Doctor Raoul's Romance Page 10

  CHAPTER NINE

  Adrien sat at her bedroom window watching the sea as it gradually changed color, shining and clear in the dawn light.

  Nicholas had held her in his arm and told her he loved her.

  Once she had thought she would have given the world for that. That she could ask no more. But now ... she realized that it was barren, sterile. What was a kiss?

  What were words of love, however beautiful and desired, if they lacked deep roots?

  “I must go, of course,” she told herself. “Today. Yes, I must go today.”

  She heard the low-toned clock in the hall strike eight. Time for Gillian’s morning coffee. Adrien dressed quickly and went downstairs to prepare it. She was relieved to find there was no sign of Nicholas.

  Gillian welcomed her querulously.

  “Where on earth have you been? Did you oversleep, or what? I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

  Her eyes scanned Adrien’s face keenly, like a detective, without sympathy, noticing the dark shadows under the violet eyes, the exhaustion plainly written there. Once, Gillian knew, she would have been quick to show compassion. She would have been quick to say, “Do go and lie down, Adrien. You look all in. I shall be all right.” But now there was a coldness in her which nothing seemed to melt.

  “I want to go out today,” she said imperiously. “I want Nicky to take me. Where is Nicky?”

  Again she glanced sharply at Adrien.

  “I think he has gone out for a walk,” replied Adrien quietly, pouring out the coffee with a hand that, somehow, she kept from trembling.

  But when she went downstairs again he was there, in the kitchen, waiting for her.

  “Adrien,” he said, and reached out a hand to draw her to him. “Adrien, my darling...”

  “No, Nicholas.” She stood well away from him, resisting the impulse to go to him, to let him take her in his arms. Her lips were dry with longing for his kiss.

  “Nicholas, I’m going to leave as soon as possible. I can’t just walk out. But I can’t stay.”

  “Adrien...” in his tone was pleading.

  His face was hollow, his cheeks flushed and feverish.

  She said evenly, “I think I’d better ring up Raoul, tell him I have to go home to England suddenly. Something urgent. Ask him to find another nurse. Ring up Raoul. Yes, that’s what I must do. He’ll cope.”

  She was surprised at the comfort of the thought.

  “But, Adrien, listen to me,” Nicholas begged.

  “Till then, till the nurse comes, we’ve got to be careful, Nicholas.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “We mustn’t let our emotions get out of hand—say or do things we don’t mean. As we did last night.”

  He moved toward her.

  “Darling, I don’t think you understand. I wasn’t pretending last night, you know.”

  She smiled.

  “I know that. But it wasn’t real, Nicholas.”

  “But it was—-it was. I love you, Adrien darling. I want to marry you.”

  “Marry me?” she echoed incredulously.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But you’re married to Gillian.”

  “Yes,” he said, “at the moment. But marriages can be set aside.”

  “Divorce? For you and Gillian? Oh, Nicholas, how can you think of such a thing?”

  She was surprised to find how the thought hurt her. Suddenly she remembered the bright beam of love that had flashed between Gillian and Nicholas, that first day, in her presence.

  She said, “How can you say a thing like that? You must be mad. You don’t mean it, Nicholas. You could never stop loving Gillian.”

  He put his hand to his head.

  “I’m all confused. I thought you loved me, Adrien.”

  “I do,” she admitted steadily. “It’s no use denying it, now. I think I’ll always love you.”

  “Then...”

  “But I know you don’t love me. I know you love Gillian, in your heart. You always will. She hasn’t changed, not really. When her convalescence is over, you’ll find she is just as she used to be. That is—” She broke off.

  “Yes, Adrien?”

  “That is, if you uphold her with your love,” she finished in a whisper. Then, more firmly, “She’s terribly dependent on you. Raoul says it’s you who cured her really, with your love. You can’t let her down now.”

  “Adrien!” he begged.

  “When I’m gone, you’ll realize nothing has really changed. You’ll find you still love Gillian as much as ever, more perhaps. I know it, Nicholas.”

