Читать книгу Six Days - Glyn Elinor - Страница 8

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Three days passed——

The fight went on. Outwardly David Lamont was the complete victor. Nothing which Laline Lester could do—and her arts were great in the way of allurement—could provoke any response from him.

He talked when he was absolutely dragged into talking with her. He seldom looked at her. He never gave her the satisfaction of knowing that he appreciated her marvellous changes of costume. He made her always have the sensation that she was of no account, a pretty butterfly hardly even important enough to tease! That was the strength of his character. But underneath he was growing to be profoundly affected by her; and, as for the girl, by the last evening before they would get into Cherbourg, she had fallen deeply in love with him.

She had asked Fate to let her feel—and now it seemed her request had been granted.

Jack, with the sixth sense of men who love, felt this, and his brave heart sank. David, he knew, was not the sort of chap to make any woman happy. He was the best of fellows, but action was his motto—not devotion. No woman would ever rule him, and no woman would ever come before his duty or his career. There would be no humouring of caprices with him, no shutting the eye to silly little unbalanced ways and foolish want of logic. Either a woman might display those, and he would treat her with the amount of respect he would give to a mistress, or she would have to curb them all and come up to the scratch as a reasonable being. Even then, would he ever really love her?

Jack looked at him, and was able to see where his charm lay. Strength of character is always magnetic, especially when accompanied by such looks. He was utterly ruthless, and had that distressingly clear sight, uninfluenced by glamour, which precluded the possibility of his ever being merely overcome by the intoxication of passion, to the oblivion of all else, as Jack felt that he himself might be.

And as Jack saw—or, rather, sensed—that Laline was falling in love with his friend, he began to watch and analyze him more and more. He did not feel bitter; his jealousy took a different form. He felt that he must protect his love from something which could not be for her happiness.

On the fourth night out, the two men talked long after the ladies had retired to bed. A sharp wind had arisen, and the giant ship was not entirely without movement.

David Lamont had been probing some characteristics of a mutual friend rather profoundly.

“You size up everything exactly, don’t you, old man?” Jack said.

David stretched himself. He looked so strong as he sat there in the big comfortable armchair.

“Probably. It is a habit I acquired early, and it has been of great use in my work. It is better to relegate things into the places they belong. Men are fools as a rule. They mix up their emotions, and can’t see clearly whence they spring.”

“Yes; especially love emotions,” and Jack sighed.

David laughed shortly.

“About those, the thing is to ask yourself clearly is it that part of you—your will or spirit, or whatever you like to call the thing which means the divine—or your physical needs a woman is appealing to. When you have decided that, then you can let rip and only concentrate upon defending the one aspect. It is because most of us won’t face any truth that we allow the insidious call of sex to obstruct our judgment about the spirit, and get enmeshed in the enervating net of women’s physical wiles.”

“The two are so intermixed.”

“No, they are not. The one appeals to the senses alone, and the other is outside that. Take a case of physical disfigurement. No man could stay in love with a woman who had had her nose blown off, for instance. That shows it is all physical. If she had got a soul and a character he might go on loving her even more, but that would be because the physical was not counting with him. All the glamour would be gone, though. If he found he just felt kindly and sympathetic and pitiful—however much he had believed he was in love with her before—then he could be sure he had only cared for the body business. For my part, I dissect the creatures so mercilessly all the time that they can only hold me when every sense is pleased, and if they shock one of these all their charm flies.”

“You’ve never met anyone who could hold you with the other thing?”

“Not yet. I thought I adored a woman in 1919, but the day one of her false curls came off when I was kissing it quenched all desire. If their noses get pink in an east wind, or they show an unbecoming gesture or habit, if their voices squeak, if they smoke so that their breath smells of tobacco, or drink cocktails, or do one single physically disillusioning thing, I am just revolted. Nothing gets by with me. It is awful. I can only see the truth, and am unable to make any allowance. My reason tells me I ought to, as we are probably more revolting to them than they are to us, but I can’t. I see every blemish, and then I don’t register any sensation.”

“Arguing by that, then, you can see as plainly the qualities of the soul—we’ll call it—and would be attracted by them in an ugly physical body?” Jack was very much interested as he asked this.

“I might see them, but love has to begin with the physical, and then become merged into the spiritual. If you see only the spiritual things, you stay platonic. You’ve got to feel passion while knowing that there is gold beneath, really to love.”

“And you have never found such a one, David?”

“Never in my life. In my country the bringing up, and the freedom and want of tradition, turn even the best into selfish ‘cuties’; and in yours the chase after the too rare males cuts their charm. Guess I’ll not find a real mate this side of old age.”

This was comforting. Whatever Laline’s feelings for him might be, they would apparently receive no encouragement, Jack felt.

Next day it was very rough. Laline woke convinced that she was a perfect sailor by now, and rose before her usual time. Some feeling that she could not be hidden in her cabin this last day, when there was no knowing if she would ever see Major Lamont again, once they landed, urged her to get up. She had not been able to extract from him if he were coming to Paris really or going on to Southampton.

Celestine was entirely hors de combat, and Laline was obliged to dress alone. She rammed her gold curls into a soft cap, and put on a big cloak. She was conquering as well as she could a very unusual and unpleasant feeling. The air was all she craved. Where was Jack? Why had he not been to see how she was? She grew peevish, and then she found that it was half an hour earlier than Jack would be naturally waiting for her. He was quite blameless, but she felt just as cross with him as though it had been his fault.

She staggered dreadfully as she got into the corridor. Their state-rooms were on B deck, but she managed to get up the stairs safely. If she could only reach her chair all would be well.

Dimly she perceived Major Lamont coming out of his cabin, which was just at the corner of the square hall on A deck.

