Christina Hollis Read Online Free PDF Page B

realising neither Adamson nor his mother had yet touched theirs. Instead they cradled their drinks reflectively, gazing at the light-play over limpid wine.
    ‘You seem thirsty, mademoiselle. Would you care for another drink?’
    Lapped by expensive lacework, Adamson’s hand was already reaching for the decanter again. Madeleine agreed uncomfortably. The English were well known for their love of correct behaviour, as well as their gullibility. She knew she had overstepped the bounds of good taste this time.
    As Adamson filled her glass for a second time Madeleine paused, thanked him, then began studying the strands of air bubbles maypoling about in the glass of her goblet stem.
    He smiled again, but now Madeleine saw the humour reach as far as his cold grey eyes. She stared back. To slip up on such a detail so early on in her game had been careless.
    I can’t afford mistakes, she thought. I haven’t enjoyed myself nearly enough to risk being caught out yet.
    She listened on in silence as Adamson told how the coffee-shop he frequented had been closed by order of the National Assembly. Laths had been nailed across the doors and windows, and a more outspoken message had been left by the ordinary citizens. The homes and workplaces of foreigners in the rougher quarters were already being daubed with slogans.
    ‘Then you must leave,’ Madeleine said, rolling the thin stem of her glass between her fingers as Mistress Constance did. When her new employer took a sip Madeleine did likewise, watching and learning all the time.
    ‘On the contrary, mademoiselle, I have no intention of being hounded from Paris by such treatment. My mother will, of course, leave tomorrow. You will accompany her. I shall remain, at least for a while.’
    Mistress Constance gasped, and Madeleine looked up at her host sharply. ‘You’re mad, sir! The mob might be good-humoured enough now, but they won’t stand being opposed. If you had any sense—’ she suddenly realised what she was saying, and crumpled, crimson.
    ‘I should leave immediately, is that what you are saying? How can a gentleman bow before the threats of an ill-organised, ignorant rabble of wasters and scoundrels?’
    Madeleine was about to query his bitter tone, but a sharp squeeze on her hand by Mistress Constance silenced her. At once the French girl was made even more curious. Adamson had already turned his attention to his mother, and was patting her kindly.
    ‘I shall soon follow you home, Mother. Only a few days more. As for you, mademoiselle, your concern for my welfare is touching but quite misplaced. Perhaps I should remind you that as an Englishman, I am well able to look after myself.’
    Madeleine looked him up and down. His soft politeness of speech, the neat and fashionable way he dressed...all marked him out as the sort of man the mob detested.
    ‘To the mob all aristos are the same, sir.’
    He laughed, but it was without mirth.
    ‘I think it is time we dropped the formalities as you are to become my mother’s companion, mademoiselle. My name is Philip. I would be grateful if you would address me as such. If we are all three to attend the sub this evening you can hardly be heard calling me “sir” all the time, can you?’
    What on earth was a ‘sub’? Madeleine certainly didn’t know. She could only hope it wouldn’t cost money. She put on her best look of innocence and turned to Mistress Constance.
    ‘Oh, but madame—I fear that every scrap of my money is gone...left behind in the turmoil!’
    ‘Money? What on earth would you want money for?’ Adamson snapped.
    ‘To pay my way tonight, of course, sir—I mean, Master Philip...’ Madeleine let her eyelashes flutter like a lady as she looked away.
    ‘Good God!’ Adamson finished his last few drops of wine and eyed her suspiciously. ‘What do you think I am?’
    ‘Don’t shout at the child, Philip!’ Mistress Constance stepped in. ‘Perhaps the French do things differently.’
    ‘Not so