Читать книгу Six Days - Glyn Elinor - Страница 12

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Celestine could not think what could be the matter with her much-loved mistress and baby. Celestine knew her every thought almost, and, with her mixture of natural French intelligence and acquired American shrewdness, she divined that something had occurred concerning “ce Major Lamont,” who she was well aware occupied most of her lamb’s thoughts.

She had taken pains to acquaint herself with Fergusson—no easy matter!—and she had endeavoured to find out from him something of his master’s character. But beyond gaining a general impression, the result of deductive methods, that David Lamont was someone to respect, she had been able to glean no concrete information as to his status in life or his plans—even the port he intended to land at. They might be getting off at Cherbourg or, again, they might not, Fergusson told her.

For her dear little mistress to be really in love with such an unknown quantity, such a drop of quicksilver, was unfortunate, to say the least of it. Only the thought that those of her nation were not so likely to feel to the extent that Europeans would under the circumstances comforted her. She had seen too many cases of “crazy for” and in and out of love occurring among the friends of the Lester family to be gravely apprehensive of serious consequence now; only, to start a first visit to Europe extremely in love with a difficult and recalcitrant member of her own nation about whom they knew nothing, might spoil Mademoiselle’s pleasure and prevent her gaining the full benefit of the trip.

Celestine hoped her young mistress would marry a European. American husbands were the perfection if you wanted kindness and generosity, with no mental emotion. But from a watch of the characteristics of her beloved baby she knew that she needed more than that, and, with a Frenchwoman’s belief in the one and essential thing—love—and with her knowledge of American habits and customs, she felt it would be better to try and find them in a husband than in the inevitable lover, who was always fortunately forthcoming after mariages de convenances in France.

Laline had been her darling—her golden-haired fée—from the moment she had taken service with her tiresome, nervous, drugtaking mother, when Laline was but five years old. And to see her happy and well established was her one desire.

She had carefully observed Major Lamont on two occasions when chance had placed her near him, in arranging the cushions and rugs at the chairs, and he had been talking to Captain Lumley before the ladies actually came up on deck.

He was really not very like the usual American, she decided, in his methods and in his complete absence of self-consciousness. “Il est plutôt comme un grand seigneur Européen,” she admitted, as arrogant and sure of himself as one of those not-altogether-very-much-loved English.

But then, it was that assurance, that indifference which, alas! women adored. He was terribly handsome, too—bel homme—and probably would make a passionate lover, just as though he were French.

Thus it was obvious that he was dangerous, and that she must détourner her Mademoiselle as much as possible from interest in him.

He was evidently not the kind to make for the happiness of women.

If eventually nothing more suitable turned up, after a year in Europe, Captain Lumley would do as a husband for her mistress, because by then, if no emotion had passed her way, it would be wiser to settle down. To be an English Countess, in the future, was no bad thing. Quelque chose solide—something to be depended upon. In these days when nations were being unsettled and aristocracies were being overturned, one had better grasp what one could of reality!

But as she did her sweet little lady’s hair for dinner some vague feeling of trouble oppressed her.

Laline was indeed in no amiable mood. What a beast! What did he imagine that she was? She thought over every word that David had used, and then she was obliged to own that he had not once said he was going to work—only that he only meant to allow himself an hour for amusement. The insolence of it—the impossible impertinence!

Then justice made her realise that he had not really pursued her at all on board, and that every move in the game had been entirely of her contriving. It was she who had asked him to go up on the boat deck, not he who had implored her to walk there.

Her cheeks suddenly burned then, and her eyes flashed fire, and Celestine exclaimed “Mais comment donc, Mademoiselle, ma chérie!”

“Nannie,” Laline said, “I am in the hell of a temper and I want to murder Major Lamont.”

Celestine nodded comprehensively.

“Il est difficile,” she said.

“Difficult! Mon Dieu! He is impossible—of an insolence which no woman could put up with. I shall never speak to him again.”

“That is well.”

“Why is that well?” a little antagonistically.

“Because he is not of a docility like the usual members of Mademoiselle’s entourage. He can be made to wear no bridle, and so for happiness it were wiser for Mademoiselle to let him go by.”

