Humming softly to himself, and completely unconscious of doing so, he continued along his way, the wind whipping at his ankles unmercifully—and unnoticed—his mind slipping gears into gears, building an impregnable machine.
“Kek? Darling?”
Silence.
“Kek, darling? Darling? Kek?”
Silence.
“Kek Huuygens!”
Kek glanced down at Lisa as if surprised to see her sitting there.
“It really isn’t necessary to shout, dear.”
“Isn’t it?” Lisa sat a bit straighter in the easy chair from which she had been directing Operation Drape-Hanging. “To begin with, I consider it a complete imposition; on the part of your friend Willi to give his staff holidays and leave his drapes to be hung by us. And in the second place, if we have to hang them, let us hang them. You’ve been standing on that footstool holding that foolish bit of crepe de chine for ten solid minutes. Do you intend to hang it, or are you merely modeling it?”
“Oh.” Kek grinned. “Sorry. I was thinking.” He placed the brass hooks over the thin rod, spread the patterned fullness of the drape to cover the blank stare of the impersonal glass of the window, and stepped down. “How’s that?”
“An absolute work of art,” Lisa said shortly, still not mollified. She considered him thoughtfully. “Kek, where do you go when you disappear like that? In your thoughts, I mean. You leave me very much behind.”
“I’m sorry, sweet. I honestly am. But I was thinking.” He pulled the low footstool back into place before Lisa’s armchair; she swung her long lovely legs on top of it, taking advantage of its comfort. Kek sat down, moving her feet slightly to make room.
“What were you thinking?” Lisa said, watching him carefully.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Kek grinned at her cheerfully.
“Sweet, how would you like to be the hostess at a cocktail party?”
“Not at all,” Lisa said definitely, ending the subject. “And are you through hanging the drapes your so-called friend left for us to hang? There is still the bedroom, if you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten. About this cocktail party—”
Lisa studied her husband’s face, recognized signs it had taken her a reasonable while to recognize, and instantly changed her mind.
“I would love to hostess a cocktail party, darling. Quite obviously. May I ask why?”
“Because you love me and wish to please me, sweet.”
“Disregarding your pure logic for the moment, darling, I mean why a cocktail party at all? We’ve been in this place less than a week. We have no obligations to anyone. I don’t know where a single thing is. If you feel like entertaining, why not a restaurant or a club?”
“Because a restaurant or a club wouldn’t be proper for the business reasons I have in mind. As for your lack of knowledge concerning the apartment”—Kek shrugged—“in any event, you’ll cater it, so let the caterer find out where things are. You can walk around behind his men and learn.”
Kek clasped his hands about one knee, leaning back on the footstool, looking at his wife, reveling in her blond loveliness. For the thousandth time since they had met, courted, and married, he wondered how Lisa could practically live on bonbons—plus her three good-sized meals per day—and still manage that flawless complexion and that fabulous figure.
Lisa accepted his answer with aplomb.
“Who do you want me to invite?”
Kek shrugged indifferently. “Any of your friends you would like to have. Possibly some of your old acquaintances in the theater. But not too large a group—something intimate, I should judge. Six couples, or eight, something like that.” He paused significantly. “Plus one man. It is absolutely essential that he be here. Otherwise there’s no point to the whole affair. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, darling. I understood when you started to talk about a party in the first place. I’m only happy it isn’t a woman.” She smiled at him brightly. “Who is he?”
“His name is Vries Waldeck. Do you know him?”
Her violet eyes widened. “I know who he is, of course. All Brussels does. But more important, do you know him?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Kek shook his head sadly and then looked up with a smile. “But I intend to.”
“I see,” Lisa said slowly, and picked up a bonbon, munching on it thoughtfully. “Vries Waldeck … I’m fairly sure he’s a friend of the Fleurs. I might be able to get him through them. In fact, I’m sure I can get him through them.” She swallowed her chocolate and studied Kek coolly. “I thought the Waldeck family was in the import business, darling. What would he have to do with art appraisals?”
