Читать книгу Six Days - Glyn Elinor - Страница 13
ОглавлениеSIX DAYS’ LEAVE
As Laline and her aunt and the Whitmores, and Jack, waited in line for their passports to be examined next morning, the girl thought that she caught sight of Major Lamont quietly going out of the opening which would lead to the tug’s gangway. Perhaps he was going just to look at things, because of course, if he were really landing he would need to have a passport examination like everyone else. Laline did not know anything of diplomatic passports.
Then she was very annoyed with Jack, who diverted her attention for a few moments—for it must have been then that David must have returned, and gone up the stairs—because she saw no more of him, either on the ship or in the tender.
So he had gone—out of her life for ever. She had not known one could suffer so much. She hated France—of what interest could all these new things be?
She did not really take in anything which was said to her.
Finally, they got into the train and she sank into her seat. They would not be starting for another hour.
She gazed idly out of the window. She could see a road—and what was that?—A motor car! A very smart Rolls Royce. And Major Lamont in it!—Surely it was he? She could not have been mistaken. How had he got there? How had he possibly landed without their knowing it, and not bothered with the Custom House, and just sailed off in that nice car? She was full of mixed feelings, but chief among them was the fact that France suddenly became of more interest to her—and especially the thought of Paris. Perhaps he would be in Paris. Perhaps she would see him again after all.
She did not breathe a word of her discovery to Jack or her aunt, who believed that Major Lamont had gone quietly on to Southampton. But presently she asked Jack, casually, how long it would take to get to Paris by motor, and why had they not thought of going that way?
The whole journey now became one longing to reach their destination, for Laline. Jack tried to point out to her the quaint French architecture, which he had believed would have greatly interested her, and which would have done so had her whole undisciplined mind not been set upon David Lamont.
As the long day drew to a close, and Paris was reached, she was tired and quiet. They were going to the Ritz, of course. Jack had arranged everything.
By the next morning, refreshed and blooming, and lovely, Laline came down with her aunt to luncheon in the garden. It was full May, and a sudden rush of warmth had made everyone believe real warm summer had come.
The chestnuts were fully green and blossoming, the air was soft and fresh, and the intoxication of Paris seized the girl, and, in spite of being in love with an indifferent bear, whom she might never see again, she felt her spirits rising.
But what a nuisance that she had not realized that the outlines of the heads in Paris would be quite small, not a mass of curly hair like hers, and that the skirts would not be quite so short. Celestine must have up the coiffeur before dinner, and must learn exactly the geste. She rather pulled in her tiny feet, too, because she saw instantly her shoes were too long and pointy.
Laline was one of those people who immediately appreciate every nuance of dress, and who, in twenty-four hours, would acquire the exact look of the last fashion, even if she had lived in Timbuctoo all her life. She was one of the most beautifully turned out soignée créatures the modern world could produce.
The afternoon should be spent in the Rue de la Paix shops and wherever were the other great establishments. She would never be a minute behind the times.
Until this period of her existence the care and beautification of her body and its adornment had meant the chief thing in her life, but as her soul was not really banal, its rebellion had shown in her unrestful discontent.
They were at one of the tables just beyond the restaurant windows, in the Ritz garden, and all the new atmosphere and the aspect of the people around was filling Laline with interest and food for thought.
“By Jove, there is David!” cried Jack, surprised. “He really is a corker! How the deuce did he get here? I thought he was in England.”
The most brilliant rose pink flooded Laline’s cheeks. Where—where was he? She could not see him.
She tried to control her excitement and follow the direction of Jack’s eyes, and, yes, at last she saw him, rather at the other end standing by an entrance door, looking down the garden towards them.
How smart he was in town clothes! What a gentleman! How distinguished! How adorable! Alas!
He caught sight of the party and bowed calmly, but did not attempt to join them.
Laline’s excitement increased. It was this element of uncertainty which caused the powerful effect upon her.
Never had she the satisfaction of feeling secure in one single particular in regard to Major Lamont.
If he had been merely an insolent and indifferent society person he could not have thus concerned her. It was that strange thing—the magnetic force of a dominant personality—which, being the real thing and not a pose, made itself felt by everyone approaching it.
She knew instinctively that David was in reality everything which she could respect, however his outward indifference annoyed her.
As he had been smoothly rolling onwards in the Ambassador’s Rolls Royce, which had been sent to meet him at Cherbourg—they were old acquaintances—he had been dispassionately reviewing the situation which had arisen. It seemed as though Fate had deliberately thrown him into the arms of temptation as he had left the Ministry at Washington. From the very moment that the trust had been confided to him, a new element had come into his life as though to try him and distract his attention.