Laline clenched her hands.

“But the worst of it is, Nannie, honey, the ones who won’t be bridled are the only ones worth bothering about. I am sick of moche, and the Willemon Dodges, and the Jack Lumleys, and the Potter Greys. He is horribly fascinating.”

Celestine shrugged her shoulders. The movement said everything. Women were unreasonable—they wanted midday at fourteen hours. They found men insolent when they were what they desired, and “moche” when they were not insolent, and not what they desired. There was nothing for it but a shrug.

“Yes, I know—” said Laline.

“What does Mademoiselle mean then to do?”

Laline lay back with her golden head supported on her beloved Nannie’s ample bosom, and said slowly, tears coming into her eyes:

“I love him. That’s all!”

“Tiens! tiens!” protested Celestine. “All love passes. Let it pass soon.”

“But I want him.”

“Quel malheur!”

“You think I should be unhappy with him?”

“A slave—but merely a slave. Mademoiselle has perhaps not observed the mouth of the Major?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Not for kisses.”

“Not—for kisses!” And Laline gasped. Suddenly a wave of strong emotion swept her. Not for kisses, when, not three-quarters of an hour ago, he had held her lips in the most divine kiss that could be dreamed of in Paradise!

“That is the perfectly terrible part of it, Celli. He is just for the only kisses worth having on earth.”

Celestine’s eyes said quite plainly, “Has Mademoiselle, then, experienced one of these convincing things?” But she was too well mannered to ask a question in words.

Laline covered her face with her hands. Then she jumped up, finished her dressing rapidly, and went into her aunt’s cabin.

“I’ve sent up to ask the Whitmores to join us on our last night,” that lady announced, “and they have accepted. Although they had thought of inviting Major Lamont themselves, we must ask him, too.”

“Not a bit of it!” exclaimed Laline. “Let the bear alone. He’d probably refuse anyway.”

“I thought you liked him, Laline?”

“He bores me now. I walked on the top deck with him after tea.”

“That is why Jack couldn’t find you, then. He was so upset, poor boy.”

“Oh, it does men good to hurt them!” Laline responded savagely, and went back to her own state-room.

That was a mercy the Whitmores were coming. And she would just flirt with the old Judge for all she was worth.

Meanwhile, David Lamont, in his cabin was smoking one of his rare cigars.

The hour—especially the end of it—had been perfectly delicious. What a little sweetheart the girl was! And not cold either! Oh, no—not the least cold. What a skin! What eyes! And what lips!

What an awful pity she had been brought up in that fluffy modern way—perhaps if a darling, wonderful woman, like his own beloved mother, had had the training and disciplining of her, and taken her backwards and forwards to Europe, as he himself had been taken and disciplined, and taught in his youth, she might have grown into a real woman with a sense of responsibility and of the fitness of things. She might even, as it was, at some future period, when he was not so busy, be worth studying to see if there was gold beneath.

“But it is their darned attitude of mind, these modern girls, which gets me,” he concluded to himself, “imagining they are the superiors of all men, and that we are just to obey any of their whims. Poor Jack is a warning to one!”

He did not feel the least contrition for his action. He knew Laline was no timid, trusting country flower whom he must carefully not lead astray. He believed that she was as equally well-equipped as an opponent in the game of flirtation as he was himself.

But now, until he should have returned to Paris after the two months’ duty was over, and he could, perhaps, look Mrs. Greening and her niece up in England, he must have no further intercourse with them; he must put his whole mind upon his work ahead. He had mastered a very difficult code he had been given at Washington, but there remained one or two aspects of the nation with which he would have to deal which it would be advisable to study more deeply.

He read for half an hour, stretched upon his sofa, but he was unable to prevent his pulses bounding every now and then, when the remembrance of Laline’s soft lips would obtrude itself between the pages.

“I’ll have to take a hold on myself,” he said.

The Greening-Lumley-Whitmore party were seated at their table and at a second course when he sauntered into the restaurant.

