Paris - And My Love Read online

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I? I’m supposed to have done a cruel and shocking thing to Lisette?” Marianne’s voice shook slightly with indignation. “I like that! She nearly got me into the most appalling trouble, and it’s no thanks to her that I’m not facing a nasty police inquiry at this moment.”

  “Marianne, really! How can you take this exaggerated and unreasonable view of an unfortunate mistake? Granted she didn’t act in a particularly friendly manner, but you really did take a sledgehammer to crush a fly. Do you know that Lisette is in danger of losing her job because of you?”

  “Serves her right!” ejaculated Marianne, understandably if unwisely.

  “Good Lord, you girls are hard when you really get up against each other,” exclaimed Nat disgustedly.

  “No worse than you men,” retorted Marianne with spirit. “Though, to tell the truth, I don’t actually wish Lisette out of a job. Except that I suppose she could get another one at a rival fashion house without difficulty, which would be much more comfortable for me,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Is that all you have to say about it?” inquired Nat coldly.

  “Well, no.” Marianne turned and looked at him. “But it was you who started the subject, Nat. Maybe it’s you who should say some more. I’d like to know what sort of story Lisette has told you, for one thing.”

  “The truth, I imagine,” replied Nat dryly.

  “I don’t imagine anything of the kind,” retorted Marianne, but quite good-humoredly. “Anyway, I’d like to hear.”

  “I don’t know quite what you want to hear.” Nat spoke stiffly. “It was obvious from your first reply that you knew what I was referring to.”

  “But not the terms in which you had heard the story, Nat. I think you should tell me,” said Marianne more quietly. “There seems a—a discrepancy somewhere.”

  “Well, as you must know perfectly well, Lisette thought she saw Madame Florian’s missing brooch in your handbag.

  “How?” inquired Marianne crisply.

  “I don’t know. Presumably she saw the thing sparkling when you opened the bag or something of the sort. In any case, as I understand it, you did have the brooch in your bag. That bit isn’t in question, is it?”

  “No. It’s true the brooch was there, though Lisette had no opportunity whatever of seeing it, I might say. But go on.”

  “Well, again as you know, she went to Florian and told him she knew where the missing brooch was. I’m not going to say it was a particularly nice or high-minded thing to do—”

  “No, indeed!”

  “And I understand your being a bit sore about things. But appearances were certainly against you, Marianne, and it’s not unreasonable that Lisette should jump to the conclusion that you had pinched the brooch since unquestionably it was in your bag. I suppose the obvious thing was to go to her employer about it. Particularly as the thing belonged to his wife.”

  “She could have spoken to me about it, too, couldn’t she?” said Marianne dryly.

  “The answer to that is—why should she?” retorted Nat. “You and she are not exactly friendly, are you?”

  “No,” said Marianne, without elaboration.

  “Well, there you are. She did what most people would have done in the circumstances, I suppose. And, considering you were able to explain the whole thing to Florian and were not involved in any trouble, I think it was pretty mean of you to start making suggestions that she had herself planted the brooch in your bag and tried to get you branded as a thief. It’s unworthy of you, Marianne, to invent a story of that sort!”

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t invent any story,” Marianne replied dryly. “That bit happens to be true.”

  “You have no proof whatever.”

  “There is such a strong presumption of truth that neither Monsieur Florian nor Roger Senloe—”

  “Oh, so he’s in it, too, is he?” Nat looked disgusted.

  “What do you mean by ‘in it, too’?” demanded Marianne, suddenly really angry. “He happened to be there when Florian questioned me, and jolly glad I was of his support, too.”

  “He’s the chap for whom you turned me down the other night, isn’t he?” inquired Nat irrelevantly.

  “No, he’s not. He’s the chap I refused to turn down for you the other night,” retorted Marianne crisply. “If you remember, it was he who got in first with his invitation.”

  “Well, anyway, you went out with him when I wished you’d come with me. Don’t expect me to admire his blue eyes in consequence.” And for a moment a welcome smile flitted over Nat’s face, as though he had recovered a glimmer of his usual sense of humor.

  “Oh, Nat—” she melted immediately “—what on earth are we quarreling about? You don’t have to like Roger if you don’t want to, though he’s a darling, really. And, incidentally, his eyes are gray. But that’s beside the point. The real trouble is this miserable business about Lisette. I’m afraid she did put the wretched brooch in my bag. Or, rather, she put it in Marcelle’s by mistake—”

  “How do you know it was Lisette?” Nat reiterated obstinately.

  “Because someone must have put it there. It couldn’t have got there by accident, and—”

  “Why does it have to be Lisette?” Nat’s voice was cold and unfriendly again.

  “Because, Nat, only the person who put the brooch in Marcelle’s bag, thinking it was mine, could then confidently make the statement that she thought I had the brooch in my bag.”

  “But I’ve told you, she thought she saw the brooch in your bag during the morning.”

  “And I have told you,” Marianne repeated patiently, “that she quite simply couldn’t have done so.”

