Читать книгу The Duke of York's Steps - Sir Henry Lancelot Aubrey-Fletcher - Страница 4

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At half-past four on the same afternoon, Inez Fratten walked into the morning-room of her father’s big house in Queen Anne’s Gate, pulled off her soft hat and threw it on to a chair, shook her hair loose, and picked up a telephone.

“Wilton 0550 ... Is that 27 Gr ... Oh Jill! Inez speaking. Jill darling, come and dine with us tonight and play Bridge. Ryland’s dining in, as he calls it, for once in a blue moon. I’m so anxious that one of his dangerous tastes should have the best and brightest home influence to distract him from—et cetera, et cetera,—you know—sweet young English girlhood and all the rest of it—you’re just exactly it—with a small ‘i’. Yes, Golpin, I’ll have it in here. It’s all right, darling, I’m talking about tea. I say, did you see Billie last night? She was with that awful Hicking man again—you know, the pineapple planter or whatever it is they make fortunes out of in Borneo or New Guinea or somewhere. Billie’s simply fascinated with him because he’s got a ruby tooth—she follows him about everywhere and says awful things to make him laugh—he thinks he’s made a frightful conquest. They were at the Pink Lizard last night, but you may have left. Who was that exquisite young thing you’d got in tow? No—really—I thought he was a pet. Well, you’re coming, aren’t you? If you want a cocktail you must have it at home because father’s joined an anti-cocktail league or made a corner in Marsala or something. So long, my Jill. Eight o’clock—don’t be late, because we won’t wait. Poitry.”

Inez put down the telephone and walked across to the fireplace. There was a small Chippendale mirror above it and she was just tall enough to see into it while she ran her fingers through the soft waves of her brown hair—peculiarly golden-brown, lighter than auburn, but in no sense red. A shade darker were the low, straight eyebrows which crowned a pair of the coolest, clearest grey eyes in the world—eyes that looked at you so steadily and calmly that you felt instinctively: “lying is going to be an uncomfortable job here.” For classic loveliness her chin was perhaps a thought too firm, her lips not quite full enough, but when she smiled there was a bewitching droop at the corners of her mouth that relieved it of any suspicion of hardness. Altogether it was a face that not only caught your eye but took your heart and gave it a little shake each time you looked at it.

“Mr. Ryland told you he’d be in to dinner, didn’t he, Golpin?”

The pale smooth-faced butler, who was making mysterious passes over a tea-table with a pair of over-fed hands, indicated in a gentle falsetto that such was indeed the case.

“We shall be four altogether; Miss Jerrand is coming. Oh, I say, take that ghastly green cake away and bring some honey and a loaf of brown bread, etc. I’m hungry. And you’d better tell Mr. Mangane that tea’s ready—not that he’s likely to want any.”

But in this respect Inez appeared to be wrong. She had hardly helped herself to butter, honey, and a thick slice of brown bread when the door opened and her father’s secretary walked into the room. Laurence Mangane had only taken up the post a month or so ago and as he did not as a rule dine with the family—Sir Garth liked to be really alone when he was not entertaining—Inez had seen very little of him. He seemed presentable enough, she thought, as he walked quietly across the room and dropped into a chair beside her. He was rather tall and dark, with a thin black moustache that followed the line of his upper lip in the modern heroic manner.

“Afternoon, Mr. Mangane. Strong, weak, sugar, milk? I thought you didn’t like tea.”

“I don’t. Weak, sugar, no milk, please.”

Inez’s hand, waving the Queen Anne teapot, paused above a pale-green cup.

“If you don’t like it, why on earth do you ... ?”

Mangane smiled.

“Because I want some tea,” he said.

Inez looked at him for a moment, the shadow of a frown flickering across her face. Then, with a shrug:

“Distinction’s a bit too subtle for me. Anyhow, help yourself. Is father being kind to you?”

“He’s being wonderfully patient. It must be infernally trying to a busy man to have to explain what he’s talking about.”

“But you’ve had financial training, haven’t you? Father said you’d been with Sir John Kinnick. I thought you probably knew all about it.”

“I thought so too; it’s been a thoroughly healthy and humiliating experience for me to realize that I don’t. Your father’s in a class by himself, so far as my experience has taken me up to now. He sees things from an entirely different point of view—a sort of financial fourth dimension.”