“Art can also be imported, sweet,” Kek said. He smiled at her gently, blessed Alex DuPaul for the information imparted at lunch, and added, “Besides, he’s a trustee of the Clouet Gallery.”
Lisa gave up this line of questioning as being hopeless. She wondered, not for the first time, what Kek Huuygens had that allowed him to lead her about by the nose.
“When would you like this party, darling?”
“As soon as possible.”
“A week,” she said with decision. “A week at the earliest, or possibly even two weeks. Even when people are free, it is insulting to them to ask them to an affair with any less notice. It indicates one might think they could be unoccupied that evening. I’m not speaking of the Fleurs,” she added with a smile. “They will come whenever I ask them. Or whenever anyone else in society asks them, for that matter.”
“Nouveau riche?” Kek asked with interest.
“Nouveau pauvre,” Lisa replied with a smile that had very little humor in it. “Like so many people on the Continent today.” She sighed audibly and changed the subject, studying Kek. “What if this M’sieu Vries Waldeck refuses our invitation?”
Kek considered her with admiration. “How could any man refuse an opportunity to meet a famous actress like Mlle. Lisa Nieuport in person? He wouldn’t be human if he did.”
“Ah!” Lisa smiled. “How do we know he is human?”
“I understand he is as far as money is concerned,” Kek said.
“And is there a Madame Waldeck who should also be invited?”
“No. He’s a bachelor.”
“Which you are not,” Lisa said positively. “And do not forget it! I’m very apt to bring some very attractive friends from the theater to fill out this party, and I want you to remember that you have prior responsibilities. Do you hear?”
“I hear. And I’m quite fond of my prior responsibilities,” Kek said. He unclasped his hands from his knee and gently stroked her calf.
“Stop that!” Lisa said, and smiled at him. “Besides, the bedroom drapes aren’t hung yet.”
Kek sighed grumblingly and came to his feet.
“You certainly know how to drive a man to work,” he said reproachfully, and started in the direction of the bedroom.
5
Among the many mysteries unresolved in the world today—and apt to remain unresolved forever—is what makes one cocktail party an outstanding success while another turns out to be a disaster. Kek Huuygens, standing with his back against the small mahogany bar in the marble-floored winter garden of Willi’s apartment, thought to himself that as cocktail parties went, this one was proving itself a very fine one, indeed. He had an extra-dry martini in his hand and was watching Lisa work her miracles as hostess, looking exceptionally beautiful tonight. True, Vries Waldeck had not as yet arrived, but he had assured the Fleurs he would be most delighted to attend and meet their friends. The Fleurs themselves were already there and doing justice to the hors d’oeuvres; the other guests seemed to be mingling with ease. The drinks were being consumed quite nicely. Even the caterer’s men seemed to be relaxed in their stiff tuxedos, always a good sign.
Kek moved to one side of the bar, turning to stare through the tall window at his side. The apartments down the street were all rather duplicates of the building in which he stood; gold-
plated sugar cubes, he thought, taking away the flavor of old Brussels at a faster and faster rate, replacing it with the European’s idea of the American ideal, all in the name of comfort. It had to be comfort, he thought; it certainly couldn’t be beauty. In a short time the entire world is going to look like Chicago, and only the street names and the language will allow a visitor to know where he is. He thought a moment more and amended even that statement. Only the street names; the language will be English. As spoken in Chicago.
He sighed and looked beyond the apartment buildings, over the darkened chestnut trees that lined the Boulevard Franklin Roosevelt and occasionally appeared on the narrow grass strip that ran along the middle of the road. In the distance the lights of downtown Brussels reflected themselves from the low clouds, a miniature borealis caused by cabaret and theater signs flashing neon amid the general overlighting that all Europe seemed to favor, as if in antidote to the long years of blackouts during the war. There was a hint of snow in the leaden sky; for a moment Kek remembered the chill of the Madrid airport and shivered. He put the thought from the low clouds, a miniature borealis caused by cabaret standing before him with the tall, blond young man he had seen in the mirror at the Chambord.
