Her Lover (22 page)

'No, only when I actually introduce you.'

'A low bow or just a nod?'

'Just a nod.'

'But I don't twust myself,' said Monsieur Deume, still standing rigidly to attention to make Adrien's task easier. 'I'll be so nervous when I see him standing there that I shan't be able to pwevent myself bowing stwaight off. At least I sincerely hope that bending forward or chatting over dinner won't make this confounded stud pop out. I mean, I've got to make some sort of contwibution to the chatter. Ouch! you're thwottling me!'

'There, got it. It's done.'

'Thanks, tewwibly good of you. But coming back to this nod business. What sort of angle do you think would be wight? If I lean forward like this, for instance, would that do the twick? There's something else too. In this wetched etiquette book, there's another bit that wowwies me. I'll wead it to you. (To avoid getting in the way of the bow Adrien was currently tying for him, the little seal raised his guide to good manners high above the head of his adopted son and read:) "In the dwawing-woom, a waised tone of voice gives an impwession of poise, bweeding and modernity." Do you think this would be a waised tone of voice?' he asked, and gave a strangled yelp.

'Possibly,' replied Adrien absently, for he was thinking of the strange way Ariane had answered him through the door just now.

'Or how about this?' yelled Monsieur Deume.

'Keep still, Dada, I can't finish tying your tie.'

'So you weally think it's not too loud like this, for instance?' bawled Monsieur Deume. (And to get into training for this strange social practice, he went on bellowing:) Under-Secwetawy-Genewal, Didi is tying my black tie for me!'

.'What on earth is going on?' shrieked Madame Deume from downstairs. 'Why are you shouting like that?'

'I'm making polite conversation,' shouted back Monsieur Deume, who was in one of his bolder moods. 'It's a sign of poise and modernity! But sewiously, Didi, don't you think it'll seem a bit peculiar? I mean, if all five of us start shwieking our heads off like that it'll sound like a madhouse, that's how I see it. But there it is, since it's the done thing, I don't mind, only we won't be able to hear each other speak, that's all. Still, it's twoo: shouting like that does pep a chap up a bit, makes you feel important. (Adrien took off his glasses and ran his hand over his eyes.) What's up, Didi? Pwoblems?'

'She sounded very odd when she answered me through the door. I asked her which dress she was intending to wear for the dinner party. (He blew his nose, then stared into his handkerchief.) And she said: "Yes, yes, all right, I'll wear my smartest frock just for your chief's benefit!'"

'Doesn't seem too bad a weply to me.'

'It was the way she said it. She sounded annoyed, you see.'

With a characteristic gesture, Monsieur Deume smoothed the drooping wings of his moustache so that they joined forces with his goatee. He set his brain to work and cast about for something comforting to say.

'You know, Didi, young women sometimes get a bit highly stwung, but it doesn't last long.'

"Bye, Dada. I think the world of you, you know.'

'It's mutual, Didi. Don't wowwy your head about it. Beneath it all, she's a weally nice girl, take it fwom me.'

When his adopted son's car had gone, Monsieur Deume climbed back up to his den and locked himself in. He put a cushion on the floor, hitched up his trousers to ward off bagginess in the knees, knelt, clenched his false teeth together firmly, and prayed to the Almighty to watch over his adopted son and bless his dear wife Ariane with a child.

When he had finished his prayer, which was not the least admirable of all the prayers offered up on that day, and certainly finer than the pious requests formulated by his wife, this bearded seraph got to his feet certain in the knowledge that all would be well again nine months from now, or perhaps before, for the moment Ariane knew she was expecting a baby she would become sweet and gentle, no doubt about it. His mind at ease, he returned the cushion to its place, brushed his trousers, and settled himself in an armchair. With his bulging chameleon eyes glued to the pages of his etiquette book and his lips moving in studious silence, he stroked the birthmark which he called his big beauty spot and resumed his reading.

But he wearied of it quickly, closed the book, stood up, and looked round for something to do. Sharpen all the scissors in the house? A nice, easy job, all you needed to do was to cut up a sheet of sandpaper with a pair of scissors and the thing was done in a twinkling. Yes, but Antoinette would say now wasn't the time. Oh well, he'd do it tomorrow, when all this dratted business of the invitation, which required a chap to shout to be smart, would be over and done with.

