Читать книгу All Else Is Folly - Peregrine Acland - Страница 15

Some four months later, among the women and officers strolling about in the entrance of the Savoy Hotel, in London, stood Falcon. He glanced anxiously at the faces of each couple that entered the hotel through the revolving door, and from time to time looked at his wrist watch.

The black Glengarry which perched cockily on the right side of his head seemed less dark than his bright black hair. His swarthy face glowed with gross good health. Below his broad khaki jacket was a kilt of a dark green plaid with a line of silver running through it, and below the kilt was a pair of knees like columns of bronze.

Everything about him seemed to be built for action except his large, grey, meditative eyes.

During the intervals when he was not watching the doors his eyes relaxed into a dreaminess which suggested less concern with the many-coloured spectacle before him than with the thoughts inside his head. It was only as newcomers entered that he appeared to rouse himself from reverie by spasmodic efforts.

Alexander Falcon was by turns curious, embarrassed and amused at the thought of the meeting that was coming. This luncheon with Elsie Roberts and her fiancé would certainly mark the end of an episode. And that episode as certainly marked the end of a stage in his own development.

In his devotion to the blue-eyed, fair-haired Phyllis Howard, in Canada, he now saw that he had been nothing but a dreamy youngster distantly worshiping an immature Diana. His adoration might have blazed into fire if the War hadn’t placed three thousand miles of sea between them. But during those dreary months of training in England he had yearned for something more comforting than the consciously clever letters of a young girl who knew so much more of books than of life.

Never had he endured lonelier evenings than those which he spent sitting on the edge of his cot, in camp on Salisbury Plain, as he wrote on a knee-held pad by the flickering light of a candle, while the rain pattered on the canvas of the condemned army tent and occasional drops dripped through onto his hair or down his neck.

The feeling of loneliness that gathered during the whole day came to a head in those evening hours. For he felt by himself even when most in the midst of a crowd — at company and battalion drill, on the rifle ranges, at sword exercises, in the regimental mess. He felt himself far removed in his interests and in his nature from these alert, snappy young subalterns. To them he must, he knew, appear deliberative, slow-moving, clumsy.

Yet, surely, he had already packed more action and adventure into his life than had most of them.…

Still impatiently scrutinizing each couple that entered the hotel, Falcon glanced again at his wrist watch. Seventeen minutes after one! And Elsie had said she and her fiancé would arrive at one sharp.

What would this fiancé be like, and how would he regard one of Elsie’s former “friends”? After knowing a girl so intimately as Falcon had known Elsie in the last two months, it would be curious to meet the man who was to marry her. Just how much did the man know?

Stanley Hunter’s face, as shown in the photograph on Elsie’s mantelpiece, was certainly not that of a simple and gullible spirit. His high, narrow forehead, long, sharp nose and small, pointed ears suggested a fox. The twinkle in the eyes and the wrinkle at the corner of the lips hinted that the fox had a sense of humour.

Of course, he might know everything — and chuckle at it. From all the stories that Elsie had told about him, Stanley Hunter must be a cynical devil.

Elsie was in love with Stanley, there was no doubt about that. Her “business career,” as she laughingly called it, hadn’t been long enough to kill her craving for romance. And in Stanley she had found her hero. She was not merely enamoured, she was infatuated … madly. On many mornings Falcon had a hard time to keep from exploding into laughter as he and Elsie balanced on their knees a tray of tea and toast and bacon and she wriggled her toes and talked about the great and glorious Stanley Hunter.

Falcon could quite understand Hunter marrying Elsie, whatever she had done. He had come uncomfortably close to asking her himself — would have, in fact, if she hadn’t prevented him by telling of her engagement.

She was like — she was like …

His eyes, roaming over the figures of men and women in the entrance of the Savoy, paused.

Well, she was a good deal like that tall, slim, dark-haired girl in the snug-fitting black suit with the touch of white at the throat, who was standing across the foyer from him now.

Only that girl, while she was not so very tall, was taller than Elsie; and while her heavy black hair and her large dark eyes reminded him of Elsie, her cheeks were ivory-pale, while Elsie’s glowed with health.

On the other hand, this girl, if she did not have Elsie’s abounding vitality, had a wealth of quiet charm.