  “I don’t think so.” But his tone lacked conviction. She had always been able to give him courage and strength. “And then—what about you?”

  “It’s different for me,” Adrien thought. “How different! But at least I’m used to it. I’ve loved him so long.”

  She forced herself to smile at him, to say, “I expect it will pass for me too.”

  “Oh, Adrien, it was so sweet to hold you in my arms.”

  “Sweet for me too,” she whispered. “But Nicholas, I know it wasn’t love. Not real love.”

  A furious voice sounded from the stairs. “Nicky, Adrien! Isn’t anyone ever coming to help me to get dressed?”

  Guiltily, they sprang apart.

  And at that moment, shrill and vehement as a warning or a summons, the telephone bell jangled through the house.

  It was Blanche’s voice that came over the wire, shrill and hysterical.

  “Oh, it’s you, Adrien! Adrien, I don’t know what to do. They’ve run away!”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Blanche? Take hold of yourself, for goodness’ sake! Who’ve run away?”

  “The children! Frances and Geoffrey. Oh, Adrien, they may be dead! What shall I do?”

  Blanche’s voice rose to a shriek. She was sobbing violently. Then suddenly Gillian, who up till now had been too weak to walk down the stairs alone, was at her side, taking the receiver from her hand.

  “Blanche!” Her voice, like icy water, silenced the girl at once. “Stop all that screaming. What are you saying? Tell me at once, please, what have you done with my children?”

  Nicholas gave a gasp. “The children? What’s this?”

  He went to Gillian’s side, put his arm around her waist, and drew her against him.

  “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find them,” he said.

  Her body relaxed against his, and even in the agony of her anxiety, she gave a half smile.

  Adrien sat down on the staircase. Suddenly it was her limbs that seemed to be without strength...

  “I’m tired!" Geoffrey announced, in a woeful voice. “Are we nearly there?”

  Frances tossed her head, and shook her pigtails scornfully. “Course not. We’ve only just started. You are stupid, Geoffrey.”

  “How long is it going to take us?”

  “Days and days.”

  Geoffrey stood stock still, planting his little sandalled feet firmly on the road.

  “Then I want to go home.”

  “Back to Aunt Blanche?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to go and live in the chateau, with Madame de Neuf?” Frances asked him.

  “I like Madame de Neuf.”

  “So do I. And Georges and Michel. It’s fun going there to play. But they don’t belong to us, Geoffrey. Blanche shouldn’t send us there to stay. Mummy wouldn’t like it. That’s why we’re going to her.”

  “I don’t think Aunt Blanche really meant it. Adrien says she doesn’t always mean what she says.”

  “Well, I’m not going to risk it,” said Frances firmly. “I saw her packing our clothes. I’m going to Mummy and Daddy. And Adrien. Come on, Geoffrey! We shall never get there, if you keep stopping. When we come to a shop I’ll buy you something to eat.”

  Encouraged by this, Geoffrey moved forward reluctantly.

  “I want ice-cream,” he wailed.

  “You shall have ice-cream,” pr
omised Frances recklessly. Anything to make him walk a little quicker!

  But at that moment a sports car flashed past them, to draw up a few yards farther down the road, with a fierce clashing of brakes.

  “Well now,” demanded the amused voice of Doctor Raoul Dubois, “just where do you two think you’re off to?”

  Raoul had awaken that morning from strangely vivid dreams in which he had rescued Adrien from a fire, from drowning, from being crushed by a train, for other fearsome deaths. As the early light forced its way into his bedroom, he knew he must see her today.

  He tried to laugh at himself.

  “Really, this is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a medical student of nineteen suffering the pangs of first love.”

  Nevertheless, after drinking a rapid cup of coffee, he took his car from the garage and set off—and encountered Frances and Geoffrey on the way.

  “Where are you two off to?” he repeated.

