“And you find mine in that need?”
“You must know that some of these pictures are in poor condition. I was examining this one when I realized you had come in. What kind of treatment could it have had to be in that state?”
“Pray, Mademoiselle Lawson, do not look at me so sternly. I am not responsible for the state of the picture.”
“Oh? I presumed it had been some time in your possession. You see, there is a failing in the paint. It is chalky. Obviously it has been ill-treated.”
A smile twisted his mouth and his face changed. There might have been a glimmer of amusement there now.
“How vehement you are! You might be fighting for the rights of man rather than for the preservation of paint on canvas.”
“When would you wish me to leave?”
“Not until we have talked, at least.”
“Since you find you cannot employ a woman I do not think we should have anything to talk about.”
“You are very impulsive, Mademoiselle Lawson. Now I should have thought that was a characteristic a restorer of old paintings could well do without. I have not said I would not employ a woman. That was your suggestion.”
“I can see that you disapprove of my being here. That is enough.”
“Did you expect approval of your … deception?”
“Monsieur Ie Comte,” I said, “I worked with my father. I took over his commissions. You had previously approached him to come here. I thought the arrangement still stood. I see no deception in that.”
“Then you must have been surprised by the astonishment you caused.”
I replied shortly: “It would be difficult to do delicate work of this nature in an atmosphere of disapproval.”
“That I can well understand.”
“Therefore…”
“Therefore?” he repeated.
“I could leave today if I could be taken to the mainline station. I understand there is only one morning train from the Gaillard halt.”
“How thoughtful of you to look into such arrangements. But I must repeat. Mademoiselle Lawson, you are too impulsive. You must understand my uneasiness. And you will forgive me saying so, you do not look old enough to have had a great deal of experience in skilled work of this nature.”
“I have worked with my father for years. There are some who grow old and never acquire the skill. It is a feeling in oneself for the work, an understanding, a love of painting that is born in one.”
“You are poetical as well as an artist, I see. But at… er … thirty or so … one would necessarily not have had a lifetime’s experience.”
“I am twenty-eight,” I retorted hotly; and I saw at once that I had fallen into the trap. He had determined to bring me off the pedestal on which I was trying to take a firm stand and show me that I was after all an ordinary woman who couldn’t bear to be thought older than she was.
He raised his eyebrows; he was finding the interview amusing. I saw that I had betrayed my desperate situation and the streak of cruelty in him made him want to prolong the indecision, to torment me for as long as possible.
For the first time since I had set out on this adventure I lost my control. I said: “There is no point in continuing. I realize that you have decided I cannot do this work because I am a woman. Well, monsieur, I leave you with your prejudices. So I will go either today or tomorrow.”
For a few seconds he looked at me in mock bewilderment but as I moved towards the door, he was swiftly beside me.
“Mademoiselle, you have not understood. Perhaps your knowledge of French is not as expert as your knowledge of painting.”
Once more I rose to the bait.
“My mother was French. I have understood perfectly every word you have said.”
“Then I am to blame for my lack of lucidity. I have no wish that you shall go … just yet.”
“Your manner suggests that you are not prepared to trust me.”
“Your own assumption, mademoiselle, I do assure you.”
“Then you mean you wish me to stay?”
He pretended to hesitate.
“If I may say so without offence, I should like you to undergo a little test. Oh please, mademoiselle, do not accuse me of prejudice against your sex. I am prepared to believe that there may be brilliant women in the world. I am impressed by what you tell me of your understanding and love of painting. I am also interested in the estimates of damage and the cost of repairing the pictures you have examined. It is all very clear and reasonable.”
I was afraid that my eyes had begun to shine with hope and so would betray my excitement. If, I told myself, he realized how very eagerly I desired this commission he might continue baiting me.
He had seen.
“I was going to suggest… but then you may have decided that you would prefer to leave today or tomorrow.”
“I have come a long way, Monsieur Ie Comte. Naturally I should prefer to stay and carry out the work providing it could be done in a congenial atmosphere. What were you going to suggest?”
“That you restore one of the pictures and if that is satisfactorily accomplished you continue with the rest.”
I was happy in that moment. I should have been relieved, of course, for I was certain of my capabilities. The immediate future was taken care of. No ignoble return to London! No Cousin Jane! But it was more than that. An inexplicable feeling of joy, anticipation, excitement. I could not explain. I was certain that I could pass this test, and that meant a long stay at the castle. This wonderful old place would be my home for months to come. I could explore it, as well as its treasures.
I could continue my friendship with the Bastides. I could indulge my curiosity concerning the inhabitants of the chateau.
I was insatiably curious. I had known this since my father had pointed it out to me and deplored this trait; but I could not stop myself wanting to know what went on behind the facade people showed the world. To discover this was like removing the film of decay from an old painting; and to learn what the Comte was like would be revealing a living picture.
“This proposition seems to appeal to you.”
So once more I had betrayed my feelings, something I
prided myself on rarely doing. But perhaps he was particularly perceptive.
“It seems a very fair one,” I said.
“Then, it’s agreed.” He held out his hands.
“We will shake on it. An old English custom, I believe. You, mademoiselle, have been kind enough to discuss the problem in French; we will seal the bargain in English. “
As he held my hand his dark eyes looked into mine and I felt decidedly uncomfortable. I felt suddenly innocent, unworldly, and that was, I was sure, how he intended I should feel.
I withdrew my hand with a hauteur which I trusted hid my embarrassment.
“Which picture would you select for the … test?” I asked.
“What of the one you were examining when I came in?”
“That would be excellent. It is more in need of restoration than anything in the gallery.”
We walked over to it and stood side by side examining it.
“It has been very badly treated,” I said severely. I was now on firm ground.
“It is not very old a hundred and fifty years at most and yet…”
“An ancestress of mine.”
“It is a pity she was subjected to such treatment.”
“A great pity. But there was a time in France when people like her were submitted to even greater indignity.”
“I should say that this picture has probably been exposed to the weather. Even the colour of her gown is faded, though alizarin is usually stable. I can’t see in this light the true colour of the stones about her neck. You see how darkened they have become. The same with the bracelet and the earrings.”
“Green,” he said.