War Zone

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

But when he was old enough to understand such things, she was not there. She had died, his fascinating, adorable, little French mother, when he was just seven teen.

He could recall all too vividly the shock of learning that she was dead. He remembered staring at a bowl of spring flowers in the drawing-room-a room which had been particularly her own-and thinking that they too would die and their loveliness depart even as she had gone.

He had not blamed his father for marrying again. He had understood how the emptiness of the rooms where his mother had laughed and played had seemed hollow and lonely beyond endurance.

He could understand how his father had felt that any companionship, however commonplace, would be better than sitting alone listening for a voice which never came, for the sound of a footfall which could not be heard, for the rustle of a gown which its owner would never wear again.

He, too, had known what it was to feel the aching want of something which had gone from his life never to return.

He, too, had stretched out his arms to the skies and wondered if life could ever be the same without the per son who had made it seem so full, so glorious, so excit ing an adventure.

She had been lovely, his mother, and yet he could see his own likeness to her was there, that he resembled her more than he did his father, and that she had had every reason to laugh and call him "My own little French baby". 

For a year or so after she had died he could not bear even to think of her. He would not speak French or listen to it being spo ken; but when the first agony of her loss was made easier by the passing of time, he began to treasure every memory of her, every word he could recall her having spoken.

Now they all came back to him, every sentence, the little exclamations, the fascinating and amusing little idioms she had used which invariably made him chuckle.

As he jogged over the broad acres of the land which had been hers, he felt her presence beside him, guiding him in this, the greatest adventure he had ever under taken.

It was ten days before he drew near to Paris. The weather was perfect, warm, and yet not too sultry, a faint breeze sweeping over the land so that even at midday it was not too hot to travel.

Now Armand was impatient to arrive at his destina tion. He had no plans, no idea what would happen when he reached Paris, yet he felt a sudden urgency creeping over him to get there.

He wanted to begin the work he had undertaken, he wanted to get, as it were, his teeth into it. His days of travelling had given him, he felt, a chance to be armoured against surprise, to be ready for anything, however strange, however unexpected.

It was Wednesday evening when he rode down the long straight road which led to the village of St. Benis. The stars were coming out, the moon was rising. Ar mand drew his watch from his pocket and saw that the hands pointed to a quarter to ten.

Both he and his horse were tired. He should really have dined and slept some ten miles back, but he was impatient and he knew that St. Benis was but twenty five miles from Paris, and therefore decided to stay the night there.

It was a lovely country-side, the grass verdant and lush, great trees shading the roads and the undulating hillside.

Armand reached his destination and found, as he had expected, that the Inn was small and sparsely furnished. It was, however, clean and the patron hur ried to procure him supper and a bottle of wine.

Neither tempted him to linger over the consumption of them, and when his hunger was satisfied he walked to the stables to see if his horse had been properly rubbed down and bedded.

Finding it had, he passed leisurely down the village street. After riding all day it was pleasant to stretch his legs, and presently Armand turned off the cobbles down a narrow lane which he saw was bordered by a high wall.

It was a wall of formidable proportions, nearly twelve feet high, and surmounted by iron spikes which were an obvious deterrent to trespassers. But it was not such an impregnable obstacle as it looked, for farther on it had partly collapsed, leaving a gap through which one could easily have passed a horse and cart.

Curious, Armand looked through the trees and bushes which lay beyond the wall, and saw in the far distance the glimmer of silver.

For no reason save that he had nothing better to do he climbed over the fallen stones, and walking on the soft carpet of pine needles and moss which lay beneath the trees, he entered a garden.

After the fallen wall, he had expected to see a ruined Château such as he had passed, only too often, on his journey from the coast; but though he walked for some time there was no sign of a building and the trees thinned to reveal only a small lake fed by an arti ficial waterfall and overshadowed by towering trees.

This was the glimmer of silver he had seen in the distance, and for a moment he stood still, astounded at the beauty of it.

Where Armand emerged from the wood he was fac ing the waterfall, and he guessed that above it would be another lake, with perhaps another and yet another.

To the left of the waterfall there was a small Grecian Temple built of marble which once must have been of ivory white, but which now had mellowed to a weath er-beaten opalescent beauty and up whose pillars grew a profusion of honeysuckle and roses.

The moonlight was full on the little Temple as it stood flanked by dark trees. From it there were stone steps leading down to the lake. Everything was very quiet and the only sounds were the soft music of the waterfall and the magical, gentle movements which can always he heard in a wood at night.

Armand stood very still. It was not only the beauty of the place which seemed to hold him motionless. It was almost as if an enchantment was laid upon him, as if some instinctive sixth sense told him that this moment was of vast importance and that something was about to happen.

As he watched and as a strange unaccountable pre sentiment of having known this would happen swept over him, down the steps from the Temple there came a woman.

She moved very slowly and she held draped about her a white and diaphanous wrap. As Armand watched, she reached the last step which led from the Temple to the water.

She stood still, looking about her as if she would drink in the loveliness of the scene, then slowly, so slowly that it was almost like the mists vanishing before the morning sun, the garment that she wore dropped to her waist, then on to the ground at her feet.

She threw back her head, raised her face towards the moon as it shone over the trees. She was complete ly naked and her beauty was indescribable. White and perfect, and yet glowing like the warmth of a pearl against the grey stone on which she stood, she was reminiscent of a piece of ancient Greek statuary.

But there was nothing ancient in the pulsating round ness of her high breasts, in the slender length of her thighs and in the proud strong line of her back.

Her waist could be spanned by a man's two hands and her neck, long and graceful, seemed to give her lovely head a distinction which was visible even from a dis tance.

For a full second she stood poised, then she dived into the water beneath her. She swam across the lake, turned, swam back and climbed the steps again to stand shimmering in the moonlight iridescent on the drops of water which fell from her body.

Her hair was dark against her shoulders, and reach ing up her arms, she twisted it with a timeless gesture into a long coil to wring it dry.

Then, as unexpectedly as she had come, she moved up the steps and disappeared into the shadow of the Temple.

Armand drew a deep breath. He had not breathed as he stood there watching her, spellbound by a beauty such as he had never imagined possible-the moon light, the silver water, the dark trees, that lovely exqui site, perfect figure. For a moment he thought he must have dreamt it, and then from where he stood he could see a pool of

water dark and wet on the stone steps-water which had touched her body. Slowly, almost as if he were drawn against his will, he started to walk towards the Temple.