Doctor Raoul's Romance (9 page)

For once, Blanche was down to
petit dejeuner.
Lately she had avoided Adrien, but today everything was forgotten in her excitement and curiosity.

“Adrien, what is all this? Gillian tells me you’re engaged to the fascinating Dr. Dubois. Is it really true? But I thought
...
” Her voice trailed off. She put a hand to her mouth, childishly.

“Well, never mind what I thought. This is most exciting, isn’t it, Pierre?”

Pierre, who was also at breakfast, but who seemed deep in some gloomy reverie of his own, roused himself sufficiently to rise from his chair, bow over Adrien’s hand, and murmur, “My felicitations, mam’selle.”

Adrien listened to them chattering, forced herself to smile, to answer mechanically, to swallow
croissant
and coffee. All the time she was listening for two sounds—Nicholas’s feet on the stairs and Raoul’s car in the drive.

She heard Nicholas first, but he did not come into the
salle-a-manger.
He went straight into the garden.

Then she heard the doctor’s car.

Her heart turned over. She felt she could not possibly go out and meet him, but she knew it would be expected of her.

“Darling,” Raoul greeted her, as he got out of the car, and bending down, he kissed her lips.

“I’m sorry you don’t like it,” he whispered, as she drew back, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with it for a while, my
petit chou
.”

He was in a new mood this morning, an exuberant mood she had not seen him in before; merry devil danced in his eyes.

Adrien was intrigued, in spite of herself. A fictitious engagement with this man would be even more complicated than she had imagined. And yet she could not help being curious and fascinated.

What on earth would he do next?

He drew her arm through his and led her toward the house.

I have a ring for you, my love, but I will not give it to you here. That would be playing to the gallery a little too much, I think. Will you dine with me in Paris tonight? I would like to put my diamond on your finger down by the river. Rivers are always so romantic, I think, don’t you? And the Seine especially so.”

“Oh, Raoul, why do you tease like this? It’s ridiculous. When you know that in a few weeks we shall have to tell everybody that our engagement is broken off.”

“Excellent. You pronounced my name well,
chérie
.”

“I wish you’d answer my question.”

“Certainly. I am not teasing, Adrien. Never in my life did I feel less like teasing.”

Startled, she looked up at him.

“Then I don’t understand your attitude. I realize you must take my arm and bend over me in an—an affectionate way, because people may be watching from windows and we are expected to behave like an engaged couple. And now we have started these things, it is important to go through with them. I know I must go out to dinner with you.”

“Is this such a penance?” he teased.

“Now you are laughing at me. You can’t deny it.”

“A little, perhaps.”

“But I’m serious. I realize, perhaps, I must even wear a ring. But when we are alone together, there is surely no need to keep up the pretense?”

“What pretense,
chérie
?”

“The pretense that we—we’re in love.”

“Ah, but there is,
mignonne.
Surely you see it will be impossible for us to play our little comedy well enough to deceive the sharp eyes of Mrs. Renton, unless we put our hearts and souls into it? Unless, just for a short while, we almost believe in it ourselves.”

“But, Raoul
...
” she protested.

“Tell me, sweetheart—” he stopped on the doorstep, and putting his finger under her chin, raised her face to his—“is it really so difficult for you to pretend for a fortnight—a month, perhaps, that you are in love with me?”

“Dr. Dubois, I—”

“Raoul, please! You really must remember, Adrien.”

“Raoul, then.” She forced her eyes to meet his, bravely. “This is an impossible situation.”

“Quite so. Let us enjoy it, then. Impossible situations are always the most amusing, don’t you think? Trust me, little Adrien. I won’t do anything to hurt you. We won’t discuss things any more now. But tonight we can make plans. I will fetch you here at eight o’clock.
D’accord?
”

“Very well. Tonight at eight—darling.”

She forced the last word out, for they had been mounting the stairs, and now they were entering Gillian’s room. Gillian heard it and smiled, but, as she watched them together, her eyes were puzzled.

That night Adrien dressed in the white and silver she had worn for Denise’s party. The party at which Raoul had played the Schubert Serenade, and she had learned his character possessed subtlety. That he had another side to him apart from that of the young, ambitious doctor, compassionate to his patients, ruthless with anyone who got in his way or did not measure up to his standards.

She was afraid the dress might not be suitable. She had no idea, really, what were Raoul’s plans for tonight. But she remembered he had admired her in it, and that gave her confidence. Made her feel beautiful, desirable, competent to deal with a difficult “mock
fiancé
,” give as good as she got.

She heard the honk of his car horn, and ran downstairs swiftly, gracefully, her white silk cloak over her arm. Jeanne had admitted him, and he stood in the hall and watched her approaching. Just for a moment it seemed as though little flames, soft as a candle’s glow, gleamed deep in his eyes.

