‘If you think that because you’ve given up your compartment to me I’m going to let you sleep with me, you’re mistaken.’
‘Just as you say, of course. But why not?’
‘I’m not that sort of terribly attractive woman.’
‘What sort of woman are you then?’
‘A faithful wife and a devoted mother.’
He gave a little sigh.
‘Very well. Then I’ll say good night to you.’
He crushed the stub of his cigarette on the ashtray and took her hand and kissed it. He slowly ran his lips up her arm. It gave Julia a funny little sensation. The beard slightly tickled her skin. Then he leant over and kissed her lips. His beard had a somewhat musty smell, which she found peculiar; she was not sure if it revolted or thrilled her. It was odd when she came to think of it, she had never been kissed by a man with a beard before. It seemed strangely indecent. He snapped out the light.
He did not leave her till a chink of light through the drawn blind warned them that day had broken. Julia was shattered morally and physically.
‘I shall look a perfect wreck when we get to Cannes.’
And what a risk to take! He might have murdered her or stolen her pearl necklace. She went hot and cold all over as she pictured to herself the danger she had incurred. He was going to Cannes too. Supposing he claimed acquaintance with her there, how on earth was she going to explain him to her friends? She felt sure Dolly wouldn’t like him. He might try to blackmail her. And what should she do if he wanted to repeat the experience? He was passionate, there was no doubt about that, he had asked her where she was staying, and though she had not told him, he could certainly find out if he tried; in a place like Cannes, it would be almost impossible not to run across him. He might pester her. If he loved her as much as he said it was inconceivable that he should let her alone, and foreigners were so unreliable, he might make frightful scenes. The only comfort was that he was only staying over Easter, she would pretend she was tired and tell Dolly that she preferred to stay quietly at the villa.
‘How could I have been such a fool?’ she cried angrily.
Dolly would be there to meet her at the station, and if he was tactless enough to come up and say good-bye to her she would tell Dolly that he had given up his compartment to her. There was no harm in that. It was always best to tell as much of the truth as you could. But there was quite a crowd of passengers getting out at Cannes, and Julia got out of the station and into Dolly’s car without catching a glimpse of him.
‘I’ve arranged nothing for today,’ said Dolly. ‘I thought you’d be tired and I wanted to have you all to myself just for twenty-four hours.’
Julia gave her arm an affectionate squeeze.
‘That’ll be too wonderful. We’ll just sit about the villa and grease our faces and have a good old gossip.’
But next day Dolly had arranged that they should go out to luncheon, and they were to meet their hosts at one of the bars on the Croisette to have cocktails. It was a beautiful day, clear, warm and sunny. When they got out of the car Dolly stopped to give the chauffeur instructions about fetching them and Julia waited for her. Suddenly her heart gave a great jump, for there was the Spaniard walking towards her, with a woman on one side of him clinging to his arm and on the other a little girl whose hand he held. She had not time to turn away. At that moment Dolly joined her to walk across the pavement. The Spaniard came, gave her a glance in which there was no sign of recognition, he was in animated conversation with the woman on his arm, and walked on. In a flash Julia understood that he was just as little anxious to see her as she was to see him. The woman and the child were obviously his wife and daughter whom he had come down to Cannes to spend Easter with. What a relief! Now she could enjoy herself without fear. But as she accompanied Dolly to the bar, Julia thought how disgusting men were. You simply couldn’t trust them for a minute. It was really disgraceful that a man with a charming wife and such a sweet little girl should be willing to pick up a woman in the train. You would think they’d have some sense of decency.
But as time passed Julia’s indignation was mitigated, and she had often thought of the adventure since with a good deal of pleasure. After all it had been fun. Sometimes she allowed her reveries to run away with her and she went over in her fancy the incidents of that singular night. He had been a most agreeable lover. It would be something to look back on when she was an old woman. It was the beard that had made such an impression on her, the odd feeling of it on her face and that slightly musty smell which was repulsive and yet strangely exciting. For years she looked out for men with beards, and she had a feeling that if one of them made proposals to her she simply wouldn’t be able to resist him. But few men wore beards any more, luckily for her because the sight made her go a little weak at the knees, and none of those that did ever made any advance to her. She would have liked to know who the Spaniard was. She saw him a day or two later playing chemin de fer at the Casino and asked two or three people if they knew him. Nobody did, and he remained in her recollection, and in her bones, without a name. It was an odd coincidence that she didn’t know the name either of the young man who had that afternoon behaved in so unexpected a manner. It struck her as rather comic.