“Kek, this is M’sieu Waldeck, whom the Fleurs have mentioned so often. M’sieu Waldeck, my husband, M’sieu Huuygens …”
“A pleasure,” Waldeck said, and bowed slightly from the waist.
“Likewise,” Kek said, and sincerely meant it. “I’m very happy you could make our party. Let me get you a drink.”
“A martini, then, if you don’t mind. About the color of yours.”
“We’ll start a trend,” Kek warned with a smile. “A man could be thrown out of a London pub for ordering one of these.” He moved back to the bar. “The merest touch of vermouth, Joseph.” He waited as the drink was expertly mixed, took it, and handed it to his guest, leading him by the arm in the direction of the living room. He waited politely while his guest seated himself and then dropped down comfortably onto a hassock at the other’s side. He raised his glass.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Vries Waldeck sipped and then smiled; it was surprising how his smile could change the sharpness of his face, making it appear softer, more youthful. “Excellent! You must give me the recipe.”
“The maximum absence of vermouth plus the minimum presence of warmth,” Kek said. “Unfortunately, Dutch gin isn’t as effective as British, but one can’t have everything.” He smiled.
Vries Waldeck sipped again and then set his glass to one side, glancing about.
“You have a very lovely establishment.”
“Thank you.”
“And a most beautiful wife. I’ve seen her on the stage many times, of course, but it’s pleasant to meet her in person and to know her beauty doesn’t come from the little boxes and bottles. She hasn’t retired, I sincerely hope?”
“No. She’s reading several things.” He smiled in confidence at his guest. “I’m afraid sitting home being a housewife would never do for Lisa. Especially being married to a boring art appraiser.”
“Oh?” Waldeck studied him. “Possibly you could be of some assistance to us, then? I’m a trustee of the Clouet Gallery, you know.”
“I didn’t know, and under normal circumstances”—he paused to wave a waiter over and renew their drink order, and then turned back—“I should be both flattered and happy to, but I’m afraid we’ll be leaving Brussels very soon now.”
“Oh? A pity.” Waldeck glanced about. “It that a Utrillo?”
“Yes,” Kek said simply, because it was, and it was the one thing he truly envied his friend Willi in the apartment. “There are many beautiful things in the apartment, and we shall miss it. We’ve been happy here. But we’ll be selling it very soon—or more likely, subleasing it.” He smiled. “Naturally, without the Utrillo.”
“I should imagine,” Waldeck said, and paused as a waiter brought them their drinks. Again he sipped in appreciation. “A shame you people are leaving! Where do you plan on going?”
“We’re moving to America.”
“Oh?” This time Vries Waldeck’s tone had risen somewhat in interest.
“Yes,” Kek said. “I finally managed to get our money out of Belgium in dollars, and—” He paused and shrugged. “One doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about a thing like that, you know. After all the time it took me, and all the effort, I suppose I should be happy, but now that the moment of leaving is almost here, I find I have many desires to stay on a bit longer. But Lisa is intent on going to the States before taking on any new shows, and I really have no excuse not to, anymore. She’s never been there, you know. She’s been studying English like mad.” He looked about the room, a look of sadness on his face. “It has really been a fine apartment, though.”
“You say you were able—?”
“Especially leaving Brussels when the theater season is just opening,” Kek continued smoothly, almost as if the other had not spoken. “Tell me, have you seen the Roland Petit Ballet?”
“No. About what you were—”
“Nor have we. They’re at the Grand’ Palace in the Avenue Louis. I understand that Marchand is incredible.”
“To go back a moment,” Waldeck said almost stubbornly. “Was it legal?”
“Legal?” Huuygens was mystified and sounded it. “What could possibly be illegal about the Roland Petit Ballet?”
