Read Lost heritage for Free Online
Authors: Rebecca Stratton
nervous of my grandson that you also wish to vanish before he arrives to join us, are you. Miss Kennedy?'
The implication was immistakable and Charlotte looked up curiously as she shook her head. 'No, of course not, madame,'' she denied.
Just the same she could not help wondering why it was
that Lizette Menais ^as so fearful of Raoul that she preferred to leave before he arrived.
After four days of working for Lizette Menais, Charlotte was still undecided whether or not she was going to find it a job she liked, although that, she told herself once or twice during the four days, was not her prime reason for taking it. It was difficult knowing just how she was going to start discovering anything about her own background without making enquiries, and in view of the situation that was difficult.
She had no way of knowing if her parents had even belonged to this particular branch of the Menais family, and if they did whether or not they had been married to one another. It was that aspect, more than any other, that made her so reticent about probing. The Menais family were rich and proud and were not likely to like having family scandal revived, if that was the explanation.
The four days had passed quickly enough and she could hardly claim to be overworked or that Lizette Menais was a hard taskmaster. A few letters each day was usually all that was required of her; mosdy to friends, but needing to be typewritten because Lizette's shaking hands found it difficult to write legibly for more than a few seconds.
She took an alarming number and variety of medicines, mosdy in the form of pills, and it was up to Charlotte to see that she did not swallow more than the prescribed dose or that she did not take too many glasses of her favourite wine after them. She read innumerable magazines, both French and English, and talked at length sometimes, although never yet about anything of consequence.
Despite the fact that she spoke English with a very slight French accent, Charlotte was almost certain she was of English origin, but her own French was so poor that she was unqualified to judge just how good Lizette's was. She was a confused and a confusing woman, but regardless oi
everything, Charlotte liked her.
It was part of her job to fetch the mail each day from the hall downstairs, and on her fourth day there Charlotte made a determined effort to avoid seeing Michel Menais. She disliked the fact that he just happened to be leaving the apartment when she came past each time and also the way his dark eyes scanned her sUm shape as he walked too close beside her as they came downstairs. This morning she had seemingly managed to avoid him, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she neared the bottom of the stairs.
She did see someone else, however, and she smiled to herself when she thought she recognised Jean Cordet, the young man who had made the flight from England so interesting for her. He was leaving one of the offices through in the outer hall and pushing papers into a briefcase as he made for the front doors. ,
'Monsieur Cordet?' She called out quickly before he let himself out, and he turned at once, almost as if he had expected to see her. *Good morning!'
She had the awful feeling for a second that she might have called out to the wrong man, but as soon as he turned and she recognised him more certainly, she too smiled beamingly. He was even better looking than she remembered from their first encounter, and he brushed a hand through his dark hair as he took her hand. He did not shake it nor did he actually kiss her fingers, but he raised them half-way to his mouth and bowed his head slighdy in a token gesture.
*I am delighted. Mademoiselle Kennedy!' he said. 'How is the work with Madame Lizette?'
Delighted to have seen him again, Charlotte laughed cheerfully. *Oh, I like it, and Madame, very much,' she told him. *The work's so easy and there's very litde to do '
*Except perhaps to keep out of the way of Monsieur
Michel,
The implication was immistakable and Charlotte looked up curiously as she shook her head. 'No, of course not, madame,'' she denied.
Just the same she could not help wondering why it was
that Lizette Menais ^as so fearful of Raoul that she preferred to leave before he arrived.
After four days of working for Lizette Menais, Charlotte was still undecided whether or not she was going to find it a job she liked, although that, she told herself once or twice during the four days, was not her prime reason for taking it. It was difficult knowing just how she was going to start discovering anything about her own background without making enquiries, and in view of the situation that was difficult.
She had no way of knowing if her parents had even belonged to this particular branch of the Menais family, and if they did whether or not they had been married to one another. It was that aspect, more than any other, that made her so reticent about probing. The Menais family were rich and proud and were not likely to like having family scandal revived, if that was the explanation.
The four days had passed quickly enough and she could hardly claim to be overworked or that Lizette Menais was a hard taskmaster. A few letters each day was usually all that was required of her; mosdy to friends, but needing to be typewritten because Lizette's shaking hands found it difficult to write legibly for more than a few seconds.
She took an alarming number and variety of medicines, mosdy in the form of pills, and it was up to Charlotte to see that she did not swallow more than the prescribed dose or that she did not take too many glasses of her favourite wine after them. She read innumerable magazines, both French and English, and talked at length sometimes, although never yet about anything of consequence.
Despite the fact that she spoke English with a very slight French accent, Charlotte was almost certain she was of English origin, but her own French was so poor that she was unqualified to judge just how good Lizette's was. She was a confused and a confusing woman, but regardless oi
everything, Charlotte liked her.
It was part of her job to fetch the mail each day from the hall downstairs, and on her fourth day there Charlotte made a determined effort to avoid seeing Michel Menais. She disliked the fact that he just happened to be leaving the apartment when she came past each time and also the way his dark eyes scanned her sUm shape as he walked too close beside her as they came downstairs. This morning she had seemingly managed to avoid him, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she neared the bottom of the stairs.
She did see someone else, however, and she smiled to herself when she thought she recognised Jean Cordet, the young man who had made the flight from England so interesting for her. He was leaving one of the offices through in the outer hall and pushing papers into a briefcase as he made for the front doors. ,
'Monsieur Cordet?' She called out quickly before he let himself out, and he turned at once, almost as if he had expected to see her. *Good morning!'
She had the awful feeling for a second that she might have called out to the wrong man, but as soon as he turned and she recognised him more certainly, she too smiled beamingly. He was even better looking than she remembered from their first encounter, and he brushed a hand through his dark hair as he took her hand. He did not shake it nor did he actually kiss her fingers, but he raised them half-way to his mouth and bowed his head slighdy in a token gesture.
*I am delighted. Mademoiselle Kennedy!' he said. 'How is the work with Madame Lizette?'
Delighted to have seen him again, Charlotte laughed cheerfully. *Oh, I like it, and Madame, very much,' she told him. *The work's so easy and there's very litde to do '
*Except perhaps to keep out of the way of Monsieur
Michel,