Night Lamp (17 page)

Jaro looked across the forecourt. “There he is now. Tell him as much as you like.”

Lyssel looked at him, startled. “You surely don’t want me to tell him!”

“I don’t mind. I might tell him myself”

Hanafer went to the registration table, then rejoined his friends. After a moment of badinage he moved off toward the buffet. Noticing Lyssel and Jaro, he stopped short. They stood in more intimate proximity than he thought either tasteful or appropriate. Hanafer’s golden eyebrows rose; his jaw thrust forward and he cried out: “Hoy there, schmeltzer! You don’t seem able to learn! You are grazing in the upper pastures again! Don’t you see the sign? It reads: ‘Gaks, moops, leps and schmeltzers: Keep out!’ So, cut your stick and hop off on the double, like the good little strankenpus you are. Quick now! Cut stick!”

Jaro said to Lyssel, “Hanafer at last has become intolerable.”

Lyssel uttered a nervous laugh. “Hanafer merely wants his own way. You had better go. Call me at home later.”

Jaro shook his head. “Althea Fath has explained how to deal with these situations. I must assure Hanafer that I mean no harm and explain the destructive force of anger. Hanafer will see his mistake and apologize.”

“Try if you like,” said Lyssel. “Here he comes.”

Hanafer stalked across the forecourt. He halted, spared Jaro a single sidelong glance, then took Lyssel’s arm. “Lyssie, let’s get away from here; I can’t stand the smell of schmeltzing. I think I’ve made this clear.”

Lyssel pulled her arm free. “Please, Hanafer! I get very tired of being yanked this way and that.”

“Sorry! But let’s settle down to a glass of wine and make our plans for Dombrillion.”

“Don’t waste your time,” said Jaro. “I’m taking Lyssel to Dombrillion.”

Hanafer’s face sagged in incomprehension. Jaro went on: “We also have plans tonight.”

“And what is happening tonight?” Hanafer spoke slowly in a nasal voice of maximum menace.

“It’s a recital at the conservatory, Hanafer, and beyond your mental capacity. Afterwards we’ll probably drive out somewhere for a midnight supper.”

Lyssel gave a choked laugh. “Wonderful! But don’t tease poor Hanafer; he’s quite angry enough.”

“Then you’re going with this ballygagger to the recital?”

“Truly, Hanafer, it’s none of your affair. I wish that for once you’d behave yourself.”

Hanafer clenched his fingers once, twice, then stalked away. Lyssel looked after him. She said softly, pensively: “You’ve done something quite rash.”

“Oh? What?”

“You’ve started something that can’t be stopped.”

Hanafer had rejoined his comrades; the four stood muttering, occasionally glancing toward Jaro.

Lyssel shuddered. “They are like beasts, and they don’t mean you well. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Not at the moment. Where shall I meet you tonight? What should I wear?”

Lyssel dubiously gave instructions. “Suddenly I’m not so sure that this is a good idea. My mother is extremely genteel and not likely to be difficult. But my grandmother is imperious to such a degree that I’ve seen her despise a stately old Lemurian simply 39 because he took a cream tart from the tray instead of anchovy toast. As for your clothes, you will be safe in black with simple Belminster trousers. Wear nothing either green or spotted with orange. Be neat and polite, and remember that you are a musician.”

Jaro compressed his lips. “I feel as if I’ll be walking a tightrope.”

Lyssel came toward him. “No, Jaro! Tonight, tonight! I am excited! But all must go nicely, and you must get along well with Uncle Forby.”

“Very well,” said Jaro. “Tonight I shall demonstrate every aspect of high etiquette. I will eat anchovy toast and forego my new green cravat! For conversation, I’ll describe the suanola and maybe Tawn Maihac’s froghorn.”

Lyssel said hurriedly, “Just be nice to Uncle Forby; he could be a valuable friend.”

“I’ll do my best. Goodbye for now. Is Hanafer watching us?”

“He’s been doing nothing else.”

Jaro put his arms around Lyssel and kissed her. She stiffened at first, then melted against him.

Jaro said: “I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

Lyssel grinned up at him. “It would have been nicer if it were not done to spite Hanafer.”

“Hanafer hasn’t even noticed,” said Jaro. He started to kiss her a second time, but she held him away. “Hanafer has noticed everything—and so has everyone else.” Lyssel stepped back and out of Jaro’s grasp. “One kiss can be explained away as a friendly farewell; a bit maudlin of course, but no cause for excitement. Two kisses mean that the kissers enjoy it. Three kisses indicate scandal.”

