Her Lover (97 page)

'I think they're wonderful!' she said, getting up again. 'But I'll go to Cannes to be sure of getting all six. I've just time. There's a train in a couple of minutes.'

He stood, ashamed to be fobbing her off like this, she so innocent, so pleased to be making herself useful. To give her a cud of happiness to chew while she was on the train, he said in a voice oozing sincerity that just now, upstairs, they had made wonderful love together. She looked up at him gravely and kissed his hand, and he ached with pity, tried to think of some other way.of making her happy, to give her something to look forward to, some little goal for when she got back.

'Later on I'd like you to try on your new dresses again for me, one by one. You look so marvellous in them.'

She gave him a heart-meltingly grateful look, breathed deeply, revived by this draught of admiration, said she'd have to get a move on if she wasn't to miss her train, and was off. He watched her run for all she was worth, so eager, poor girl, to fetch records he didn't want. But at least he had given her something to think about. He'd have to come up with some fresh ideas when she got back, after she'd finished trying on the dresses. She'd been very disappointed that morning when he had told her that Forbes had rung to postpone their game of tennis. She had already got into her shorts, was raring to go and very happy. Was the Forbes woman really ill?

He sat down again, took a swallow of lukewarm tea, and looked at the time. She'd be on the train now, thinking about him, happy to be fetching new records for him. Remember to gush later on when she tried on her frocks.

A hum of voices. He stubbed out his cigarette, peered through the gap in the drawn curtains, and recognized the Englishwoman with the red hair, la Forbes, bursting with rude good health, being gracious to a very tall woman in her fifties with an immensely long chin, in whose company she shortly sat down on the cane divan just under his window. He edged closer.

Oh yes, Mrs Forbes exclaimed, she knew Alexandre de Sabran very well. He had spoken to them frequently of his uncle the Colonel, who was military attache at Berne! Wasn't it a small world! Who would ever have thought that here at Agay she would be talking to
the aunt of dear Alexandre of whom she saw so much in Rome, whom she positively adored, and who both for herself and her husband was quite simply Dear Sacha, an absolutely delightful boy who, by the by, was enormously highly thought of by the ambassador, she had it from the dear ambassador's own lips! This very evening she would write and tell Sacha that she'd had the pleasure of making his aunt's acquaintance! So Colonel de Sabran was presently observing the Swiss army on manoeuvres, was he? But how fascinating! Obviously, as military attache, it was part of his official duties, she said with a smile as she sucked on a social barley-sugar. Oh the army, she positively adored the army! she sighed, and she fluttered her eyelashes. The army! Honour, discipline, ancient traditions, chivalry, an officer's word his bond, cavalry charges, mighty battles, field marshals deploying brilliant tactics, men dying like heroes! There was no finer career! If only she'd been a man! What was nobler than to lay down one's life for one's country! For there would always be war, nothing would stop it, the League of Nations could talk until it was blue in the face. And would the Colonel be joining her soon? she asked, with a look ablaze with sympathetic interest. In three days! Her husband and she would be delighted to meet him and give him the latest about Dear Sacha.

Whereupon she suggested that Madame de Sabran might care for some refreshment, enquired as to her preferences, summoned a waiter with one forefinger, ordered China for Madame and very strong Ceylon for herself, asked for very hot buttered toast to be brought in a napkin, and never once did she so much as glance at the man. Having thus reminded him of the base clay of which he was made and of the fact that he existed solely to wait upon the wives of military attaches and consuls-general, she turned dreamily to her congenial companion, who was a colonel's lady and an authentic baroness. After alluding briefly to dear Sir Alfred Tucker and Viscountess Layton — a rare soul if ever there was - she cleared the decks for harpooning-stations. How wonderful it was to be at Agay, simply to follow one's physical rhythms, to be able at last to play tennis every day, to be free for a little while of the tiresome social round which, when all was said and done, was so banal, didn't Madame de Sabran agree?

'By the by, would you like to make up a tennis foursome with us? Shall we say tomorrow, at eleven?'

Madame de Sabran, highly conscious of the gulf which separated the diplomatic service from the consular, acquiesced with muted enthusiasm and a thin smile. Her lack of enthusiasm thrilled Mrs Forbes, for it was an indication of the size of the catch she had landed, and her covetousness was increased thereby. She directed a fawning smile at Madame de Sabran, who stood up and said she would be back in a moment. Sure in the knowledge of her twenty-four social carats, she made a stately exit.