“The money, I meant,” Waldeck said evenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The money,” Waldeck repeated quietly. “Your money. Were you able to get it out of the country—in dollars—legally?”
“Of course.” Kek Huuygens’ eyebrows went up. He looked a bit put out at the implied suggestion, particularly coming from a guest in his home. “I should scarcely have mentioned it to you, otherwise. And, of course,” he added, his tone forgiving the other’s slip, “I couldn’t very well travel so freely if anything illegal were involved.”
“But just how—?”
Kek looked up suddenly and then turned to Waldeck in abject apology.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said contritely, and came to his feet. “Some very old friends I must see. I do hope you’ll forgive me. Possibly we can get together later and continue our chat.”
He smiled vaguely at the man in the chair and moved in the direction of the bar, stopping the first couple he came to and falling into a conversation about nothing at all. From there he moved to a single girl who was standing before the phonograph swaying in time to the soft music. To all intents and purposes he was being the perfect host, seeing to it that his guests were accommodated in all things, sharing the burden of the evening equably and equally with his charming wife. So busy did he become, in fact, that he never did manage to return to M’sieu Vries Waldeck, even though at times it appeared that M’sieu Waldeck was purposely seeking him out.
It was only some time later, when the party had broken up and Vries Waldeck, the last guest to leave, was accepting his hat and coat at the door, that Kek came up to say good-bye.
“Thank you very much for accepting our invitation.”
“My pleasure. Thank you for inviting me. It has been most interesting.” He slipped into his coat, and studied Kek intently a moment. “We must have lunch together soon.”
“I should be delighted.”
“I’ll give you a ring.”
“Do that. Do you have the number?”
“I marked it down.”
“Fine. Good night.”
“Good night. Good night, madame.” There was the same bow as before.
The lift door closed behind him; Kek smiled to himself proudly and marched back into the apartment, going to the bar in the winter garden. The caterer’s men were in the living and dining rooms, clearing away glasses and dishes. Kek walked behind the bar, whistling softly to himself, and found the brandy bottle. He looked up to find Lisa watching him.
“Would you care to join me?”
“Skoal, sweet.”
Lisa smiled, straightened up, picked up her drink and sipped. She set her glass down, still studying her husband.
“Kek, my darling, you look exactly like the cat that stole the cream.”
“To coin a phrase, you mean,” Kek said, and grinned.
Lisa disregarded this. She frowned at him slightly.
“For someone who was very intent on having Vries Waldeck come to your party, you did everything possible to avoid the man. I don’t believe you spent more than two minutes with him.” She shook her head, her blond hair swirling. “You didn’t do it very subtly, either, darling. I’m afraid it was rather obvious.”
Kek stared at her with mock alarm. “You mean, you think he noticed?”
“My darling, of course he noticed.”
“What a shame!” Kek said with twinkling eyes. He drank his brandy, looking at her over the rim of the glass, and then set it down, trying to look contrite. “I must remember to apologize to him the next time we meet …”
It was late in the morning of the third day following the party that the expected and awaited telephone call came. Kek had been glancing through the morning newspaper; across from him Lisa was curled up in a chair with a new script and the inevitable box of bonbons. Even as the telephone began to shrill, Kek was sure it was Vries Waldeck. He smiled as he came from his chair and walked out to the telephone stand in the hallway.
“Yes?”
“M’sieu Huuygens?” It was a woman’s voice with typical secretarial intonation.
“Yes. Speaking.”
“One moment …” There was a brief interval and then Waldeck was on the line.
“Hello? M’sieu Huuygens? Vries Waldeck here. I was wondering when we could have that lunch together that we mentioned.”
“Why, anytime, I imagine.”
“Tomorrow?”
“One moment.” Kek counted to ten before he spoke, and then sounded regretful. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m too busy tomorrow.” After all, he thought, we don’t want to sound as if we were at the beck and call of M’sieu Waldeck.
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