The Garden Of Dreams. Sara Craven

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      ‘Yes.’ Lissa drank some more coffee. ‘It’s an awful cheek asking you, I know, but I can’t judge what I should feel with Paul. I thought everything was perfect—but last night …’ she paused and the colour came into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know anyone could feel like that.’

      ‘Men like Raoul Denis should either be locked up securely, or be made more readily available to us all,’ Jenny said, grinning. She took Lissa’s hand. ‘I can’t tell you about Roger and me, because it wouldn’t mean anything. All I can say is that when you meet the right man, you’ll know. There won’t be any doubts. But don’t be deceived by some Continental Romeo who’s probably had more women than we’ve had hot dinners. That’s not love. Passion is a thing apart. Don’t mix the two until you’re sure of the first one.’

      Lissa sighed. ‘I’m not sure of anything any more. Thank you for rescuing the brooch. I shall feel worse than ever about returning it now. What am I going to say to him?’

      ‘What you planned to say last night before the Pirate King took all the wind out of your sails. That it’s too expensive a gift at this stage in your relationship, and that you have to get to know him much better before you can even consider marriage.’ Jenny cast her eyes to heaven. ‘Would you like me to come along as prompter?’

      Lissa laughed. ‘No, I think I’ll manage the words once the action starts. Now I’d better start getting dressed or I shall be late.’

      She even managed a second cup of coffee and a slice of toast before, dressed in a light cream woollen dress with a matching coat, she set off for the underground. She felt more cheerful when she arrived at Maggie’s flat. Her godmother had been left a wealthy widow some years before, but even so she earned a more than adequate income from her very popular books. She was a tall woman with naturally waving grey hair, and still very attractive although well into her fifties. Lissa adored her, but often felt she could not have been the easiest person in the world to live with when her husband was alive.

      Maggie, when she was engaged on a novel, had a habit of spending most of the night covering sheet upon sheet of paper in her small neat handwriting for Lissa to transcribe the following day. Trim in a bright red jersey suit, she swung round from her desk as Lissa entered. ‘My dear, thank goodness you’ve come at last!’

      ‘I’m not late, am I?’ Lissa asked, puzzled, and glanced at her watch.

      ‘No, of course not. Didn’t Jenny give you my message?’

      ‘Why, yes, she left it on the pad. What’s all the mystery?’

      ‘Firstly, is your passport in order?’

      ‘Yes.’ Lissa stared at her. ‘What on earth …?’

      ‘Not what, ducky, but where,’ said Maggie triumphantly. ‘How would you like to spend the next month or so staying in a French château that was actually looted at the time of the Revolution, and was only saved from being burned to the ground by a few loyal peasants?’ She got up smiling. ‘And that’s not all. Many of the papers relating to that time have been preserved very carefully, including a diary kept by the old Comte—until they marched him off to be guillotined. And we’ve been invited to make what use we like of all this material.’

      ‘Oh, Maggie!’ Lissa’s eyes sparkled. ‘It’s like a dream. What could be better? How did it happen?’

      ‘Aha!’ Maggie waved her finger. ‘The old Comte lost his head, but his son kept his and got away to England with most of the family jewels intact. He married a wealthy English heiress and when things returned to normal in France he went back and restored the Château, and had a son, who had another son …’

      ‘I suppose this family tree is leading somewhere,’ Lissa said, grinning.

      ‘Indeed it is, ducky. To one Monsieur Paul de Gue, whom we have to thank for this invitation. Darling boy! It was like a bolt from the blue.’

      ‘Paul owns a château?’ Lissa said incredulously.

      ‘Well, his elder brother, who is the present Comte de Gue, actually owns it, but of course it’s Paul’s home too. His mother lives there and Paul apparently wrote to her when he heard I was planning a book about the time of the Reign of Terror and suggested his great-great-grandpapa’s romantic adventures could make a marvellous book—and she agreed. I’ve had the most charming letter from her, endorsed by the Comte himself. Well, what is it, dear? I thought you’d be delighted.’

      ‘I am delighted—for you,’ Lissa said with a forced smile. ‘It’s just that … do I have to go as well?’

      ‘Of course. You’re my secretary. I couldn’t possibly manage without you. You’re used to my ways and you know how that beastly typewriter sticks or unravels its ribbon all over me every time I go near it. Besides, I thought that you and Paul—well, it seemed ideal.’

      ‘That’s the trouble.’ Lissa moved to the desk and began to straighten some of the papers that littered it. ‘It’s too ideal. I expect you’ll think I’m mad like Jenny does, but I haven’t made up my mind yet about Paul. I don’t know whether it will work. It rather seems as if this invitation is just more pressure on me to say yes.’

      ‘On the other hand, seeing him on his own ground and against the rest of the family might make up your mind for you. People are more themselves in their own homes. You might like him better with some of the foreign diplomat glamour knocked off him,’ Maggie said surprisingly.

      ‘I thought you liked him.’

      ‘I do. I think he’s a charming boy, but his biggest trouble is that he thinks so too.’

      Lissa smiled a little wanly. ‘Perhaps you’re right, and after all, he won’t be there all the time. He has his work to do.’

      ‘I wouldn’t count on that keeping him away. He mentioned to me recently that he had some leave due. I think he intends to be guide, philosopher and friend on this visit.’ Maggie gave her a shrewd glance. ‘It’s getting you down, isn’t it? You have a peaky look. A few weeks abroad will do you the world of good, whether the handsome Paul is in attendance or not.’

      ‘Yes,’ Lissa sighed. ‘Oh, Maggie, why can’t life be simple and spelled out in black and white for us?’

      ‘Because it would be no fun if it were—and talking about spelling things out, why don’t you pop the coffee on while I try and sort some of last night’s stuff out for you?’

      Maggie had spent a long and fruitful night, and Lissa typed steadily until noon. She had paused for a cigarette when the phone by her elbow rang. She picked up the receiver and gave the number.

      ‘Chérie!’

      ‘Oh, Paul, it’s good to hear from you!’

      ‘I am afraid you won’t be so pleased when I tell you what I have to say. I must postpone our date for this evening—something has come up. I am ringing to see if you are free for lunch instead. The little Italian place in—say, half an hour.’

      ‘That’ll be fine.’ Lissa tried to mask her disappointment.

      ‘Au revoir, then.’

      Lissa replaced the receiver and finished typing the sheet she was СКАЧАТЬ