by Susan Barrie
Only one elderly lady called a greeting to Him from the far side of the room. “How lovely to see you, Paul!” and an extraordinary distinguished-looking elderly man bowed to him from the waist as he went searching for fruit juice that didn’t exist. On his way back to Lucy with a glass of sherry in his hand, the elderly man bowed again, even more obsequiously, and that appeared to be the signal for a number of other men to desert the groups where they had been standing and more or less surround him, so that it was with the utmost difficulty that he handed the sherry over to Lucy without spilling it.
The elderly lady came from the far side of the room to lead a rush of females, and instead of precise English tones filling the room an absolute spate of unintelligible foreign voices sounded like a positive babel in Lucy’s ears as she still sat alone on the settee. It was true that her hostess came up behind her and smiled at her, but even she seemed more content to watch Paul and the tumultuous welcome that was being accorded to him, and as soon as she possibly could she broke through and took him by the arm and led him over to separate corners of the room where the less agile were seated in the more comfortable chairs and looking on with distinctly wistful expressions on their faces.
The wistfulness vanished as Paul chatted pleasantly with everyone to whom he was presented, and behind Lucy someone said clearly, in English:
“It is always a pleasure when Ulla can persuade him to be sociable ... but nowadays he isn’t very sociable!”
And someone else agreed regretfully.
By degrees the enthusiasm waned, and Lucy felt several pairs of eyes begin to focus on herself. Ulla’s husband—plainly as English as Lucy was herself—came and sat on the arm of the settee and talked to her, and the elderly lady who had led the feminine rush walked over to the settee and sat down beside her and surveyed her through a pearl-handled lorgnette. She was at least twenty years younger than the Countess von Ardrath, and her whitening hair had been treated to a delicate blue rinse that made it look infinitely attractive. She wore black velvet and a collar of brilliants, and her rings were as fine as any that remained in the Countess’s hoard.
She was obviously consumed with curiosity about Lucy, and she started asking her questions about the Countess.
“I understand you are employed by the Countess von Ardrath?”
“Yes,” Lucy replied, “that is right.”
“You have no doubt known her a long time? Lucy von Ardrath was never one to like people about her who were not well known to her.”
“Lucy?” Lucy’s slim eyebrows shot a little upwards. “I didn’t know her name was Lucy.”
“Didn’t you?” But the well-held shoulders beside her shrugged in faint surprise. “It isn’t exactly important that an employee should be aware of the Christian name of her employer, but after a lengthy association many things become known. How long have you known the Countess?”
“A little over six months,” Lucy replied.
“Only as short a while as that?” It was obvious that the information was a disappointment. “I understood Her Highness regarded you as a kind of protégée. At least she takes a particular interest in you, is that not so?”
“Madame has been very kind to me,” Lucy admitted cautiously. She thought it odd that the other should conduct such a deliberate probe in a room where they were fellow guests.
“But it would be untrue to say that you have any real influence with her? After knowing her so short a while?”
Lucy looked faintly bewildered.
“I don’t imagine that anything I might say or do would have any effect on the Countess if her own inclinations didn’t tend the same way. Apart from advising her to stay in bed when she is overtired, or has a chill, or anything of that sort. She listens to me then ... or at least, she does sometimes,” with a faint smile.
“A pity,” the other declared, and sounded rather more than disappointed. “When I talked to Paul I gathered ... but there, possibly, he too has made some slight mistake.”
“If he imagines I can influence the Countess against her will he certainly has,” Lucy said quietly, and in obvious surprise.
Her interrogator spread smooth white hands in an indifferent gesture.
“It is not of overwhelming importance,” she stated perversely. “No doubt there are other avenues we can explore.”
A diversion was created by the arrival of a couple of musicians in full evening dress, and Paul came over and spoke in a low tone to Lucy. He told her that the musical part of the evening was about to commence, and afterwards there would be a buffet supper in the dining-room adjoining. He smiled down right into her face as he bent and pressed her hand, and then he whispered:
“There are several of my friends here with whom I must talk. It is a little awkward, you understand? But afterwards I will take you into supper. You are perfectly comfortable here in this corner with Marraine?” He turned and flashed a smile at the elderly lady beside Lucy on the settee. “I have a feeling that you two have not been properly introduced, so I will remedy it. Marraine, this is Miss Lucy Gray ... Lucy, this is my godmother, Princess Sasha Karadin.”
Lucy wondered whether there was something wrong with her ears, and then she wondered whether the whole evening was something that was not actually happening, for having made them known to one another Paul abandoned them temporarily, and the two musicians—a girl who sang so beautifully that the entire room was soon utterly silent, and her husband who played her piano accompaniment for her, and afterwards also played the violin—began to earn their fee. Apart from a slight scraping of chairs on the violet carpet during the first few minutes, and one or two coughs, the warm perfumed atmosphere remained as tranquil as a pool, and Lucy tried to call up a picture of the Countess’s shabby bedroom at twenty-four Alison Gardens, and the Countess herself sitting hunched up in bed with her ancient radio perched precariously on the overcrowded table beside the bed.
