Chapter Three #4
Sandrine’s head whirled with confusion at how suddenly their lovely day had changed. Alain seemed so distant now. What was happening? Maybe she should go back. But it was too late; they had stepped into another gallery.
A white-haired gentleman in an old-fashioned long, dark coat, leaning heavily on a carved walking stick, was examining a sculpture.
Beside him was the most beautiful young lady Sandrine thought she’d ever seen.
If she had more skill in portraits or mythological scenes, she would certainly paint her as a statuesque Athena, or a goddess of beauty.
A plain pelisse of dull lavender and a simple straw bonnet edged with just a narrow blue ribbon couldn’t disguise the fact that she looked like the Renaissance princesses in the paintings around them.
Tall, willowy-slim, she seemed so elegantly remote with a faint smile on rosebud lips, dark eyes large in a fair, heart-shaped face.
Gleaming golden waves of hair peeked from under her hat.
Sandrine felt some strange, chilly touch of disquiet as she studied the pair, and she could not fathom why.
They seemed entirely ordinary, despite the lady’s beauty; they promised information on Alain’s past, his character.
But she wished she’d taken Alain’s hint to depart, and now it was too late.
The gentleman glimpsed them, his faded brown eyes widening and a smile touching his lips that made his resemblance to the lady clear.
‘Alain! My dearest boy. It has been far too long,’ he said, and made a slow path forward to clasp Alain’s hand. Alain bowed, but she noticed he did not quite meet the man’s eyes, and did not turn towards the lady.
‘Monsieur Aurac. It is indeed a pleasure to see you again,’ Alain answered. He bowed towards the lady. ‘And Mademoiselle Aurac.’ She curtseyed, studying the wall over Alain’s shoulder.
‘It is quite like the bright old days, with you and Louis here with us,’ Monsieur Aurac said. ‘I would think myself back at Lycée St André again. I hope you still study your Latin.’
‘Alain has been terribly lazy, monsieur, you would be shocked,’ Louis jested. ‘He is only for horses and cards these days!’
Monsieur Aurac sadly shook his head. ‘Such a shame. You were always one of my brightest boys. Always reading your Virgil, your Vassari.’
‘Only under your sterling influence, monsieur,’ Alain said. ‘I have not time for books now.’
‘But he is becoming a connoisseur of art with Mademoiselle Jaubert, I do believe,’ Louis said. ‘He will be back to his Vasari in no time.’ He clapped Alain on the shoulder.
Monsieur Aurac turned to Sandrine, his eyes sharpening with interest. ‘Indeed? Well, so would I, if I were fifty years younger. Are you an artist, then, Mademoiselle…?’
‘Monsieur Aurac, this is Mademoiselle Sandrine Jaubert,’ Alain offered.
But Sandrine had the strange sense he would have preferred not to make the introduction, would have rather left right away.
Was he ashamed of her, of her family? Yet he had not seemed one for snobbery before this moment. She was deeply puzzled.
‘I am pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Jaubert,’ the schoolmaster said.
‘And I you, monsieur. Monsieur d’Alency and Monsieur Brissac speak of your school so fondly.’
His brown eyes sparkled. ‘Ah! Perhaps one day you may like to send your own sons there? The new schoolmaster is different, of course, but still offers fine tutelage. And there is an art master, as well, and tutelage in art history. Any parent who is an artist themselves would appreciate that.’
Danielle Aurac shifted on her feet and glanced away, and Sandrine fought against that wretched blush rising in her cheeks. ‘I—well, art is very important to any education. I fear I am not a real artist myself, merely a great appreciator.’
‘She is too modest, monsieur. Her art is astounding, and Louis is correct that I am seeing it in a new way with her help,’ Alain said.
‘Then I should like to see it,’ Monsieur Aurac said. He suddenly laughed. ‘Ah, yes. Jaubert. I think we are to meet you at Alain’s mother’s dinner next week, oui? I shall enjoy seeing more of your work then.’
Sandrine was utterly confused. She glanced at Alain, who looked just as puzzled. ‘Dinner, monsieur?’
‘Yes. We received our invitation just this morning, did we not, Danielle? So fortunate we are in Town just now.’
‘Indeed, Grandpère,’ the lady said, and her voice was just as lovely as the rest of her, musical, silvery. ‘You must not tire yourself before then. We should return to our lodgings for now.’
‘Perhaps, perhaps,’ Monsieur Aurac murmured.
‘Ah, I have been most impolite! Mademoiselle Jaubert, you must meet my granddaughter, Danielle Aurac. She has been my angel, looking after me so very well. Indulging my wild whims to see galleries and museums and libraries all the time when we are in the centre of Town.’
‘She has always been an angel,’ Louis cried, clasping his hand to his heart. ‘Always soothing the hearts of wild schoolboys with her kindness and serenity.’
Danielle laughed softly. ‘And you have always been much too kind, Louis. How do you do, Mademoiselle Jaubert? It is always pleasant to meet a friend of Alain’s. He was long a favourite pupil of my grandfather.’
‘So you grew up at the school, too, mademoiselle?’ Sandrine asked. Alain was very quiet, very still, yet there was something in the air around him, something taut and tense. Was this why he seemed so reserved with her? His dreams were elsewhere?