On her return, with eyes of blue ice and looking for all the world like a supercilious giraffe, she peered from a disdainful distance at the podgy doll-woman who was going through her set routine in the lounge, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands together. Placing one hand along her scrawny rump in the manner of Madame Deume the elder, the baroness satisfied herself that her skirt hung properly, then sat down and congratulated Mrs Forbes on her excellent command of the French language. To which Mrs Forbes of the red hair replied modestly that she couldn't honestly claim any credit for that because she had always talked French with her nanny ever since she was a little girl. This particular brought a smile of approval to the razor lips of Madame de Sabran, who, after a moment's silence, brought up the subject of that very odd couple who never spoke to anyone. Who were those people, where did they come from, what did the man do? The desk-clerk had told her the name, but she had forgotten it.

'Was it Solal?' asked Mrs Forbes, with hope ashine in'her eyes.

'Yes, that's it. I remember now.'

'To be avoided like the plague,' said Mrs Forbes with an obsequious smile. 'Ah, here's our tea. First, let's quench our thirst and then I'll tell you all about it, it's quite a tale, you'll see. I have it from the horse's mouth. Heard all about it from my cousin Robert Huxley, who is an adviser with the League of Nations, a great friend of Sir John Cheyne, whom you probably know. (As she did not in fact know him, Madame de Sabran's face moved not a muscle.) Bob got here yesterday with my husband and will be spending a few days with us, a charming boy, I would be delighted to introduce him to you. Oh yes, those two should be avoided like the plague.'

He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. This morning, in her tennis shorts, so pleased, all ready and waiting for her date with la Forbes. What had he let her in for? Mrs Forbes put down her empty cup, sighed pleasantly, said that there was nothing like tea for quenching one's thirst, settled back into the divan, gave a contented smile, and embarked upon her good deed for the day.

'To be avoided like the plague, dear Baroness,' she said again. (She was burning to say simply my dear, but judged that she would be better advised to wait until tomorrow, until the game of tennis, which would furnish a more propitious moment.) 'They are living in sin. In sin,' she repeated. 'My cousin has put me fully in the picture. The woman is the wife of one of his colleagues at the League of Nations. It all came out straight away, because the poor husband tried to kill himself the very day the guilty couple ran away together. Fortunately they got to him just in time. But when I think she had the gall to tell me that she was the man's wife while all the time she has a lawful husband alive and well in Geneva!'

'I'm surprised that they put up with that sort of thing here,' said Madame de Sabran.

'Especially since they were required to register under their real names, since they had to show their passports. I made enquiries at the desk. But that's not all, there's more. You won't credit it, but the man had a top job in the League of Nations. I should add that he's a Jew.'

'Doesn't surprise me in the least,' said Madame de Sabran. 'Their sort worm their way into everything. Do you know, there are even a couple at the Quai d'Orsay! We live in strange times.'

'A very top job, I was saying . . .'

'It's a mafia,' said Madame de Sabran knowingly. 'Really, I'd rather have Hider than Blum any day. At least the Chancellor is someone who stands for order and a firm hand, a real leader. But please go on.'

'Well, I've been put fully in the picture by my cousin Bob. Sir John is extremely fond of him. Now, three or four months ago the man was dismissed, or rather forced to resign, which comes to the same thing of course, for conduct, how shall I put it, unbecoming.'

'For conduct disgraceful,' said Madame de Sabran, relishing her saliva. 'But there, given the background, what else would you expect? And what did he do, exactly?'

'Unfortunately Bob wasn't able to give me the details. Normally he's terribly well-informed, given the very friendly personal footing he's on with Sir John and Lady Cheyne. But the whole business was hushed up. Apparently only a very few highly placed people are in the know. The man did something so serious and so dishonourable (Madame de Sabran nodded approvingly) that the scandal was covered up so that it wouldn't reflect on the League of Nations! All that anyone knows is that he was kicked out.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Madame de Sabran. 'A case of treason, I dare say. One could expect anything from a co-religionist of Dreyfus. Ah, poor Colonel Henry!'