  “Oh, really—this is where we came in!” exclaimed Nat impatiently. “You prefer to reject the perfectly obvious explanation in favor of the story you cooked up from Florian, in order to get Lisette into trouble because you don’t like her.”

  “Nat, you don’t really think that’s the way I behave, do you?” Marianne said quietly. “You’ve known me well—for quite a long time now. Is that as far as you’ve got with understanding me and my natural reactions?”

  “Well—” he looked taken aback and slightly ashamed “—it isn’t like you in the ordinary way, I know. That’s why I got so mad at the thought of it. But you’re jealous of Lisette, aren’t you? And—”

  “How dare you say that!” Marianne interrupted coldly. “Why should I be jealous of her?”

  “Oh, hang it, Marianne—” he looked profoundly uncomfortable for a moment “—I didn’t mean to put it as crudely as that. You don’t like her, let’s say. And so you simply won’t admit that she might well have had a glimpse of the inside of your bag. You prefer the complicated story that makes her out to be an absolute outsider.”

  “Since you’ve used the word,” said Marianne, unwisely abandoning her self-control at that moment, “that is exactly what she is. There was no possible chance of her seeing inside my bag yesterday morning, for the simple reason that I thought of little else but keeping it away from observation. If you’re walking around with stolen goods in your handbag, you don’t go clicking it open and shut when anyone else is around. She based her statement to Florian on the belief that she had put the brooch in my bag the previous evening. And because she saw me clutching it with exaggerated care, she guessed I’d still got the thing with me. It was a plant, and a particularly spiteful and malicious plant. And that, if you want to know, is exactly typical of your little redheaded friend.”

  There was a slight silence, during which Marianne had time to recollect that, however well-reasoned one’s statements may be, it is always poor policy to run down another girl to a man who likes her a little too well.

  “Is that all you want to say?” asked Nat, at last.

  “Isn’t it enough?” She gave a half angry and half contrite little laugh.

  “More than enough.”

  “Do you want to make any comment?”

  “No.”

>   “Then...” She hesitated. And then it was borne in on her, with a sense of shock, that he was simply waiting for her to get out of his car.

  “Nat,” she said beseechingly, “don’t you see that there’s no room for error? Either she or I must be telling a deliberate lie. You’ve only got to decide, from your knowledge of both of us, which that is likely to be.”

  “I don’t want to discuss it any more.”

  “You mean that you accept Lisette’s version?”

  “I mean that I know you’re not telling me a deliberate lie, Marianne. It simply isn’t in you to do such a thing. But I think you’ve been uncommonly hard and prejudiced about this, and you’ve let that cloud your judgment. In consequence, Lisette is likely to lose her wonderful job for a comparatively small offense.”

  Marianne bit her lip very hard, to keep herself from breaking out into furious argument. And, after a moment, she was able to say coldly. “Lisette is not going to lose her job, if that’s what is really upsetting you.”

  “Florian has told her that he will think it over during the weekend, but that he rather doubts if he will keep her on.”

  Good old Florian, thought Marianne, and had great difficulty in not saying it. As it was, she managed to say in a composed sort of way, “I doubt if he will really want to part with his best model.”

  “I hope you’re right,” replied Nat dryly. And then, incredibly, she realized that the interview was at an end. There was nothing to do but get out of the car with what dignity she could muster, and bid him a somewhat stiff goodbye through the window.

  “Goodbye,” replied Nat, without any qualification, and drove away.

  Marianne turned and went slowly into the house, divided between anger and an unspeakable depression, which grew heavier with every step as she ascended to her attic. Now, of course, she could think of several infinitely better ways in which she could have conducted that conversation. But alas, the chance was gone.

  It was mad of me to show my real opinion of Lisette so clearly, she thought dejectedly. However mulishly stupid he was about her, I should somehow have remained cool and objective. But when people start telling you black’s white, and that you’re the offender instead of the victim, it isn’t possible to remain calm. I could hit him even now, when I think of it!

  The fresh surge of anger served to sustain her spirits for a short while. But then down they went again, at the reflection that she had parted from Nat in coldness and anger, and that any prospect of seeing him again in the very near future simply did not exist.

  She had enjoyed the doubtful satisfaction of speaking her mind about Lisette. But the price had been her renewed friendship with Nat.

  “Sometimes one has to say the truth!” she muttered resentfully. “I was perfectly justified in saying what I did.”

  But to be justified in one’s utterance and to be wise in it are two entirely different things, as Marianne knew all too well. And she spent a wretched evening digesting the fact that she had only confirmed Nat’s belief in Lisette’s touching innocence, and wondering just how cleverly Lisette was now exploiting that fact.

  If Nat was in the mood to have his sympathies played upon, Lisette was the girl to do it.

  The trouble is that I’m not half as clever as she is, thought Marianne grimly. She outmaneuvers me every time.

  She would have spent a miserable Sunday, too, if her gay American neighbor, Sadie, had not come knocking on her door early in the afternoon.