“Adrien my love,” he said, “you are so beautiful.” He took her hand and kissed the palm, as a lover might do.

“Excuse me just a moment, Raoul. I must just say goodnight to Gillian, and make sure Nurse Roger has everything she wants.”

“Nurse Roger? The night nurse? Yes, of course.”

He spoke patiently, and she got the feeling he was a little rebuffed. That was just as well, she thought. He might plead, as his excuse, that he was doing all this for her sake and Gillian’s, but even so she had no intention of allowing him to have everything his own way. After all, who knew what he might have in mind as suitable for an engaged couple?

Her landlady’s warning flashed into her mind. “Frenchmen are fascinating, but you can’t trust them.” Adrien had laughed then. She laughed now, but she wasn’t sure the advice wasn’t warranted. And yet a little voice in her heart told her that she could trust Raoul Dubois, trust him utterly.

They talked little, sitting side by side in the intimacy of the little car, flashing first along the wide auto-route, and then
through the brightly lit outskirts of the capital. Raoul was humming something. Presently she recognized the tune—it was Schubert’s Serenade.

She did not know whether he had made his plans for the evening before, or whether he made them now in deference to her dress. But he took her to Maxim’s, in the Rue Royale—shades of
The Merry Widow,
thought Adrien, enraptured.

He smiled at her enthusiasm, finding it young and curiously touching. One couldn’t deny that though Denise was a glamorous person to take out, she was somewhat
blasé
e. But Adrien had a spontaneity that detracted in no way from her poise, but indeed added to it. He was intrigued by her. She was so beautiful, so efficient, yet deep in her personality there was a well of gaiety that kept bubbling out, in spite of her attempts to repress it, making her eyes sparkle, and a little pulse dance at her throat.

He checked himself abruptly. His thoughts were, he knew, rushing ahead much too fast. One would have to go very slowly and carefully. The English were notoriously difficult.

Adrien would have liked to linger at Maxim’s, but Raoul had other plans.

As soon as the meal was finished, he marched her through the glittering globes of light of the Place de la Concorde, down to the river.

They strolled along the right bank, past the great shadowy mass of the Louvre, down on to the lower walk at the water’s edge, which led under the bridges. And here he slipped the glowing diamond ring on her finger, as he had promised.

Adrien gasped.

“But, Raoul, I don’t understand. Why should you give me a ring like this when we’re only pretending?” Her eyes were deep violet shadows in her pale face. He bent his head and kissed the little space between Adrien’s eyes, where puzzled lines of worry were forming.

“Don’t try, sweetheart. There’s nothing to understand. Just play this little comedy with me. It gives me pleasure, and I promise it shall bring you no pain.”

He smiled down at her, his eyebrows arched, tantalizingly. Adrien felt the muscles of his arm tighten across her back, drawing her to him.

Adrien felt as if she was in a dream. Why not enjoy this unreal intimacy, the fun of a make-believe romance, which had come to her out of the shadows of illness and misplaced love?

She knew he was going to kiss her, and she made no attempt to draw away.

His lips on hers were gentle, careful as the hands of a connoisseur holding an unfolded rose.

Little ripples of feeling, stabs of starlight, ran through her body.

He let her go and smiled at her.

“Come, my little love. I’m going to take you home.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next few weeks passed as Adrien led her strange double life. Dreams contrasted strangely with reality. In Raoul’s company, she stepped into a make-believe world, which sometimes seemed to be on the brink of becoming dangerously real, but never quite slipped past the mark.

She was discovering all the different facets to Raoul’s complex character. Really, it was impossible to avoid being intrigued by him.

Strolling along the left bank of the Seine, with Notre Dame across the water towering above them among the trees, they would pause to look at the bookstalls. Raoul’s eyes would light up suddenly, as he discovered a rare volume going “for a song.” He took her to concerts, to the Opera, to theaters, to nightclubs. But she could see he was equally happy strolling around the Louvre.

Yes, she could not honestly deny that when their “little comedy,” as he called it, was over, she would miss his company.

After that first day he had not kissed her, except ceremoniously, when he knew people were watching. She told herself she was glad of this. After all, who would want kisses from a man she did not love? It was odd that the nerves of her body should tingle with disappointment when he said goodnight and turned away without even taking her hand.

Nicholas was obviously puzzled by what had happened. The day after Raoul had announced their engagement, he stopped her in the hall.

“Adrien—this is a surprise,” he began.

“It’s a surprise for me too, Nicholas.” She smiled up at him.

“Is it, Adrien?” His eyes narrowed anxiously.

“I mean—” she corrected herself hastily, confused—“I mean ... it all happened so suddenly.”

She forced herself to look him in the eyes. She ought to say, “We love each other,” but she dared not. She was sure Nicholas would sense the insincerity of the words. But she could truthfully say, “We understand each other, Nicholas.”

