“So,” he went on, “Varens left her with Madame Frédéric. Do you know her?”
Oh yes, I knew her. She had been a neighbor of Céline’s, a former courtesan turned sometime procurer.What had Céline been thinking, leaving a child with that woman?“Does she still live on rue Favart?” I asked.
“Yes, but she is now in reduced circumstances, I am afraid. Varens left little enough money for the girl’s care. Themadame”—he said the word with an ironic tone—“is in a tiny flat now.”
I turned away and left, compelled to find the child, if only to assuage my conscience.
Madame Frédéric’s rooms were on the top floor of the building. Pilot waited for me on the street, and as I climbed the stairs I reminded myself that I had no responsibility for this child. I had not seen myself in her, and neither had Monsieur Roget, and certainly there was no place in my life for a child, a living reminder of the second biggest mistake I had ever made.
When I knocked on the apartment door, there was no answer for so long that I was just making to leave as the door opened and a woman peered up at me. The thick powder and rouge on her face failed to hide the tangle of lines that webbed it. “Madame Frédéric,” I said.
She looked at me, nodding. “I knew you would come,” she said.
“You have Varens’ child,” I said. “Where is she?”
“Where? Where do you think, at this hour of night? In bed.”
Only then did I realize how late it was. “Ah,” I said. “I should have waited until morning. I only just learned—”
She smiled a nearly toothless smile. “And you are so anxious to see your daughter.”
No, I was not. I still did not believe she was mine. Perhaps the only reason I was there at all was to prove it to myself, once and for all. “Excuse the disturbance,” I said, backing away. “I didn’t think of the time. I will return in the morning.” I made a fast retreat, with the old woman calling after me. She was, I am sure, afraid I would not return at all.
But I did, and the next morning Adèle was there to greet me, dressed in a pink frock that seemed a size or two too small, a tattered pink ribbon in her curls. She had been prompted, it was clear, and she smiled, and I saw again the dimples in her cheeks, her fair skin, her flaxen hair, her hazel eyes, and the curve of her chin. She was definitely Céline’s child, but just as definitely not mine. I had seen those eyes before, large and wide-set, and that nose as well, but not in my mirror. They were those of the secret lover. But her little lips were moving already, silently forming the word by which she had been instructed to know me:Papa.
“She is yours,” the old woman croaked, reading my thoughts on my face. “Her mother always said so, and I have no reason to doubt. And as her father—”
I shook my head. “She is not mine,” I whispered. “You must know that.”
“Do you not find her beautiful?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
A chill ran through me, and I leaned closer to her. “I can see what will become of her if she remains with you.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You know it will,” I said. “How did you find that life, eh? How does any woman find that life? Because it is all she has, is that not the truth? And is that what will become of Adèle?” I had no interest in adding to my responsibilities. But how could I leave Adèle to the fate I could foresee? “Is this what you have been waiting for?” I continued. “For me—or anyone else—to come and claim her? Or is it”—the thought was still dawning as I spoke—“just that you have not yet found a man who will pay your price?”
“You threaten me?” she asked, defiant.
“How much?”
She smiled cautiously. “You will take her?”
“How much?”
She named a figure. It was far too much, but I was in no mood to bargain over the life of a child I did not even want. “I will return in three hours. Be ready to bring her to a solicitor’s and we will make it legal.”
“She is to be your child?”
“She is to be my ward. I will house her and feed and clothe her and make sure she is educated to be a proper kind of young lady.” And that would be all.
***
By the end of the day, Adèle was mine, though I had no idea what to do with her, or even how to speak to her. As unused to children as I was, I did, thank God, have the wisdom not to immediately disrupt Adèle’s life any more than it had been already, and so I determined we should stay on in Paris for some time. I found an apartment with two bedrooms and moved her there. The very first thing I did was go to a convent school and make arrangements for a nurse for Adèle, as it was clear that I could not bring up a child on my own. And the second thing was to inform her, as gently as possible, that I was not herpapa, which would have been a great trauma for her if it hadn’t been for the presence of Pilot, whom she petted and fondled as if he himself had been her parent. That great beast had grown to a massive adulthood with a patience with Adèle that outlasted any human’s. Even so, and despite the nurse’s capable, loving presence, Adèle so desperately clung to me if I tried to leave the hotel without her that I made sure to bring new clothes and toys and books when I returned. It was the only way I could think of to get her to allow me to leave.
Finally, after a few weeks, when I felt Adèle and the nurse and I were more comfortable with one another, I arranged for our departure to England.
Chapter 8
