitation to dinner the following night which they accepted with alacrity.

Celeste said, “I want to thank you for looking after Lucie.”

“It was our pleasure,” replied Roland.

“The journey was such fun,” added Phillida, “particularly when we thought we were going to miss the train in Paris. Then we realized we had misunderstood the time. It is so difficult, you know, when they let out that stream of words... and numbers are particularly tricky.”

Celeste was quietly animated.

“They are so charming,” she said, when they had gone. “The sort of people you become very friendly with quickly. I look forward to seeing them tomorrow night.” I was delighted to see how much they all seemed to like each other. That afternoon I called on the Greenhams. I knew it was going to be painful but I wanted to find out all I could about Joel, and I guessed, in view of my relationship with him, they would regard me as one of the family.

I was shown into the drawing room. Lady Greenham was not there and Sir John was alone.

He took both my hands in his and said, “How are you, Lucie?”

“I am well,” I replied.

“My wife is very poorly,” he told me. “She is really not well enough to see anyone.”

“I understand. It must have been a terrible shock for her.”

“For us all. I’m afraid she is taking it rather badly.”

“I was wondering if you have any details. Gerald ...”

“Gerald is back at his duties. We only know what you have been told. There is nothing more to be said.”

“It is all rather mysterious.”

“It happens, Lucie.”

“I thought perhaps ...”

“We are trying to grow away from it. You understand what I mean. It is over. There is nothing we can do.”

We were silent.

“Would you care for a glass of sherry?” he asked.

“No, thank you.”

I had an idea that this interview was as painful for him as it was for me, and I wanted to end it as soon as possible.

“I think I should be going,” I said. “Do give my best wishes to Lady Greenham.”