"Yet in spite of this there was a certain sensitivity."

"Sensitivity!"

"This love of art. I'll tell you something else: he wanted to be an artist. You can imagine the storm in the Centeville camp when that was discovered. There had never been an artist in the family. They were all hoary warriors. That was stamped on at once."

"I am surprised he allowed that to be."

"He didn't, did he? He became both ... and because his efforts were divided he wasn't entirely successful at either."

"What do you mean?"

"He is not a painter but I have heard it said that there is not a man in France who knows more about painting. He is ruthless, upholding his power and yet he has a sentimental streak which is quite alien to everything else about him."

"Sentimental streak! Really, Nicole. You are romancing."

"Didn't he proclaim your talent? Don't you owe the fact that you are on the way to him?"

"That was simply because he admired my work ... recognized it for what it was, and he knew that I could paint a miniature as well as my father could."

"But he did it, didn't he? He went to considerable pains to advance your career."

"And then went to even greater pains to destroy it. No, I shall always hate him. I see him for what he is and that is ... a monster."

"Don't get excited," said Nicole.

"It's bad for the child."

I became more and more grateful to Nicole as the months passed. She carried off our masquerade with aplomb; everything she did was done in the true spirit of generosity which was to make me feel that the benefit was hers. She had been lonely, bored, and I had given her something to plan for. My desperate situation had relieved the monotony other days. The only time she was impatient was when I tried to express my gratitude.

The arrangements in the house were perfect. The studio was large, airy and light. It was all a studio should be. She had one day a week when she received her friends. I was always with her on these occasions and this brought me many clients. I had worked right up to the time of my confinement so I was not going to be short of money and was able to pay Nicole a reasonable price for my rent, although I knew full well that she did not want to take it. However, I insisted on this.

She was introducing me to a new way of life. I had become Madame Collison, the famous artist; and Nicole, who certainly did not observe the rules of convention for herself, had decided that it might be advisable for me to give some regard to them. Therefore she hinted at a deceased husband and the posthumous child-to-be. It made a very interesting situation and surrounded me with a certain amount of mystery which made me an intriguing personality as well as a talented artist.

I enjoyed the evenings until I began to get too large and then I felt the need to rest. All sorts of people came to the salon. There was. a great deal of music. Nicole played the piano with spirit and sometimes she engaged professional musicians. She liked, though, to choose people who were trying to get a hearing in that field. She was very sympathetic and whatever anyone thought about her past life, fundamentally good. I had reason to know that. Artists, writers, musicians came. It was an absorbing and exciting life; and I was beginning to be happy, for Nicole insisted that I should be. She would shake her finger at me and I would rush in with it before she had time to say it: "For the sake of the child ..."

During the last months I would lie on a sofa in the salon with a velvet cover to hide my body, and people came and sat beside me, and sometimes they knelt, which made me feel like a queen.

The midwife, chosen by Nicole, had moved in. My time was approaching.

Then came the all-important day and my child was born.

I came out of exhaustion to hear the cry. loud and lusty.

I heard the midwife say: "This one will give a good account of himself Then I knew I had a boy.

When he was laid in my arms, Nicole was there, smiling proudly. She told me that he weighed nine pounds, which was very big-and he was perfect in every way.

"He is going to be something... our boy," she said.

She doted on him from the hour of his birth and we talked of nothing else but this marvelous boy.

"What shall you call him?" she asked, and for a moment I thought she was going to suggest Rollo and I felt anger welling up within me.

I said quickly: "I am going to call him Kendal... after my father.

There must be a K . just in case . "

She was laughing.

"But of course he must be Kendal," she said.

"He must have the magical initials just in case he should turn out to be a great artist."

She rocked him in her arms. She marvelled at him. I liked to see her happy.

Then she gave him to me and I held him close against me. I knew that anything that had gone before was worth it for his sake.

The Onflamme Kite I would not have believed I could be so happy. Two years had passed since the birth of my son and he grew in strength and beauty every day and in a manner at which both Nicole and I marvelled. The excitement of his first tooth, his first smile, the first word he uttered, the first time he stood alone on his two dimpled feet, was so intense, and the more so because it was shared.

He was at the centre of our lives. As soon as he was able to speak he said his own name, of which his version was Kendy. It occurred a great deal in his conversation. Intelligent as he was, he could not help but be aware of his importance, and sometimes I thought he believed the whole world was made for him.

Each morning, when I was in the studio, he would be Nicole's concern.

I was getting more and more clients and there was hardly a day when I did not have work to do. It was very satisfactory and there was no doubt that my name was becoming more and more well known in Parisian circles. People came from the country too-which was very gratifying as it showed that my fame was spreading beyond Paris.

"Excellent, excellent," Nicole would murmur, and she could never resist adding: "Was I not right?"

She had been right in everything she had done. She had found a way out for me, and because I had the most adorable child in the world I could cast aside my regrets and be happy.