“Then in that case—I wish you all happiness, Adrien.” He pressed her arm gently and turned away.

“He isn’t pleased,” thought Adrien, “he isn’t really pleased.” For her, those few moments had been bittersweet.

Blanche was openly envious.

“You are lucky, Adrien—I do envy you! I never thought of trying for Raoul Dubois. I thought he was all tied up with Denise de Neuf!”

Adrien smiled.

“I thought you didn’t want to get married, Blanche. You told me you wanted to give your life to the theater.”

And just now, one didn’t need to be a skilled psychiatrist to see that, in spite of her determined lightness of manner, the girl was deeply upset. Her face was pale and her eyes had an unhealthy brightness. Her fingers clenched and unclenched, as though she was in the grip of an acute nervous tension. Certainly something was boiling up inside Blanche.

She determined to try to tackle Blanche herself. But she did not make much progress.

“Blanche, are you ill?” she asked her.

Blanche tossed her red hair. “Course not,” she said airily.

“Then what is the matter?”

“Oh, leave me alone, Adrien! I’m all churned up. Sick of life!”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” worried Adrien. “Everyone in this house is getting so highly strung, one doesn’t know where one is.” The only exception was little Geoffrey. Once so tearful and full of tantrums in her presence, he accepted her now, and came to her freely to be read to and played with, when she had the time. But his sister, Frances, had started to sulk.

“We don’t see much of you now, Adrien. Why don’t you look after us, instead of Aunt Blanche? You’re much nicer.”

Adrien laughed.

“You wouldn’t think so if you saw more of me. I can be very strict with naughty little girls. But you know I have to look after Mummy.”

“Mummy’s getting better now, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she’s much better now. Soon she’ll be able to look after you and Geoffrey herself. Then you won’t need me or Blanche.”

“I suppose not,” said Frances slowly. “But Adrien, that won’t be much fun, will it, if Mummy’s as cross as she is now?”

Nicholas arrived in time to hear the last question. He said shortly, “Frances, never let me hear you speak like that about your mother.”

Startled, Frances colored and seemed about to say something, then changed her mind and went off murmuring that she must do her homework.

Nicholas threw himself into a garden chair. He said distractedly, “Even the children notice it now. What is happening, Adrien? What’s happening to my wife?”

“Nicholas,” Adrien looked at him with pleading in her eyes. “You mustn’t worry, really. It’s just convalescence. Convalescents are always bad-tempered. It won’t last. I promise you that.”

“I suppose so, but she’s not my Gillian. Oh, I know I must have patience, but it’s so hard to understand. After all we’ve been through together.” He buried his face in his hands.

With determined briskness, Adrien said “You mustn’t take it seriously, Nicholas. You really mustn’t. It will pass, I promise you. Now I'm going to make you a good strong cup of tea, and then you must try to get some rest.”

“Thank you. You are a comfort, Adrien. What should we do without you?” He smiled at her gratefully and surrendered to the comfort of her presence. Just for the moment he would not think of Gillian, his wife, suddenly so spoiled and wilful, so difficult to please, who seemed to look at him with the eyes of a stranger.

This was something Adrien felt she could safely discuss with Dr. Dubois.

“I don’t understand it. Why is she like this? She was always so good, so patient. And now she’s beastly to Nicholas. Simply unbearable.”

He said sternly, “It seems to me that you are unfair, Adrien, that you have much more sympathy with Mr. Renton than with his wife, your patient.”

Adrien felt herself coloring.

“I’ve told you before, Nicholas is like a brother to me. I hate to see him like this.”

“
Yes,” said Raoul, his tone noncommittal. “I know that. Well—I think the answer is that they both need a holiday. They need to get away together. To be calm and peaceful together. Do you not agree?”

“Alone, you mean?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid Mrs. Renton is not yet well enough to travel without a nurse.”

She said slowly, “If you think it’s important, I’ll stay, of course.”

“I do think it’s important. Mrs. Renton needs your care. But I suggest you leave them alone as much as possible. I have been discussing the plans for this holiday with Mr. Renton. A friend of his has, I understand, a house in Brittany he is willing to let. That will be just the place, I think, for Mrs. Renton. And the sea air will be good for them both. There is something very calming about the sea.”

“And you?”

“But of course I shall motor down as often as possible. To see my
fiancée
as well as patient.”

She said impulsively, “Raoul, how much longer has this got to go on?”

“What,
ma
chérie
?
”

“You know very well what I mean. Our—mock engagement.”

He said, apparently puzzled, “Surely you don’t think this is the time to break it off? Now, when Mrs. Renton feels herself so insecure and nervous?”

“No—only...” She played with a button on her yellow summer dress.