“Was Hanafer counting?”

“Very carefully, but now he is strolling away. Hm. Odd. Hanafer is better known for his brusque comments.” She glanced at Jaro sidelong. “I’m afraid that you have hurt poor Hanafer’s feelings.”

“Hanafer must learn stoicism,” said Jaro.

Lyssel looked away. She said softly, “Sometimes you frighten me.”

When Jaro telephoned during the early afternoon, Lyssel’s response was slow and hesitant, as if she were coping with a series of unforeseen difficulties.

“Everyone is in a lather,” she told Jaro gloomily. “Uncle Forby can’t be found; apparently he’s at an important conference, and no one knows when he’ll be available. My grandmother is in a state of fulmination, which means that we all walk around on tip-toe.” Lyssel went on to explain that Jaro’s function as an escort would be more or less nominal, in view of the special circumstances.

“By ‘special circumstances,’ do you mean your grandmother?”

“I’m afraid so. My Aunt Dulcie had planned the party, but nothing suited my grandmother, and now she has come raging in like a wild bull and is changing the arrangements. Still, the recital shall occur and I will have carried out my part in the bargain with you.”

Jaro was puzzled. “What bargain is this? And how, with such facility, have you carried it out?”

“Please, Jaro! Don’t be tiresome. You wanted to be my escort, and I have arranged it. Now listen carefully. The plan is more or less as before. Dame Vinzie—that’s my grandmother—wants to celebrate the birthday of my Aunt Zelda tonight, along with everything else. The party will convene for sundowners at Primaeo, Dame Vinzie’s mansion on Larningdale Slope, then proceed to the Conservatory at the back of Pingaree Park. After the recital, the party will return to Primaeo for an intimate family supper.”

Jaro asked: “And where do I fit into the scheme?”

“Things aren’t going as smoothly as I had hoped, especially with Uncle Forby missing. But you can meet us in the lobby of the Conservatory. I’ll introduce you as a musician, and you will no doubt be invited to join the group, and share Dame Vinzie’s box. You may even be allowed to sit beside me, depending upon whether Dame Vinzie perceives you as a nimp and a milksop, or as a bona fide student of exotic music.” Lyssel went on to explain that Jaro must conduct himself with impeccable gentility, since the other members of the party would be observing his every move. Lyssel would quietly explain his lack of comporture by citing his connection with the Professors Hilyer and Althea Fath, who must be considered authorities of transworld prestige. Lyssel 41 might also mention Jaro’s ambition to explore the music of lost tribes on remote worlds. “In any case,” said Lyssel, rather tardy, “You must be modest and discreet and not try to expound any of your private theories. You might thereby ease past the suspicions of Dame Vinzie, though there is no chance whatever that you will be asked to join the supper party.”

As for her mother. Dame Ida Bynnoc, Lyssel advised Jaro to contradict none of her remarks, on pain of being labeled a “brash young nincompoop.” Jaro thought that Lyssel sounded cool and distant, as if she now regretted the occasion and feared for the outcome. He wondered if he should bring up Lyssel’s undertaking to slip away with him after the recital. He decided to say nothing. The whole idea, in any event, had never been more than a bubble of dream gas, that neither he nor Lyssel had truly expected to be realized. Lyssel was probably adept in the making of such gauzy promises which she found exciting but which she never intended to validate.

Jaro sighed and shrugged. If Lyssel chose to retreat from a personal relationship, it was probably all for the best. Lyssel was pretty, but her mind-processes were not at all in concord with his own. It was notable, he thought, that when she called from home, the irresponsible exuberance of youth, along with the hints of sexual abandon were absent, leaving a residual personality which seemed cautious and calculating. He remembered his time at Langolen School. Lyssel had been pretty and teasing and provocative; she had changed little save to acquire a certain intensity of flavor. Even then, she had not seemed as fascinating as Skirlet Hutsenreiter, and whenever Skirlet appeared, Lyssel seemed to become pinched and wan. Strange! Jaro thought back across the years. Dear gallant little Skirlet! What had become of her? She had departed Thanet and nothing more had been heard from her.

The afternoon passed.

Lyssel called Jaro with last minute instructions. She sounded more taut and distracted than ever, and was still concerned for her uncle. “He called us, and it’s all very annoying as Grandmother likes to have affairs exactly in order.”

“He has probably met some friends at his club,” said Jaro.

