Lucile said.
‘Here’s just as usual. Isn’t it?’
‘Except that Claude is at home less than ever. And this gives Annette more opportunity to be with her Friend.’
It was their impertinent habit, when they were alone, to call their parents by their Christian names.
‘And how is that Friend?’ Adèle inquired. ‘Does he still do your Latin for you?’
‘I don’t have to do Latin any more.’
‘What a shame. No more pretext to put your heads together, then.’
‘I hate you, Adèle.’
‘Of course you do,’ her sister said good-naturedly. ‘Think how grown-up I am. Think of all the lovely money my poor husband left me. Think of all the things I know, that you don’t. Think of all the fun I’m going to have, when I’m out of mourning. Think of all the men there are in the world! But no. You only think of one.’
‘I do not think of him,’ Lucile said.
‘Does Claude even suspect what’s germinating here, what with him and Annette, and him and you?’
‘There’s nothing germinating. Can’t you see? The whole point is that nothing’s going on.’
‘Well, maybe not in the crude technical sense,’ Adèle said. ‘But I can’t see Annette holding out for much longer, I mean, even through sheer fatigue. And you – you were twelve when you first saw him. I remember the occasion. Your piggy eyes lit up.’
‘I have not got piggy eyes. They did not light up.’
‘But he’s exactly what you want,’ Adèle said. ‘Admittedly, he’s not much like anything in the life of Maria Stuart. But he’s just what you need for casting in people’s teeth.’
‘He never looks at me anyway,’ Lucile said. ‘He thinks I’m a child. He doesn’t know I’m there.’
‘He knows,’ Adèle said. ‘Go through, why don’t you?’ She gestured in the direction of the drawing room, towards its closed doors. ‘Bring me a report. I dare you.’
‘I can’t just walk in.’
‘Why can’t you? If they’re only sitting around talking, they can’t object, can they? And if they’re not – well, that’s what we want to know, isn’t it?’
‘Why don’t you go then?’
Adèle looked at her as if she were simple-minded. ‘Because the more innocent assumption is the one that you could be expected to make.’
Lucile saw this; and she could never resist a dare. Adèle watched her go, her satin slippers noiseless on the carpets. Camille’s odd little face floated into her mind. If he’s not the death of us, she thought, I’ll smash my crystal ball and take up knitting.
CAMILLE WAS PUNCTUAL; come at two, she had said. On the offensive, she asked him if he had nothing better to do with his afternoons. He did not think this worth a reply; but he sensed the drift of things.
Annette had decided to employ that aspect of herself her friends called a Splendid Woman. It involved sweeping about the room and smiling archly.
‘So,’ she said. ‘There are rules, and you won’t play by them. You’ve been talking about us to someone.’
‘Oh,’ Camille said, fiddling with his hair, ‘if only there were anything to say.’
‘Claude is going to find out.’
‘Oh, if only there were something for him to find out.’ He stared absently at the ceiling. ‘How is Claude?’ he said at last.
‘Cross,’ Annette said, distracted. ‘Terribly cross. He put a lot of money into the Périer brothers’ waterworks schemes, and now the Comte de Mirabeau has written a pamphlet against it and collapsed the stocks.’
‘But he must mean it for the public good. I admire Mirabeau.’
‘You would. Let a man be a bankrupt, let him be notoriously immoral – oh, don’t distract me, Camille, don’t.’
‘I thought you wanted distraction,’ he said sombrely.
She was keeping a careful distance between them, buttressing her resolve with occasional tables. ‘It has to stop,’ she said. ‘You have to stop coming here. People are talking, they’re making assumptions. And God knows, I’m sick of it. Whatever made you think in the first place that I would give up the security of my happy marriage for a hole-and-corner affair with you?’
‘I just think you would, that’s all.’
‘You think I’m in love with you, don’t you? Your self-conceit is so monstrous – ’
‘Annette, let’s run away. Shall we? Tonight?’
She almost said, yes, all right then.
Camille stood up, as if he were going to suggest they start her packing. She stopped pacing, came to a halt before him. She rested her eyes on his face, one hand pointlessly smoothing her skirts. She raised the other hand, touched his shoulder.
He moved towards her, set his hands at either side of her waist. The length of their bodies touched. His heart was beating wildly. He’ll die, she thought, of a heart like that. She spent a moment looking into his eyes. Tentatively, their lips met. A few seconds passed. Annette drew her fingernails along the back of her lover’s neck and knotted them into his hair, pulling his head down towards her.
There was a sharp squeal from behind them. ‘Well,’ a breathy voice said, ‘so it is true after all. And, as Adèle puts it, “in the crude technical sense”.’
Annette plunged away from him and whirled around, the blood draining from her face. Camille regarded her daughter more with interest than surprise, but he blushed, very faintly indeed. And Lucile was shocked, no doubt about that; that was why her voice came out so high and frightened, and why she now appeared rooted to the spot.
‘There wasn’t anything crude about it,’ Camille said. ‘Do you think that, Lucile? That’s sad.’
Lucile turned and fled. Annette let out her breath. Another few minutes, she thought, and God knows. What a ridiculous, wild, stupid woman I am. ‘Well now,’ she said. ‘Camille, get out of my house. If you ever come within a mile of me again, I’ll arrange to have you arrested.’
Camille looked slightly overawed. He backed off slowly, as if he were leaving a royal audience. She wanted to shout at him ‘What are you thinking of now?’ But she was cowed, like him, by intimations of disaster.
‘IS THIS YOUR ULTIMATE INSANITY?’ d’Anton asked Camille. ‘Or is there more to come?’
Somehow – he does not know how – he has become Camille’s confidant. What he is being told now is unreal and dangerous and perhaps slightly – he relishes the word – depraved.
‘You