Laline’s place faced him if he chose to turn his head—if not, she could always see his profile—and not a line or expression of it was unknown to her, after a watch of five days! And to-night she had that uncomfortable hot sense of pins and needles at the tips of her fingers when she caught sight of him coming in and every time she permitted herself to look at him.

There was such easy grace in all his attitudes; his olive skin was so clean and refined. She had grown even rather to like the bluish mark where he shaved his black beard! But what impudent indifference he was showing to-night! He had a book with him! She grew more and more nervous—and more and more attracted!

Judge Whitmore felt it was a pity she was so stupid, for such a pretty girl! She had not had the wits to carry out her intended plan of flirting with him.

Mrs. Greening seldom observed what was going on around her, and was never uninterested in her food. So the dinner passed as a usual one to her.

Jack Lumley, being fine of perception, was painfully aware that his beloved lady was hopelessly distraite and the fact that she had been somewhere for an hour with his friend David alone, must have something to do with it.

What had they said—or done?

David was probably abominably casual and irritating and had wounded her feelings in some way—so all that he himself could do would be to show extra devotion, and be as soothing as possible, even though she showed signs of treating him pettishly almost whenever he spoke.

Love, for Jack, always meant devotion.

David finished his meal before the larger party, and retired at once with his book to a comfortable chair in the saloon, and there they could see him ensconced and absorbed in the pages, when, quite late, they came down there from the restaurant verandah where they had had coffee.

Would he not speak to them at all before going to bed?

Laline felt so unhappy by now, she had lost all resentment. Her heart was as heavy as lead. They would get in to Cherbourg quite early in the morning and would probably catch the first train after all. Everyone was speculating about it, as usual, on the last night.

Was he going to get off, or was he going on to Southampton?

It was a perfectly awful thought that a man who had held her in his arms, and given and taken from her the fondest, longest kiss, should be sitting there perfectly indifferently, and that she should not know if they would ever meet again—and she was not even certain if he would say good-night.

She became so nervous at last that she had to hold her little hands together. They were not white as usual, but purplish pale with icy cold.

Jack sensed that she wanted to speak to David.

“I wonder what that old bear is reading so deeply,” he said. “I think I’ll go and stir him up.”

Laline watched, and saw, when Jack reached his friend, that he had to be literally shaken from his book. He was not acting, then; he was really interested in it.

The pain seemed to grow round her heart. But there was rage, too.

If she had known, David had had a hard fight with himself more than once to keep his attention. Visions of the upper deck and the half moon, and the possibilities would come to him. But this is where discipline came in. He had no intention of succumbing to desire, and he had the intention to show no further interest in Miss Lester.

“Come and have a farewell drink, David, old boy. The ladies want to say good-bye to you. You are going on to Southampton to see your tailor in London, I think you said?”

David made no reply to this, but, in a kind of reluctant way—almost as though he were being dragged—he got up and followed Jack back to the group in one of the little alcoves.

He was perfectly polite and ordinary to everyone. He talked to Mrs. Whitmore most, perhaps, and then listened attentively when she returned it with nineteen to the dozen—a long story of where she had left her keys.

“What a frightful bore she is!” thought poor Laline. “How does she dare to think Major Lamont is interested in her horrid old keys!”

She could hardly keep back tears. She had become so temperamental that if it had been any one else but David there, she would just have had a breakdown, and rushed off to her state-room. But she would not have dared to show any foolish emotion before him. That, indeed, would be the end of things!

They drank champagne, and she deliberately lit a cigarette, which she had hardly ever done in the last days, when David was near. He must see that she, too, was indifferent! But he did not appear to see anything. He was just aloof.

“If I stay another minute I shall snatch her up and carry her out on to the deck and kiss her to death!” he was thinking, so he rose and, wishing them all a casual good-night, went on to his cabin.

Laline had a sensation that she was going to faint. Jack came to her rescue, and said some cheery thing, and then suggested that she must be packed off to bed, to be up in time in the morning.

And, because her aunt did not appear to be wanting to stir, he led her off by herself.

But when he said good-night to her at the state-room door his kind eyes were full of fondest concern:

“Baby—darling!”

She burst into tears.

“Oh! Jack! you are the greatest dear in this world!” And then she went in and shut the door.