Page 27 of The Splendour Falls
âNo, butââ
âThen please, you must dine with me, tonight. François always cooks far more than I can eat alone. Do you like veal?â
âYes, butââ
âGood. You can leave your coat there, if you like, beside the door. Here, let me help you.â
I hesitated, and he smiled again. It was a damnably persuasive smile. âPlease,â he said again. âIâve upset you, and my daughter has dragged you across half of Chinon. The least that I can do is give you dinner.â
It would be harmless enough, I thought, to accept the offer. I was rather hungry, and the fact that he was flirting with me openly convinced me just how harmless it would be. Flirtatious men I could handle. It was the serious ones, like Neil, who made me nervousâthe ones who looked straight at you and spoke simply and had no use for games. Men like Neil, I thought, might talk of love and mean it, while flirtatious men demanded nothing, promised less, and never disappointed. There could be no danger, I decided, in a dinner with Armand Valcourt.
âOf course,â he said, âif there is someone waiting for you back at your hotelâ¦â
I shook my head. âNo, Iâm all on my own.â
âGood,â he murmured, cryptically, as I followed him from the foyer into a long, expansive room half shadow and half light, its understated elegance both soothing and surreal. It had been decorated with an eye to detailâthe artistic arrangement of chairs and sofa, the graceful antique writing-desk, the swan-like pair of table lamps⦠but it looked more like a stage set than a sitting room. A place where no one really lived. The image was compounded by the fact that one whole wall seemed made of windows, black as pitch at this late hour. As we moved, the glass threw back our images, distorted.
âI eat in here,â he told me. âItâs my habit, when Iâm alone. Unless you would prefer the dining room?â
I shook my head. âHere is fine.â
He must have already been sitting down to dinner when François had interrupted him. A table at the far end of the room was set for one, its polished surface scattered with an odd assortment of china bowls and chafing dishes.
Iâd seen so many films about the rich that I was half expecting serving maids in starched white caps, but it was Armand Valcourt himself who fetched me an extra plate and cutlery, and filled my wine glass from the open bottle on the table.
âItâs last yearâs vintage,â he explained, as he poured. âNot a great wine, Iâm afraid, but sufficient for Françoisâs cooking. The real cook is off this evening.â
He took the chair across from me and raised his own glass in a toast. âTo small deceptions,â he said, with a slow deliberate smile.
The wine, to my untrained palate at least, proved excellent, as did the meal itself. I thought François a smashing cook, and said so.
âFrançois has many talents,â my host told me. âHeâs a good man and a loyal one. But you will learn this for yourself, I think.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâve made a friend of him tonight, make no mistake. He does not forget a kindness, and heâs very fond of my daughter.â
âOh, I see.â I nodded. âWell, thatâs understandable, Monsieur. She is a charming child.â
He smiled a little, lowering his eyes to the food on his plate. âHer motherâs doing, and not mine. Brigitte was much more sociable than I am.â
I thought it impolite to ask the question, so I didnât, but he answered it for me anyway. âMy wife had a weak heart, Mademoiselle. She died three years ago.â
âIâm sorry.â
; He was still looking down, and I couldnât see his eyes. âLife moves us onwards, does it not? More wine?â
I held my glass out while he poured. âHow many children do you have?â
âJust Lucie. I think it must be lonely for her, sometimes.â
âI rather enjoyed being an only child, myself,â I confessed. âI was spoiled rotten.â
Briefly, his enigmatic gaze touched mine. âFrançois tells me Iâm not to be angry with my daughter. Your words, I think.â
âYes, well⦠I did rather promise her that you wouldnât be.â I suddenly developed an intense interest in my own plate, pushing my vegetables round with the fork. âI shouldnât have interfered, perhaps, but if youâd seen her youâd have understood. She looked so small, and so unhappy, I thought surely no parent would want toâ¦â My voice trailed off and I speared a carrot with my fork. âBesides, she wouldnât have come with me, otherwise. She was afraid.â