Читать книгу The Silver Thorn: A Book of Stories - Hugh Walpole - Страница 8

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Mrs. Ford arrived: she was a brisk little woman, who stood on her toes and pecked at the world like a bright hard little bird. Very smart in her dress, the impression she gave was that she despised above everything else waste of time. She even clipped her sentences:

‘Well, John, here I am. Leave to-morrow 10.30. Must. Promised the Andersons be back in time for the Anderson girl’s wedding. Poor dear, how odd you look—want some new clothes.’

Her evening meal with the Ivanoffs was a strange business. She talked brightly and sharply, looking just over Madame Ivanoffs shoulder. Madame Ivanoff hated her at the very first glance, which was odd, because Madame Ivanoff never hated people. The whole family hated Mrs. Ford, and she remained for many years after in the minds of the Ivanoff children as a picture of dreadful, devastating tyranny. Uncle Anton also disliked her so much that he would not speak at all during the meal, and was heard to mutter to himself, later in the evening: ‘My poor dear friend! My poor dear friend.’

And this was the strangest part of it that, in the light of the newly revealed Mrs. Ford, the Captain, who had been throughout the winter a terror and a depression, was suddenly a victim. The Ivanoff family discovered that it had really loved him all the time, and to allow him to be carried away in the charge of such a woman was a piercing tragedy. He was going away to-morrow! Why, they would miss him! They were not sure that they were not prouder of him than of any Englishman that they had ever had. Upon that evening there was developed a sudden intimacy, and Mme. Ivanoff could not help looking at him with mysterious glances, and Ivanoff himself was grievously tempted to press his hand.

Meanwhile John Ford was in a strange condition. That impression that he had had on reading his wife’s letter of her unreality oddly persisted. When she spoke to him he felt as though he were looking at something through a looking-glass—take the glass away and the reflection went with it. She was like a memory that he didn’t wish to remember or a photograph of a college cricketing team. Moreover, he knew, quite desperately, that he didn’t wish to go to-morrow. That strange dread that had been creeping daily more close to him was now very near indeed.

‘I shall make an awful ass of myself if I’m not careful,’ he said to himself, looking at his wife.

Before they parted for the night he looked at Uncle Anton and, with a shock of surprise, thought, ‘I believe he is the only man who’s ever really known me!’ He lay sleepless all night beside the unreal body of his wife; his foot touched hers and it was as though someone had asked him to repeat the Latin verses that he used to learn when he was a boy at school. When the early dawn lit her face he felt a sudden impulse to get up and run for miles and miles into the very heart of Russia and there be lost.

He did not run—his training had been too thorough for that—but the parting in the morning was strangely moving. Mrs. Ford said good-bye briskly and with a bright air of relief because she would never see these appalling people again.

‘Come, John, we shall miss our train.’

The Captain stood, looking very English.

‘I’m coming,’ he said.

He seemed to be waiting for her to start down the stairs as though he had got something very special and private to say, but when she had gone, all he said was:

‘Well, well, good-bye, Mrs. Ivanoff—very kind—yes. Well, well——’

He tipped the children; Uncle Anton made a rush at him, stopped half-way, rushed back and closed the door of his room. Captain Ford, with eyes that were for the first time in the experience of the Ivanoffs soft and human, made a dash for the stairs as though he were pursued.

‘Good-bye ... Good-bye ... Good-bye,’ they cried.

They had hired a motor-car and Mrs. Ford was already sitting in it.

‘Well, what people!’ she said. ‘We’ve just nice time for the train.’

The car had started when suddenly the Captain leaned out of the window and stopped it.

‘I’ve forgotten something,’ he said to his wife.

He jumped out of the car, dashed down the street, and was through the door of the building. He rang the bell of the Ivanoff flat. Masha opened it; he pushed past her, and without knocking on the door, broke into Uncle Anton’s room. Uncle Anton was standing, a huge figure, before his window peering down into the street.

He turned round.

‘It’s only,’ Ford, who was breathless, stammered, ‘that I hadn’t—said good-bye.’

He held out both his hands. Uncle Anton took them, then kissed him, gravely, three times. Captain Ford, who had never before in his life been kissed by a man, said, still breathlessly:

‘I’m coming back.... I wanted you to know.... I’m coming back.’

‘Of course,’ Uncle Anton said.

He hurried away and was in the car again.

‘But, John,’ his wife said, ‘whatever! ... The train....’

He said nothing. He stared out of the window. The first warmth of spring was in the air. The streets were running with streams of water, blue from the reflection of the sky. The Ikon above the gate in the Lubiansky Ploshet shone and glittered; the air seemed to be full of a noise of bells and hammers. The row of booths with their dolls and fruit, their hideous china ornaments and their wooden toys, were reflected with all their colours in the pools of water. John Ford drew a deep sigh; then nodded to himself.

He knew that his enemy had made his spring and he was glad.