Free Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks Page B

white wine, will you? Not one my husband is saving.”
    After the artichokes there was a small dish of mushrooms and then some sole. Stephen poured the wine for Madame Azaire and, at her insistence, for Lisette. For want of something to say, Stephen asked how they came to know Monsieur and Madame Bérard.
    Lisette began to giggle at the name and Madame Azaire told her to be quiet, though she herself was smiling. “I’m afraid Lisette is very impolite about Monsieur Bérard,” she said.
    “It’s so unfair,” said Lisette. “Did your parents always make you be polite about all their silly friends?”
    “I didn’t have parents,” said Stephen. “At least not ones that I knew. I was brought up by my grandparents, then in an institution until I was taken away from it by a man I’d never met before.”
    Lisette blushed and swallowed hard; Madame Azaire’s face showed a momentary concern as she said, “I’m sorry, Monsieur. Lisette is always asking questions.”
    “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He smiled at Lisette. “Nothing at all. I’m not ashamed.”
    Marguérite brought some fillet of beef on a blue-patterned dish which she set down in front of Madame Azaire. “Should I bring some red wine?” she said. “There’s some from last night.”
    “All right.” Madame Azaire put a slice of the bloody meat on each of three plates. Stephen refilled their glasses. In his mind he was remembering the press of Madame Azaire’s leg against his own in the water gardens. The skin on her bare arms was a light brown; her mannish waistcoat and open neck made her look even more feminine than usual.
    “I shall be returning to England soon,” he said. “I had a telegram telling me I was wanted back in London.”
    Neither of the others spoke. The atmosphere had thickened. He thought of the sound of her pain from the bedroom.
    “I shall be sorry to leave,” he said.
    “You can always come back and visit us another day,” said Madame Azaire.
    “Yes, I could come back another day.”
    Marguérite brought in a dish of potatoes. Lisette stretched and smiled. “Oh, I feel sleepy,” she said happily.
    “That’s because of all the wine you’ve been drinking.” Madame Azaire also smiled and the air seemed to lighten again. They finished lunch with some fruit, and Marguérite took coffee to the sitting room. They sat around the card table where Stephen had played on his first night in the house.
    “I’m going to go out for a walk in the garden,” said Lisette. “Then I might go to my room for a little sleep.”
    “All right,” said Madame Azaire.
    Lisette’s light step crossed the room and disappeared.
    At once the atmosphere changed, and this time it was beyond recall. Madame Azaire could not meet Stephen’s eye. She looked down at the card table and played with the silver spoon in the thin china saucer. Stephen could feel his chest contract. He was finding it difficult to breathe.
    “Have some more coff—”
    “No.”
    The silence returned.
    “Look at me.”
    She would not raise her head. She stood up and said, “I’m going to do some sewing in my room, so—”
    “Isabelle.” He had grasped her arm.
    “No. Please no.”
    He pulled her to him and wrapped both arms around her so she could not escape. Her eyes were closed and he kissed her mouth, which opened. He felt her tongue flicker and her hands press his back, then she pulled herself away from his tight grip, tearing the white blouse as she did so, revealing a thin satin strap beneath. Stephen’s body convulsed with desire.
    “You must. For God’s sake, you must.” He raged at her.
    Madame Azaire was crying, though her eyes were closed. “No, I cannot, I hardly … I hardly think it would be right.”
    “You were going to say ‘I hardly know you.’ ”
    “No. Just that it’s not right.”
    “It is right. You know it’s right. It’s as right as anything can ever be. Isabelle, I understand you. Believe me. I understand you. I