Celebration

Charles fascinated her. It was his combination of natural power and the right to command, bred back over the centuries, coupled with the glimpses of human hurt that drew Bell. She was hungry to know him better. She wanted to go on admiring and being in awe of him, and at the same time she wanted to comfort him with her own hard-won understanding.

Impossible. Romantic dream.

Worse, there was something else about him too. The arrogant sensuality around his mouth, and the way that his eyes held hers, commandingly, for just a second too long.

With a little lurch of her stomach, Bell recognized that she was physically drawn to him too.

Impossible.

She musn’t think about it any more. Not give herself time to. That’s all.

Bell’s fragile resolution slipped away as soon as she found the brother and sister, sitting side by side on one of the pale blue sofas in the salon. Charles was laughing, they were both laughing, and when she came in they jumped up at once to draw her into the warmth of their company.

Bell’s heart started thumping in her chest when Charles took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks in greeting.

She did want him, there was no use pretending. It was impossible, but it was possible. Oh no.

Yes.

The evening was as different from the one before as it could possibly have been. Juliette and Charles complemented one another perfectly.

They had been close all their lives, as irresponsible children scampering about in the draughty passages of the Château, and then as adolescents becoming aware of their position in the world and the world’s expectations of them. Juliette had defied those expectations as well as those of her parents. She had chosen to become a sculptor and had gone to Paris to a famous atelier. Her allowance had gone, and she lived on what she could earn as a waitress in her spare hours. For Charles, escape would have been still less easy, even if he had wanted it. Wine-making and Château Reynard were in his blood, and he gave himself up to his heritage without complaint.

Juliette and her bohemian way of life remained a treasured alter ego for him. Bell could only guess at the closeness of the tie that held the two together but she saw at once how much they meant to one another. With his sister Charles was gentle, and almost frivolous.

The three of them sat until late at one end of the long table. The last of the wine glowed ruby-red in the decanter. It was Château Reynard 1961, and Bell understood that in giving her his best wine Charles was giving her something of himself.

After the pudding, rich little heart-shaped coeurs à la crème, Charles poured pungent cognac into more glasses. Bell began to see the room through a hazy golden glow of happiness and good wine.

Deliberately, she pushed back the doubts and questions that hovered at the brink of her consciousness.

Opposite her Juliette was sitting with her chin in her hands. They had been talking about family likenesses and Juliette had insisted that she and Charles were different because of their different star signs.

‘Me, I’m Libra,’ she said, ‘Queen of the Zodiac, of course. Now Chariot – I’m sure you can guess what he is.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Bell diplomatically.

‘Scorpio. Moody and difficult, but …’

‘For God’s sake, Juliette, don’t bore us with all that nonsense.’

‘Very well, but I was just getting to the flattering bits. What about Bell? I’d guess that you are …’

‘Leo,’ she put in, hastily.

‘Ha! The extrovert with the vulnerable heart.’

‘All wrong,’ Bell smiled. ‘I’m outwardly vulnerable, but my heart is really reinforced with pure steel.’

Across the table Charles studied her for a moment, his eyebrows raised a fraction. Bell went slowly, dully crimson.

There was a tiny silence before Juliette spoke again.

‘Leo, eh? Then your birthday is soon.’

Bell looked from one to the other. There was no reason, after all, why she shouldn’t share her birthday with friends, however new they were.

‘I’m twenty-eight tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Juliette leapt to her feet. ‘Your birthday? This is a fine time to tell us. But we must certainly have a party. Chariot – mustn’t we?’

‘Only if Bell wants it.’

‘Of course she does. Don’t you, darling? I must telephone, and see Madame Robert … oh, what fun. Mama will be appalled.’

Dancing with excitement Juliette planted a kiss on top of each of their heads and whirled away.

Charles put his hand out to cover Bell’s.

‘Do you mind?’ he asked, softly.

‘No.’

The room grew very quiet as they sat and looked at one another. Bell saw that there were gold flecks in the dark blue irises, and noticed a tiny pulse jumping at the corner of one eyelid.

Charles was afraid of something too, she realized.

Bell wanted to stay suspended within that moment for ever. They were equals, waiting to offer each other something precious. She was still, for those last seconds, free and in command but the world seemed full of promise and enchantment.

Very slowly Charles reached out and with a fingertip he traced the outline of her mouth. Then he pulled the combs out of her hair and let it tumble down in a thick mass around her face.

‘My English Bell,’ he murmured. ‘You are very beautiful, and very unusual.’

Then he was holding her hands, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. She let her face fall against the soft dark cloth of his jacket but his hand went to her chin, turning her face up inescapably to meet his. She glimpsed something then in his eyes, a shadow, but then their mouths met and they clung together.

Bell was rocked by a current so strong that it threatened to carry her away.

Time stopped moving for them both, questions went unanswered and fears disregarded.

At last Charles led her up the shallow stairs under the huge chandelier. They stood in front of her door, not speaking, their eyes still locked together.

Charles’s hand rested on the catch.

‘Not yet,’ breathed Bell. ‘Please. Charles, I must think.’

His mouth was set and she saw the shadow, guarded, in his face before he replied.

‘I know. Tomorrow, Bell, we must talk.’