Читать книгу The Man Who Loved Lions - Ethel Lina White - Страница 15

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With an instinctive dread of turning her back upon him, Ann receded before his advance into the tower-room.

"Why this dimness?" he asked harshly. "It seems someone has a sense of dramatic values...Stop flashing that light in my eyes. I know you are not Isabella. Who are you?"

"Guess," said Ann, snapping off her torch.

As she looked at him under the shaded bulb, her first impression was that he had kept a tally of the years in his face. It was so seamed that, in the dim light, he was not unlike a painted brave. She noticed too that he was possessed by some violent excitement. His pallid skin glistened and there was a curious greenish glare at the back of his eyes. He carried with him a strong sweet perfume as of a funeral wreath.

"You must be Ann," he said, changing his corncrake note to his most charming accent. "And a very lovely Ann. Growing-up has suited you better than some of us. Do you remember how you used to call John a golden boy?"

"Yes," she agreed. "He and Isabella made a perfect pair. A golden girl and a golden boy. I used to hate you when you would quote that bit about them turning to dust like chimney-sweepers."

"Actually I was prophetic. But I haven't welcomed you to our reunion, Ann."

As he held both her hands within his moist palms, the artifice of his stiff grin made his face resemble a vulpine mask.

"I hoped you would come," he said, "to renew old contacts and happy memories. It will be instructive for you to realise what time can do to us. You really must meet John."

"I have," she said curtly.

"Then I am sorry I was not there to re-introduce you. I think that covers everything."

In the old days Ann had been too overawed by her brilliant company to challenge any statement of Richard's. Therefore it was tonic to her self-respect to realise that, in her case, the years had brought courage with clearer vision.

"He seems to have been unlucky in his wife," she remarked.

Richard cackled softly as he picked up the register from the table.

"I see John's characteristic signature is here," he said. "Will you sign, please. I don't want to think I have dreamed you when I wake up afterwards."

When she returned the paper, Ann was ashamed of her scrawl which was as shaky as John's. Conscious of Richard's smile, she tried to explain her nervousness.

"Any one would think I was a hard drinker. Actually I'm so terribly excited about the reunion."

He glanced at her keenly before he spoke in his grand manner.

"I am flattered that my wish to reassemble you all has met with so much response. You must admit I fed and wined my disciples in lavish style. It is natural for me to retain my interest in them now they have passed from my control. Of course, there will not be a full muster. With Isabella, we are four. The betting is no one else will come. But even if one other person turns up, there is bound to be one absentee and probably two."

"That sounds like you," said Ann boldly, forcing her laugh. "You want to crab the reunion in advance. But I am counting to meet every one—or our meeting will be spoilt."

"The faithful heart in real life. Very touching...Where have you been all this time and what have you done?"

"Abroad. The unusual things."

"You've developed some definite character, Ann. I am looking forward to your meeting with Isabella. She's used to playing lead. She—"

He broke off when he discovered that she was not listening to him.

"You appear to have extra keen ears," he remarked. "Can you hear any one on the stairs?"

"Yes." The glow faded from Ann's eyes, "But it's a woman."

"Then it's probably Isabella. I must warn her about my uncle. He is very seriously ill."

Richard delayed his return for a little time. Straining her ears with natural curiosity, Ann caught the sound of a woman's voice cut off in a question. As she listened to the buzz of whispers, she wondered whether Isabella were married to Richard. Her presence at Ganges, while Sir Benjamin was so ill, seemed to point to the fact that she was a resident. Ann remembered too that, in the past, she used to annoy Richard by an assumption of ownership.

There seemed no doubt of the identity of their present interests. When the pair entered the tower-room, the same unholy fire burned in Isabella's eyes, as though to welcome a deferred death.

"Are they waiting for Sir Benjamin to die to get his money?" she wondered. A second thought—darkly dramatic—was instantly crushed. "Are they planning to murder him to-night?"

"Meet little Ann," said Richard with a theatrical wave.

Isabella came forward with outstretched hands. She brought with her light, excitement and glamour. The waves of her blonde hair and her silver lamé gown gleamed under the veiled pendant. At first glance she appeared to have grown more beautiful but as Ann looked closely she felt a sense of loss.

The faerie gleam had vanished from Isabella's eyes. Now they were pure wanton while the lines of her beautiful lips were hard. Gone, too, was her mystery and the fugitive quality of her smile. While she might still blind and bewilder belated travellers, they would no longer confuse her with the Flame which lured them into the bog.