Читать книгу Matorni's Vineyard - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 6

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The umpire, seated on his high stool, which overlooked the centre court at La Festa, relieved at the thought of his imminent release, leaned down and called the score.

“Two sets—love. Five games to two. Amory leads.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then Amory, serving, tossed the ball into the air, and the scorer’s monotonous voice continued.

“Fifteen—love. Fifteen—all. Thirty—fifteen. Forty—fifteen. Game, set and match to Amory. Three sets to love.”

Amory walked up to the net and shook hands with his defeated opponent, a flaxen-haired Teuton, who had been, from the first, completely outclassed.

“Good game, Von Grezzner,” he said, without any particular enthusiasm. “The luck went my way.”

Von Grezzner, a little depressed by his overwhelming defeat, shrugged his shoulders.

“It was your service,” he acknowledged. “Too good for me. I could not take. You will give me another game some day, yes?”

“With pleasure,” Amory acquiesced politely, as he turned away.

The secretary—a Colonel Fenton—strolled out from the pavilion.

“Good work, Amory,” he greeted him. “I can’t think why Von Grezzner enters for these singles. He 34 hasn’t an earthly chance. Wants to show his friendliness, I suppose. By-the-by, Lord Bremner’s here—just arrived by car, I think. He’s asking for you.”

A short, grey-haired man, clean-shaven, wearing sun glasses, and dressed with almost meticulous care, rose from his seat and held out his hand.

“Hullo, Mervyn!” he exclaimed. “Putting it across ’em again, eh?”

“Not much of a game, I’m afraid,” Mervyn deprecated. “I didn’t know you were coming out, sir.”

Bremner took off his glasses, and looked around him, up at the blue sky, and around the sunshine-flooded courts, with an air of ecstasy.

“A fortnight’s rain, and three weeks’ fog!” he observed, with a grimace. “Couldn’t stick it any longer. Why should you lads have all the good things of the world, eh? The political horizon, as the Times declares, is clear—the only horizon which is clear in England, I can assure you—so I played truant! How long have you been here, young fellow?”

“About a fortnight,” Mervyn replied. “Fine weather all the time.”

“You’ll have to find me some tennis.”

“Delighted, sir,” Mervyn acquiesced. “We’ll enter for the doubles together, if you like. The Colonel will find us some victims to practise on.”

“Certainly,” the secretary assented. “In the meantime, Amory, if Lord Bremner will excuse us for a minute, there is a lady here I want to present you to—The Princess di Panini.”

“See you later, Mervyn! Dine with me to-night, if you are doing nothing,” Bremner invited.

“With pleasure, sir.—Who is the Princess di Panini?” Mervyn enquired, as the secretary led him away.

“The most beautiful woman in Italy,” was the enthusiastic reply. “You must have heard of her. She is the great friend of the Duce. The girl with her is a young relative—the Comtessa di Maureatti.”

Mervyn felt a sudden access of interest in the impending enterprise. He walked almost eagerly to where the two women were seated. Colonel Fenton murmured a few words of introduction, and Mervyn bent low over the fingers of the Princess. Then he turned with delight to receive the greeting of her companion.

“At last!” the latter exclaimed. “Do you know that we have been here for nearly a fortnight without meeting?”

“It has been my misfortune,” Mervyn declared, with profound self-commiseration.

“But where have you hidden yourself?” the girl demanded. “This place is so small.”

Mervyn pointed with an apologetic gesture to the courts.

“I was so much out of practice,” he explained, “and the tournament is next week. I’m afraid I have spent most of my time up here.”

The Princess, who had been bidding adieu to a friend, turned once more towards Mervyn. He realised 36 at once the justice of Colonel Fenton’s commendation. The Princess was of a different type to her companion, but it was difficult to conceive a more beautiful face. Her features were soft, yet classical, her hair, wine colour, her eyes, within their delicate fringe of eyelashes, the deepest shade of blue. She smiled entrancingly at Mervyn. Her English was very correct, but a little hesitating.

“I was so anxious,” she said, “to thank you for your great kindness to my cousin on the journey from Paris. She has spoken of you so often.”

“I was very happy to be of any service,” Mervyn murmured. “We certainly had rather an adventurous time.”

“Ah, that poor man!” The Princess sighed. “It was so sad, and so very terrifying. I feel that I can never be grateful enough to you for your kindness to Rosetta. It is the first time that she has travelled without a chaperon. One does not imagine the possibility of such happenings, or I should have provided an escort.”

“Mr. Amory did very well,” Rosetta declared. “If ever I travel again in a train where a crime is committed, I shall ask to be protected by an Englishman with a case of tennis racquets.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Mervyn enquired pleasantly.

“Not in the least,” Rosetta insisted. “Still, I am quite sure that the reason no one asked us any unpleasant questions was because you were what you were.”

The Princess looked up from under her parasol.

“Mr. Amory,” she told him, “I have taken for a time the Château de Roquebrune, at Cap Martin. You will pay us a visit, yes?”

“I shall be delighted,” Mervyn assented gratefully.

“You will lunch to-morrow, perhaps, at half-past twelve. It may be that you will find only us two women. I cannot tell. Rosetta, however, will be very happy to see you again.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” Mervyn accepted.

A thin, short man, with a hooked nose and black beard was approaching the little group. The Princess’ nod to Mervyn was one of dismissal. He made his adieux and departed. Colonel Fenton hailed him at the entrance to the pavilion.

“Bremner’s just gone,” he announced; “I’ve got him a game for this afternoon. He asked for a rabbits’ foursome to start with. Are you off now?”

