Читать книгу Two Black Sheep - Warwick Deeping - Страница 9

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Elsie saw a woman in a bright green frock seated on a black sofa, and her first glimpse of Mrs. Pym reminded her of those brilliant window displays where the light is concentrated upon one figure and one miraculous frock. Even Mrs. Pym’s permanent wave was a perfect product, if somewhat brassy. She was a little woman with high cheek-bones and a high colour, a nose that spread itself into inflated nostrils, a very red mouth that lacked finish and seemed to end in raw edges. Her eyebrows had been plucked. She was smoking a cigarette in a long green holder.

Her eyes were peculiar, and they suggested to Elsie stones that emitted a bluish glare. Mrs. Pym stared at her, and her scrutiny was deliberate and comprehensive, and she was so obviously at her ease that Elsie felt all the more uncomfortable—a thirty-three and eleven product in the presence of the Rue de la Paix.

“Miss Summerhays?”

“Yes.”

“Sit down.”

Mrs. Pym levelled her cigarette-holder at a chair. Her voice had a thin and metallic timbre, and as Elsie moved towards the chair she discovered that there was another woman in the room, a black-and-white lady who sat over the fire in an attitude of sinuous stealth, and who was studying her with oblique and dispassionate candour. This second figure also belonged to the world’s shop-window, and though it was of white wax the wax had a hardness.

Elsie sat down, with her hands clasped in her lap. She was feeling acutely uncomfortable, and her fingers wanted to fidget. She was conscious of the short silence, an appraising silence, and it seemed to last such a long time.

Mrs. Pym addressed her.

“I suppose those people at the agency made everything plain to you. I want someone to look after my kid and give her lessons, and to write my letters, and see to everything when we’re travelling. They tell me you speak French and Italian.”

Elsie gave Mrs. Pym a little nervous smile. Her knowledge of French and Italian had become suddenly a very raw and unfinished accomplishment.

“Yes.”

“Been abroad at all?”

“Yes, twice, when my father was alive.”

She did not say that her exploring of Europe had not extended beyond the Ardennes and the coast of Normandy. Mrs. Pym’s blue eyes were fixed on her, and so were the eyes of the dark and sinuous lady by the fire.

“I can type, and I have a little knowledge of shorthand.”

Mrs. Pym blew smoke.

“I take it you can teach Sally the ordinary stuff?”

Elsie winced.

“How old is your daughter?”

“Seven.”

“Oh, yes, I could manage that.”

“Any references?”

Elsie’s hands wriggled.

“No educational references, but I can give you the names of people who knew my father. I acted as his secretary.”

“Wrote novels, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and Elsie was aware of the two women exchanging glances. The room seemed very hot.

“About terms.”

Elsie stiffened.

“Yes, the agency suggested four guineas a week.”

Mrs. Pym’s blue glance seemed to narrow.

“That’s rather stiff. You see—you’ll have all your expenses paid. I’m offering three pounds a week.”

The woman by the fire was heard for the first time. She drawled:

“That’s about the market price, I think. First-class hotels, Miss Summerhays, and everything de luxe. Really, that’s very generous.”

Elsie fidgeted. What business had this other person to cut in? And she wanted to explain to these two women that her mother was very badly off, but she had a feeling that such explanations would seem shabby and superfluous. She might as well have confessed to these two women that her frock had cost her just so much at Messrs. Vine & Gillingsworth’s.

Moreover, these two women of the world knew so much more about life than she did, and it was to be her first job, and of course travelling with such a woman as Mrs. Pym must be a costly business. Her sensitive and diffident self consented.

“Yes—I suppose as all my expenses are to be paid I ought to be content with three pounds a week.”

Mrs. Pym removed the stump of the cigarette from her holder.

“We are leaving in about ten days’ time. You can manage that? Provided—any references you can give me are satisfactory.”

“Yes, I can manage.”

“You’ll have to get a passport. We shall be abroad about six months. Yes, you may as well see Sylvia. You might fetch the kid in, Sybil. Oh—I haven’t introduced you to Miss Gasson. We travel together.”

Miss Gasson went out of the room and returned with Sylvia Pym. The child was very much a miniature double of her mother, tow-headed, with curious blue eyes and an unfinished mouth.

“Sally—we call her that, mostly—this is Miss Summerhays who is going to give you lessons.”

The child stared fixedly at Elsie as though she was absorbing the whole of Elsie and all that Elsie signified, and Miss Summerhays held out a hand.

“How do you do, Sylvia.”

The child maintained a wickedly demure face. She was mimicking Elsie, but Elsie was innocent, and did not know her Sylvia.

“How do you do, Miss Summerhays.”

They shook hands solemnly, and then Sally was removed by Miss Gasson with what seemed to Elsie unnecessary expedition. Mrs. Pym lit another cigarette, and jigged a small gold shoe.

“Sylvia’s all right. Just a bit—young. You’ll be firm with her. You might let me have those references.”

“Yes.”

“I shan’t want you till the day before we leave, and I dare say you’ll want to get clothes and things. You’ll need an evening frock or two. So—I take it—that’s settled.”

Elsie rose.

“I hope—I shall be able—Yes, I’ll do my best with Sylvia. I’ll arrange at once for the references to be sent you. And thank you so much for taking me.”

Mrs. Pym gave her one of those curious stares.

“That’s all right, Miss Summerhays. I have your address, haven’t I? Yes. If the references are all right, I think we can say that it’s settled.”

Miss Gasson came into the room just as the outer door of the suite was closing on Elsie. She helped herself to a cigarette and returned to her perch by the fire.

“Very bourgeois.”

“Yes, dowdy, but none the worse for that.”

Miss Gasson lit her cigarette.

“A serious and earnest young person. My dear, it is very necessary that the world should contain a sufficiency of serious and earnest young persons.”

Mrs. Pym jigged a foot.

“Well, she may last six months. Sally broke the last one in three. That damned kid gets on my nerves.”