Читать книгу Prodigals of Monte Carlo - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 6

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Hargrave, to pass the time, strolled into a famous hatter’s and made an unnecessary purchase. A quarter of an hour later, he presented himself at the manicuring room, where the manageress greeted him with extreme affability but some surprise.

“I have an appointment with Miss Martin,” he explained, “a slight misfortune to one of my nails.”

She ushered him into the room, where the manicurist was already waiting for him. He withdrew his gloves slowly.

“Which is it?” she enquired, leaning forward from her stool.

“As a matter of fact,” he confessed, “I made a slight mistake. What I meant to say was that I found your polish not sufficient. I prefer them—er—highly glazed—and I should like you to spend another ten minutes upon them. And in the meanwhile, I have something to say to you.”

She looked at him anxiously. The bright light in her pleasant brown eyes had gone; instead there was an expression of cold anxiety.

“It will be nothing,” he added hastily, “to which you could possibly take exception.”

“I am quite sure of that,” she replied, selecting a pad.

“I am proposing,” he went on, “to write a book, and incidentally I am studying various types of life. One meets a great many interesting people during the day, but one very seldom gets to know anything about them—their tastes or desires—because one naturally does not wish to seem unduly curious. Will you do me the favour of answering a question—not, I can assure you, an impertinent one.”

“Of course,” she assented, a little bewildered. “But why come to me, of all people in the world?”

“Because one only comes in touch with a limited number of people of a certain type,” he explained patiently, “and you happen to be one of the few who have interested me. You have pleaded guilty to a distinct distaste for life. I take that as the basis of my questions. In the first place, can you tell me why you are dissatisfied, and in the second place, will you tell me what in the whole world would give you the greatest pleasure at the present time, apart from a direct gift of money, which we will rule out of the question.”

For a single moment, even her mouth lost its beauty. Her lips were drawn rigidly together; a heavy frown gave her almost a morose expression.

“I am depressed, I suppose,” she acknowledged, “because I am full of envy and malice.”

She picked up an illustrated paper, which she had been reading when he came in, and tapped with her finger one of the pages. It was a glittering vision of Monte Carlo, bathed in the sunshine, with girls in shady hats and men in flannels. She tapped it almost angrily and pointed out of the window.

“That is the cause of my depression,” she told him. “To look at them and think of the amazing happiness of it all, then to look out of the window at that cold, grey rain, and to know that by night-time it will probably have become sleet, the pavements will be wet and the wind will come whirling round the corners.”

“Would you like to go to Monte Carlo?” he asked.

She flashed an indignant glance upon him.

“What an insane question!” she exclaimed.—“I beg your pardon,” she added hastily, making an effort to restrain herself, “but of course I should. Don’t we all love the sunshine—and the cruel part of it is that it really does seem as though I were the only person in the world who is not going.”

He looked at her questioningly. She bent a little closer over her imaginary task.

“You know Miss Pownell—Rose Pownell—the short, dark girl who does your nails sometimes. Well, she’s going on Monday for a fortnight—with an uncle. Clara Smith is there already—staying with friends. She sent us a picture postcard only a day or two ago, telling us how wonderful it was. And Maisie Green, the tall girl, with the wonderful coloured hair—she’s going on Friday—to join a married sister. Even Mrs. Ross herself, the manageress, is off to Cannes next week.”

“Have all these young ladies,” he asked, a little diffidently, “the good fortune to possess wealthy relatives?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “They each have their own story and they tell it so often that they almost believe it themselves, but they’re all going with men they met here.”

“And has no one asked you?”

“Oh, they leave me alone now,” she answered bitterly. “I used to have invitations of sorts once upon a time. Now, I don’t even get asked to the cinema. Perhaps it’s as well. It saves me a great deal of trouble.”

He hesitated.

“You mean, in plain words, that you are paying the price for keeping straight,” he ventured.

“That’s just it,” she admitted, “and on a day like this one begins to wonder whether it’s worth while. All the same, it’s a cruel and beastly world.”

He sat for several moments in silence. Presently she continued. Her tone was half apologetic, half sadder than ever, with its attempt at cheerfulness.

“I’m afraid I’ve been boring you,” she said. “This terrible weather has got on my nerves, I suppose. I don’t know what I’m grumbling at. Their way of living wouldn’t suit me, after all, so that’s the end of it.—There isn’t a thing more I can do to your nails. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay, although it seems ridiculous.”

He watched her write out the ticket.

“Would you like to come to Monte Carlo on, say, Thursday week?” he asked abruptly. “And stay there for two months?”

Her fingers trembled as she handed him the slip. The look in her eyes, too, hurt him.

“I’m sorry you asked me that,” she said. “I suppose it was my fault, though.”

He spoke almost sharply—perhaps the best thing he could have done.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he begged. “You haven’t even heard my offer, and I can’t imagine why you should think that I am the sort of man to make an ugly bargain with you for the sake of two or three months’ pleasure. Look at me and be honest. Do you think I am?”

“I didn’t think so,” she admitted. “No.”

“Don’t be absurd then,” he went on. “I am rich. If I told you how much money I am worth, you would think that I was romancing. I told you a falsehood when I said that I was writing a book, but all the same I want to make an experiment. I will explain it later on, but all that you need know now is simple enough. I will take you to Monte Carlo, and a sister or a brother—whichever you have who can be spared. I will pay the whole of your expenses and the expenses of your outfit—yours and your companion’s, of course. I will also arrange for your absence from your occupations. When I have done all this, it will cost me as little in proportion to my income as the shilling or eighteen-pence you have spent upon your luncheon. Now, do you begin to understand?”

“But why should you do this for me?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because,” he answered patiently, “you are the first person whom I have come across who exactly fulfills the conditions, since I determined to make my experiment. I offer you two months in the sunshine, without a thought or responsibility in the world, if you care for it, and I guarantee that so far as I am concerned it shall not cost you a single shred of your self-respect.”

She coloured a little.

“I was silly just now,” she confessed. “Please forgive me. All the same, it isn’t possible. Of course it isn’t possible.”

“Think it over,” he suggested. “I shall take some one else who wants a change, if not you. You’ll be a very foolish girl if you don’t come.”

The vision tantalized her. The light swept across her face. She yielded for a moment to the joy of the idea.

“But—where should I stay?” she asked.

“At my villa, if you are able to bring a brother,” he replied. “If not, I should find rooms for you.”

She opened her lips. More than once afterwards he wondered what it was that she had been about to say. Some thought seemed to flash into her mind. She was a little frightened; she kept silent.

“I am not in a position to offer you a long time to think it over,” he continued. “On the other hand, I can’t believe that you’ll be quite so foolish as to need long to make up your mind. Here is my card,” he went on, selecting one and laying it upon the stool, “and I am going to dine at home to-night alone. You will find me in at any time up till midnight. I shall expect you, and bring with you, if you like, your brother or your sister, whichever is available. Remember that it will not cost you a single penny. There will be no trouble about clothes, and I shall arrange for your absence from your work.”

She was too bewildered even to thank him for the customary tip which he laid upon her stool. He took the ticket from her unresisting fingers, and with a brief “good afternoon” passed out—a tall, distinguished-looking figure, with his long, serious face and air of complete detachment. She sat there with the card crushed up in her hand, looking after him.