CHAPTER 6
At the intermission, they split into two smaller groups. Lucile and Antoine smiled at each other from afar, and, for the first time, each of them felt a little spark for the other. He watched her talking, absent-mindedly leaning on Charles’ powerful shoulder, and the curve of her neck and the slightly amused flair of her mouth attracted him. He wished he could just cut his way through the crowd and kiss her. It had been ages since he’d felt desire, out of the blue, for a woman he didn’t know. Just at this moment she turned around and her gaze met his and she froze, recognizing the meaning of his look, but then she forced an awkward little smile. She had never before paid any attention to Antoine’s good looks; it had taken his desire for her to awaken in her a sensitivity to his attractiveness. The truth of the matter was that she had been this way her whole life, never taking any notice — whether by sheer luck or out of a nearly pathological fear of involvement — of anyone but men who took a fancy to her. But now, as she turned away from Antoine, imagining his sensual mouth and the golden light in his eyes, she wondered how it could possibly have happened that they had failed to kiss, the other evening.
Charles, feeling her pulling away from his shoulder, glanced at her and at once recognized that soft, pensive, nearly resigned look that came over her face whenever she was warming up to someone. On turning around, he saw it was Antoine.
At the play’s end, the little group pulled back together. Claire was raving about the acting as well as the jewels of some maharani she’d spotted, and also about the weather’s unusual mildness — all in all, she was in a quite euphoric mood. People were having trouble settling on a restaurant, but in the end they decided to go to a place out in Marnes, as it was clear to everyone that the greenery and the evening air would please Claire no end. Diane’s driver was waiting patiently, when all of a sudden Charles walked up to Diane and said, “Would You mind taking me in Your car, Diane? We arrived in Lucile’s convertible but this evening I’m feeling a bit decrepit, and I may be coming down with a cold. Let Antoine go with Lucile.”
Diane didn’t blink; instead, it was Claire who stared and then rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“Well, why not?”, said Diane. “I’ll see You in a bit, Antoine — just don’t drive too fast.” And so Charles and Diane joined Claire and Johnny in the Rolls, while Lucile and Antoine remained on the sidewalk, slightly stunned. Neither Charles nor Diane looked back at them, but Claire sent them a such a merry conspiratorial wink that they were shocked, and both pretended not to have seen it. Lucile was puzzled. It was perfectly in keeping with Charles’ character to bring suffering upon himself, but how, she wondered, could he possibly have picked up on a desire in her that even she herself had only become aware of an hour earlier? This was quite annoying. The only times she’d ever been unfaithful to Charles were with young men she knew he would never run into anywhere. If there was anything she hated, it was when two lovers made secret little plots behind the back of a third, and the amused titterings that this gave rise to in observers such as Claire. Lucile did not want to be a party to anything of the sort. And so, when Antoine placed his hand on her shoulder, she shook her head. But on the other hand, life was simple, it was a lovely evening, and she was drawn to this new fellow. So, wait and see. The number of times she’d said “wait and see” to herself in her thirty years of existence was way beyond counting. She found herself chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” asked Antoine.
“Oh, I was just amused at myself. The car’s up the hill there. Let’s see — where are my keys? Do You want to drive?” And so he drove. They stayed silent at first, just taking in the fresh night air in the open convertible, both feeling ill at ease. Antoine was driving slowly. Only when they reached the Place de l’Étoile did he turn towards her and ask, “Why did Charles do that?”
“I don’t know,” replied Lucile. And as soon as they had exchanged these words, they both realized that they amounted to an admission, a confirmation of their furtively exchanged smiles at the intermission, and now it was undeniable that something was up between them and that there would be no going back. She was thinking, “Why didn’t I just say, ‘Oh, that?’ and cast Charles’ act as the very sensible decision of a man who’s catching a cold?” But she’d been too slow on the uptake. Now all she wanted was to get to the restaurant quickly. Or else for Antoine to make some out-of-line remark or a crude pass at her, and she’d then quickly send him on his way. But Antoine was staying silent and driving calmly through the Bois de Boulogne. As they followed the twists of the Seine in their purring convertible, they must have looked for all the world like two golden lovers — she the daughter of the Dupont textile empire, he the son of the Dubois confectionery kingdom, with their wedding set for one week hence in the Palais de Chaillot, with both families in full accord. They would have two children.
“Just one more bridge now,” announced Antoine as he made the turn toward Marnes. “How many bridges you and I have crossed together!” This was the first allusion to their recent escapade. All at once Lucile recalled how she’d stayed hidden behind his jacket in that little café, something she’d entirely forgotten about. Feeling flustered, she replied, “Yes, that’s quite true — it’s…”
And as she vaguely waved her hand in the air, Antoine caught it in his and squeezed it tenderly, not letting go. They were entering the Parc de Saint-Cloud. “Let’s see,” thought Lucile, “he’ll hold my hand while we cross Saint-Cloud, it’s springtime… Nothing to panic over — I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl, after all.” But her heart was throbbing wildly and it felt as if all the blood was flowing out of her face and hands and was collecting in her throat and choking her.
When he pulled over to the side of the road, Lucile’s head was spinning. He took her in his arms, kissed her passionately, and she could feel him trembling as much as she was. He sat back up, looked at her, and she returned his gaze without flinching at all, and then he reached for her again. This time he kissed her slowly, deliberately, kissed her temples, her cheeks, then back to her mouth, and as she looked at this calm, sensitive face hovering just above her own, she knew beyond a doubt that she would see it again many times just like this, and she knew that from this moment on, she would be like putty in his hands. She had totally forgotten that one can hunger for someone so deeply. She must have been in a long, deep sleep. For how long? Two, three years? But she couldn’t think of any other face that had had such an impact.
