A Moment in Paris Read Free

impatiently. ‘I’m sorry everything’s rather a mess.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ Diana answered, and smiled at her, trying to see in her the future helpmeet of a haughty aristocrat, a collector of objets d’art, a man of numberless interests and a burning ambition. She tried to picture her as the sharer of his noble name, the mother of his heir who would one day carry on that name, his hostess at extremely formal dinner-parties and more carefree week-ends in the country at one of those grey chateaux that are so often piled upon impressive heights in France. But somehow she couldn’t see her fulfilling any of these roles. She belonged, rather, on Hollywood’s celluloid screen.
    ‘Philippe did mention you would be coming to see me today, but I don’t mind confessing I got rather sore and told him I didn’t want to be bossed around by a governess at my time of life,’ she said, with a strong tinge of resentment. ‘After all, I’m not exactly a kid, am I? I was nineteen last birthday.’
    ‘And I was twenty-two,’ Diana told her, smiling her rather gentle little half-smile.
    ‘Then perhaps it’s a companion he’s got in mind?’ Celeste said, brightening. ‘After all, this house is a bit like a morgue, and I expect the one in the country is worse, and we go there some time next week. And, unless he feels like letting me see something of him, Philippe’s about as companionable as a husband already!’
    Diana was conscious of a slight sensation of further shock. ‘Then you are already living here in this house? I thought perhaps it was merely a kind of rendezvous for our first meeting.’
    Celeste shook her head.
    ‘I’ve been living here for weeks, and apart from all the spending and the night-clubs and smart hotels it’s so dull sometimes I could scream my head off. But Philippe doesn’t understand,’ she complained.
    ‘But surely,’ Diana said gently, ‘you’re not living here alone? Just with servants, I mean,’ she explained. ‘There is some sort of a—well, chaperone—who keeps an eye on you, and is company for you?’
    Celeste’s eyes glinted wickedly. ‘You mean, are we living together without being married? Oh, no, nothing of that sort, and we’re going to be married all right. Philippe’s a comte, you know, and he doesn’t do that sort of thing ... At least, not with a girl who’s going to be his wife.’ She fumbled in the pocket of her silk robe and produced a crumbled packet of American cigarettes, which she passed to Diana. ‘Being a Frenchman he probably does a lot of things on the side, but they won’t worry me if I never hear about them.’
    This time Diana felt a trifle staggered.
    ‘But there is someone living in the house apart from yourself and the Comte?’ she insisted.
    ‘Oh, yes, an old aunt of his, a Lady Bembridge, who married an Englishman. But she’s crippled with arthritis and I hardly ever see her. Besides, she doesn’t approve of me. She shudders every time I open my mouth.’
    ‘Then she can’t be very much of a companion for you?’
    ‘No.’ She drew fiercely on her cigarette, and then exhaled smoke languidly. ‘I expect you wonder how all this came about. My meeting with Philippe, and how and when he fell in love with me? Well, it was when he was touring America and studying American methods of film-making. I had a small part in a not very important film, and as soon as he saw me he flew off the handle about me at once. He decided it was high time he married, and that I’d do very nicely for a wife. I wasn’t very certain at first...’
    ‘Then what made you become certain?’ Diana asked.
    ‘Oh, when he began to give me expensive presents and really take me about. He rented whole suites in hotels for me, and bought me the most heavenly jewellery and wonderful clothes!’ She indicated the dress boxes on the floor. ‘These have been made for me since I came to Paris, and if you look at the labels you’ll see that I’m now being dressed by