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Authors: Katharine McMahon
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kissed Asa’s hand, very correctly. The group of young people had settled like a flock of birds, the girls in cotton gowns and straw hats or high lace caps, the young men in colourful jackets and plain breeches.
‘These are my English friends,’ Didier told them. ‘Monsieur and Madame Morton and Mademoiselle …’
‘Ardleigh,’ said Asa.
‘And these,’ he explained, ‘are my very dear friends from my home town of Caen. We have just met my father and sister. These people have travelled all the way to Paris with a deputation of nobles to inform the king that Normandy is calling for a regional equivalent of an Estates General, as well as one for the whole country.’
The young people surrounding him shared the same light in their eyes as the Lamberts and Paulins. Asa yearned for their freedom, to be walking arm in arm with Didier through the Tuileries. On the other hand only she knew his first-floor room with the blue and white coffee jug; only she would lie with him a few hours later, grip his hard body and feel his flesh in hers.
‘I very much hope your delegation will be successful,’ said Morton, ill at ease in so public a place with a group of young people.
‘I doubt it. We are as likely to be clapped in irons as to be granted a hearing. But we have to try. The king may arrest us, he may imprison our leaders, though all we are asking for is a voice – you mark my words, by the end of tomorrow some of us will be in the Bastille. But the tide of history has turned. Not even a king can stop it. It will happen soon: reform or revolution. Either way we will be allowed to speak and then, who knows, the old order in France will be dismantled for good.’
Morton, red in the face with alarm, claimed that his wife was tired and must be escorted back to the Montmorency. But as the two groups walked away from each other Asa hung back, partly to compose herself, partly in hope.
‘Thomasina.’
Didier had run along a parallel avenue and now emerged between the trees. The Mortons continued along their own path as Didier seized her hand and pulled her into a different avenue. For a moment there was no one watching; just as well, because he held her face in his hands and kissed her. ‘I love to see you out here in the sunshine, so funny in your English bonnet, so beautiful with your rosy cheeks and smiling mouth. But I know a different Thomasina and I shall be waiting at six when I shall kiss her again, like this.’
He was ablaze. Asa sensed a new pulse in him that tightened his arms and made him hold her ever closer. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What has happened?’
‘It is because of you that I feel like this. You are my talisman. It is our time. Everything will be swept away. The whole of France is astir.’
He gave her another kiss; next moment they had both returned to the main avenue and were once more walking away from each other. Glancing back, Asa saw that he had made a little run, and that one of the girls, slight with curling dark hair, had broken loose from the group, waited for him, and had taken his arm as he drew close.
Asa was soon at Philippa’s side, covering her mouth with her hand and aching with desire. As they reached a crossing of paths she glanced round one last time. Didier and the girl were still walking arm in arm. Both turned suddenly and glanced back as if they had been talking about her.
That night Didier did not wait at the street door but stood at the window and called for her to come up. He was barefoot, his shirt open at the throat, and he filled her pottery cup with red wine. Though he pulled the threadbare curtains across the window to shut out the sunlight, the room was very hot. He told her they had very little time that night because he and Beatrice had arranged to meet up again with the party from Caen.
‘Can’t I come too?’ Asa asked.
‘I thought of that, but it would not be appropriate. Too many explanations would be required. And you distract
‘These are my English friends,’ Didier told them. ‘Monsieur and Madame Morton and Mademoiselle …’
‘Ardleigh,’ said Asa.
‘And these,’ he explained, ‘are my very dear friends from my home town of Caen. We have just met my father and sister. These people have travelled all the way to Paris with a deputation of nobles to inform the king that Normandy is calling for a regional equivalent of an Estates General, as well as one for the whole country.’
The young people surrounding him shared the same light in their eyes as the Lamberts and Paulins. Asa yearned for their freedom, to be walking arm in arm with Didier through the Tuileries. On the other hand only she knew his first-floor room with the blue and white coffee jug; only she would lie with him a few hours later, grip his hard body and feel his flesh in hers.
‘I very much hope your delegation will be successful,’ said Morton, ill at ease in so public a place with a group of young people.
‘I doubt it. We are as likely to be clapped in irons as to be granted a hearing. But we have to try. The king may arrest us, he may imprison our leaders, though all we are asking for is a voice – you mark my words, by the end of tomorrow some of us will be in the Bastille. But the tide of history has turned. Not even a king can stop it. It will happen soon: reform or revolution. Either way we will be allowed to speak and then, who knows, the old order in France will be dismantled for good.’
Morton, red in the face with alarm, claimed that his wife was tired and must be escorted back to the Montmorency. But as the two groups walked away from each other Asa hung back, partly to compose herself, partly in hope.
‘Thomasina.’
Didier had run along a parallel avenue and now emerged between the trees. The Mortons continued along their own path as Didier seized her hand and pulled her into a different avenue. For a moment there was no one watching; just as well, because he held her face in his hands and kissed her. ‘I love to see you out here in the sunshine, so funny in your English bonnet, so beautiful with your rosy cheeks and smiling mouth. But I know a different Thomasina and I shall be waiting at six when I shall kiss her again, like this.’
He was ablaze. Asa sensed a new pulse in him that tightened his arms and made him hold her ever closer. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What has happened?’
‘It is because of you that I feel like this. You are my talisman. It is our time. Everything will be swept away. The whole of France is astir.’
He gave her another kiss; next moment they had both returned to the main avenue and were once more walking away from each other. Glancing back, Asa saw that he had made a little run, and that one of the girls, slight with curling dark hair, had broken loose from the group, waited for him, and had taken his arm as he drew close.
Asa was soon at Philippa’s side, covering her mouth with her hand and aching with desire. As they reached a crossing of paths she glanced round one last time. Didier and the girl were still walking arm in arm. Both turned suddenly and glanced back as if they had been talking about her.
That night Didier did not wait at the street door but stood at the window and called for her to come up. He was barefoot, his shirt open at the throat, and he filled her pottery cup with red wine. Though he pulled the threadbare curtains across the window to shut out the sunlight, the room was very hot. He told her they had very little time that night because he and Beatrice had arranged to meet up again with the party from Caen.
‘Can’t I come too?’ Asa asked.
‘I thought of that, but it would not be appropriate. Too many explanations would be required. And you distract
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