Heart Specialist Page 9

  She fell silent—so silent that he presently stopped the car under one of those overhanging trees, with a scent of fresh growing things coming in through the windows, and the starshine making a splendor of the still damp road.

  “You know,” he said quietly, “you look very lovely in that dress, but black is not a color for a young girl. Black is for sophistication, and you are not sophisticated.”

  “How do you know?”

  But as she looked up at him she knew it was an absurd question. She knew he was well aware that she was hopelessly unsophisticated, as unlike the women his aunt had spoken about as sunlight to shadow.

  He smiled, but it was a gentle smile.

  “How do I know? How does one recognize a flower if one has one’s eyes shut? By its perfume, by the feel of it when you touch it.”

  She felt that absurd pulse begin to riot in her throat.

  “I suppose to you I seem very young?” she said.

  “From the eminence of thirty-seven years you seem unusual,” he returned. “Not quite like any young woman I have ever met before.”

  “That’s because I’m English.”

  “No.” She had noted before that there were occasions when, although he spoke to her in English, his accent was very French, and now all at once he sounded very French. “Your Anglo-Saxon temperament gives you a coolness our girls lack, but it isn’t that which sets you apart. If I were a poet instead of a man of medicine I might be able to put my finger on it ...” She felt his fingers under her chin, lifting it so that he could peer into her eyes in the faint light of the dashboard, and her reaction to the nearness of his eyes was a tremor that began at the roots of her being and started to run along every sensitive nerve of her body. “Maybe it’s the way you wear your golden hair, and it would be less of a distraction if you cut it all off ...! Maybe it’s because your eyes are so clear. I don’t know. Perhaps it is because you have the quality of a flower. You are flowerlike, ma petite. Do you also feel as a flower would feel?” She made no attempt to withdraw from his hold and she kept very still. His free hand brushed back a strand of the shimmering hair.

  “Ma petite,” he breathed, “you are so very unawakened. It is something I feel sure about. You carry it about with you like a kind of aura, and it is the reason why you chatter childishly about never getting married. If you were older emotionally, or if you were a French girl, you would never make such absurd statements.”

  She moistened her lips and then parted them as if she would say something, but he laid a finger over her lips and shook his head at her.

  “It is useless for you to deny it,” he said. “You are Valentine who is completely unawakened! A kind of sleeping princess of the present century who is waiting for something to arouse her!” His voice became a murmur. “Have you ever been kissed ... like this?”

  And then his lips were on hers, and inwardly she gasped, and the golden light from the dashboard became a golden dazzle all around her, and a star that was peering at itself in a puddle in the middle of the deserted tree-lined road dipped and wheeled eccentrically.

  Leon Daudet withdrew his lips at last and rubbed his cheek against her hair. His dark lustrous eyes were closed.

  “Or ... like this!” he murmured, and her helpless mouth was claimed again.

  The first kiss had been more in the nature of an exploratory kiss, gentle, cool, but with a sweetness about it that she knew she would never forget. And now all at once his firm masculine lips were pressing on hers with a fire and a fierceness that seemed to bring her whole body awake, and those sensitive nerve ends felt as if they had been kindled by a flame, and all she wanted to do was to respond wildly, madly. Her fingers actually did reach out and clutch at him, and then he let her go.

  He had never really held her, although she felt that she had been taken in a warm embrace, and when he sat back suddenly she felt almost bewildered by his withdrawal. Then he said in a strange, subdued, apologetic tone, “I know I ought not to have done that, Valentine—” and it was the second time he had made use of her Christian name “—but for a woman who is never going to marry you are almost dangerously sweet! You must reconsider your decision some time, but don’t be rash about it. You have a year in which to consider, and who knows whom you will meet? You have a great deal to give, and I’m not referring only to Miss Constantia’s fifteen million francs, or even Chaumont! And now shall I drive you home?”

  “Yes ... please,” she answered and wondered whether her voice gave away the fact that she was dazed still, and whether the fact that something staggering had happened to her in the past few minutes was as plain to him as to her.