‘Indeed. My parents sadly perished in France, and Grandpère always took wonderful care of me. I had lessons along with the pupils, as well as music and dance, and made such fine friends.’
Well-educated and cultured, as well as goddess-beautiful. Sandrine sighed, and felt as tiny and pale as a wren. She wished she could hide, shrink down and be invisible. Had she been so very foolish to think Alain could ever admire her?
But she could not run. They chatted for a bit longer of things such as the school now, and the Auracs’ retirement in Hampstead, until Monsieur Aurac said, ‘Perhaps you are correct, chère Danielle, I should seek my rest. Maybe you would walk with us, Mademoiselle Jaubert? I should enjoy hearing your artistic opinion on those landscapes over there.’ She took the older gentleman’s arm, and walked with him towards the wall of Titians that waited, happy to chat about their colours and strength.
But she was all too aware that Alain and the beautiful Danielle had slipped out of the gallery, and she did not see them until it was time to leave once more.
The uncertainty felt so cold, when earlier in the afternoon she’d been so very happy.
As the Auracs found a hansom, Alain helped Sandrine up into their carriage and they turned from the gallery back into the bustle and life of the street.
The quiet between them stretched out for long moments, as Alain seemed deep in his thoughts and Sandrine felt vaguely unsure of what had happened. What would happen.
‘The Auracs seem very kind,’ she ventured into the silence. ‘Studying at his school must have been interesting.’
‘Yes. I was very fortunate to end up there at Lycée St André, not a harsh English sort of place with cold-water baths and non-stop cricket,’ he answered distantly.
‘Do you still see them often?’
‘Not very. Not since Monsieur Aurac retired, and my duties to my parents have started to keep me busier.’
‘And his granddaughter keeps house for him?’ The beautiful Danielle. Sandrine wished she wouldn’t feel such a jealous pang thinking about her.
He paused. ‘Yes.’
Sandrine turned her head to study the shops as they got near the park.
A long, distant moment of silence passed, until Alain said quietly, ‘I am sure my parents are looking forward to having you and your family for the dinner party at their home soon. You should feel honoured—they rarely entertain at all!’
‘Maybe it’s for a—special occasion?’ she ventured, remembering how her father said Alain would soon be proposing. She’d been overjoyed to think about that before; now she was not quite so sure. It was all very swift, and she didn’t know how to bridge that distance she sensed between them.
Alain drew the carriage into the entrance to the park and moved them to a crawl as he spoke to her. ‘Mademoiselle Jaubert—Sandrine. I fear my parents may have rather got ahead of themselves, but I’m sure it’s only because of their—enthusiasm.’
She shook her head, confused. ‘Enthusiasm? For dinner parties?’
He smiled at her gently. ‘I know we haven’t known each other very long. But I think we must both be aware of our parents’ hopes.’
‘I…’ A small flutter, of something like excitement, nervousness, uncertainty, hope, all jumbled together, made breathing suddenly difficult.
Was it happening now? Was she reacting correctly?
She didn’t quite know what to do. Surely he had to like her more than she sensed.
‘I have an idea, yes. My mother often despairingly mentions how soon my birthday is approaching. I’m sure she thinks I shall collapse into a withered old crone as soon as the clock strikes, and then I’ll never be out from under their feet. ’
He laughed, and something seemed to relax inside of him.
He drew the carriage to a standstill in a small turn in the path, and turned towards her.
When his gray eyes were on her, she felt steadier.
If only they were in this together, she could find a way to move forward.
Could be more sure of herself. ‘You could never be any sort of crone. My parents also seem sure I am wasting my life, that I need a steady influence, a path.’
Not to mention money, Sandrine thought with a tinge of disquiet, just as her parents longed for a fine French title. Together they might be, but not equal. Not free. ‘Our parents seem to have much in common.’
‘I always knew of their expectations, Sandrine, just as I’m sure you have. So much was lost for them in France. We owe them so much.’ He suddenly reached for her hand, his touch warm through their gloves, strong and reassuring. ‘But I never expected you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You are so thoughtful, Sandrine, you see the world in such colour and beauty. You understand people, too, in a way most of us cannot. You’re very special.’
She was special. Sandrine had to fight the urge to hug herself, to laugh wildly and spin around.
No one had ever thought she was special before, and that he of all people did—it was astounding.
Marvellous. ‘As are you! I’ve never met anyone like you, either.
And I love how you see that art is so important to me, not just as something to pass the time, but something… ’
‘Something you are.’
‘Yes!’
‘Then I know you see, as I do, how we can help each other. Find some freedom together. Life may not be arranged just as we would wish, but I’m sure we can build something fine together.’
That hope, that delicate, beautiful hope, flowered and bloomed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, either. I’m very sure you’re right. We can find an understanding between us.’
‘Then, would you do me the great honour of giving me your hand in marriage?’ he said, squeezing her hand, his smile widening until it seemed to encompass the whole world. ‘It would give my parents something to announce at their dinner!’
Sandrine laughed, giddy with joy. How had her life come together so gloriously, so suddenly? ‘Yes! Yes, of course I will.’
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his warm lips caressing her skin for an instant, leaving tingling delight behind. Her doubts vanished, and everything around her seemed just right. He might seem distant now, but that would surely end very soon. Things would turn out right. They had to.