But somehow she couldn’t see the picture at all clearly, and all she actually saw was Paul’s sleek dark head in the row of chairs in front of her, and Ulla Renshaw leaning a little towards him, and watching him with an indulgent expression on her face. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw the other women who watched him, and she wondered—and wondered—and wondered...
Who was he? And why had his arrival meant so. much to all these people?
Why did he pose as a waiter? Why did he actually work as a waiter, when he had a week-end cottage and a farm of his own, a cream Jaguar car, and a godmother who was a princess?
Princess Sasha Karadin!
Lucy glanced at her sideways, but the princess was utterly unaware of her. She was enjoying the music, and her expression was rapt. Lucy wished she was sitting beside Paul—she wished he hadn’t abandoned her so easily—and she wondered why he had asked her to come here tonight, when he really hadn’t any time to spare to devote to her. In the car on the way to the flat she had received her first disappointment concerning the evening, for apart from dazzling her with one of his warm smiles, and patting her hands where they rested in her lap, he had said nothing and done nothing to bring back the wonderment of that afternoon at his cottage. He hadn’t even offered her any real apology for neglecting her for nearly a week, or told her that she looked nice in the pink dress.
Only his eyes, when they first flickered over her in the entrance hall of the house in Alison Gardens, had done that ...
And now, all at once, he seemed miles removed from her—far more so even than when he hadn’t got in touch with her. Then she had lived on hope. Now she had a curious empty feeling inside her, as if something that she had imagined filled had been drained overnight. As if she had been dragged down from some heights which she had unexpectedly climbed, to face the truth that there had never really been any heights.
But in the supper interval she felt better. Paul kept close to her side, and he filled a plate for her with delicacies like caviare on toast, slices of white breast of chicken, smoked salmon, and eggs split and filled with cr
eam and garnished with mushrooms. He saw to it that she had a full glass of champagne—which, incidentally, she scarcely touched, for she put it down somewhere and forgot about it; and, more important from her point of view, he asked her whether she was enjoying herself, repeated his regret that he hadn’t been able to sit beside her during the concert, and attempted to explain again how awkward it was when he was surrounded by friends he hadn’t seen for some time.
He fingered the stem of his own glass of champagne and looked at her thoughtfully. He said softly:
“But we’ll slip away soon now, and I’ll take you home.”
It sounded as if he was looking forward to driving her home.
Lucy looked down at her half empty plate, and knew she couldn’t touch another morsel.
“It was kind of you to bring me tonight,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a nuisance.”
“You’ve been nothing of the sort.” He took the plate from her, set it on a side table, and then returned to study her even more thoughtfully over the glowing tip of a newly lighted cigarette. “I wanted you to have a complete change tonight,” he told her. “It seems to me that you see far too much of that dreary house in Alison Gardens, and at least the people here would be new to you, and you might like some of them.”
“I never even dreamed that you had a princess for a godmother,” she remarked, lifting her eyes and letting him see how clear and thoughtful they were.
“Didn’t you?” He smiled, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Well, for all I know you had a fairy for a godmother, which would account for you looking a little unreal at times. Especially when you wear pale pink chiffon.”
She said soberly:
“Most of the people here seemed very glad to see you. You are—very popular with them, aren’t you?” But he refused to be drawn.
“If you keep your friends at a distance they’re usually glad to see you when you consent to appear amongst them,” he replied lightly and a little lazily. “It’s one way of keeping your friends!”
“Are most of the people here tonight Seronians?”
“Quite a few of them are.” He cast a glance over them, as they made inroads on the refreshments provided, and chattered and laughed and complimented the two who had entertained them, and who were also fortifying themselves from the long buffet table. “Ulla’s husband is English, as you’ve probably guessed, although Ulla herself is from Seronia. She and I are rather distantly related. That pretty fair girl over there is English, and the young man with red in his hair who seems to be taking a lot of notice of her is of Scottish descent. That extremely dignified old boy with the white moustachios is half Russian and half Seronian, and that very beautiful woman talking to my godmother is of very noble Italian birth.”
“And your godmother?”
“As a matter of fact, she is partly English.” He smiled at her somewhat quizzically. “Her husband is dead, but she still likes to be known as Princess Sasha Karadin.”
“Everyone here tonight looks as if they—well, they don’t look as if exile has made them poor. And I suppose some of them are exiles?”
“The Seronians are, to a man.” The quizzical smile lit his eyes. “What you are trying to say is that they don’t look as if they would accept positions as waiters under any circumstances!”
She felt herself flush readily. She was beginning to deny that that was what she had meant—although in her heart she knew that she was burning with curiosity concerning the reason why he worked as a waiter, and that she would seize on every opportunity to get him to throw light on such a mystery—when she thought that a rather distrait expression crossed his face, and she realised that he was looking down the length of the room at a late arrival who had been brought into the dining-room by the hostess.
Lucy had the queerest feeling that she was looking at one of the major hurdles ever likely to appear on her personal horizon as she too turned and inspected the newcomer. She also received something in the nature of a shock as she recognised the girl whose framed photograph stood on an elegant little writing-table in Paul’s weekend cottage.
