Invitation to Provence(71)
“I didn’t know what to do,” Rafaella said. “I loved Lucas. I couldn’t just leave him. I even told Juliette he was my ‘destiny’ But Juliette said, ‘Don’t you know there’s no future in destiny ? Life is all about your own choices, ma chérie.’
“One night a few weeks later I was in bed alone, wondering where Lucas was, what he was doing, who he was with—all the things women do when they are crazy in love with a man. Of course I knew exactly where he was, I always did. This time he was in England, playing polo with a prince as well as a couple of dukes, and I suddenly couldn’t bear to be parted from him a moment longer. I went to my closet and flung a few things into a suitcase. When I came downstairs Haigh was standing in the hall in his old-fashioned striped nightshirt with his scrawny legs sticking out like twigs in winter. ‘You’re off to see him, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘So what if I am,’ I said defiantly. Haigh told me I was making a mistake, but I was helpless. ‘Don’t you understand, I can’t help myself?’
“He put the suitcase in the back and asked if I had my passport. He’d given up on the idea of stopping me. ‘And what about money?’ he said, and I stared blankly at him. Of course I’d forgotten about money.
“He said, ‘I knew you would, just as I knew what you were up to when I heard you banging around up there,’ and he reached into the breast pocket of his nightshirt and took out some folded bills. I heard him call ‘Bon voyage,’ but I wasn’t even listening. I just wanted to get to Lucas.
“I drove through the night to Paris, then on to Calais, where I took the next ferry to Dover and then drove to London. I was exhausted, I felt terrible. I knew I must look even worse, and I needed to be at my best when I saw Lucas again, so I went straight to the Ritz, where I took a suite. After a long soak in a hot bath, I put on warmer clothes.” She looked up at Franny and laughed. “Can you believe that even now, I can remember exactly what I wore—a Chanel pastel-tweed coat with matching skirt and a little sweater, because it was so much colder than in Provence, even though it was summer. Then I walked across the road to Burlington Arcade, a street famous for its gentlemen’s outfitters, where I bought Lucas a few pretty gifts.
“Quite suddenly I was overcome with fear of what I was about to do. I’d never gone after Lucas before, never dared to show up unannounced… . I walked back to the Ritz and sat in the Palm Court and ordered a glass of champagne to calm myself. I looked around the ornate room with its lofty ceilings and enormous chandeliers and gilded paneling. I also looked, a little enviously, at the other guests, so happily ensconced in plush sofas, sipping tea poured from silver pots and eating cucumber sandwiches and scones with strawberry jam and Devon cream. All of them, it seemed, were without a care in the world. Unlike me.
“I tell you, Franny, I drank that champagne very slowly, putting off the moment when I would have to call Lucas at his hotel in the countryside. The smart bags with his presents were piled on the chair next to me, and I tried to imagine the delight on his face when he opened them. Lucas was like a child in some ways. He got so much pleasure from even the simplest gift.
“Finally I went back to the suite and placed the call to his hotel. The desk clerk told me Lucas didn’t answer. ‘No matter,’ I replied, ‘I’ll be there in an hour or so.’ And then I called down to the desk, asked for my car to be sent round, and went back downstairs.
“Lucas’s hotel was set in wooded grounds on the River Thames. I can see it still, elegant in a country-manor style with a square white portico and tall Georgian windows curtained in heavy gold velvet, to keep out those bitter English winter winds, no doubt. I remember the desk clerk too. He was about seventy years old, an ex-army-looking man with a bristly mustache and narrow half-glasses. He peered intently at me over the top of them as I asked for Mr. Bronson.
“Ah, Mr Bronson,’ he said. ‘I see. Hmm … ’ and he studied his guest book for a long time, as though it were written in some strange foreign language.
“ ‘He’s in Room 23,’ I told him, because I knew that from the phone call I’d made.
“Ahh, yes… . Room 23. Hmm … Well, I’m sorry, Madame, but Mr. Bronson appears to be out at the moment.’ ”
“I checked the wooden pigeonholes behind him, where the room keys were kept, and saw he was right. The key to room 23 was there so Lucas must be out. I told the clerk I would wait and he showed me, reluctantly I thought, into the vast cold drawing room while he went to order some tea.
“However, I’d never been one to wait around, and now I saw my opportunity. Quick as a flash, I was behind that reception desk, unhooking the key from its box. Bags swinging from my arms, I ran up the red-carpeted stairs, saw the sign that pointed to rooms 21 through 25. I was smiling as I inserted the key in the lock, thinking of how I’d be naked in Lucas’s bed when he got back. I’d order champagne instead of tea from the fussy old boy downstairs, and I’d spray the pillows with my mimosa scent so it would be exactly like being home at the chateau.
“I pushed open the door and stepped into the curtained gloom. I sensed heat in the room and suddenly knew I wasn’t alone. Lucas was here after all! I felt my way silently around the chairs and little tables to where a massive four-poster loomed.
“‘Lucas?’ I whispered. And then I saw them.