  They looked at him hesitantly, scraping their feet against the sandy road. They were both very tired, and to be truthful, Frances was beginning to regret the whole idea as much as her younger brother. But she didn’t want to give in too easily.

  But it didn’t take Raoul Dubois many minutes to find out what it was all about, and his face hardened.

  “That idiotic Blanche!” he thought. “I’d like to tell her exactly what I think of her. And I will, one day!”

  He opened the car door.

  “In you get!” he ordered. “You’re two very naughty children, you know. Aunt Blanche will be terribly worried about you.”

  “No,” said Frances, in her strangely mature way, “she’ll be pleased. She’s always saying she’s sick of us.”

  Raoul made no reply. However, he decided he would not return the children to their young aunt’s tender mercies. He drove them to a cafe, bought them some lemonade and cakes, and then phoned Val d’Argent.

  It was Jeanne, the little maid, however, who came to the telephone.

  “The children? They are safe? Dieu merci! Oh, Monsieur le Docteur, I am so relieved! And Mam’selle Blanche—she has been out of her mind with worry. Ah, la pauvre!”

  He spoke again, but there was no reply. Jeanne had put down the receiver.

  “Mam’selle Blanche!” Jeanne came running across the lawn. “The children ... they are safe!”

  “Safe?” Blanche started up. “Jeanne, what are you saying? Did you say the children are safe?”

  “But yes, Mam’selle Blanche. Monsieur le Docteur Dubois has just telephoned. He found them three kilometers from the town. He says—oh, mam’selle!”

  She broke off in alarm. Blanche’s whole body sagged in a dead faint.

  Pierre caught her in his arms, and carried her gently into the house.

  Gillian, quiet but agonized, paced restlessly from room to room. Terrified, Nicholas kept pace with her, urging her to lie down a little and to let Adrien give her a sedative.

  “Please, darling,” he implored her, “please rest now. You’ll make yourself ill again!”

  “What does that matter? I don’t want to get well if anything has happened to the children. Ring up Blanche again, please, Nicky darling, and see if she has any news.”

  “Please, Nicky,” begged Gillian again.

  He moved toward the telephone, but at the moment it rang violently, petrifying him. It was Adrien who dropped her broom and ran forward to answer it.

  Across the wire came Pierre’s voice. “That is Adrien, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you tell Madame Renton that the children are quite safe?”

  The look on Adrien’s face told Gillian the good news. She gave a little cry and collapsed into her husband’s arms. But she did not faint. She signalled to Adrien not to put down the phone.

  “I’m all right—really. Ask Pierre where they are. Tell me everything. I’m not an invalid any more. It’s time I remembered. I’m a mother—and a wife.”

  Adrien sat on the steps and watched a little green and brown lizard crawling lazily over the hot stone.

  “That’s that!” she thought. One look at Nicholas’s face, as he had bent over his wife, had been sufficient to tell her what she already knew in her heart—that Nicholas’s love for Gillian was in reality unchanged.

  What he had felt for herself, Adrien knew, had had no reality. It had come from loneliness, frustration, bewilderment, a childish longing to be comforted. It was not love.

  She heard the sound of Raoul’s car far off along the steep cliff road. She rose languidly, and went to meet him.

  “Hello,” he said, “my little fiancée.” He half hesitated, then took her in his arms. Suddenly she longed to bury her face against him, to sob out her misery. She was surprised to find how glad she was to see him.

  “I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He indicated Frances and Geoffrey, who had got out of the car, and stood hesitantly behind him, by no means sure of their welcome.

  “We know,” Adrien told him.

  “You know? How?”

  She explained.

  “What about Mrs. Renton? How did she take it?”

  Adrien said, “She had Nicholas to help and comfort her.”

  Raoul glanced at her sharply, but made no comment. Instead he said, “I must go up and see her, and afterwards I have much to say to you.”

  When he came downstairs, Raoul confirmed that Gillian was much better.

  “It is a marvellous recovery. You are an excellent nurse, Adrien.”

  He could not keep the tenderness out of the name.

