Читать книгу Royal Regiment - Gilbert Frankau - Страница 47

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There was no renewal of that emotion which might have been fear. Yet, intermittently during the two hours that followed, Rusty Rockingham felt ill at ease.

This feeling, also, baffled analysis. Nevertheless, it grew. Every now and again during a supper for which none of them had dressed, he caught himself thinking, “It’s a good thing you’re off tomorrow”. And when, afterwards, Bryce-Atkinson announced, “It’s about time we were toddling, Di”, he had the strongest impulse to say:

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll go and get my car, too”.

That impulse, he suppressed. Even to suggest that he might leave before the time arranged would imply that he had not been enjoying himself.

And he had been enjoying himself. The Hawk—for all his eccentricities—was a good host. He seemed to have taken a fancy to one. A useful man to have for a friend. A bad enemy, though. Just as well to keep on the right side of the staff ...

But the bustle of the Bryce-Atkinsons’ departure killed introspection; and after their departure Rockingham forgot fear.

“Billiards”, suggested the Hawk then. “You and Camilla play two hundred up—and this time I’ll back my lady wife for any money you like up to a modest fiver.”

“Too energetic.” Camilla shook her blond head. “I’m feeling a little tired. All those people. I think I’ll go to bed right away. What time would you like your breakfast, Major Rockingham?”

“Please don’t bother about any breakfast for me, Lady Wethered. I can easily get it in mess.”

He spoke stiffly. She answered him as a man might have, “What nonsense”.

He was consciously aware, for the first time, of the charm she had for him, and of their wills clashing. But fear still stood away.

“I refuse to let you leave my house starving”, she went on. “We’re an early household anyway. Why don’t you wait and breakfast with Guy? He always has his at eight.”

“When he’s on duty.” Her husband chuckled. “But I shan’t go to Aldershot tomorrow unless this leg of mine’s a damn sight better. Still, you’d better cry ‘Kamerad’, Rusty”.

Rockingham hesitated. She laid a hand on his arm. Resolution melted.

“Eight o’clock would suit me admirably, Lady Wethered.”

“All right.”

She rang the bell, and gave Merivale the necessary order.

“I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry to go to bed, my dear”, grumbled the Hawk. “Stay and talk to us for a bit. It isn’t ten yet.”

She, in her turn, seemed to hesitate.

“Just for half an hour”, she said slowly, and took up her favourite position, hands behind her, back to the fire. Her charm still on him, Rockingham offered her the cigarette tin.

“No. I’m smoking too much.” She shook her head again. “Put on your pipe if you want to.”

“Thanks.”

He lit up. The Hawk said, “So you were bored this afternoon, my dear?”

“On the contrary, Guy. I don’t know which I find more amusing—your army friends or your country neighbours. You see, there’s something very attractive about ... caricatures.

“They’re all a bit that way to me”, she went on. “Like the people I used to read about in English novels. I never thought they were quite real—till I came to live here.”

The Hawk chuckled again.

“Does that apply to Rusty?” he asked.

His question seemed to take her aback; but she recovered herself quickly.

“In a way”, she smiled. “Outwardly, at any rate, Major Rockingham is so very much the British army officer.”

“Only outwardly?”

“Yes. I—I imagine so.”

She fell silent. The Hawk’s eyes switched to the fire. He, too, fell silent. “Falling for him?” thought the Hawk; and there was just a hint of malice in his next words:

“Your turn, Rusty. What do you think of my lady wife? Is she the typical American?”

The answer lagged.

“Go on”, prompted the Hawk. “Don’t be afraid of telling us exactly what you think.”

“Well, hardly.”

“I’m not sure I like this game, Guy”, broke in Camilla.

“Then you shouldn’t have begun it.”

Silence held all three of them. Suddenly, Rockingham felt awkward. His eyes, too, sought the fire. He could only see Camilla’s feet now. She was shifting her balance ever so slightly from one to the other.

Then the feet moved; and she walked to the radio; switched it on; waited for the valves to warm; switched it off again.

“Why must they always be so dreary on Sunday night?” she asked—and tension broke to Merivale’s entrance with the drink tray.

“Major Rockingham”, she said then, “would like his breakfast at eight o’clock”; and, when they were alone again: “I shan’t be up when you leave. But please come again. And next time bring a tennis racket with you.”

She held out her hand. Her hazel eyes were as frank as a boy’s. “I really mean that”, she seemed to be saying ...