He must carry the message to Garcia. He must not allow any new interest to hold him until that was completed.
He knew as he sped through France’s green country, the air laden with the scents of springtime, that he was more attracted by Laline Lester than he had been by any woman but Cristobel Agincourt in his life. And what a failure she had turned out to be!
This little honey of his own nation might not eventually prove a failure, he mused. He had seen once or twice flashes of a spirit in her, aiming at something beyond the trivial social round—that ridiculous treadmill where false points of view seemed for ever revolving in a circle—everything that was fine or serious or of true cultivation just rushed at as a fad and then dropped for a still newer craze. No purpose, no real aim, no constructive policy.
“Half her force gone on how she can beautify herself, cut out her friends, and be up to date. The other half, stultified by the craving for love and truth and nature, utterly unsatisfied.”
If he had only time he could find extreme pleasure in endeavouring to discover if there was real gold of character underneath—but he must carry the message to Garcia. He would try not to see her again before he was through with that.
His appointment with the Ambassador was for eleven o’clock the next day.
He went up to his usual rooms at the Ritz, but not at the hour that the Greening party arrived—so there had been no meeting.
And the evening he had spent in a careful arranging and classifying of his papers.
He arrived at the Embassy exactly on time on the Wednesday. And the Ambassador saw him immediately, and they had an hour’s talk of deeply satisfactory nature to both men—and at the end of it his Excellency had said:
“So you have six whole days’ leave from to-morrow, Major Lamont. Do exactly what you please in them, have a good time, and forget all about your work, only report here to me next Tuesday at twelve o’clock, ready to start at a moment’s notice—and from Rome onwards you become an unknown unit!”
David expressed his thanks.
“I wanted to go and have a look at the battlefields.”
“In that case let me lend you a very fast two-seater which is lying idle in my garage. I have always meant to make some record spins when I had time.”
David found this entirely to his taste.
“I want you to dine with us to-night, Lamont. We have a state function for a certain royalty and his wife, who still may be of some use to you in the Near East—8.30 o’clock sharp, and afterwards dance in the opening quadrille with my niece, Mrs. Hamilton. We are going to have the first after-War ceremonial show. Most of us have forgotten quadrilles. It is her Royal Highness’s wish that one is danced, and you, I expect, know the ropes.”
And as David turned away from the door of the Ritz garden he half wondered to himself if Laline would be at the Embassy, and if so—if——
He had six days in which he had been given permission to forget duty!
Six days held a good many possibilities. If she was at the Embassy he would take that as an omen that he might amuse himself. If she was not, then he would not bother with any women during the time.
Laline’s heart had sunk down into her ten little toes when she saw David bow calmly and not attempt to come to them. She felt small and of no account, here in a strange land, unexalted by one of the things which lent her poise in her own country, the knowledge that she was in every way perfection. On the contrary, she was conscious that her hair stuck out in too many curls, and her shoes were wrong, and that probably she had just a touch of the provincial in her aspect. Just as her friend Mollie Beaton had told her everyone feels when first they reach Paris, no matter from what hubs of the universe they have come.
“There is a difference, of course,” she admitted, “but it sha’n’t show on me long.”
However, these two things together depressed her.
Before they had finished luncheon a note was brought to them from the Embassy. Mrs. Randolph, the Ambassadress, was an old friend of Mrs. Greening, and was aware of what would be the date of their arrival.
It was to greet aunt and niece and invite them to the ball that same night for the foreign royalty; they were to telephone to her directly on receipt of the letter.
Mrs. Greening was enchanted to obey the request, and in a conversation with her old friend secured Jack an invitation.
“So very much nicer to have a man of our own with us, Laline,” she said.
And Laline agreed. But she was not thinking of Jack or anyone—only wondering if David would be there?
The American Embassy! It was quite possible, although perhaps, as the party was for royalty, they might not ask just a simple major over here on a holiday.
Still, the hope would give an extra reason for making her appearance simply stunning.
She would immediately consult Celestine as to what frock to wear, and have the coiffeur to come and practise, all the late afternoon if necessary, to get her head with the very last most distingué look. No more bunches of curls for her. And Paris should be searched for some of the right-shaped silver sandals to adorn her feet.
Then, if David Lamont was there, he would not think she could not do credit to America!