  She looked very tired, he thought, and she appeared to be much thinner. Her flowered dress seemed to hang on her. Her cheekbones stood out under the fine-drawn skin.

  He asked impulsively, “What have they been doing to my little fiancée? Have they been working you too hard?”

  She tried to turn it aside, to laugh, but somehow she could not do it. There was something hypnotic about Raoul, something that compelled an answer. Before she could prevent herself, she had blurted out the whole story.

  “Just for a little while,” she ended, “I thought he loved me. And I was so happy. It was wrong, terribly wrong, I know that. But I love him so. Oh, Raoul, I love him so.”

  “No,” said Raoul, with intensity, “no, Adrien, you are mistaken. I know you are.”

  She looked up at him, surprised.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Simply this.” He put his hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. “I know you imagine yourself to be in love with Nicholas Renton. But believe me, my darling, that is the make-believe love. You see I happen to know, to feel in my soul, that you are in love with me. And one day you will know it too.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nicholas had raised no objection, that July day, when Adrien told him that she must return to England immediately. But to her surprise he asked her if she would take Blanche with her.

  “I’m beginning to realize at last, Adrien,” he said, “that you were right about Blanche. That we’ve been foolish and wrong to insist on her staying with us. It might have led to a tragedy. So we’ll let her go now, and do what she always said she wanted to do. I only hope she’ll be happy.

  “The only thing is,” he went on, “Gillian feels she’s very young to be on her own. So we’d be awfully grateful if you’d keep an eye on her. Will you, Adrien?”

  Adrien felt she had to say yes—was there anything she wouldn’t do for Nicholas? It was a nuisance, of course. Nicholas would pay her living expenses, but, as companion or duenna to Blanche, Adrien wouldn’t be able to go on with her own career. It was astonishing, and—she had to admit it—very hurtful to Adrien to discover that Nicholas behaved as though he had forgotten those passionate moments by the sea, and their talk next day. Perhaps he had deliberately drawn a curtain in his mind. It was only right, Adrien told herself. Nicholas had come to his senses. And so must she.

  Those minutes, that yearning embrace, had had no reality.
They had no connection with past or present. It was as though they came from another life, in which Nicholas was free to love her.

  It had been arranged that Adrien was to go back to Val d’Argent, in Raoul’s car, to collect her things and Blanche’s, and set off to England with Blanche as soon as possible. By the time Nicholas and Gillian returned, Adrien would be gone.

  Blanche accepted Nicholas’s decision quietly. Adrien, who had expected rapturous joy, was a little disappointed. But she told herself it was better this way. Blanche was far too excitable. It was a good thing she was learning to take things more calmly.

  Certainly it seemed as though her shock over the children’s disappearance had sobered Blanche considerably.

  Pierre took the news well. He went white, but he said quietly, “It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it, Blanche? I’m glad.”

  But later Adrien found him digging in the garden, as though his life depended on it.

  “You know, Adrien, I’m not going to give her up,” he said firmly, and glared at Adrien.

  She answered sympathetically, but hesitantly, “You’re both so young.”

  He strained on the spade to move a tenacious root, and said, “I’ll never give her up. I’ll win her somehow. I’ve got to, Adrien. You see, I’ll never love anyone else.”

  “I understand that, Pierre,” she told him. “Who better?” she thought.

  But that night she considered her love for Nicholas, as one might look at a precious jewel. And she found it had changed color, faded a little. It was as though the compass of her life had suddenly developed a needle that was slightly false.

  She felt a little frightened, a little lost...

  It was with Raoul that she spent her last day in France, at his special request.

  “If we are going to break our engagement,” he said, “we may as well do it in style.”

  His eyes danced at her. He took her arm lightly, but possessively. He looked at her as though he knew that, any moment he so desired, his lips could draw hers as a magnet draws a needle, and she would not resist.

  “He’s very sure of himself,” thought Adrien, trying to be angry. “He’s convinced that one day I shall love him. He can’t believe any woman could resist him.”