“What’s come over me?” whispered Antoine uneasily while nuzzling Lucile’s hair, “What’s come over me?”
As she smiled, Antoine felt her cheek rubbing against his, and he smiled back.
“We’ve got to rejoin the others,” said Lucile softly.
“No,” said Antoine, “No…”, but a moment later he released her, and the sudden loss they both felt left no doubt as to the power of what was happening to them.
Antoine quickly started the car and Lucile crookedly put her makeup back on. When they pulled up at the restaurant, they saw the Rolls was already there, and they realized in a flash that they could have passed it in Paris, that it could have been behind them as they entered Saint-Cloud, and it could easily have come up behind them and surprised them in its headlights, like two birds in the night. This hadn’t occurred to them for a second. But there it was now, reigning over the small square, a symbol of power and luxury and of their ties to the others, and the little blue convertible parked next to it seemed ridiculously childish and vulnerable.
Lucile was taking off her makeup. She felt totally exhausted and she was scrutinizing the tiny wrinkles that were beginning to appear at the corners of her eyes and mouth, wondering what meaning they had, and who or what had provoked them. These were not wrinkles due to passion or to hard work. There was no doubt that they were signs of her easy life, her idleness, her frivolity — and, for a brief moment, she revolted herself. She wiped her forehead with one hand, thinking to herself that in the past year she’d been having more and more of these flashes of self-loathing. She would have to go see her doctor soon. Surely it was just a matter of blood pressure. All she’d need to do was take some vitamins, and then she could once again start wasting her life (or dreaming it away) every bit as gaily as before. She heard herself saying, with a trace of rancor, “Charles… Why did You let me go off alone with Antoine?”
The moment she said it, she realized that she was seeking to provoke a scene, a drama — anything other than this calm self-loathing. And she knew Charles would be the one to pay the price, the one who would suffer. It was one thing for her to be drawn only to extremes, but it was quite another to demand that others indulge this peculiarity of hers. Anyway, the query had already been launched, and, like a javelin, it was now sailing across her bedroom and across the landing and was heading straight for Charles, who was unhurriedly undressing for the night in his own bedroom. He was so tired that for a brief moment he thought he might dodge her question and just say,
“Oh, You know, Lucile — I was just worried I was catching a cold.” She wouldn’t have asked for more clarity; her quests for truth, her moments russes, were never terribly long-lived. But at this point he felt a need to know, perhaps to suffer, for he had long since lost his youthful craving for security, a craving once so deep that it had caused him to overlook, for twenty-some years, all the escapades of his various mistresses.
“I thought You’d taken a shine to him.” He didn’t turn around, but just stared at himself in the mirror, noting with surprise that he hadn’t turned pale.
“So You’re quite determined to throw me into the arms of any man I’m attracted to?”
“Don’t be so harsh on me, Lucile. Things are looking too worrisome this time.”
But in fact, she’d already crossed his bedroom and was now wrapping her arms around his neck while cooing, “I’m sorry, so sorry” in a soft, blurry voice. As he looked in the mirror, all he could see, spilling over her shoulder, was Lucile’s dark hair — a long shock of it falling onto her arm — and he felt surging up in him a familiar constriction of the heart, a familiar anguish: “She’s all in the world I care for, and she’ll never truly be mine. She’ll leave me. How could I ever have imagined loving any other shock of hair, or any other human being?” Clearly, he mused, love must derive its power solely from this impression of irreplaceability.
“I didn’t really mean what I said,” said Lucile. “It’s just that I don’t like it when — ”
“You don’t like it when I’m so damn obliging,” said Charles, now turning to face her. “But I assure You that I wasn’t trying to oblige You. I just wanted to see if I’d been right about something, that’s all.”
“If You’d been right about what ?”
“About the look on Your face as the two of you arrived at the restaurant. About that way You had of not looking at him. I know You too well, Lucile. He’s turned Your head.”
Lucile dropped her arms to her sides. “Well, so what?” she said. “Is it set in stone somewhere that if you’re attracted to one person then that means some other person has to suffer? Won’t I ever be able to find inner peace? Is this some kind of law of nature? And what have You done with all Your free time when apart from me? And with… with…”
She was growing confused and starting to sputter, but at the same time she had the very clear sensation of having always, her whole life through, been misunderstood.
“I never took any advantage of my free time away from You,” said Charles as a sad little smile crossed his face, “because I’m in love with You, as You know very well. And as for Your freedom, it seems to me that life is wide open to You. You’re drawn to Antoine, and that’s a fact. Either You’ll follow up on it or You won’t, and either I’ll find out about it or I won’t. But there’s nothing I can do about it in any case.”
He had stretched himself out on his bed, in his dressing gown, while Lucile was standing near him. He sat up on the edge of the bed.
“It’s true,” said Lucile dreamily, “It’s true… I’m very drawn to him.”
They looked at each other. “If something started up between us, would You suffer?” said Lucile unexpectedly.
“Yes,” said Charles. “Why?”
“Because if You said no, I would leave You,” she replied starkly, and then stretched out partly on Charles’ bed, her head on her hand, her knees pulled up to her chin, and her face filled with relief. In but two minutes, she was fast asleep, and Charles Blassans-Lignières had a very rough time sharing the blankets equitably with her.