Читать книгу The Three Lovers - Frank Swinnerton - Страница 15

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With the arrival and circulation of the drinks, Monty's party took a new turn. The noise at first increased, into such a sustained and stentorian buzzing that the sounds would have stunned a newcomer unprepared for such celebrations; but presently the noise so died that the steady downpour of rain could be heard upon the studio's glass roof. The cup was a strong one, mixed by a cunning hand; liqueurs followed; tinklings and small clashes were audible. The party grew quieter. A heaviness began to show in its members. The pallor of some of the guests increased, and with the now great heat of the poorly-ventilated room there came closeness and some discomfort. Only Dalrymple and Frederick Tallentyre (the husband of Blanche—a swarthy man with a mass of dark hair) remained at the buffet; and Dalrymple began to laugh quietly, showing his old yellow teeth.

Patricia looked once at her escort, and if she also had not had the first Benedictine of her life she would have been shocked. As it was she sat still beside Amy, her lips a little swollen and her eyes glowing; almost noisy, but no longer happy as she had been. Any outbreak of noise and dancing would have carried her with it; but these people, with their increasingly white puffy faces and the seriousness which began to overtake most of those present, were no longer adorable. They fell into a monotony of familiar dummies. Even Harry, eager though he was, she saw with less intensity of vision. He was still delightful and gay; but she was surfeited with emotion. Not at all intoxicated, but over-tired, she was now ready for the end of the evening. She even observed the first departure with some gladness. Departures began and continued.

"I say ... I'm sorry ..." Harry was murmuring in Patricia's ear. His hand was upon her wrist. "I say ... we must meet again, you know."

"Of course," she agreed, her face clear and open and full of the sweet candour she was feeling.

"How ... when can I see you?" He was hot and urgent. "I'm awfully sorry, but I promised to see young Rhoda home. But ... I ... er.... When, I mean ... when can I see you. I must.... It's got to be soon, you know." Oh, they were of one mind upon that!

Dalrymple was now alone at the buffet, a benign smile upon his aged face, and his attitude that of one by the world forgotten.

"Any time. Let me know," said Patricia, very gravely, and without coquetry.

"But how can I find you?"

"Amy.... Any way, it's ..."

She was giving him her address when Rhoda appeared against the doorway, all muffled in furs, with her expression one of impatience ill-concealed. Harry shook Patricia's wrist, and made off to the door. He turned as he reached it, and kissed his hand. Patricia, with her head back and her eyes suddenly sombre, waved in return. He was gone. She turned to Amy, who was frowning at Jack Penton. Amy sharply whispered:

"How are you going to get home?"

As if in answer, Dalrymple approached rather lurchingly from the buffet. He smiled ingratiatingly upon the reduced company.

"Where's ... where's my lit ... little ... companion?" he said, coming towards them. It was clear that although he could control his movements he was no longer quite sober.

"No," said Amy, in Patricia's ear.

"I wonder if I might give you a lift in my car, Miss Quin."

The voice was that of Edgar. It was so quiet as to be almost an undertone.

"Oh, do." Amy was the one to answer, for Patricia was dazed.

"Get your coat, then. Will you take her?" Edgar supplemented his instruction with the request to Amy; and the two girls moved quickly away. They saw no more of Dalrymple. By the time they were dressed Edgar was waiting in the hall; and they stood in the doorway together while he started the engine of his car. Two great lights illumined the gravel sweep in front of Monty's house. Then Patricia was in a warm, soft-lighted vehicle, and they were in motion. She pressed back in her place, her head throbbing and her mouth still nervously smiling. It was as though she were flying from all unpleasantness, very tired and happy, with one she trusted and would have trusted with her life.

"And now ..." said Edgar. "Where do we go?"

Patricia was looking back at the doorway. In it she could no longer see Amy and Jack Penton. There remained, silhouetted against the light of the hall, only the figure of Monty; and Monty, so still that he might have been without pulses, stood watching the departure of Patricia and her escort. For her thereafter there was nothing but the soft purring of the engine and the sense of security and safe harbourage against all the elements.