He sat down again and yawned. Oh, how uncomfortable he felt wearing Monsieur Leerberghe's dinner-jacket. The sweet old man undid the top two buttons of the trousers, which were too tight for him, and gave his swollen abdomen a series of thwacks to pass the time as he pictured himself as a Negro chieftain summoning his tribe on the tom-toms.

CHAPTER 15

In the Rue du Mont-Blanc, passers-by turned their heads to stare at the little old man in the beaver hat, breeches and dove-coloured stockings, but were not unduly disconcerted, accustomed as they were to the fauna of the League of Nations. 'What shall we do?' wondered Uncle Saltiel as he shuffled along, stopping now and then to pat a child on the cheek before resuming his progress and his train of thought, head bowed and back bent.

'All things considered — yes.'

Yes, all things considered, what had to be done was to put up a first-class Jewish opponent against this Christian girl. But where was he to find one? He had not managed to see the Rabbi, who was ill, and at the synagogue all that fool of a beadle had on his books was the daughter of a butcher, that is, a girl who would not have an ounce of poetry in her and would hardly impress on the ski-slopes. How about giving Cephalonia a try? Now, let's see, what in the way of marriageable girls did they have back there? He went through the field, ticking them off on his fingers. Eight, but only two possibles. The great-granddaughter of Jacob Meshullam, who had a pretty dowry on her head and wasn't too bad to look at except for that missing tooth which unfortunately was in the middle of her smile. She could always be rushed off to a dentist, of course. Still, best not, it wouldn't do to fix Sol up with a fiancee with a false tooth. The only other choice was the daughter of the Chief Rabbi, but the little idiot had no dowry.

'But there, I don't suppose he really needs a dowry. According to
my calculations, a gold napoleon drops into his trouser pocket every three minutes. Anyway, between you and me, those two girls are no oil-paintings, and this Ariane of his would wither them with a glance!'

In disgust, he jettisoned both candidates and made up his mind that the very next day he would go to Milan and cast an eye over the daughter of a prosperous jeweller of whom he had heard only good reports from a cousin from Manchester he had met in Marseilles. Now a jeweller was not to be sneezed at. On second thoughts, a jeweller's daughter was hardly Sol's type. She'd be plain, and all she'd be able to talk about would be rubies and pearls. Anyhow, jewellers' daughters were always fat, whereas this Ariane was a great beauty, for sure. Doe-eyed and the rest of it. So, to do battle with her, he was going to have to find a daughter of Israel as perfect as the moon in all its ripe and rounded fullness. Oh yes, only a Jewish beauty would do! Had not the Almighty forbidden His people to take the daughters of strangers to wife, Exodus thirty-four, verse sixteen?

'But where is she, this perfect creature of Israel? And how am I to find her?'

Still ruminating, he went on his way. A gendarme hove into view. He crossed the street on to the pavement on the other side, assuming an innocent, unconcerned air which almost got him run over. Naturally he hadn't done anything wrong, for he had always trod the path of righteousness, but with these damned policemen, you never knew. Outside Cornavin station he stopped dead in his tracks and smote his brow for he had just had the most wondrous idea.

'That's it, dear heart! Put an ad in the Jewish papers!'

In the third-class buffet, his hands shaking with impatience, he asked for 'clean writing-paper, a glass of lake water, if it isn't too much trouble, and a piece of Turkish delight'. This last request provoked a reaction of hostile irony in the waiter, so he settled instead for a black coffee, 'but with lots of sugar, if you would be so good'. After swallowing the first mouthful, he slipped on his old steel-rimmed spectacles with the scratched lenses which blunted his piercing gaze, then licked the point of a pencil which he found in a pocket of his frock-coat.

'Gird on thy sword, O mighty champion,' he muttered to himself, 'and mount thy charger to defend the purity of thy race!'

After tracing a few preliminary arabesques in the air, designed to conjure Inspiration, he began to write, pausing from time to time to nod approvingly or, with a highly self-satisfied air, to take a pinch of snuff from his snuffbox. When the great work was done, he read it over in a whisper, smiling with delight and admiring his handwriting. Oh yes, on the calligraphy front he feared no man!