“Leave it a while yet, Adrien.” His voice was curiously gentle. He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

“Try not to worry. Live a day at a time. Everything will work out all right. Believe me. You will see. You will see
...
”

A week later Adrien, Nicholas, and Gillian set out for Brittany. Blanche was left with the children and Jeanne. Pierre had been found a room in the village, but he was to come up daily to help in the garden.

The journey was beautiful. They passed through noble forests, where the trees met overhead, through quaint country lanes, through the beautiful old town of Dreux, with its steep, cobbled streets. Gillian moved restlessly by his side.

“I’m so hot and uncomfortable,” she said fretfully. “Nicky, why did we have to come? I’d rather have stayed at home.”

“But, darling, you love Brittany.” Nicholas spoke in the patient tone he would have used to a difficult child. Both Gillian and Adrien saw the way his jaw twitched in his efforts at self-control.

Gillian had been complaining ever since they left Val d’Argent.

At last they arrived at the picturesque white Brittany house. Gillian went straight to bed.

But that night, tired as she was, she could not sleep.

The long drive had exhausted her, but the conflict in her mind exhausted her still more. She felt hot and stifled. Even the fresh seabreeze creeping in through her uncurtained bedroom window could not cool her.

She had heard Nicky moving about restlessly in the room next door. She had longed to get up and go to him, but she did not dare. Not dare to go to Nicky? Then she had heard the door of his room open and shut, and his footsteps upon the creaking stair.

Where was he going? Jealousy and apprehension filled Gillian. She crept out of bed, struggled to the door of her own room, opened it, and crept out on to the landing. Leaning over the banister, she peered over down through the well of the spiral staircase to the dark hall below.

The heavy front door opened and shut. He had gone out, down to the beach.

“Adrien has everything,” Gillian thought. “Adrien is strong and healthy. She has the love of Raoul, I know that. And yet she wants Nicky as well. Does she think she can fool me?”

She tossed from side to side, her long fair hair flowing wildly over the pillow.

“It’s true that for a while she almost succeeded in deceiving me, making me think she loved the doctor. But not for long. You can’t trick anyone who loves as I do. She loves Nicky. And Nicky, how can he resist her, so young and strong and beautiful? While
I...”

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away impatiently. “Oh, I can’t bear this uncertainty. I would prefer almost that Nicky and Adrien come to me and tell me the truth.

“Oh, Nicky, I want you to be happy. Ought I to let you go? No, never, never! I’d rather die. Much rather. I love you so, Nicky, my darling
...
Come back to me!”

Nicholas scrambled down the steep cliff path to the moonlit beach. His head ached violently. He thought he would go for a swim and had put on swimming trunks, and flung a towel over his shoulder. The currents were dangerous here, he knew, and there was some quicksand. But he knew where it was and would be in no danger. Perhaps the calm waves would wash away a little of the agony of Gillian’s bitter words.

Then suddenly he was aware that he was not alone.

A figure was there before him. A figure that stood and gazed out to sea.

“Adrien!”

Hoarsely, the name came to his lips.

She heard. She turned and saw him, and waved.

And suddenly he realized where she was standing. He caught his breath in horror and started to run.

He shouted a warning.

“Adrien, be careful! There’s quicksand there!”

Startled, she took a step backward. And the quicksand seize, her. Her leg was caught and held as though in a trap. Terrified, she felt herself sinking.

“Nicholas—save me!” she screamed.

Suddenly his arms were around her, holding her close, struggling for her against the greedy sands, dragging her to safety.

“Adrien
...
” he gasped.

Her thoughts flashed back suddenly to another occasion—a clifftop in the moonlight, pebbles slipping beneath her feet, and his arms holding her safe. But then there had been no love in his eyes, only concern. He had been on the point of telling her about Gillian and his engagement to her.

But surely there was love now in his arms straining for her safety, in the mad rush of his heartbeats, in his lips, panting, clinging desperately to hers. And in the words sucked somehow from his dry mouth.

“Adrien, my darling. I thought
... I thought I’d lost you. Now I’m never going to let you go again...”

Just for a minute or two, exhausted, she leaned against his shoulder, gave herself up to the wonder of his words, his kisses. He loved her. Just to have that knowledge was well worth the risk of death. She was covered with sand, but she didn’t care. She let him half carry her up the beach. But when she saw the cliffs rising before her, half-white, half-dark in the moonlight, she summoned all her strength and flung herself away from him.

“No, Nicholas, no, no!”

“Adrien.”
His voice was husky.

She turned and ran from him, scrambling up the cliff toward the house. He stood looking at her, wondering at the speed of her movements.

“Adrien
—
” He tried to follow her, but somehow he could not
move.

She was gone. Had he really held her in his arms, felt her kisses on his lips—lips that belong to Gillian? Had he told Adrien he loved her?

It seemed unreal, like a dream.