The Blessing Read Free

able to let himself go, with women whom he met in other circumstances. But he liked the company of woman to an extent rare among Englishmen, and often went to chat for an hour or so with Mrs O’Donovan in her light sunny little house which looked over Chelsea Hospital. She was always at home, always glad to receive a visitor, and had a large following among the more intellectual of the right-wing politicians. Her regard for Sir Conrad was special; she spoke of him as ‘my Conrad’ and was out to other callers when he came to see her. It was said that he never took a step without asking her advice first.
    He said, without preamble, ‘Have you seen Charles-Edouard de Valhubert?’
    ‘Priscilla’s son?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is he in London?’
    ‘He’s been in London several weeks, courting Grace so it seems.’
    ‘Conrad! How extraordinary! What’s he like?’
    ‘Really, you know, irresistible. Came to see me at the House yesterday – wants to marry her. I knew nothing – but nothing. I thought Grace was buried in that First Aid Post, and, of course, I’ve been busy myself. Rather too bad of her really – here I am presented with this fait accompli .’
    ‘Well, but what about Hughie?’
    ‘What indeed? Mind you, my sympathies with Hughie are limited – he ought to have married her before he went away.’
    ‘Poor Hughie, he was longing to. He thought it wouldn’t be fair.’
    ‘What rubbish though. He leaves a position utterly undefended, he can’t be surprised if it falls into – well, Allied hands. I never cared for him, as you know, quite half-baked and tells no jokes. However, she didn’t ask my advice when she became engaged to him, nor did she ask it before breaking the engagement (if, indeed, she has remembered to do so). Clearly it doesn’t matter what I think. So much for Hughie. He has made his exit all right.’
    ‘I can see that you’re pleased, really.’
    ‘Yes and no. Valhubert is quite a chap I will say, tall, attractive (very much like his father to look at, much better dressed). He is clearly great fun. But I don’t like the idea of Grace marrying a frog, to tell the truth.’
    ‘Conrad! With your love for the French?’ Mrs O’Donovan loved the French too. She had once spent several months in Paris as a child; it had touched her imagination in some way, and she had hankered to live there ever since. This love was one of the strongest links between her and Sir Conrad. They both belonged to the category of English person, not rare among the cultivated classes, and not the least respectable of their race, who can find almost literally nothing to criticize where the French are concerned.
    ‘Only because of Grace’s special character,’ he said. ‘Try and picture her mooning about in Paris society. She would be a lamb among wolves; it makes me shudder to think of it.’
    ‘I’m not sure – after all she’s a beauty, and that means a great deal more in France than it does here.’
    ‘Yes, with the men. I’m thinking of the women. They’ll make short work of our poor Grace, always in the clouds.’
    ‘Perhaps her clouds will protect her.’
    ‘In a way, but I’m afraid she’s deeply romantic, and Valhubert has a roving eye if ever there was one. Don’t I remember that Priscilla was very unhappy? There used to be rumours –’
    Mrs O’Donovan delved in her mind for everything she had known, long ago now and buried away, about Priscilla de Valhubert. Among other things she brought to the surface was the memory that when she had first heard of Priscilla’s engagement she had felt exactly what she was feeling now, that it was really rather unfair. Mrs O’Donovan was as much like a Frenchwoman as it is possible for any Anglo-Saxon to be. She spoke the language faultlessly. Her clothes, her scent, the food she ate, the wine she drank, all, in fact, that makes life agreeable, came from France. There was a bidet in her bathroom; she had her afternoon rest on a chaise-longue;