Appreciation of her father, if Mangane had known it—and perhaps he did at least guess—was the surest way to win Inez’s own approval. It was quite evident that she regarded her father with anything but the tolerant contempt which many of her contemporaries thought it amusing to adopt towards their parents. Sir Garth was a man whom it was possible, and even reasonable, to admire, even if he did happen to be one’s own father. Playing upon this easy string, Mangane had no difficulty in justifying his self-sacrifice in the matter of tea-drinking. He was even contemplating another cup when the spell was broken by the abrupt appearance of a Third Player. The door into the hall opened suddenly and a young man slipped into the room, closing the door behind him with exaggerated silence.

“Ry!” exclaimed Inez. “What on earth are you trying to do?”

Ryland tip-toed across the room with long strides and whispered hoarsely in his sister’s ear.

“Is the Old Gentleman, your father, to house, maiden?”

“No, you idiot; of course he isn’t at this time of night. He does some work.”

“Cruel, fair. But, oh Lord, I breathe again. A bowl of milk or I die.”

Ryland slid into the big chair beside his sister and with one arm squeezed her to him. Mangane, watching in some amazement, had difficulty in repressing a stab of jealousy at sight of the flush of pleasure on the girl’s face. Presumably, this must be Ryland Fratten, her half-brother; there was nothing to worry about.

“Ry, have you met Mr. Mangane? This is my brother, Mr. Mangane.”

“Steady. Half-brother; give the devil his due.”

Mangane nodded in acknowledgment of the introduction, but Ryland struggled to his feet, walked round the tea-table, and held out his hand.

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said. “You’re obviously human. Dune was a machine—and I never found the right butter to put into it. I want all the human beings I can get at headquarters.”

The charm of his smile, rather than the flippant words, melted the slight chill in the secretary’s manner and for a few minutes he remained talking to Inez, while Ryland sat on the sofa, eating chocolate cake and muttering to himself.

“Mangane. Permangane. What play does that remind me of? Oh, I know: Potash and Perlmutter.”

Mangane laughed and rose to his feet.

“You’ve been studying Mr. Pelman,” he said. “Well, I must go and earn my keep. Thank you so much, Miss Fratten.”

When he had gone, Inez turned to her brother.

“Anything the matter?” she asked.

He was silent for a minute, staring at the fire. He looked very slim and young in his well-cut blue suit, but there were dark shadows under his eyes and his skin did not look healthy.

“Why do you ask that?” he said at last.

“Why are you dining here tonight?”

“Is it as bad as all that?—Do I only dine here when something’s the matter?”

She nodded.

“That’s about what it amounts to.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he agreed with a sigh. “And so there is—something the matter.”

“What?” asked Inez, with her accustomed directness. Before he could answer the butler appeared, saying that Mr. Hessel would like to see Miss Fratten if she was not engaged.

“Plagues of his Israel!” muttered Ryland angrily. “Who wouldn’t be a Pharaoh?—only I’d have done the job thoroughly.”

Inez glared at him and told Golpin to show Mr. Hessel in. Fortunately for Ryland there was no time for her to tell him what she evidently thought of him before Hessel appeared in the doorway. With a sulky scowl on his face, Ryland muttered some sort of greeting and was about to edge his way out of the room when Hessel stopped him.

“Don’t go, Ryland,” he said. “I’d like you to hear what I’ve got to say, as well as Inez.”

With none too good a grace Ryland complied. Inez, with unerring instinct, went straight to the point.

“Is anything the matter with father?”

Hessel nodded.

“It’s about that—no, no, my dear, there’s nothing immediately serious,” he interposed hurriedly, seeing the look of almost terrified anxiety on the girl’s face. “He’s quite all right. But something serious will happen if you don’t both help me. How much has he told you about himself?”

“Nothing,” said Inez. “What do you mean? Tell me quickly please.”

“Hasn’t he told you that his doctor has reported badly on his heart?”

“No, not a word. Is it—is he dangerously ill?”

“Not immediately, no. But he will have to take great care. Surely he must have told you he was giving up a lot of his work?”

“Yes, he did,” replied Inez. “But he said it was because he thought he’d earned a little peace and quiet.”

