Читать книгу Imperial Palace - Arnold Bennett - Страница 36

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Evelyn took a cigar out of a box of Partagas in the middle drawer of the desk. Having lit it, he telephoned to the manager’s room, and instructed the assistant-manager, M. Cousin not being there, to see what could be done about changing the order of the two turns in the midnight cabaret. Then for some minutes he devoted himself to a cigar worthy of devotion. Then there was a knock at the door, and, without waiting for permission, entered—Gracie. Evelyn was really disturbed, by the thought not of a danger to come, but of a danger past. If Miss Cass had been present at this astounding incursion! If Miss Cass had met Gracie even near the door in the corridor! A beautiful, stylish girl, unannounced, without an appointment, a girl with whom he was already far too closely associated in the minds of the upper-staff, invading the holy of holies after eleven o’clock at night! And to find the secret retreat, she must have made an enquiry. Therefore some member of the staff knew of her visit! Therefore many others of the staff would soon know! Monstrous! Incredible! He had lived dangerously in his time; but among men of business, not in this fashion.

“May I come in?”

“But you are in!” Evelyn smiled humorously.

“Then you don’t want to see me?”

“I’m delighted to see you.”

Evelyn was standing. Gracie approached the desk, and sat down opposite to him. Evelyn sat down.

“Now why won’t you come to my tiny party?” she began at once. “You aren’t working. You’re only smoking.”

“Yes, I’m working,” he said. “You know, there’s quite a lot of work goes on in this head of mine.”

He was rapidly recovering from the shock of her unlawful erruption. She made an enchanting picture in front of him. Before speaking again she opened her bag, and critically beheld her face in the mirror thereof.

“Do you know—I must tell you,” she said, “I’m sure you would prefer me to be straight with you. I must tell you you’re misjudging me.”

“Misjudging you?”

“Yes. Or you wouldn’t have said what you did about me being so beautiful I was entitled to break any promise. If I am rather good-looking, I can’t help it. And I loathe the idea that good looks ‘entitle’ a girl to behave in a way that a plain girl wouldn’t dare to behave in. I say I loathe it, and I do. I’m not that sort. I do hope you understand.” She was imploring comprehension.

“Yes,” Evelyn admitted sedately. “Quite. I oughtn’t to have said it. But I was only joking. I never once thought you were that sort.” He would have preferred that their intimacy should not grow. But there it was, growing like the bean-stalk. And in spite of himself he was helping it to grow. “But I’ve got something to say, too,” he proceeded. “Why did you make that promise to your friends without asking me? I was there while you were writing the note. You might just as easily have asked me.”

“I might,” she murmured, as it were absently. She was now busy at her face, acting upon her own criticism of it. “I ought. But I didn’t. I’m frightfully sorry. It was cheek. But as I’ve got myself into a hole, you won’t leave me in it. You’ll just lift me out of it like a perfect dear. Don’t be a spoiled darling. It wouldn’t suit you.”

Evelyn shook his head, smiling.

“I can’t make out why you want me to come,” he said.

“No, of course you can’t. That’s why you’re such a dear. I want you to come because you’re wonderful.” Her eyes left the mirror and gazed at him.

“I’m not a bit wonderful,” he said.

“I know you mean that. But you aren’t a judge. I’m a judge, and I tell you you’re wonderful. And I’m dying to have you at my party.”

“Well,” he thought, “she’s an enchantress all right. But not for me. And she can’t come it over me. Why the devil should I go to her party if I don’t want to? I’m not a friend of hers, and it’s no use her pretending I am. I won’t go. And I won’t and I won’t.”

But also he was thinking again, obscurely, that he must in some strange way have made an impression on her. And that she was bringing something new into his life. He was an extremely successful man. He had achieved his ambition. He had a passion for his work. He was at the very top of his world, secure. He had scaled Mount Everest, and there was no higher peak on earth. What else had he to live for, he, still under fifty? But she was bringing something new into his life. He had glimpses of vistas hitherto unnoticed. Was it conceivable that she was in love with him? Or was he a fatuous ass? If the former, what then? No, he was a mere hotel-keeper. True, her father had risen, and he had been an early riser, like Evelyn. But her father, though he had risen from a lower level than Evelyn, was a financier, immensely wealthy—if only on paper. And her father had begotten a daughter who in the last few years had raised him higher even than he was before. Through the magic of his daughter, he consorted on equal terms with the—well, with the smartest individuals in London. Evelyn tried to disdain smartness, but he did not completely succeed in disdaining it. Smartness had prestige for him. And he was a mere hotel-keeper. What absurd nonsense! Yes, absurd nonsense, but there it was! She was a marvellous girl. In two seconds he lived again through the whole of his day with her. Marvellous! He was free to marry. But as a wife, what a hades of a nuisance would the marvellous girl be! Liability; not asset.

“And I’ve been thinking these ridiculous thoughts for hours!” he said to himself, admitting that his mind was as disorderly as any girl’s.

He said lightly to her:

“I hope you aren’t really dying. I hope you won’t die: because I honestly can’t come. I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes from now. I should love to come, but——” He broke off. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied quietly, sadly. “I’m terribly suspicious, I can’t help it, but I’ve a feeling you’re treating me the same as you did when we began to dance.”

“Oh! How?”

“Holding me off. I’m more frank than you like, and it makes you afraid.”

Here indeed was candour—candour either brazen or magnificently courageous! He was shaken by the strong, sudden force of a temptation to yield, to go to her party. Why not? He had no appointment; he had nothing to do; and the sense of fatigue had left him. Her candour had expressed the exact truth about him, whether she knew it was the truth or not. He now desired to go to the party, to throw up his hands and say comically: “Come along. Upstairs. The lift! The lift! I can’t wait.” It was not that he was the least bit in love with her. If she attracted him, he did not know why. She had beauty, but he was not a man to over-estimate the value of feminine beauty; he had held beauty in his arms. She had brains, or what in a woman passed for brains; but he was alive enough to the defects of her brilliant mental apparatus, and he esteemed that her brain was much inferior to his own. He had, in fact, a certain sex-bias.

Nevertheless he desired to go to her impromptu party. That is to say, he desired to stay in her company, hated to let her out of his sight, feared that if he did he would regret having done so. She intrigued him considerably; and he admired her manners, and keenly savoured her admiration: that was all. But was it not sufficient? The party would assuredly be amusing, and if it was not amusing he could leave it. As for the gossip of the staff, to think twice about such a trifle was childish. Every one of his reasons for refusing her was either false or utterly silly. The trouble perhaps was that he was too proud to go, too proud to withdraw his word and surrender. He had said he could not go, and he would not go—not if he should have to regret his obstinacy for evermore. Why the devil could she not take ‘No’ for an answer? ... Forcing herself into his private office as she had done!

“I must ask you to forgive me,” he said, with a smile as sad as her smile.

“You’ve been very patient with me,” she sighed, and snapped her bag to, and rose. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He followed her to the door and opened it.

“I’ll see you to the lift,” he said.

She turned on him, transformed.

“No, please! I couldn’t bear that!”

Fury, resentment, anger were in her rich voice. She banged the door, wrenching the handle out of his hand.

What an escape—for him, not for her! But an iron weight seemed to have settled in his stomach. And he was blanketed in a heavy melancholy. He said aloud in the empty, desolated office: “Have I ruined my life? Was this the turning-point?”