'Bachelor Uncle seeks Wife on behalf of Nephew, Tremendously Handsome, Brilliant Position, higher than Ambassador (not in same class!). Thoroughly deserves Position plus Tie of Noble Order! Colour of tie withheld, discretion better part of valour. Just one small blemish on his amazing Good Looks: small scar over eye, fell off a horse, he tells me! Which proves he Rides! But aforementioned Scar a mere Trifle! A little white squiggle, hardly noticeable! But nothing escapes an Uncle's Eagle Eye! I mention the scar in all honesty! It's the only blemish! But such an attractive blemish! Otherwise, Magnificent Specimen. The successful applicant must be Healthy and without Hidden Defects! And Young! Must be Stunner! Eyes like a gazelle! Teeth like a flock of shorn sheep after dipping! Hair like a herd of goats on the slopes of Gilead! Cheeks like pomegranate halves! And the rest to match! And no flightiness! No hanky-panky in the background with Tom, Dick and Harry! Uncle not amused by Goings-On! Must be of Highly Reputable, Honourable Jewish family! And God-Fearing, naturally! Virtuous and Sensible! With more than her fair share of Common Sense and able to give Sound Advice and Tick Him Off now and then! A spot of Ticking-Off won't come amiss as long as it is done nicely! Needs, in short, to be a Dove: pointless trying to pull wool over eyes and claiming to be Dove if not Dove, because Uncle is a Psychologist and will strain all applicants through the Sieve of Perspicacity! Dowry not essential since Nephew earns a Fortune! Money no object! What we seek is Virtue and Beauty! Reply to Poste Restante, Geneva, marking envelopes S.S.! Enclose recent photo, not old snap taken ten years ago, since Successful Applicant must be Young and Stunning! Also Good Housekeeper and careful with purse-strings! Not the sort to be forever buying Paris frocks! Still, a dowry would be no disqualification! Especially for the sake of the Young Lady, so that she can keep her Independence and is not put in the Humiliating Position of always pestering him, squawking for Money, saying I haven't got this and I haven't got that and I must have a New Hat! But Dowry not crucial. The main thing is that she must be Virtuous and Level-Headed! Also that she knows when to Keep her Mouth Shut and not make life Hell with Idle Chatter like some Well-Heeled Prattling Women do! All the same, she must be Educated and capable of keeping up an Intelligent Conversation! Music! Poetry and Verse! She should be a Modern Girl, but also go to Synagogue! And Pork must never darken their doorstep! And no Snails or Oysters either! Anyhow, they're not good for you! Nor should she be forever going on about what Well-Placed Connections she has, unlike some sisters of the faith! We simply must invite the Prefect's Wife, and so forth! She mustn't be always nagging at him, because he's a Well-Placed Connection in his own right and doesn't need Prefects! Whenever he meets Prefects, he spits on the floor! And she mustn't bother him about Stock Market Prices! It's unbecoming in a Lady! And none of your Theatre-Going and Dancing every night! And no dolling yourself up all the time! No lipstick! A dab of powder is quite sufficient! In short, a Perfect Young Woman!'

'That should knock this Ariane girl into a cocked hat!' he concluded.

Feeling suddenly tired, he supported his head on one hand, closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep, for he was old. He woke again almost at once, reread his advertisement and saw that it would serve no purpose. Who could do battle with the most lustrous of Christian girls, a virgin like unto a full moon above a calm sea on a summer's night who doubtless knew whole reams of poems by heart? The answer — that was it! — was to turn this Christian girl into a Daughter of Israel! Fight, he would see to it! He would talk meltingly to her, he would speak of the sanctity of the Commandments, of the greatness of the Prophets, of the tribulations of the Chosen Race, but above all he would explain that God was One and Indivisible, and lo and behold! she would see the light and become a true convert!

'Well now, Sol, I've given the matter careful thought and the answer's yes. Since it is your destiny, go ahead, marry the girl! Your happiness comes first, when all is said and done, and maybe it's God's will. Who knows, how can anybody know? After all, didn't our King Solomon marry wives who were not of our people? So it is agreed, and if you want, as your spiritual father as you put it in the splendid letter you wrote me, I always carry it around with me, you know, in my wallet, if you want, I'll speak to her parents, tell them that I give my consent, that I give my permission in my capacity as your spiritual father, and then ask for her hand on your behalf, it will be more suitable coming from me, and finally raise certain matters with them. I shall dress for the occasion, white gloves, buttonhole, everything as it should be. And, if you'll allow me, I'll have a little word in her ear when you're engaged, make her see things in the right light. And who knows, I mean with God's help, something good might come of it.'