She drew off one of her gloves to take something from her vanity-bag. It was a delight to watch each movement of her long, delicately moulded hand. He imagined in her an exquisite sensitiveness.

He wondered who she was and for whom she was waiting. Lucky devil!

He, Falcon, would meet Elsie only to say goodbye to her, and that damned loneliness would return. Nothing but loneliness and then … France.

The tall, pale girl smiled, her eyes sparkled, as a captain in a Rifle Regiment who had just entered the hotel crossed over to her. A handsome man, but too full fleshed. His flushed face indicated that even this early in the day he had been doing himself too well. As he spoke to the girl the smile faded from her face, her eyes saddened.…

Then Falcon noticed her no more.

Dashing through the door came a girl in a dark red suit and toque — bright cheeks, big black eyes and a throat of creamy whiteness. Following her a tall, lean-faced, red-haired British officer of thirty-odd strolled leisurely, quietly humming, as if nothing mattered much these days.

Elsie was breathless and sparkling.… The clear music of her voice charmed Falcon, as it fascinated him when he first met her. That was three months ago, on a weekend leave shortly after the First Canadian Division had arrived in England.

They went in to lunch, Elsie animated, Falcon uneasy, Captain Hunter amused.

“You have heard, of course,” said Captain Hunter, “that Elsie has promised to make an honest man of me?”

“Yes,” said Falcon, a little stiffly. “I have heard.”

“Can’t you possibly come to our wedding?” pleaded Elsie. “The day after to-morrow. There’ll be hardly anybody there but a few of Stanley’s brother officers. And, of course, my father will come down from his farm in Yorkshire.”

“It’s charming of you to ask me, but I have to go back to Salisbury to-night. It’s my last night of leave.”

“Lucky dog to be going back to Salisbury,” said Captain Hunter. “In four days I go back to France.”

“I wish I were going with you,” said Falcon. “It’s such a bore in the training camp, waiting to go out.”

“It’s a worse bore in the trenches,” said Captain Hunter, “waiting to get pipped.”

“At any rate, Stanley darling,” said Elsie, “you can get lots of champagne when you’re behind the lines.”

“Yes … when — and if!”

“How long do you think the war will last?” asked Falcon.

Captain Hunter wrinkled his nose at the question. Then he said:

“It’s over for most of my crowd now.”

For a moment no one spoke.

Then Elsie said to Falcon:

“Stanley says he gets so blue when he knocks about London now. If it weren’t for me he wouldn’t have taken this leave. So, you see, I do some good.”

Captain Hunter smiled. He said:

“Elsie and I are a pair of sinners. We each need one good action to our credit.”

He added:

“Of course Elsie has a long record of benefits conferred.” He winked at Falcon.

Falcon blushed. He had been sitting stiff, expressionless, trying to conceal the mental disturbance which agitated him.

He had thought that his half-dozen week-ends with Elsie had made him a man of the world. They had certainly given him a self-confidence which, curiously enough, had not only changed his attitude to his brother subalterns, but had transformed completely their manner towards him. But now, face to face with this red-headed cynic, he saw himself as merely a shy youngster of twenty-three.

After lunch, Elsie, who had eaten with her usual zest, exclaimed delightedly over her liqueur. It was dark, chocolate-coloured crème de cacao, overlaid with cream — or was it fluffy white of egg? — with a cherry on top.

Elsie said:

“This is topping good ‘angel’s tit,’ Stanley.”

Stanley grinned.

Falcon squirmed. Her frankness had been amusing when he and she were alone. Now … where was her sense of decency?

He alleged that he must be going. He offered a trite excuse … an old friend waiting.…

Elsie, with a smiling frown, said:

“You’re not going, surely, without giving me my … billet-doux?”

Captain Hunter chuckled. He said:

“Rather neat! If you can play with two words of French like that, you really ought to learn the whole language.”

Falcon, looking from Hunter to Elsie, said, stammering:

“I … why … of course …”

Elsie leaped to his rescue.

“Stanley, you run out and find what time the matinee starts. You make Mr. Falcon nervous.”

She looked mischievously at Alec. She added:

“He’s afraid, Stanley, you will find out about my past.”