'Turfed out ignominiously. (Madame de Sabran greeted this intelligence appropriately.) It was then, according to my cousin, that he rushed back to Geneva and ran away with his partner in crime. So he's not anything any more. He's a nobody. When I think that the hussy had the impertinence yesterday to ask me if I'd like a game of tennis! She was so insistent and, because I'm so good-natured, I more or less accepted for this morning, believing that I was dealing with pukka people, people of our sort, with credentials, persons of good standing. Naturally, the instant Bob put us in the picture and opened our eyes we decided to have nothing to do with them. My husband rang the man this morning and told him I was unwell. That's him all over, he's too kind, it's the way he is. It's not for nothing that Viscountess Layton calls him the consul-generous instead of general! Dear Patricia, always so witty, with just that hint of mischief!'

'In my opinion, kindness should not exclude firmness,' said Madame de Sabran. 'In your husband's place I would have dotted the i's and crossed the t's.'

'But I must say that when he was on the phone his tone was sufficiently pointed.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Madame de Sabran.

The two worthy ladies, the one gushing damply and the other as dry as a stick, went on discussing the succulent topic, squeezing the very last drop of pleasure from this instance of social proscription, a pleasure enhanced by the knowledge that they were ladies of unimpeachable credentials, who received and were received. From time to time, communing in their own uprightness, they exchanged smiles. There is nothing like a common hatred for bringing people together.

Meanwhile he was thinking of his innocent girl, and in his mind's eye he saw her excited face when she had come to tell him yesterday about la Forbes's invitation. She had begun to come alive again, had felt an interest in living. She had banged on his door and burst in, surer of herself than usual, without her customary diffidence. And then almost immediately there had followed a thoroughgoing kiss, the first for weeks. And suddenly she adored tennis and said the ghastly woman with red hair was a very nice person. And she'd shot off to Cannes to buy a tennis outfit. She had come back with two, poor goose, one practical with shorts, one quite impractical with a little skirt, and had tried on both in front of him. So excited that she had done an imitation of the podgy doll jumping up and down and shrieking that she wanted a Chrysler. And last night as passionate as in the Geneva days. Oh the power of social conformity! This morning at nine she was already dressed for tennis, two hours early, practising strokes with her racket, tossing up imaginary balls in front of the mirror. Then the ring of the phone, and the social mills had begun to grind.

After a further smile cementing their alliance in the cause of virtue, Madame de Sabran moved on to another agreeable matter, to wit the charity ball which she organized each year at the Royal for the benefit and succour of assorted poor but dear families at Agay and Saint-Raphaël, whose appalling destitution she described in some detail, relishing the feeling of her own goodness and her certainty that no misfortune could befall her.

Yes, each year a wonderful friend at Cannes, who entertained a great deal, provided her with an up-to-date list of persons in residence in the area who were likely to be interested in doing their bit for a good cause. Tomorrow she would be sending out invitations to everyone who mattered on the Riviera, and that included a Royal Highness who was currently at Monte. What could be better than to do good and enjoy oneself into the bargain? Moreover, one sometimes met such interesting, congenial people at charity balls. But naturally that was incidental. Doing good was the important thing.

Mrs Forbes grew excited, insisted that she adored charity balls and anything, really, that had to do with philanthropy, altruism and taking an interest in the poor. So she announced that she was prepared to do everything in her power to assist Madame de Sabran in issuing the invitations. She could already see herself being presented to the Royal Highness.

At this juncture the consul-general and his cousin turned up, both dressed for golf. After the introductions, the baring of teeth and the mention of Dear Sacha, the quite delightful Huxley added a few finishing touches to the tale his aunt had told, spoke warmly in support of the poor deceived husband, who was a distinguished official, a hard-working chap who enjoyed the good opinion of his colleagues. He'd got over his injury quite quickly, because fortunately the bullet had gone through the temporal bone without touching the brain. He must have been holding the gun awkwardly, or perhaps his hand had been shaking, which was understandable enough. He was a really charming young man, who improved on acquaintance. He had been back at work at the Palais for almost two months, and all his colleagues had been delighted to see him again. They had been very decent to him, had rallied round and asked him out a great deal. His boss had been very good to him too, and had sent him on a long official visit to Africa to take his mind off things. He had flown out to Dakar last Monday.