I made her stop at this point, so I could replace the reel on the recorder. It took a few minutes to do this, I remembered to label the reel as I put it in the envelope, but was desperate to hear the next stage of her story. The light from the window was fading gently as evening advanced.
O went to add wood to the fire from a coffer beside the hearth. It burnt cleanly, with strong heat and little smoke. Her face was pink from the warmth as she turned back to me. Her eyes briefly met mine, then dropped. The pinkness deepened more. I sensed it was time to alter the interview.
Before she could sit in her chair again I took a cushion and laid it on the floor in front of me, I gestured for her to kneel on it. She did so immediately, falling with seeming gratitude to kneel with her knees apart and her hands clasped behind her. Her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her, near my feet.
I went to the mantelpiece and lit the candles in the silver candlestick there. The story was not to continue under electric light, too harshly bright for such a dark romance. To my mind Desclos' story was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. Soon the candelabra gave more light than the window.
"So, O you were naked, bleeding and cast out of Eric's house. How did you cope?" My voice was strange to me after hearing her for so long. She breathed more deeply as she remembered that time.
"Oui, Monsieur, I was a poor wretch, it was freezing, before dawn in the early spring in Paris. I fed my daughter, and wept. My pride in bearing Sir Stephen a child was ebbing as the misery of my state took hold of me. I must have slept for a time, for when I woke I had a blanket around me. I think Eric's housekeeper must have brought it, there were croissants and a mug of coffee beside me as well." Tears glistened on her cheek and she trembled slightly. "I think we might have died without her help. She was risking her job to help us- yet I never knew her name or what became of her." She shifted slightly on the cushion, I saw her knees spread a little wider, to the limit allowed by her skirt. A question began to form in my mind, but I pushed it back, too soon for that, yet.
She began again, in a firmer voice. "While my own life only mattered in as much as I served another with it, my daughter was my new work. To protect her and raise her was my mission. I drank the coffee and ate, while I tried to think of a plan. The blanket would allow me to go about the street like a clocharde. I forced myself to my feet and walked to the gate. The bleeding had stopped, though my legs were filthy with blood and fluid from the birth and soil from the garden. I hoped the blanket would cover enough to keep me from the attention of the flics". The Parisian gendarmes were notorious for their evil treatment of the underclass of street dwellers.
"I was very weak from the labour and misery I had earned myself. I had had no real idea of how Eric would react to the birth, so had prepared for the worst. In the event, he had behaved both better and worse than I might have expected. His rejection of me was a mark of the betrayal he felt. I knew he had been feeling love and tenderness toward me before the birth, only to have me reject him for Sir Stephen yet again."
I was surprised to see a small wry smile play on her lips at this, and asked her why. "As I limped on the gravel drive to the avenue and turned toward the river, a red Alfa Romeo saloon came to a stop beside me. The door swung open and Anne-Marie stepped out. She was carrying a large army style overcoat which she wrapped around me, and pushed me onto the back seat. 'So this is the child you have produced for him? I can see why Eric threw you out, though why he would imagine it could be his is beyond me. Let us get you cleaned up and warm, then we will check her health, though she looks sound enough'. She held my daughter who was making small mewing noises and moving a little. I took her back and wrapped her in my blanket against my breast. It must have been Eric who called Anne-Marie, I decided later. That morning I was only grateful for a caring face and to ride in a car." The interview was taking turns I had never expected. This woman who had inhabited my dreams for so many years had depths and experiences that had never occurred to my imagination.
"I was put to bed in Anne-Marie's house at Samois, but in a part that I had never seen before when I had been there for my training and marks. She had a small clinic behind another door from the street, where women came for treatment that was discreet and safe. I think the room she put me in was attached to that, for those that needed to stay following their surgery. It had less decoration and was the territory of a short-haired stern woman in a pale dress, who I was told to call Irene.