“I see. So you really know nothing. I suppose I’m betraying a confidence, but you’ve got to know now. His heart is in a really bad condition—I don’t know the technical terms, but it is a case of disease. His doctor has told him definitely that he must avoid all strain or undue excitement. Now what do you think he’s done? He’s promised, or practically promised, some ridiculous school friend to go into a gimcrack business with him that will bother him and upset him and do more harm than all the safe, well-oiled work he’s giving up.”

Hessel proceeded to outline the conversation he had had with Sir Garth that afternoon. Inez listened with close attention, occasionally asking a question that showed the clearness of her intellect. Ryland remained silent, but there was a look of uneasiness on his face that first puzzled and then comforted Inez. In spite of all the hard things that he said about their father, she felt that her brother really loved him and that this look of anxiety revealed the true state of his feelings.

“That’s all serious enough,” continued Hessel. “But something that happened this afternoon makes it worse. He had a shock—a motor-bicycle nearly knocked him over—and he had a bad heart attack. I tried to make him come straight home but he wouldn’t—he was as obstinate as a mule—said he must go to a Hospital Board-meeting, though he’d come home afterwards. He ought to be back at any time; I wanted to see you first. Take care of him, Inez,—and you too, Ryland. Don’t let him worry; we simply can’t spare him. Above all stop this madcap Lorne scheme.”

He stopped and looked questioningly at Inez, who nodded.

“We’ll take care of him, Uncle Leo,” she said. “Don’t you worry. Won’t we, Ry?”

But Ryland was sitting with a very white face, glaring at his toes.

“What is it, Ry?” asked Inez, slipping on to the sofa beside him and putting her arm round his neck. “Don’t get upset, old man. He’ll be all right if we take care of him.”

Ryland shook himself and looked at her strangely.

“I’m afraid I ... I wrote to him last night ... It’ll upset him if he reads it now ... I wonder if I can get hold of the letter....”

But once more Golpin, like a figure of fate, appeared in the doorway.

“Sir Garth wishes to see you in his study, Mr. Ryland.”

Ryland rose to his feet and walked slowly to the door. Inez rose as if to follow him, but stopped.

“Ry,” she said, her hand making a slight movement as if of appeal. “Be careful.”

Her brother glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’ll be careful right enough,” he answered. “I can’t answer for the old man. This means a flogging,” he added, with a feeble attempt at humour.

The door closed behind him and Inez turned to Hessel.

“I can’t stop them,” she said. “They’re both as obstinate as pigs. I do wish they got on better.”

“I told your father today that I thought he was hard on Ryland,” said Hessel, “but I suppose he is rather trying in some ways.”

“Oh, he’s rather a young ass, of course. Stage doors, night-clubs, and that kind of thing. As a matter of fact he is really rather keen on the stage himself, apart from its inhabitants; he’s a jolly good actor. I sometimes wish he’d take it up as a profession; good hard work is what he wants more than anything else. He’s perfectly sound really you know; he’s not a rotter.”

“I’m sure he isn’t, my dear,” said Hessel, patting Inez on the shoulder. “And he’s a lucky young man to have a sister like you to fight his battles. Well, I must be going; I ran away early from school to come and talk to you and I must go and do some overtime now to make up for it. Besides, I don’t want your father to catch me here telling tales.”

When he had gone, Inez sat for a few minutes in gloomy silence, then jumped up, shook herself and turned on the loudspeaker. A jazz-band was playing ‘When father turned the baby upside down’ and Inez danced a few steps to its lilting tune. Suddenly, through stutter of drums and moan of saxophones, Inez heard the front door close with a crash. She stopped for a moment, as if hesitating what to do, then flew to the window and flung it open. Twenty yards down the street she saw the retreating figure of her brother.

“Ry,” she called. “Ry, come back.”

But Ryland, if he heard, took no notice; she saw him hail a taxi, jump into it and drive away. For a moment she hung out of the window, watching till the cab whisked round a corner out of sight; then turned forlornly back into the room.

“So father kissed his baby on its other little cheek ...” yelled the jazz soloist.

Inez picked up a book and hurled it at the loudspeaker. “Oh, shut up, you filthy fool,” she cried.

The instrument crashed to the floor and was still; Inez flung herself on the sofa and buried her face in her arms.