“I think I’ll go back and change.”

Fenton accompanied him towards the gates.

“My courts,” he remarked, “are earning a new reputation. One might almost have held a European Conference here this morning. There’s the Princess who, through Matorni, represents Italy as completely as any Italian statesman could, the Right Honourable Lord Bremner, English Cabinet Minister, Monsieur le Général de Parnouste, who used to be Chief of the Staff of the French Army, 38 and your late opponent, the Baron von Grezzner.”

“Is Von Grezzner a politician?” Mervyn enquired idly.

“I fancy so. He was one of Hindenburg’s protégés. Pretty interesting crowd, isn’t it?”

Mervyn nodded assent.

“And even now,” he remarked, “you haven’t mentioned one of the most important men here, in his way?”

“Who’s that?”

“The man talking to the Princess. You don’t know who it is?”

The Colonel shook his head.

“I’ve seen him up here once or twice. He’s a member, but I’ve even forgotten his name.”

“That is Signor Torrita, Chief of Matorni’s famous Secret Police,” Mervyn confided.

“That little man with the hooked nose!” the Colonel remarked, not much impressed.

Mervyn smiled.

“I am not well up in these matters myself,” he admitted, “but you’ve only to mention his name to an Italian, and, metaphorically speaking, he crosses himself. They say that he can have a man shot on sight, without trial or evidence. He has more power, in fact, over life and death, than any one since the Inquisition.”

Colonel Fenton chuckled.

“I must certainly add him to my gallery of celebrities,” he declared.

Rosetta had watched Mervyn’s departing figure until he had disappeared through the gates. The Princess, noticing her absorption, smiled.

“You interest yourself in that young man, Rosetta?” she asked. “He is good to look at, but not, I should have thought, your type.”

“He has succeeded,” Rosetta confessed, “in piquing my curiosity.”

“Tell me, my dear, in what way?” the Princess begged. “To me, notwithstanding the many excellent qualities which he no doubt possesses, he scarcely seems intriguing.”

“Nor would he ever have seemed so to me, I dare say,” Rosetta admitted, “except that the first time I saw him he shared a table in the restaurant of the Blue Train with Uguello.”

The Princess raised her eyebrows.

“An accident probably,” she murmured. “In a crowded car such things may happen.”

“Naturally,” Rosetta agreed. “Still, whenever I travel, it amuses me to notice people, and I noticed this: the young Englishman endeavoured, good-naturedly enough, to make conversation. Uguello at first repulsed him. Afterwards, however, he lingered until the Englishman left. They walked the whole length of the train together, and Uguello, instead of going to his own compartment, entered the Englishman’s.”

“Is it of any consequence?” the Princess asked.

“I suppose not,” Rosetta replied, “yet, as Torrita 40 knows all this, I was wondering whether he had attached any significance to it. You see, Torrita might argue this way. There is no doubt that Uguello had recognized him and must have realised that he was in imminent danger. He must have known the danger he was in when he left the restaurant car. He may have thought to himself that any chance was worth taking.”

The Princess smiled.

“My child,” she remonstrated, “I don’t believe that such an idea has entered into Torrita’s head. You yourself cannot believe that Uguello would have parted with papers for which he had risked his life to a young man whom he had met for the first time upon the train?”

“Naturally I do not believe it,” Rosetta agreed; “in fact, the idea seems to me ridiculous. Yet, you tell me that the papers were not found, and Torrita, for some reason or other, remains in Monte Carlo.”

“The papers were certainly not recovered,” the Princess acquiesced. “Matorni is furious about it, but there are many other reasons why Torrita should stay here.”

Rosetta nodded thoughtfully.

“I think that I am very foolish,” she admitted. “As you know, I am not so interested as I ought to be in politics, but the young man was very kind to me, and I am quite sure he would never have understood the danger of even exchanging a few words 41 with a man like Uguello. Torrita would suspect his own grandmother if he had one.”

The Princess patted her on the hand.

“My dear child,” she assured her, “I am perfectly certain that Torrita has not an idea in his head concerning your young man.—Sometimes I can’t help wishing, Rosetta, that you would take life—our Italian life—a little more seriously. You speak of ‘politics.’ What a word! These things which are happening around us are the blood and soul of our country.”

“Your country more than mine,” Rosetta reminded her. “You live in a world so great, Lucilla, that it would terrify me even to peer across the threshold. Does it give you all that you wish for in life? Sometimes I wonder.”

The face of the Princess was like the face of a saint murmuring a prayer.

“It gives me Matorni.”

“A great devotion to one man!”

“There is only one Matorni.”

Rosetta looked at her cousin curiously.

“Is he so wonderful a lover?”

The Princess rose to her feet. There were people moving around, and she waited until they were out of earshot.

“Come, Rosetta,” she enjoined, “the car will be waiting, and we have seen your bucolic young man play tennis, which I suspect is why you brought me here. As for Matorni,” she added, dropping her 42 voice a little, “we do not talk of him any more, if you please, even though this is not Italy. I think it never wise even to breathe his name in a public place.”

“Frightened of your own lover!” Rosetta smiled.

“Fear is not the word where one loves,” the Princess replied. “I may fear, though, what he represents.—Von Grezzner lunches to-day, but it will be better if we do not wait for him. This place begins to have the air of Geneva.”

“Better, too, that we do not discuss tennis at luncheon,” Rosetta observed.

The Princess smiled faintly.

“I think,” she said, “that the Baron makes use of sport only as a means to an end. In any case, he will have graver matters to discuss.”