I wrote to my father about once a month reporting progress. He was delighted with the way things were going and quite understood that I could not spare the time to come Q.

home. As for him, his sight was fading and he did not feel quite able to undertake the journey to Paris. It was comforting therefore to receive my letters. He wanted to hear about my success and he thought that it had been the best thing that could have happened, particularly to a woman to be acclaimed by someone like the Baron and then to have her own studio in Paris.

"I think of you all the time, dearest Kate," he wrote.

"I am so proud of you. It is the one thing which could make it possible for me to accept my affliction with resignation."

I thought a great deal about him. He was happy in Collison House and I grew more and more grateful to Clare for looking after him as she did.

He mentioned her frequently in his letters. It was clear to me that the management of the house and the care of my father were in the best possible hands.

I had nothing to worry about. I tried not to think of the Baron and when I did to remind myself that although he had behaved so abominably to me, through him the commissions had come and my child. It was strange to contemplate that my boy was partly his. I tried to dismiss that thought whenever it intruded, but I did notice, with a touch of apprehension, that Kendal was beginning to look a little like his father. He was going to be tall and broad with light blond hair and bluish-grey eyes. He will be brought up so differently though, I thought. He shall not resemble that man. I will teach him a better way of life. It may well be that he will become an artist.

He liked to sit in the studio and watch me work, although of course he was never there when the clients were. He insisted that I give him some paints, so I gave him some paints and he painted on a sheet' of paper.

Such happy days they were, and as I watched his fair head bent over the paper in complete absorption I often thought: I would not have had it otherwise. He has made everything worthwhile.

One day when Nicole had taken Kendal out for his morning walk in the Luxembourg Gardens, I was painting in the studio. My subject was a young woman who wanted a miniature of herself to present to her husband on his birthday. I had met her at one of Nicole soirees, as I did so many of my clients. She chattered on and on as I painted her, which suited me. I liked to catch the fleeting expressions as they talked. They were often very revealing.

She said suddenly: "I saw Madame St. Giles with your little son as I came in."

"Oh yes," I replied.

"They are just going for their morning walk."

"What an enchanting little fellow!"

I was absurdly pleased when people said complimentary things about Kendal.

"I think so, but you know how these maternal feelings carry one away."

"He is certainly a beautiful child. It is delightful to have children.

I hope to . in time. Of course I am young yet. But then so are you, Madame Collison. You must have been very young when you married. And so sad . , . your husband never to see his son. "

I was silent.

She went on: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken of it. It must be very painful... even now. Forgive me."

I said: "It's perfectly all right."

"Time heals, they say, and you have your dear little boy. My husband was at Centeville last week. He stayed a night at the castle."

I held my brush above the ivory. It was very necessary that my hand should be absolutely steady. Each stroke was so important.

"Oh yes . , ." I murmured.

"He said the Princesse was not very well. I understand she has not been ... since the birth."

"The birth?" I heard myself say.

"Oh, didn't you hear? It's quite some time ago. The child must be about the same age as your little boy. Did you say he was two? Yes, that would be about it ... almost exactly, I should imagine."

"No," I said, "I didn't know there was a child."

"A little boy. It's a mercy that it was a boy. I hear the Princesse's health might prevent her from having other children."

"I'm sorry to hear that. She's quite a young woman."

"Oh yes ... very young. But it was a difficult birth. Anyway, they have their boy."

"Did you see him?"

"Only briefly. He looked rather sickly."

"I'm surprised."

"Well, you would have expected the Baron to have a child like himself, wouldn't you?"

"What have they called him?" I asked.

"Rollo, I expect."

"Oh no ... no. That's the Baron's name."

"I had heard that it was and I would have expected the child to be named after him."

"No. The child is William."

"Ah, William the Conqueror."

"He hardly looked like a conqueror, poor little mite. But children grow out of their weaknesses, I believe."

"Yes, I believe they do."

"You haven't to worry about your little one. He looks the picture of health."

I could not get on after that. I could not shut out of my mind the thought of the Princesse in that castle. She had been afraid of it.

And then to bear a child and suffer and become weakened by it. I thought the Baron would not be very pleased with that now with a sickly child, boy though he was, son and heir and William the Conqueror.

Later that day when I was alone with Nicole I mentioned that conversation to her.

She nodded.

"You knew?" I said.

"I'd heard."

"You didn't tell me."

"You know how you felt every time his name was mentioned. You still do, a little, I think."

"All the same, I would rather have heard from you."

"I'll remember that if I get any more snippets of gossip."

"Yes, do. I like to be informed."

"Even about... certain people?"

"Yes, even about them. How did it go in the Gardens today?"

"Very well. Kendal is becoming interested in statues. He loved the one of Chopin and I had to tell him as much as I knew about the musician.

I even had to sing some of his pieces, with disastrous results I'm afraid. Still, Kendal liked them. "

It was a few weeks later when I received a shock. Kendal had risen from his early afternoon nap and was as usual full of energy. We were finding it hard to keep up with him these days and Nicole often said it had been easier when he could only crawl. He had been out with Nicole all the morning, and after his nap I had promised to take him out. I had taken him to the shop where I bought my brushes and after we had made a few purchases we returned to the house.