Free A Moment in Paris by Rose Burghley

hoped that under Lady Bembridge’s watchful eyes the colour showed no signs of spreading in her cheeks. ‘I—I understand we’re leaving for Savenne at the end of the week, monsieur. Have you any special instructions for me?’
    ‘None,’ he told her, ‘except that you can relieve my chauffeur at the wheel of the car while you are driving there, if you wish. I’m afraid I can’t join you for a few days, and you must try and prevent Celeste from being bored until my arrival.’
    ‘I—I will,’ she promised, and felt him drop her hand.
    ‘You can handle a powerful car?’ the Comte demanded. ‘You will not be afraid to do so?’
    She shook her head, ‘I’m used to driving.’
    He walked towards the fireplace, and Lady Bembridge remarked, with a brittle note in her voice: ‘Of course she can drive a car, and of course she can do a lot of things I was never taught to do. But why she should have to try and prevent Celeste from becoming bored I can’t think! That is your province, Philippe. That is the lifetime task you will be taking on when you marry her. I should think well while there is still some chance of escape!’
    Diana felt as if her heart started to beat so quickly that it interfered with her breathing, and her soft red lips fell a little apart—almost an expectant parting—as she watched the Comte’s back. But he stared down into the fire of scented pine logs that filled the luxurious sitting-room with an even and delicious warmth and made no answer for a long and taut 'moment. Then he wheeled in an annoyed fashion upon his aunt and addressed her sharply.
    ‘I do not find that sort of suggestion amusing,’ he said, with an icy undercurrent to the sharpness. ‘And I should prefer it if in future you accepted without question my plans that are quite unalterable.’ He repeated, without looking at Diana: ‘Quite unalterable!’
    Lady Bembridge tightened her lips. ‘Then on your own head be it, Philippe!’

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Diana enjoyed the drive from Paris, which, however, involved an overnight stop, and several leisurely breaks the following day, because that was the only way Lady Bembridge would travel. She disliked air flights and had an intense dislike of train travel, and as she was accompanied by her pet poodle—who was not a particularly good traveller whatever the method —Celeste did not enjoy the journey at all.
    She was in awe of Lady Bembridge, and suspicious of the acid rejoinders that rewarded her occasional conversational openings; and so for her the miles were mostly silent miles because Diana either sat beside the chauffeur at the wheel or took over the wheel herself.
    Philippe had been up early to see them off, in the cool spring dawn in Paris, and had assured Celeste he would be with her in a few days.
    ‘Be good, cherie ,’ he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘And do whatever Mademoiselle Craven thinks is best for you to do.’
    Then he went round to help Diana into the car, and himself placed a rug over her knees. She was wearing a neat dark olive-green suit, and at that hour, although she had wasted little time on her complexion, it was as clear and matt as a pearl.
    ‘ Au revoir ,’he said softly, briefly. Then, as she looked up at him for a moment: ‘Where were you last evening, mademoiselle? Celeste said you were not in your room when I inquired, and that was shortly before dinner.’
    ‘I ... I went out to dinner,’ she answered. ‘With a very old friend.’
    There was silence for a moment, while Lady Bembridge complained of a draught round her ears, and the cushion in the middle of her back slipping. The chauffeur hastened to the task of banishing the draught, and making her more comfortable.
    And the Comte remarked, as if he was speaking absolutely ‘I think I met the young man the other day, didn’t I. My godmother has taken an extraordinary fancy to him, and seems to be very much at his disposal. I hope his Irish charm—and, with a name