Barbara Cartland - Love at The Ritz

He hurried down the stairs, moving more like a young boy than a man of his age.

The electrician was surprisingly quick in taking down the chandelier.

By the time Vilma came from her bedroom, César Ritz was waiting for her in the hall.

Outside was a very comfortable carriage drawn by two fine horses.

The electrician climbed up on the box beside the coachman, while Vilma and César Ritz sat inside.

Only as they turned into the Place Vendôme did she manage to say,

“I think you will understand, monsieur , when I say that it would be a mistake for me to meet anyone from London. My father has no wish for his friends to know that he is in Paris. He has had a slight accident and is here for special treatment.”

To emphasise what she had already said, she added,

“He is not allowed any visitors and it would be most embarrassing for me to have to turn people away.”

“Yes, of course, mademoiselle , I understand,” César Ritz replied. “We will not drive in to the grand entrance here in the Place Vendôme, but will enter by the back of the hotel which was my intention anyway.”

Vilma realised that this was because he did not want anyone to know that he had been forced to borrow a chandelier for his ‘perfect’ hotel.

When she stepped out of the carriage, César Ritz hurried her up a side staircase that led to the first floor.

“I want you to see one of the best suites in the hotel,” he said, “which fortunately will not be occupied until this evening. The guests who were in it yesterday left this morning.”

Vilma was already appreciating that the passages were lofty and were painted rather than covered with wallpaper. The attractive carpet was bright but traditional in design.

César Ritz then showed her into a large suite overlooking the Place Vendôme .

Vilma was entranced by the overwhelming luxury of the hotel.

The walls of the bedrooms were bare except for large mirrors.

There were, as she had read in the newspapers, no plushes or velvet, nor were there any frills or furbelows in the curtains.

“I will not have wooden beds in the hotel,” César Ritz explained in the bedroom. “Brass is more hygienic.”

As Vilma expected, the lighting was an apricot pink and she knew that at night it would make any woman look her best.

There were built-in cupboards and the sitting room was furnished with large comfortable armchairs.

There were flowers and bowls of exotic fruit waiting for the incoming guests.

“It is lovely, monsieur , absolutely lovely!” Vilma exclaimed.

They then walked a long way down the passage until they came to the room that had no chandelier. In the other rooms they were suspended from the ceilings by silken cords.

Now in the bedroom they entered the cords were there, but no chandelier.

“I quite see why you so desperately needed the chandelier you have just borrowed from the Vicomte,” Vilma remarked.

“All thanks to you, mademoiselle ,” César Ritz said gallantly. “If you had refused me, I think I should have sat down on your doorstep and wept!”

Vilma laughed.

“We could not allow you to do that, not when you are the King of all the hotels and the most acclaimed man in Paris.”

She could see how delighted César Ritz was by her compliment.

It sounded even better, she thought, when it was spoken in French rather than in English.

It was then, as they were talking, that the electrician came in with a folding ladder.

He set it up in the centre of the room.

Following him came two servants carrying the chandelier and they held it up so that the electrician could fasten it to the silken cords.

Vilma had closely watched three electricians at home when they were wiring her father’s chandeliers and she thought that this man was more skilful at his job than the Englishmen had been.

She was still watching when someone came into the room to whisper in César Ritz’s ear.

“Forgive me, mademoiselle ,” he sighed, “if I leave you, but I am now needed elsewhere in the hotel. I will be back as soon as I possibly can.”

“Of course, monsieur ,” Vilma agreed. “I will be quite happy here.”

He bowed to her and then hurried away.

Vilma continued to watch the electrician at work.

Having finished connecting the wiring to the lamp holders, he climbed down the ladder and said,

“I have to fetch the lightbulbs now, m’mselle .”

When he had gone, Vilma looked up at the chandelier.

She saw that there were several dirty marks on the bowl from the hands of those who had carried it up the stairs.

She was quite sure that they would displease César Ritz when he returned to the room.

What he had said to her and what she had read about in magazines told her that he was a fanatic where cleanliness was concerned.

So she decided that she would remove the marks herself.

She looked around.

The door to the bathroom was open and she found a towelling flannel there, put ready for the expected guests.

She thought that the bathroom was very elegant with a profusion of mirrors and the bath taps and those on the basin were of gold and she felt that this was unnecessarily extravagant.

She went back into the bedroom.

She was just about to climb up the ladder, when she realised that her hat would get in her way.

Taking it off, she set it down on a chair with her gloves bedside it before she climbed up the ladder.

She rubbed the marks gently and was relieved to find that they came off quite easily.

She found also that the chandelier was rather dusty.

She was cleaning the inside of the bowl when a voice from below her came in French,

“What pretty angel has just come down from Heaven to illuminate me just when I most need it?”

Vilma looked down and saw that there was a very smartly dressed man staring up at her.

He was obviously a Frenchman and she guessed that he was between thirty and forty.

But the expression in his eyes and the way he spoke made her feel a little nervous.

“I-I was just dusting the chandelier, monsieur ,” she replied.

“As doubtless you polish the stars so that they gleam in the sky,” he answered.

Again the way he spoke made Vilma feel somewhat embarrassed and she looked away from him and said quickly,

“I-I have finished – now.”

“Then I will help you down to earth,” the Frenchman offered whilst moving nearer.

He put up his arms as if to take hold of her, but Vilma said hurriedly,

“No, no – I need no help thank you. Just leave me – alone.”

“That is something, my lovely angel, I have no intention of doing,” the Frenchman said. “You have come from the sky into my room and why should I refuse a gift from the Gods?”

Vilma knew that he must be the Comte Gaston de Forêt.

He put out his hand as he spoke and she felt him touch her ankle.

She knew that, if she moved off the ladder, he would then take her in his arms and there would be little that she could do to prevent him.

“Please – leave me alone, monsieur ,” she said angrily, “you have no – right to – touch me.”

“Let me explain to you what right I have,” the Comte replied. “I want, more than I have wanted anything for a long time, to hold you close to me.”

The assured way he spoke began to frighten Vilma.

She knew that, if she moved one step down, he would be able to put his arms around her.

She was now feeling terrified that, if he did so, he would then try to kiss her.

She had never been in such a situation before and so she had no idea of what to do next.

“Go away, monsieur ,” she flashed. “I wish to descend from this ladder and – leave the – room.”