Page 122 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Richard crossed the room to kiss his grandmother’s hand. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve just done,’ he said.

‘Something disgraceful, no doubt,’ said Grandmère.

‘No, no. I’ve just ridden on a motor-bus for the first time. I was happily walking when I heard it coming along, and couldn’t resist.’

‘And how did you find it?’

‘Noisy, but otherwise perfectly bus-like. And I saw two more during the ride.’

‘There are more every day, it seems,’ said Grandmère, indifferently.

‘You don’t approve of them, I take it? You do not want to see the noble horse displaced by these dirty, stinking mechanical demons?’

‘Tiens! Only a fool would think so. Railway trains had to come, and motor-cars have to come, and so the world goes. And,’ she added, with delicate practicality, ‘one would like to cross the street without dirtying one’s shoes. What are you doing in Town?’

‘Visiting you, ma chère.’

‘Evidemment. Et ensuite?’

‘I came up to see the motor wagons we ordered for the milk collection, which are ready, and to decide what colour they should be. I have decided they should have Ash Valley Dairy Company painted along the sides.’

‘Ah, you are a company now! Yet you appear to me still a half-grown boy. And your hair is too long.’

Richard cocked his head. ‘You seem somewhat out of temper, dear. Has something happened?’

‘Lady Vane has happened. She called this morning pour m’agacer. The subject of Sir Thomas and his new “friend” was much on her mind.’

‘Lady Vane hasn’t got a mind.’ So it was common gossip now, was it? He contemplated her face. ‘Are you angry?’ She ‘pupped’ her lips. ‘Jealous?’ he hazarded.

‘Ne t’inquiète pas pour moi,’ she said briskly. ‘But what of you? Is your little heart bruised? Are you écrasé?’

‘I’ve told you many times, ma chère, I am not in love with Miss Chloë. I am a little concerned for her – though she says she can control him. That he would never do anything she doesn’t want.’

‘That does not comfort me, even if it is true.’

‘So it’s the scandal that you mind, then? The tracasserie?’

‘I am afraid for him,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘Il est obsédé par son génie.’

‘She is brilliant,’ he allowed cautiously.

Grandmère went on, her eyes distant, as though talking to herself. ‘Of course, one always knew about his grisettes. A man must have his . . . accommodations. It is not of the least importance. They were nothing to me or to him. And it is long since I had any desires in that direction. Our relationship has long gone beyond such things. I was, with him, exactly where I wished to be. But now . . . but this . . .’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘He is not behaving like himself. He talks about her to me. He never would have done so before. And the appartement meublé – what can that mean? On the one hand, it is as a man installs a mistress—’

‘I don’t believe they—’

‘No. Not yet.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘On the other hand, this particular appartement has not that look about it. A family property? It is too particular. J’ai peur que ce soit différent. There is danger here. I think— I fear he is falling in love with her.’

Richard could think of nothing comforting to say. He took her hand, and she let him.

‘I can do nothing,’ she went on. ‘I am twenty years too old for him. And she is twenty years too young. He is at the age when men make follies. When they feel the cold breath of age on the neck and hurry towards the warm fire of youth.’ Her eyes sharpened, focusing on him. ‘I do not wish him to look foolish. The tracasserie – that can be lived through. It even enhances a man’s view of himself. But I do not wish him to be made a fool. I have loved him a lifetime, almost. This child – is she a good girl? Mais qu’importe?’ She answered herself. ‘The world will decide and the truth will not matter. There will be hurt for all. Tant pis! But him – I care about him.’

‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Richard mourned. ‘Except that I think the music is all she cares about.’

‘Ça se voit!’ she snorted. ‘And the more hurt for him when he realises.’