‘If I only knew beforehand that they were going to take liberties with me I’d at least ask for their cards.’
With this thought she fell happily asleep.
13
SOME days passed, and one morning, while Julia was lying in bed reading a play, they rang through from the basement to ask if she would speak to Mr Fennell. The name meant nothing to her and she was about to refuse when it occurred to her that it might be the young man of her adventure. Her curiosity induced her to tell them to connect him. She recognized his voice.
‘You promised to ring me up,’ he said. ‘I got tired of waiting, so I’ve rung you up instead.’
‘I’ve been terribly busy the last few days.’
‘When am I going to see you?’
‘As soon as I have a moment to spare.’
‘What about this afternoon?’
‘I’ve got a matinée today.’
‘Come to tea after the matinée.’
She smiled. (‘No, young feller-me-lad, you don’t catch me a second time like that.’)
‘I can’t possibly,’ she answered. ‘I always stay in my dressing-room and rest till the evening performance.’
‘Can’t I come and see you while you’re resting?’
She hesitated for an instant. Perhaps the best thing would be to get him come; with Evie popping in and out and Miss Phillips due at seven, there would be no chance of any nonsense, and it would be a good opportunity to tell him, amiably, because he was really a sweet little thing, but firmly, that the incident of the other afternoon was to have no sequel. With a few well-chosen words she would explain to him that it was quite unreasonable and that he must oblige her by erasing the episode from his memory.
‘All right. Come at half-past five and I’ll give you a cup of tea.’
There was no part of her busy life that she enjoyed more than those three hours that she spent in her dressing-room between the afternoon and the evening performances. The other members of the cast had gone away; and Evie was there to attend to her wants and the doorkeeper to guard her privacy. Her dressing-room was like the cabin of a ship. The world seemed a long way off, and she relished her seclusion. She felt an enchanting freedom. She dozed a little, she read a little, or lying on the comfortable sofa she let her thoughts wander. She reflected on the part she was playing and the favourite parts she had played in the past. She thought of Roger her son. Pleasant reveries sauntered through her mind like lovers wandering in a green wood. She was fond of French poetry, and sometimes she repeated to herself verses of Verlaine.
Punctually at half-past five Evie brought her in a card. ‘Mr Thomas Fennell’, she read.
‘Send him in and bring some tea.’
She had decided how she was going t
o treat him. She would be amiable, but distant. She would take a friendly interest in his work and ask him about his examination. Then she would talk to him about Roger. Roger was seventeen now and in a year would be going to Cambridge. She would insinuate the fact that she was old enough to be his mother. She would act as if there had never been anything between them and he would go away, never to see her again except across the footlights, half convinced that the whole thing had been a figment of his fancy. But when she saw him, so slight, with his hectic flush and his blue eyes, so charmingly boyish, she felt a sudden pang. Evie closed the door behind him. She was lying on the sofa and she stretched out her arm to give him her hand, the gracious smile of Madame Récamier on her lips, but he flung himself on his knees and passionately kissed her mouth. She could not help herself, she put her arms round his neck, and kissed him as passionately.
(‘Oh, my good resolutions. My God, I can’t have fallen in love with him.’)
‘For goodness’ sake, sit down. Evie’s coming in with the tea.’
‘Tell her not to disturb us.’
‘What do you mean?’ But what he meant was obvious. Her heart began to beat quickly. ‘It’s ridiculous. I can’t. Michael might come in.’
‘I want you.’
‘What d’you suppose Evie would think? It’d be idiotic to take such a risk. No, no, no.’
There was a knock at the door and Evie came in with the tea. Julia gave her instructions to put the table by the side of her sofa and a chair for the young man on the other side of the table. She kept Evie with unnecessary conversation. She felt him looking at her. His eyes moved quickly, following her gestures and the expression of her face; she avoided them, but she felt their anxiety and the eagerness of his desire. She was troubled. It seemed to her that her voice did not sound quite natural.