  When at last he deposited her outside the apartment she was feeling more or less normal. More or less normal, but not quite.

  If she had been quite normal she wouldn’t have asked in a slightly strained voice, and without looking at him, if he would come in. She had never asked him in before and she certainly didn’t expect him to accept her invitation at that hour of the night; but on the other hand, she didn’t expect him to refuse quite as decidedly as he did.

  “No, my dear, I’ve a busy day ahead of me tomorrow and I’m going home to bed. It’s time for all good little girls to be in bed, too!” He smiled at her as he put out his hand. “Don’t forget that Tante Minette will be expecting you to pay her another visit soon. If you feel that it might be inconvenient, just telephone her in advance.”

  “I will,” she said.

  He looked at her hand, seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then carried it gently to his lips.

  “Sleep well, little one.”

  She heard herself answering with peculiar formality.

  “I hope you will sleep well, too, Dr. Daudet—particularly if you are going to be very busy tomorrow.”

  He looked down at her with a suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes.

  “I called you Valentine and shall continue to do so,” he said. “Don’t you think it might now be Leon? After all, there is no longer an enmity between us, is there?”

  “No,” she agreed.

  “Then say ‘Good night, Leon.’ ”

  “Good night, Leon,” she echoed him obediently.

  “Good night, little Valentine!”

  He dropped another feather-light kiss on the back of her hand and watched until she entered the apartment building. As she reached the doors of the elevator his car engine started up, and as the elevator wafted her upward he was already driving away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  NORMALLY MARTINE SAT UP for her, because she did not usually come in late and tonight as usual there was a light showing through the glass panels of the front door, She wouldn’t need to fumble for her key, for Martine expected her to ring, and the light touch of the doorbell would result in the door being opened to her with the very minimum of delay.

  But tonight she had to ring the bell twice before the door was opened. Then she gasped with surprise. Jane stood there—Jane Beverley, whom she hadn’t thought she had a hope of seeing for another fortnight at least. She was wearing a cosy-looking dressing gown, and her hair was a trifle damp, as if she had recently emerged from a bath.

  “Why, Jane!”

  Jane beamed at her.

  “Darling, I’m so sorry if I had to keep you waiting, but my face was all smothered with cream and I had to get rid of it before coming to the door. I honestly didn’t expect you yet, because Martine said you might be a little late, and there was just a possibility you would be accompanied by an escort.”

  Valentine simply hurled herself at her.

  “Oh, Jane, I’m so delighted to see you!” she cried. “I can’t think of anything nicer than to find you here tonight like this!”

  “Then all I can say, my dear, is that you’re very easily satisfied!” Jane returned, but her responsive hug was just as warm; and if her eyes didn’t seem capable of brimming over with sudden emotional tears in the same way that Valentine’s obviously were, they held a deep glow of pleasure at the reunion.
“But how is it that you’re so frantically glad to see me? Haven’t you had a good evening?”

  Valentine nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to go into the details about her evening just then.

  “Come into the living room—or the drawing room, as Miss Constantia always insisted on calling it!” She drew her friend through the white-painted doorway into the warmly lit room where, unknown to her. Dr. Daudet had once tucked the ends of a blanket around her as she lay on a couch, in case she became chilled before morning. “It really is a lovely room, isn’t it? I adored it from the moment I saw it!”

  “And now it’s, all yours?”

  “No. it isn’t mine, but I can live in it for the next few months. Darling!” She dragged Jane down onto a settee. “By what miracle are you here tonight? In your last letter you said that you had to give a lengthy notice, and although your room’s all ready, and I couldn’t be more pleased to see you, I did want to meet you when you arrived.”