The girl was by far and away the loveliest thing she had even seen ... certainly the loveliest human creature belonging to the same sex as herself. She was slightly taller than the average young woman, but so exquisitely slender that her height didn’t seem to matter. She wore a dress of brown-gold tie-silk, short enough to draw attention to her lovely slender legs, and her narrow gold shoes, and her hair had the same gold-brown lights in it, and was drawn smoothly back and arranged in a kind of coronet on the top of her head. Her eyes, just as they had done in the photograph, looked wide and enquiring and sparkled with audacity, and her mouth matched them by being always a little parted, as if in eagerness, and curving gaily upwards at the corners.
In addition, it was the most blatantly scarlet, and the most exotic mouth Lucy had ever seen. Quite a fascinating mouth, even to a woman.
Ulla Renshaw led her through the press and straight up to the spot where Paul was standing. Lucy might not have existed as the enthusiastic greetings took place, Paul still staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, although obviously delighted as soon as his brain registered the truth that this was no hallucination. The girl with the eyes of a born enchantress held out both hands to him—just as Ulla had done when they first arrived—but unlike Ulla she didn’t make any spontaneous movement towards him, or kiss him. She put her shining brown head on one side, and regarded him from behind the protective fringes of her sweeping dark eyelashes.
“Paul!” she exclaimed, as if that was enough. “Paul!”
Ulla said quickly, excitedly:
“I knew Sophie was back in England, and that if she could manage it she would look in tonight, but I wanted it to be a surprise for you, Paul darling, so I didn’t tell you! Now aren’t you glad I didn’t spoil the surprise? Aren’t you glad I absolutely insisted that you came along tonight?”
CHAPTER XII
AT last Lucy was remembered. And it was Paul who remembered her.
Having gazed into the eyes of the radiant Sophie much as a shipwrecked seaman, standing on the beach of a desert island, gazes at a ship that is steaming in his direction, and kissed both of the hands that were extended towards him—with a bemused fervour, or so it struck Lucy—he said something about being utterly unprepared for such an astonishing piece of good fortune, and then remembered the girl who was standing beside him.
“Forgive me, Lucy,” he said, very quietly and formally. “Ulla’s little surprise made me forget my manners.” Then he made the two girls known to one another. “Mademoiselle Devargue, Miss Gray. Sophie, you have a habit of springing surprises, but this is surely the finest surprise you have ever sprung!”
“Ulla seemed to think it would be,” Sophie murmured demurely. She had offered the tips of her fingers to Lucy, and then decided to ignore her altogether. “Of course, if I could have let you know in advance I would have done so. Then we could have come here together...” The merest glance at Lucy informed her that she didn’t exist, and in any case she could have been dispensed with without it upsetting anyone. “But I only got in last night, and I had a few urgent appointments this morning. Ulla warned me that you mightn’t be free during the afternoon, so I just schooled myself to patience.”
“I thought it much the best thing she could do,” Ulla said complacently.
Paul was obviously trying to collect himself after being shaken by surprise.
“You say that you only got in last night?” he echoed. “That means, of course, that you flew here? Is that the first time that you’ve flown all the way from America by yourself?” He gazed at her with undisguised admiration, as if he fully appreciated the risk that anyone as delectable as herself ran by travelling without some sort of an armed guard. “Yes, of course it is! The last time you came over you were accompanied by my Aunt Helen. How is she, by the way?”
“Perfectly well,” she assured him, devastating dimples
appearing at the corners of that lovely mouth. Her eyes were neither blue nor grey nor brown, and in some curious way they were rather like Lucy’s, only they had depths to them that Lucy’s eyes would never possess. They were like violets hidden in the depths of a shadowy wood. “She sent you her affectionate greetings, and I am to hope that so long as I remain in London you will keep a watchful eye upon me for her sake. I haven’t the temerity to suggest that you will do it for my own!”
Paul smiled, one of his most attractive, whimsical smiles.
“As I remember you, Sophie, you always had quite a lot of temerity,” he told her. Then he displayed curiosity about the reason for her visit to London. “Why are you here? And how long do you propose to stay? Does my aunt approve of your being on your own, as you apparently are?”
“Oh yes. And I’m here to do a job of modelling. It was so lucky, but my Mama has a friend who has a friend who has a friend in a business house over here, and the whole thing was arranged...!” She was dimpling breathtakingly, and her eyes were alight. “If I prove suitable I may be transferred to Paris in a few months’ time. Isn’t it marvellous?”
“Marvellous,” he echoed, and continued to gaze at her. Then he asked more abruptly: “Where are you staying?”
“I spent last night at the Dorchester, but I’m going to share a flat with someone we know. I move in tomorrow, and after that I shall have a telephone number I can give you.”
She looked at him as if she could already pass on the information if he wanted it, and he said at once: “Good! You’d better let me have it now, and then I can get in touch with you tomorrow evening. I’ll ring you about eight.”
She opened her handbag and produced a card which she passed to him. She said in the most seductively soft voice in the world: