by Gai-Jin(Lit)
Younger, brand-new and just arrived from Vienna by diplomatic pouch that Andr`e Poncin was playing with gusto on the piano, ably supported by a skeleton Marine Band in full dress uniform for the occasion. Her partner was Settry Pallidar
--his selection to represent the Army had been greeted with a roar of approval, and total jealously.
Victoria Lunkchurch and Mabel Swann were also dancing, this time partnered by Sir William and Norbert Greyforth, their dance cards filled the moment the party was announced. For all their girth both were good dancers, both wore crinolines though these could not compare with Angelique's in either richness or d@ecolletage.
"Thee's a right rotten skinflint, Barnaby,"
Victoria hissed at her husband. "Mabel and me're going to have new folderols if it costs thee thy whole company by God! And we wants titfers like her's by God!"
"Wot?"
"Yes wot! Titfers--hats!"
Angelique's headdress had been the final coup de grace for both women. "'Tis war, her against us'n." Even so their popularity overcame their jealousy, and they twirled with abandon.
"Lucky bloody bastard," Marlowe muttered, eyes only for his rival. His blue naval uniform jacket glittered with the added gold braid of an aide-de-camp, white silk trousers and stockings and black, silver-buckled shoes.
"Who?" Tyrer asked, passing by with another glass of champagne, flushed and excited with the evening and with his success in spiriting Nakama, the samurai, out of Yedo and, with Sir William's approval, into his house as a Japanese teacher. "Who's a bastard, Marlowe?"
"Get stuffed--as if you didn't know!"
Marlowe grinned. "Listen, I'm the Navy's rep, I've got the next one and I'll show the bugger what's what or die in the attempt."
"Lucky devil! What is it?"
"Polka!"
"Oh my word--did you arrange it?"
"Good God, no!" The polka, based on a
Bohemian folk dance, was another recent addition to the dance floors of Europe and all the rage, though still considered risqu`e. "It's on the program! Didn't you notice?"
"No, never did, too much on my mind,"
Tyrer said happily, bursting to tell someone how clever he had been, and even more that tonight, as soon as he could, he was heading across the Bridge to Paradise and into the arms of his beloved-- regretting that he was sworn to secrecy on both counts. "Dances like a dream, doesn't she?"
"Hey, young Tyrer..." It was Dmitri
Syborodin, well oiled and sweating, a tankard of rum in his fist. "I asked the Band Master to throw in a cancan. Guy said I was the fifth to ask."
"My God, is he going to?" Tyrer asked appalled. "I saw it performed once in Paris
--you won't believe but the girls didn't wear any pantaloons at all."
"I believe it!" Dmitri guffawed. "But
Angel Boobs has 'em on tonight, and not afraid to show 'em either, by God!"
"Now look here..." Marlowe began hotly.
"Come on, John, he's just joking.
Dmitri, you're impossible! Surely the Bandmaster wouldn't dare?"
"Not 'nless Malc gives him the nod."
They looked across the room. Malcolm
Struan sat with Dr. Hoag, Babcott,
Seratard and several of the Ministers watching the dance floor, eyes only for Angelique as she dipped and swayed to the enchanting, daring modern music that exhilarated all of them. His hand rested on a heavy cane, the gold signet ring sparkling as his fingers moved to the beat, dressed in sleek silk evening clothes, winged collar, cream cravat and diamond pin, his fine leather boots from Paris.
"Pity he's so still so disabled," Tyrer murmured, genuinely sorry, but blessing his own luck.
Struan and Angelique had arrived late.
He walked with extreme difficulty, hunched over as much as he tried to remain upright, his weight on the two canes, Angelique radiantly on his arm. Dr. Hoag was with them, attentive and ever watchful. There were cheers for him and more for her and then, gratefully sitting, he had welcomed them, invited them all to partake of the feast that had been laid out on tables, "But first, my friends," he said, "please raise your glasses, a toast to the most beautiful girl in the world, Mademoiselle Angelique
Richaud, my bride to be."
Cheers and more cheers. Liveried Chinese servants brought iced champagne by the case,
Jamie McFay added a few words of joy and the party was on. Wines from Bordeaux and
Burgundy, a special Chablis much favored in Asia, brandies, whiskies--all exclusive Struan imports--gin, beer from
Hong Kong. Sides of Australian roasted beef, a few whole lambs, chicken pies, joints of cold salt pork, hams, Shanghai potatoes, baked and stuffed with roast salt pork slivers and butter, as well as puddings and chocolates, a new Swiss import. After supper had been cleared away and seven drunks removed, Andr`e Poncin took his place and the band began.
With great formality towards Malcolm, Sir
William begged the first dance. Next was
Seratard, then the other Ministers--except von
Heimrich who was in bed with dysentery--the
Admiral and the General, all of them and others taking turns with the other two women. After each dance Angelique would be surrounded by flushed and beaming faces, and then, fanning herself, she would make her way back to Malcolm's side, delightful to everyone yet completely attentive to him, every time refusing the dance, at length allowing herself to be persuaded by him: "But, Angelique,
I love to watch you dancing, my darling, you dance as you do so gracefully."
Now he was watching her, torn between happiness and frustration, frantic that he was hobbled.
"Don't fret, Malcolm," Hoag had said this evening, wanting to calm him, the simple act of dressing a nightmare of pain and awkwardness. "This is the first time you've been up.
It's only a month since the accident, don't worr--"'
"Tell me that once more and I'll spit blood."
"It's not just the pain that's tearing you apart.
It's the medication, or lack of it, and today's mail. You got a letter from your mother, didn't you?"'
"Yes," he had said in total misery and sat on the edge of the bed, half dressed. "She
... well she's furious, never known her so angry. She's totally opposed to my engagement, to my marriage... if I listened to her,
Angelique is the devil incarnate. She
..." The words stumbled out of him. "She dismissed my letter, dismissed it and said, here read it: Have you gone mad? Your father's not dead six weeks, you're not yet twenty-one, that woman's after your money and our company, she's the daughter of an escaped bankrupt, the niece of another felon, and, God help us, Catholic and
French! Are you out of your mind? You say you love her? Rubbish! You're bewitched. You will stop this nonsense. You-will-stop-this-nonsense! She has bewitched you. Obviously you are in no frame of mind to run Struan's! You are to return without that person as soon as Dr. Hoag permits it."
"When I permit it. Malcolm, will you do as she says?"'
"About Angelique, no. None of what she says is important, none of it! Clearly she didn't read my letter, doesn't give a fig for me. What the devil can I do?"'
Hoag had shrugged. "What you've already decided: you will be engaged and in due time married.
You are going to get better. You will have lots of rest, lots of good soups and porridge and stay off the sleeping draft and painkillers.
For the next two weeks you will stay here, then you will go back and face the..." he had smiled kindly, "the future with confidence."
"I'm very lucky to have you as a doctor."
"I'm very lucky to have you as a friend."
"Did you get a letter from her too?"'
"Yes." A dry laugh. "I did now that
I think of it."
"And?"'
Hoag had rolled his eyes. "Enough said?"'
"Yes. Thanks."
Now, watching her dancing, center of a universal ad
miration, and lust, breasts in large part fashionably revealed, slender ankles enticing eyes to seek further under the billowing hoops of apricot silk, he felt himself hardening. Thank God for that, he thought, much of his rage evaporating, at least that's working, but,
Christ, I know I won't be able to wait until
Christmas. I won't.
It was nearing midnight now and she sipped champagne and hid behind her fan, fluttering it in a practiced manner, teasing those around her, then gave the glass away as though bestowing a gift, made her apologies and went gliding back to her chair that was beside Struan. Close by was an animated group of Seratard, Sir William,
Hoag, other Ministers, and Poncin. "La,
Monsieur Andr`e, your playing is superb.
Isn't that so, Malcolm darling?"
"Yes, superb," Struan said, not feeling good at all, trying to cover it. Hoag glanced over at him.
In French she was saying, "Andr`e, where have you been hiding the last few days?" She looked over her fan at him. "If we were in Paris I would swear that you had given your heart to a new ladyfriend."
Poncin said lightly, "Just work,
Mademoiselle."
Then, in English, "Ah, sad. Paris in the fall is especially wonderful, almost as breathtaking as spring. Oh, wait till I show it to you, Malcolm. We should spend a season there, no?" She was standing close to him, and she felt his arm go loosely around her waist, she rested her arm lightly on his shoulder and toyed with his long hair. The touch pleased her, his face handsome and clothes handsome and the ring he had given her this morning, a diamond with other diamonds surrounding it, delighting her. She glanced at it, twisting it, admiring it, wondering how much it was worth. "Ah, Malcolm, you will enjoy Paris, in season, it's truly wonderful. Could we?"
"Why not, if you'd like to."
She sighed, her fingers discreetly caressing his neck, and said as though taken by a sudden thought,
"Perhaps, do you think, ch@eri, do you think we could honeymoon there--we could dance the night away."
"Your dancing is a delight,
Mademoiselle, in whatever city," Hoag said, sweating and uncomfortable in his overtight clothes.
"Wish I could say the same for mine. May I sugg--"
"You don't dance at all, Doctor?"
"Years ago, when I was in India I did, but stopped when my wife died. She really enjoyed it so much that now I can't enjoy it at all.
Marvelous party, Malcolm. May I suggest we call it a night?"
Angelique glanced up at him, her smile fading, noticed the caution on his face, looked at Malcolm and saw the exhaustion. How awful he's so sick, she thought. Damn!
"It's still early," Malcolm was saying bravely, longing to lie down, "isn't it,
Angelique?"
"I must confess I really am tired too," she said at once. Her fan closed, she put it down, smiled at him, Poncin and the others, preparing to leave. "Perhaps we could slip out and let the party continue..."
They made their quiet apologies to those around them. Everyone else pretended not to notice them leave but in her wake was emptiness. Outside at the door she stopped a moment. "Oh la la, I forgot my fan. I'll catch you up, my darling."
She hurried back. Poncin intercepted her.
"Mademoiselle," he said in French. "I believe this is yours."
"Ah, you're so kind." She accepted her fan, delighted that her stratagem had worked and that he was as observant as she had hoped. As he bent over her hand to kiss it she whispered in
French, "I must see you tomorrow."
"Legation at noon, ask for Seratard, he won't be there."
She was brushing her hair in front of her mirror, still humming the last waltz she had danced. Which was the best? she asked herself. The best dance? That's easy, Marlowe and the polka, better than Pallidar and waltzes--you should waltz only with the love of your life, allowing the music to swim your head with adoration and longing, drifting you on the clouds, tingling and wanting as I am tonight, the best day of my life, engaged to a fine man and loved by him to distraction.
It should be the best day, but isn't.
Strange that I enjoyed this evening, and can act and think calmly, when already the day has passed,
I'm overdue so probably with child of a rapist that must be ended.
She was watching her reflection as though it was another person, the brushstrokes firm, titillating her scalp and head and taking away any cobwebs, astonished that she was still alive and outwardly the same after so much agony.
Curious. Every day after the first has seemed easier.
Why is that?
I don't know. Well, never mind. Tomorrow will solve the overdue though perhaps even now I shall begin in the night and there will have been no need for all the fear and crying and crying and more fear. Tens of thousands of women have been trapped like I am trapped and still have been made whole without hurt.
Just a little drink and everything as before and no one the wiser. Except you and God! Except you and the doctor, or you and the midwife--or witch.
Enough for tonight, Angelique. Trust in God and the
Blessed Mother. The Blessed Mother will help you, you are blameless. You are openly engaged to a marvelous man, somehow you will be married and live happily ever after. Tomorrow... tomorrow will begin the where and how.
Behind her Ah Soh was tidying the four-poster, picking up her stockings and underwear. The crinoline already hung on a rack with two others, and half a dozen new day dresses still wrapped in their sheaves of rice paper. Through the open window came the sound of laughter and drunken singing, and music from the Club that still showed no sign of abating.
She sighed, wanting to be back at the dance.
The brush moved more vigorously.
"Miss'y wan thing, heya?"
"No. Want to sleep."
"Ni'te Miss'y."
Angelique bolted the door after her. The connecting door to Struan's suite was closed but unbolted. By custom, as soon as she had finished her toilet, she would knock, then go and kiss him good night, perhaps chat just a little and return again, leaving the door ajar in case he had a seizure in the night. These were infrequent now, though since he had stopped the night medicine a week ago, he was very restless, hardly sleeping, but never demanding.
Again she sat at her mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Her peignoir was silk and lacy and Parisian--a locally made copy of one she had brought with her:... and you cannot believe the workmanship, Colette, or the speed of the
Chinese tailor, she had written this afternoon for tomorrow's mail ship.
Now I can get anything copied. Please send me some patterns, or cuttings from La
Parisienne or L'Haute Couture of the latest styles or anything wonderful--my
Malcolm is so generous and so rich! He says
I can order what I like!
And my ring!!!! A diamond with fourteen smaller ones around it. I asked him how on earth he had got it and where in Yokohama and he just smiled. I really must be more careful and not ask silly questions. Colette everything is so marvelous except I'm worried about his health. He improves so slowly and walks very badly. But his ardor increases, poor man, and I have to take care... Must dress for the party now but I'll write more before the post. My everlasting love for the moment.
How lucky Colette is, her pregnancy a gift of God.
Stop! No more or the tears and terror will come back. Put the problem aside. You decided what to do, if it was or if it was not. It is, so the other plan--what else can you do?
An absent touch of perfume behind her ears and on her breasts, a slight adjustment of the lace.
A gentle knock on his door. "Malcolm?"
"Come in--I'm alone."
Unexpectedly, he was not in bed but sitting in his armchair. Red silk dressing gown, eyes strange. At once some instinct put her on guard. She bolted the door as usual, and went over to him. "Not tired, my love?"
"No, and yes. You take my breath away."
He held out his hands and she came closer, heart picking up a beat. His hands were trembling. He coaxed her nearer and kissed her hands and arms and breast. For a moment she did not resist, enjoyed his adoration, wanting him, and leaned down and kissed him and allowed him to fondle her. Then, the heat mounting too swiftly, she sank on her knees beside the chair, heart pounding like his, and half broke the embrace.