The Stolen Years by Fiona Hood-Stewart

Author:Fiona Hood-Stewart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

23

Limoges, France, 1938

In August Geneviève and Sylvain became engaged. The ring was a cluster of perfect diamonds shaped in the form of petals, and Geneviève was overwhelmed. Even the Comtesse admitted she had rarely seen anything as exquisite. But as summer dwindled into autumn, Eugène found it hard to appease his mother’s concerns.

“He’s a delightful young man, so well brought up and a Rothberg, but I can’t help wishing he were Catholic. It would make things so much easier, don’t you agree?”

“Sylvain is a fine young man,” Eugène replied. “I like him. As for his faith? That is not my concern. I respect his beliefs, though they may not coincide with mine.”

“How broad-minded of you,” she replied dryly. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Eugène. It’s all this anti-Jewishness going about that worries me.”

“I agree.” He nodded uneasily. “Like you, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if there was a war, as Dexter Ward assures me there will be,” he said gravely, concerned with his sister’s safety.

“That is precisely what worries me. Look at what is happening in Germany. That dreadful little man, Hitler. And all those poor Jewish people. One must hope that something will happen soon and that it will all blow over. Perhaps Monsieur Chamberlain will manage to convince him. He, at least, is a gentleman.” She sniffed, sipping from the fine Haviland cup, part of a set presented to her by Theodore Haviland many years before.

“These are the times I wish your father was alive,” she continued. “It’s such a responsibility. On the other hand, Genny’s twenty-five and an adult.” She glanced at her son. “What do you think, Eugène? I mean, an engagement’s all very well but, as we well know, Genny is prone to breaking them. First it was that Italian man with the factories in Turin, and then the Spanish grandee whose name I don’t want to remember!” she exclaimed dismissively. “I wish she were a little less impetuous about things.”

“Maman, should Genny finally pick a wedding day none of us will stand a chance, least of all poor Sylvain.”

“True.” She smiled. Despite her stubborn nature and her ups and downs, Geneviève had them wrapped around her little finger. “I wonder how the Rothbergs feel about the engagement?”

“Much the same way we do, I believe. They would prefer Sylvain to marry a nice Jewish girl, but they’ve accepted that this is the way things are. They were very charming at the engagement party.”

“I’m glad we chose the Crillon,” she murmured. “Still, all this love business. Marriage was a different issue in my day.”

“Cupid’s arrow strikes ad lib, Maman. If Genny wants Sylsvain she’ll have him, and there is little any of us can do to stop it.”

“So be it.” The Comtesse sighed and shook her head, her permed hair coiffed stiffly off her face, drawing his attention to a spectacular pair of diamond earrings.

“What lovely diamonds, Maman. May I guess?” he said, quizzing her.

“A gift from Sylvain for my birthday. I was loath to accept, but he designed them specially—”

“So of course you couldn’t refuse.

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