  “Then I spared you all that.” Jane’s dressing gown was a very dark red, with a chic velvet collar, and because she was dark and slender and willowy it was ideal for her. She was not a beauty, and she had never been particularly pretty, although she looked much younger than her thirty-three years, but her eyes were gorgeous. They were like gray velvet pansies, and if she hadn’t had to wear glasses since she was sixteen, they would have staggered quite a lot of people. “I produced a remarkably efficient young woman to take my place, out of a hat, as it were, and was released on the instant. So I didn’t bother to let you know I was coming. I just came.”

  “You flew?”

  “Of course. We experienced travelers would never dream of doing anything else!”

  They both laughed. And then Jane, who had been concerned to see that ready moisture brimming in Valentine’s rather over-bright eyes, peered more intently into her face and decided that the suggestion of unusual tension had gone out of it. She felt relieved.

  “Well, how does it feel to be a rich woman, darling? You’ve got to tell me all about it, you know!”

  “Of course.” But Valentine was examining the tray Martine had left on an occasional table. “Sandwiches and coffee! How sweet of Martine! Was she surprised to see you when you arrived? Did she get you a meal?”

  “Yes, the most exquisitely perfect meal I’ve had for a long time. A tournedos I’m not likely to forget for a very long time, a soufflé that seemed to me to be composed of feathers and cream and some wonderful flavoring, and, of course, coffee. How lucky you are to have someone like her to look after you!”

  “Yes, she’s a marvelous cook, and Miss Constantia was very fond of her. She left her a very generous legacy—in fact, Miss Constantia was almost unbelievably generous.”

  “I’ve rather gathered that, my dear,” Jane smiled at her. “You, for instance!”

  “Yes.” Valentine looked down at her hands. “It was almost a shock, you know—discovering that I was a beneficiary under the terms of her will. You don’t know all about those terms yet, but you will soon. But I’d rather not talk about them tonight, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, if that’s the way you feel.” Jane was pouring out the coffee and behaving rather more as if she was the hostess and the younger girl the guest, for no sooner had the subject of her legacy started to be discussed than that queer look of distress had stolen back into Valentine’s face, and the much more experienced Jane was certain the evening had been an unusual one for her. “You look a bit tired, and I think you ought to go to bed. Tomorrow we can have a really woman-to-woman natter!”

  Valentine smiled rather wanly.

  “You telling me that I look a bit tired, when you’re the one who’s had the long journey! Even if you do fly, there are always trains and taxis and things that wear you out. I’ve merely been to a very well organized dinner party.”

  “Well, let’s say it was so very well organized that the efficiency of the hostess overpowered you a little! And possibly some of the guests wore you down, too!”

  “The hostess was very nice, but I’m not yet used to very smart dinner parties. And ... Jane!”

  “Yes, darling?” She was hunting through the pockets of her dressing gown for cigarettes, and when Valentine indicated that there were some on the table, admitted that she was becoming far too heavy a smoker, and would have to cut down.

  “As you know, I’ve never been a very smart person myself, and I’ve never been in a position to mingle with smart friends, but on the whole I think I prefer the other variety. Fashionable people think differently and react differently from us common folk. They have a different set of values altogether, and their lives are spent in such a rarefied atmosphere that I think I’d find it difficult to breathe there all the time.”

  “Would you, poppet?” Jane’s eyes dwelt on her thoughtfully. “One has to get acclimatized, you know, and in Rome it’s customary to do as the Romans do. In Paris I imagine life can be very gay, and one has to become attuned to gaiety.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of gaiety so much as ... just a general way of life.”

  “And one particular person? The way she—or he— seems to exist on an entirely different plane?”

  “Yes, that’s it. At least, I ... no, I wasn’t thinking of one particular person!” And to disprove this she blushed almost painfully. “Oh, Jane, I do wish I’d been here when you arrived. Why did I have to be out tonight of all nights?”

  “Never mind, darling.” Jane stood up with the intention of seeing her to bed personally if necessary. “I’ve arrived, and that, to me, is the important thing. We’ve heaps of time to talk, and there’s heaps of time for you to make up for the lack of an official welcome. Now ...! Off to bed!”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING they started to talk in earnest, and sharing a breakfast tray in Jane’s room, Valentine imparted full information about the somewhat peculiar terms of Miss Constantia’s will.