“He had some important business, but it was supposed to be only a formality, and tonight we would celebrate. Well, no matter. You’re still coming, I take it?” Lyssel sounded less than enthusiastic, as if she hoped Jaro would find reasons to beg off.

“I’ll definitely be on hand,” Jaro assured her.

There was a moment’s silence; then she said, “Very well, though I may not be able to give you much personal attention. In fact, if Uncle Forby isn’t on hand to ease the way”—she broke off. Then she said, “It may be a bit more difficult, since both my mother and my grandmother are very keen on social distinction.”

“Quite all right,” said Jaro. “I have other reasons for wanting to be on hand.”

Lyssel asked suspiciously, “What reasons are these?”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you sometime.”

“Hmf. Well then, please be prompt, as I can’t wait for you a single instant.”

“I’ll be there.”

Jaro dressed with care, avoiding any extravagances which might be considered foppery. He drove the family runabout into Thanet but, lacking membership in the Pro Art Association, he was required to park in a public area at the back of the Institute and walk through Pingaree Park to the Conservatory.

In due course Lyssel’s party entered the lobby. Jaro stepped forward and was introduced, the party barely breaking stride for the conventional interchanges. Still, all went well enough, thought Jaro. There were no suspicious challenges, nor haughty glares; indeed the redoubtable Dame Vinzie barely noticed him. Dame Ida, Lyssel’s mother, swept him with a glance which was penetrating though not hostile. The rest of the group was indifferent. Forby Mildoon was conspicuous by his absence. Perhaps on this account. Dame Vinzie, Dame Ida and Lyssel seemed tense, brooding and grim. Jaro saw that if he wished a congenial evening, his demeanor must be both suave and self-effacing, and he allowed himself a sheepish smile for his own duplicity.

The group entered the Conservatory, Jaro and Lyssel bringing up the rear. They went directly to the box; there was a moment or two of bustle and confusion with Dame Vinzie’s hoarse voice booming across the auditorium. Unobtrusively Jaro found a seat beside Lyssel, at the side of the box, where no one seemed to notice him. Lyssel’s manner was distant. Jaro sat quietly, observing the company and wondering what had occurred to alter Lyssel’s mood so notably. Her face was pale and drawn; but as usual she looked demure and dainty wearing a dark blue gown, decorated with a few chaste stripes of white and pink. Around her forehead she wore a band of dark red and blue embroidery, with a moonstone cabochon at the forehead.

The company settled themselves, while Dame Vinzie took stock of her environment and made no secret of her opinions. Presently a decorous conversation came into being, and even Jaro was allowed to utter a sentence or two. He conducted himself with such propriety that even Dame Ida, sitting keen eyed on the other side of Lyssel, could find nothing to criticize. Dame Ida was a seasoned matron, rather short, with a stylish bosom, a lily-cream skin and pink curls. She was so immaculately groomed as to seem glossy, as if she had stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. Here, thought Jaro, was Lyssel in years to come, when youth had drifted away.

Dame Ida, like everyone else, deferred to Dame Vinzie, an extremely tall and ugly woman with a heavy torso, lank arms and legs and great bony hips. A ruff of iron-gray hair surrounded her scalp and rust-colored blotches mottled her heavy face. Her features were large, coarse and vulgar: eyebrows beetled over deep glaring eye-sockets; folds of leathery skin draped down her cheeks and overhung her jaw; her nose plunged and hooked to cover her upper lip. In spite of all this. Dame Vinzie projected such vitality and bravura, that her ugliness became a positive quality, and commanded fascinated attention. Her voice, loud and harsh, was like a prodrome of her person; her most private and confidential remarks could be heard across the chamber, though obviously she cared not a fig. Surrounded by her kin, she seemed an elemental matriarch, reeking with mana. Jaro thought that she gave off a taint like that emitted by the hanging carcass of an enormous gaunt beast. Jaro looked from Dame Vinzie, past Dame Ida to Lyssel. Three generations, three individuals in a line! Staring closely, he could trace a similarity, grotesque though the idea might be. Never again, he thought, would he be stimulated by Lyssel’s charms.

Lyssel, noticing his attention, whispered: “There! Now you’ve met my family; aren’t they splendid? My mother is like a darling doll, so precious and beautiful, and everyone says that Dame Vinzie is absolutely magnificent.”

Jaro changed the subject. “Where is your uncle?”

Lyssel’s momentary animation vanished and her face became more pinched than ever. “Today he suffered a setback and in consequence he is ill.”