Captain Hunter shut his eyes and his mouth widened out towards his ears as he shook with silent laughter.

Falcon’s swarthy skin reddened again.

“Well,” said Captain Hunter, rising, “I’ll leave you two alone.” He made an elaborate bow to Falcon, as he added with mock solemnity: “I can imagine no one to whom I could more safely entrust my fiancée.”

“Run along, old dear,” said Elsie.

She turned to Falcon.

“Have you got the cash?”

“Yes, certainly,” he answered nervously, fumbling for his wallet. “Here it is. I’m sorry to be so late about it, but we managed to work in more parties than I expected, and I had no idea there’d be such a delay in getting funds transferred from Canada …”

She cut him short.

“Why apologize?” She counted the three large five-pound notes which he handed her. She folded them carefully, lovingly, and put them in her purse. “I have the money in time to buy my trousseau.”

For the moment Falcon saw Elsie not as a person, but as an institution. His first “adventure” in Canada, undertaken in a boyish attempt to defy convention, had succeeded only in stamping him indelibly with conventional prejudice. It was with a good-looking, stupid Swede.… He shuddered even now as he felt in memory, the embrace of that giant jelly-fish. For days after it he loathed not merely the thought of the woman, but also the thought of himself as her companion. And Elsie, for all her silks and her prettiness and her charm, was only an exalted member of the same passionless sisterhood. Yet, as if in contradiction, there was her fierce devotion to Stanley Hunter.

He said:

“You two are a hard pair to understand.”

Elsie demanded, crisply:

“Why? What’s queer about us? I love Stanley. And why shouldn’t he like me? Three other men proposed before he did. Nice men, too. One of them a ship’s captain …”

“I nearly proposed to you myself …”

Elsie laughed, mollified.

“Yes, I saw that coming. I had to stop you before you became too serious about raising your fallen sister, or I should have slapped your face.… However, you’re a good sort, in your way.… Hello! here’s Stanley back again.”

Captain Hunter smiled down at them like a benignant elder brother.

“Have you two young people settled your differences?”

“We have squared our accounts,” said Elsie, patting her purse.

“This time,” said Falcon, “I really must be going.”

He rose.

“Best of luck, old man,” said Captain Hunter. “I hope they’ll keep you in a training camp till the war’s over.”

“I hope not,” said Falcon. “But my very best wishes to you — to both of you …”

“Wish us long life,” said Hunter. “Not that, these days, there’s much chance of that …”

“Wish us lots of money,” said Elsie.

“Yes,” said Hunter. “A captain’s pay doesn’t go far. But fortunately Elsie is a thrifty house-keeper. She has had plenty of practice.”

Taking the cigarette from her lips, Elsie, with the same sweep of her hand, tossed a farewell kiss.

Falcon mumbled a “good-bye” and strode off.

It was depressing to bid good-bye to the one friend he had made in England. And he had promised Elsie that he would never, under any circumstances, try to get in touch with her again. She insisted on that.…

As he passed towards the door leading out of the restaurant, Falcon noticed the same tall, pale, dark-haired girl whom he had observed earlier in the entrance. She was sitting at a table with the captain of the Prince’s Royal Rifles who had spoken to her then.

Again Falcon envied the fellow. To have a girl of such grace …

He passed near them. The girl’s face showed distress. She wasn’t crying. Her head was held high. But her eyes were wet and her lips quivered.

Falcon heard the Rifleman say loudly, thickly:

“What’s the use of lecturing me? I’ll take my fun where I find it. Every man has the right …”

The Rifle Captain paused. His eyes bulged as he lurched forward. At the blow of his drunken fist, the table jumped, silver clashed against glass. Snarling, he said:

“Every man has the right to go to hell in his own way.”

* * *

While Falcon proceeded on his way towards the door, Elsie, who had been watching the incident from across the room, said to Stanley Hunter:

“Look at that Rifle Captain…. The brute! The poor girl with him is almost crying.”

“His wife, of course. Who else would put up with him?” said Hunter. “I hear she is an American and very charming.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. He is famous.” He added that before the war the fellow was said to have resigned his commission to save himself from being kicked out of the service. “His name is Hollister.”