  “I can’t offer you anything as gorgeous as the ticket you got me for the Charities Fair,” she explained. “But I do have two tickets for the new film at the Oubliette. Come and have something to eat with me early this evening and we’ll go on to the show together if you’ve nothing better to do.”

  Marianne was only too grateful for the distraction. And later, over a modest but pleasant little meal, when Sadie asked her for her account of what happened at the Charities Fair, she found herself recounting the story of the stolen brooch and its eventual recovery in Marcelle’s bag.

  “But how terrible!” cried Sadie, becoming more Middle West than usual in her excitement. “And to think that no one guessed what a drama was in progress. Just wait till I write home to my family with this story. They’ll really believe I’m seeing life.”

  “Rather an uncomfortable slice of life for those concerned,” Marianne assured her. But she laughed and prepared to tell the rest of the tale, for Sadie was one of the world’s great listeners. She could remain silent for long periods, but with her whole attention concentrated in her expressive face, and from time to time she emitted just those ejaculations and questions that give fresh impetus to a flagging tale.

  She seemed to realize by instinct just why it was disastrous that Lisette should capture Nat’s sympathies while Marianne was labeled in his mind as the stonyhearted aggressor. And, at the conclusion of the story she burst out with Marianne’s own inevitable conclusion, “She outsmarted you, honey. Your Nat likes the picture of this Lisette as a poor little victim, so he’s got to find a persecutor for her. And that’s you.”

  “I know. But just tell me how we’re going to reverse the roles now,” said Marianne with a sigh.

  “You can’t,” stated Sadie with finality. “He’s never seen you in a pathetic light and he’s not going to start now. He thinks you direct events. He can’t see you being overtaken by them. You must take another line entirely. I think you’re going to have to be big and noble about this.”

  “I don’t want to be big and noble,” retorted Marianne rather crossly. “And anyway, how can I?”

  Sadie stirred her coffee thoughtfully.

  “He thinks you’re responsible for getting Lisette into undeserved trouble, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got to be responsible for getting her out of the trouble,” Sadie declared with an air of decision.

  “You think so?” Marianne looked doubtful. “But—how?”

  “You’ll have to go to Monsieur Florian—my, how I envy you for knowing that fascinating creature—and plead Lisette’s cause and say you don’t want her fired on your account.”

  “But I don’t think he’s going to fire her, anyway,” objected Marianne.

  “She does, though,” Sadie pointed out shrewdly. “Tell him...” She paused and looked thoughtfully at Marianne. “Can you put all the cards on the table, so far as Florian is concerned?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Can you tell him that Lisette is making trouble with your boyfriend, by appearing to be the victim of your ill nature?”

  “I don’t know. It depends a lot on the mood he’s in,” Marianne said slowly. “There are times when you would hardly dare to say good morning to Florian. And at others it’s all you can do not to tell him your life history and your inmost thoughts.”

  Sadie laughed a good deal at that.

  “Well, try to catch him in the right mood,” she said, “and ask him to reinstate Lisette and to let her know that it’s because of you that he’s doing it. Could you ask that?”

  “I—I might. But I don’t know that it would cut much ice with Lisette, even if he did tell her that.”

  “If she’s been genuinely afraid of being fired, it won’t be without effect.”

  “N-no. That’s true. But I can’t see her telling Nat.”

  “You must do that,” Sadie pointed out. “You call him up and say you’ve interceded with Florian and that Lisette won’t be fired after all. And I’m afraid—if you think he’s worth it—you’d better take a good mouthful of humble pie and say it was because of what he said that you felt you should do something to help Lisette. After that he’ll be ready to reopen the subject in a much better mood, and you can unsay some of the unwise things you did say, and add some noble comments that leave Lisette looking less of a victim and more of a menace.”

  “It’s—an idea...” Marianne laughed doubtfully.

  “At least it gives you a chance of contacting
your Nat, instead of leaving the field free for her,” Sadie commented shrewdly.

  “I’ll think it over,” Marianne promised. And she thought it over to such good purpose that she hardly followed the thread of the excellent film that they went to see.

  All the same, she thanked Sadie with genuine fervor for the evening’s pleasure, for she felt that, thanks to her, a gleam of hope had appeared on the horizon.

  The next morning, however, the idea of appealing to Florian on quite such intimate grounds seemed a little less ingenious that it had the previous evening. Indeed, by the time Marianne reached the boutique, the whole project had taken on such an unpractical air she would have abandoned it entirely, except for one thing.

  And that was that, quite unexpectedly, Monsieur Florian arrived nearly an hour earlier than usual.

  Madame Rachel was not yet in the boutique. Jeanne and Celestine were busy arranging stock, and no customer needed attention, when Monsieur Florian passed through with a brisk but agreeable “Bonjour.”

  Not until he had reached the bottom of the stairs did Marianne quite come to her senses, and then she acted on impulse, without allowing herself time to be frightened.

  “Monsieur...” She put out her hand, though she did not actually touch him.

  He turned, with one foot on the bottom step, and looked inquiring—but good-humoredly so.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  “Monsieur Florian, could I—could I please come and speak to you privately?”