At the beginning of November I went into the town to buy a few Christmas presents. I would need something for the Dubussons who were going to be our hosts for the day, and there were my mother, Everton, Marie and Jacques.
There was not a great deal of choice in the shops and I quickly made my purchases and went into the auberge where I was well known by now. There were no longer tables outside, so I sat in a room with windows looking out on the square, and there I ordered a glass of wine.
As I was drinking this a man came in and sat down quite near me. There was something very familiar about him. I stared at him. I must be dreaming. I had imagined him so often that for a few moments I could not really believe my eyes.
He had risen and was coming towards me. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, rather lean, with a somewhat slouching walk. I felt the colour rush into my face.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but you are English.”
I nodded.
“I think you are … I think you must be …”
I was recovering myself. “You are Mr. Paul Landower. I recognized you at once.”
“And you are Miss Tressidor.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I am so pleased to see you. We met such a long time ago. You were a little girl then.”
“I was fourteen. I didn’t regard myself as little. It’s four years ago actually.”
“Is it really?”
“I remember it clearly.”
“May I sit down?” he asked.
“Please do. Going to Cornwall was a great event in my life. How is your brother?”
“Jago is well, thank you.”
“He and I were quite good friends.”
“He is more your age. A little older in fact. He is doing quite well.”
I wanted to ask about Landower, how they liked living at the farmhouse. But I felt it might be a melancholy subject.
“I’ll call for some more wine,” he said. He leaned his elbows on the table and smiled at me. I felt rising excitement. Here was the man who had occupied my thoughts for so many months until Jeremy Brandon had replaced him. It was a strange coincidence that he should have arrived in France and at the very place where I was staying.
“Are you on holiday here?” I asked.
“No. I had business in Paris and again in Nice. I thought I’d have a look at the country while I was here. These small places are so attractive, are they not? And one gets to know people so much better than one does in the towns.”
“I am staying with my mother,” I said.
He nodded.
“She lives here now. She has been here some years.”
“You like life here?”
“Life is interesting wherever it is.”
“That’s so. It’s a pity everyone does not see it that way.”
“How is Miss Tressidor? She is not a great letter writer so I don’t hear as much as I should like to.”
“She is well, I believe.”
“I forgot your family and hers don’t mingle.”
“They do more now. I believe Miss Tressidor was hoping that you were going to visit her.”
“Did she tell you?”
He nodded.
“I should have gone to see her but my mother was taken ill.”
“She was very disappointed.”
“I shall go to see her one day. How is everything at Landower?”
“Very well.”
“I suppose …”I did not know how to put what I was going to ask, and decided it would be wiser not to talk of it. I said instead: “Where are you staying?”
“In this very auberge.”
“Oh! Have you been here long?”
“I came yesterday.”
“Is it to be a short stay?”
“Oh yes, quite short.”
“Jago must be quite grown-up now. I hope everything really is well with him.”
“Jago will always see that life goes as he wants it.”
“When I was there, there were some people … What was their name? Oh … it was Arkwright.”
“Yes, that’s right. They bought Landower Hall.”
“Oh, they did buy it!” I wanted to ask about Gwennie Arkwright and I wondered how much Paul knew and whether Jago had ever confessed to what had happened in the minstrel’s gallery.
“Yes, but now the family is back.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Yes, it came back into the family.”
“That must be a great relief.”
He laughed. “Well, you know, it was the family home for hundreds of years. One feels certain ties.”
“Indeed yes. Jago always said that you would never let it pass right out of the family.”
“Jago had too high an opinion of me.”
“Well, it seems he was right.”
“In that instance … perhaps. But tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?”
“I went away to school after I returned to London, and I came to France in fact.”
“Then you have an impeccable accent, I am sure.”
“I get by.”
“That must be a great help. Do you come into the town often?”
“Yes, quite often. We’re about a mile and a half out.”
“How is your mother?”
“She is not well sometimes.”
“I wonder if you will allow me to call?”
“But of course. She would be delighted. She likes to see people.”
“Then while I’m staying here … if I may …”
“How long will you be here?”
“I am not sure. Perhaps a week. I should not think longer.”
“I daresay there will be a great deal to do at Christmas.”
“There always is on the estate. All the old traditions have to be observed, as you can imagine.”
“I can indeed.”
I glanced at the watch pinned to my bodice.
He said: “You are anxious about the time. May I take you back?”
“Old Jacques, our gardener, is waiting for me with his trap.”
“Then I’ll take you to him. And … tomorrow … may I call?”
“Yes,” I said. “We should like that.” And I gave him details of our address and how to find us.
Jacques was waiting with some impatience. It was unlike me not to be on time.
Paul held my hand firmly in his as he said goodbye.
I returned his gaze and felt happier than I had since I had read that cruel letter of Jeremy’s.
My mother was excited at the prospect of a visitor. He came in the morning and sat in the courtyard with me while an excited Marie prepared the dejeuner.
The midday meal was usually the biggest of the day as it was in most French households. My mother thought it most uncivilized to eat large quantities at midday; dinner was the great social occasion with her.
However, Paul was asked to luncheon.
My mother received him very graciously. His manner towards her was courteous but a little aloof. He was no Monsieur Foucard to be bowled over by her charms. She adapted her style to suit him and I marvelled at her expertise. Handling men and adjusting herself to what she believed would attract them was one of her obvious social assets.
As she was quite interested in Cousin Mary, of whom she had heard so much when she was married to Robert Tressidor, Cornwall, the life there and the two great houses made a long topic of conversation.
“I hear you have been quite unwell,” he said solicitously.
“Oh, Mr. Landower, don’t let’s talk of my boring ailments,” she said, and went on to talk of them at some length.
He listened sympathetically.
He turned to me. “Miss Tressidor, I remember when you stayed in Cornwall, you did a great deal of riding with my brother. Do you ride here?”
“Alas, no. I haven’t a horse.”
“I believe I could hire horses. Would you care to show me the countryside if I could do this?”
“I should like it very much.”