  Jane looked slightly dumbfounded.

  “You mean to tell me that if you don’t marry before a year is up you lose everything? But that doesn’t sound reasonable to me!”

  “I still get the contents of Miss Constantia’s jewel box. And of course, Fifi!” She lifted the poodle onto her lap and allowed it to polish off a corner of buttered croissant.

  Jane surveyed Fifi as if she considered her a dubious asset and then lit her second cigarette of the day with the butt end of her first.

  “Let’s have a look at the jewel box,” she said. “Or don’t you keep it handy? Is it in the bank?”

  “It should be,” Valentine admitted. “And as a matter of fact, Dr. Daudet particularly mentioned it the other day and asked whether it was in the bank.”

  “And who is Dr. Daudet?”

  Valentine freed Fifi s elegant front left paw of a small deposit of marmalade, and without looking up she answered, “He was Miss Constantia’s doctor.”

  “Fussy and dark, with a pointed beard and a flow of French that would be quite impossible to reply to if your French was as limited as mine?” Jane asked.

  But Valentine shook her head.

  “He’s dark,” she said. And that was all she permitted herself to say about the doctor’s appearance. “Miss Constantia remembered him in her will, and as a matter of fact, it is he who will benefit and collect the remains of my legacy if I don’t marry—as of course I won’t—before the year is out.”

  Jane looked as if all this was considerably beyond her, and at the same time there was an odd expression on Valentine’s face as she kept her eyes determinedly lowered that intrigued her.

  “Let’s have another cup of that dreamlike coffee,” she requested, holding out her cup, “and then let’s have a look at the jewel box!”

  It was the first time Valentine had really examined the contents of the velvet-lined jewel box. There were a number of other cases inside the main container, and when opened in turn they drew forth gasps from the two girls. All the settings were out of date, and some of the stones needed polishing,
even recutting, but there could be no doubt of the quality of these various items of truly feminine adornment.

  Jane put away a watch surrounded by brilliants and intended to be fastened to the front of a dress, and Valentine closed down the lids of each of the smaller cases before she finally restored them to the jewel box. And then Jane said with much meaning in her voice, “Well, that’s certainly something. Even if you don’t fulfill the terms of the legacy, that little lot will prevent you from starving for quite a time! How in the world did you manage to pick such an employer?”

  Valentine answered seriously, “I don’t know. But I do know that I would have liked to have kept her for a little longer.”

  Jane smiled at her and patted her hand.

  “You’re sweet, Val, and I’m quite sure Miss Constantia thought you were very sweet, and that’s why she left you so much. But what have you done since you came into all this money? Have you spent any of it?”

  “On food and things, and on running the apartment, of course.”

  “But no riotous spending as yet?”

  Valentine looked at her with rather grave eyes.

  “I don’t think I want to do any riotous spending.” She couldn’t tell Jane that she had promised to hand over her legacy in as undepleted a condition as possible when the time came, so she added by way of explanation, “I was never very keen on wild bursts of spending and I’ve plenty of clothes.”

  “Rubbish!” Jane exclaimed. “Absolute rubbish!” She slipped out of bed and slid into her dressing gown. “It’s a good thing for you your Auntie Jane arrived when she did, because you’re taking all this in far too composed a manner for a young woman of your age. Now, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. I didn’t have a holiday this year, so I saved the money instead and I plan to blow it in the Paris shops. Oh, I don’t suppose I’ll get much for my money—at least I’ll get value, but I won’t get quantity—but we’ll have a wonderful time seeing how far we can make it go, and you, my poppet, will spend some of your money. Quite a bit! To begin with we’ll each have a striking new hairdo and a facial—or you can cut out the facial if you like, because you don’t really need it. But I most certainly need it!” She gazed at herself in the mirror, disliking the look of what she saw. “If you’d ever spent long hours beneath the lights in an accountant’s office, you’d know why I look as I do.”