What was going to happen?—what awful thing? She felt as though she were dying. He must not see her. Oh! Heavens, not that! She made one wild rush for the open lee-side door—and then subsided into the arms of a friendly steward, who caught her as she fell. But it is best to draw a veil over this experience, which numbers of miserable creatures have passed through on their first voyages across the Atlantic!

David had an idea what was likely to have happened, and, with great discretion, went out on the deck by the opposite side, where the wind was strong, and the sky blue and pitiless. He felt he could not face disillusion.

But presently his walk took him to the lee side. She would have gone below by this time. But, no! There was a huddled little figure all alone, without a scrap of colour in the soft cheeks, and the air of an altogether unhappy child.

Politeness obliged him to stop and say something cheery.

“Oh! do come and take care of me,” Laline almost whimpered. “Jack has never appeared—and I hate it.”

David took the empty chair at her side. He knew Jack was not a bad sailor, and would be with them very shortly. And there was no use in arguing with himself about it—he wanted to sit beside her.

“Keep your eye on the horizon,” he told her. “That makes you feel all right at once.”

“I had no idea the sea could be such a yellow dog.” And a little colour came back into Laline’s cheeks with the joy of having David near her. She was praying now that Jack was ill—bad enough to keep him in his cabin all the morning.

“The sea is as capricious as a woman,” David said.

“I don’t think women are the least capricious. They always know what they want, and generally get it.”

“And then, when their vanity is appeased, they throw the thing away.”

“That is not caprice. That is method and having a sense of values.”

“A thing becomes valueless, then, when you have secured it?” He was amused.

“Yes, often. I hardly even want what I have got, and I long for the unattainable.”

“What an uncomfortable instinct in the home!” And he laughed rather cynically.

“I suppose it would be, but I haven’t a home yet. Auntie and I have given instructions to sell the house in Washington, and if I find I like Paris we’ll settle there.”

“Jack tells me you have taken his cousin’s place—Channings Priory—for the summer. I wonder what the English life will say to you?”

“I shall be crazy about it, most probably.”

“Until something new turns up.”

“Yes.”

“What is that book you are reading there?”

“It is called ‘This Side of Paradise.’ It is awfully like us all, isn’t it? Have you read it?”

He had. He looked at her just a trifle savagely. Was she like those in the book? He hated it somehow.

“Do you let all your partners kiss you like that?” he asked boldly.

Laline forgot that she had felt ill—triumph came to her. “He’s jealous,” she thought. “In spite of himself!”

“No; only the nicest.” And her grey eyes grew enticing.

And a rush of passion came to him. He knew that he wanted to kiss her there and then—and if they had been alone he would certainly have done so—but courageous people were walking up and down, even though two or three chairs beyond them on either side were untenanted, so that no one could hear their conversation.

He bent over her, and for the first time she saw a look in his eye!

Her cheeks were wild roses once more, and it is impossible to know what he would have said, only that at that moment Fergusson came out on the deck and up to them, a Marconigram in his hand.

His manner was one of icy respect—it pulled up his master with a jerk as he took the envelope. He seemed to see the word “Garcia” floating before his eyes!

Fergusson knew the gravity of this mission and his taciturn character would certainly, and rightly, disapprove of any amorous interludes! David felt angry with himself, and rebuked. And very angry with the bewitching little temptress!

He got up rather abruptly after reading the message:

“I must go and attend to this, I’ll beat up Jack and send him to you. Au revoir!” And he strode away into the saloon.

Laline could have cried. She hated Fergusson, she hated Marconigrams! She hated even Jack, who appeared at that moment full of contrition.

“Darling Baby, why did not you tell me you were coming up so early on this beastly morning?”

Tears of disappointment, augmented by unpleasant bodily sensations, were in Laline’s eyes.

David had gone—and what if fate were going to overcome her again—oh! the sea——!

Nothing could exceed Jack’s tenderness and care—he did not run the other way! A mother could not have been more concerned and soothing—and in the back of his mind what David had said about disillusion returned to his memory and he knew more than ever that he loved Laline with everything in him, mind and body and soul—whatever that was that people spoke so lightly of nowadays, and which in his youth had been a sacred thing!

He took her down to her state-room—and helped the stewardess to put her to bed—and then sat there and held her hand until she went to sleep. And by luncheon time the wind dropped and there was every prospect of a beautiful last evening ahead.

David and Jack ate together in the restaurant, neither of the ladies being present. And in his heart each man was thinking of the same thing. How he should spend the time with a certain golden-haired spoilt girl! Jack had made the usual plan. She would come up to tea, and then they would take a walk, and then sit in their chairs and watch the sunset.

David was being deliberate with himself, he meant to allow himself one whole hour’s pleasure. It should be no more than an hour, and then he would cut out the whole thing. He had no intention of being weak, an hour could not hurt any man. He did not make a plan, because he knew he could just take her when he wanted her. Action was his motto.

And the conversation turned upon this.

“You’ll make a perfect husband, Jack. Why haven’t you married?” David said.

“I hope to—someday. I’m devoted to someone!”

“You are a devoted creature altogether, they don’t deserve it. I’m not.”

“No, old son, you represent the cave man—they’ll love you far better than they will ever love me!”

David laughed, he closed his strong hand.

“I suppose I am a brute—I am some kind of dynamic force and I can’t help it.”

Laline determined to make herself look exquisite for tea—in her last steamer outfit. It was a misty grey blue this time, rather dark. She felt quite well again. Celestine had recovered too and could do her hair. Her aunt meant to rest. Therefore she could dress in peace, after a lovely hot bath, and send for Jack to take her to her chair. And if she could not get Major Lamont to make love to her—well—she was not worth a ten cent piece!