(‘What the devil’s the matter with me? God, I can hardly breathe.’)
When Evie reached the door the boy made a gesture that was so instinctive that her sensitiveness rather than her sight caught it. She could not but look at him. His face had gone quite pale.
‘Oh, Evie,’ she said. ‘This gentleman wants to talk to me about a play. See that no one disturbs me. I’ll ring when I want you.’
‘Very good, miss.’
Evie went out and closed the door.
(‘I’m a fool. I’m a bloody fool.’)
But he had moved the table, and he was on his knees, and she was in his arms.
She sent him away a little before Miss Phillips was due, and when he was gone rang for Evie.
‘Play any good?’ asked Evie.
‘What play?’
‘The play ’e was talkin’to you abaht.’
‘He’s clever. Of course he’s young.’
Evie was looking down at the dressing-table. Julia liked everything always to be in the same place, and if a pot of grease or her eyeblack was not exactly where it should be made a scene.
‘Where’s your comb?’
He had used it to comb his hair and had carelessly placed it on the tea-table. When Evie caught sight of it she stared at it for a moment reflectively.
‘How on earth did it get there?’ cried Julia lightly.
‘I was just wondering.’
It gave Julia a nasty turn. Of course it was madness to do that sort of thing in the dressing-room. Why, there wasn’t even a key in the lock. Evie kept it. All the same the risk had given it a spice. It was fun to think that she could be so crazy. At all events they’d made a date now. Tom, she’d asked him what they called him at home and he said Thomas, she really couldn’t call him that, Tom wanted to take her to supper somewhere so that they could dance, and it happened that Michael was going up to Cambridge for a night to rehearse a series of one-act plays written by undergraduates. They would be able to spend hours together.
‘You can get back with the milk,’ he’d said.
‘And what about my performance next day?’
‘We can’t bother about that.’
She had refused to let him fetch her at the theatre, and when she got to the restaurant they had chosen he was waiting for her in the lobby. His face lit up as he saw her.
‘It was getting so late, I was afraid you weren’t coming.’
‘I’m sorry, some tiresome people came round after the play and I couldn’t get rid of them.’
But it wasn’t true. She had been as excited all the evening as a girl going to her first ball. She could not help thinking how absurd she was. But when she had taken off her theatrical make-up and made up again for supper she could not satisfy herself. She put blue on her eyelids and took it off again, she rouged her cheeks, rubbed them clean and tried another colour.
‘What are you trying to do?’ said Evie.
‘I’m trying to look twenty, you fool.’
‘If you try much longer you’ll look your age.’
She had never seen him in evening clothes before. He shone like a new pin. Though he was of no more than average height his slimness made him look tall. She was a trifle touched to see that for all his airs of the man of the world he was shy with the head waiter when it came to ordering supper. They danced and he did not dance very well, but she found his slight awkwardness rather charming. People recognized her, and she was conscious that he enjoyed the reflected glory of their glances.
A pair of young things who had been dancing came up to their table to say how do you do to her. When they had left he asked:
‘Wasn’t that Lord and Lady Dennorant?’
‘Yes. I’ve known George since he was at Eton.’
He followed them with his eyes.
‘She was Lady Cecily Laweston, wasn’t she?’
‘I’ve forgotten. Was she?’
It seemed a matter of no interest to her. A few minutes later another couple passed them.
‘Look, there’s Lady Lepard.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Don’t you remember, they had a big party at their place in Cheshire a few weeks ago and the Prince of Wales was there. It was in the Bystander.’
Oh, that was how he got all his information. Poor sweet. He read about grand people in the papers and now and then, at a restaurant or a theatre, saw them in the flesh. Of course it was a thrill for him. Romance. If he only knew how dull they were really! This innocent passion for the persons whose photographs appear in the illustrated papers made him seem incredibly naive, and she looked at him with tender eyes.
‘Have you ever taken an actress out to supper before?’
He blushed scarlet.
‘Never.’
She hated to let him pay the bill, she had an inkling that it was costing pretty well his week’s salary, but she knew it would hurt his pride if she offered to pay it herself. She asked casually what the time was and instinctively he looked at his wrist.
‘I forgot to put on my watch.’
She gave him a searching look.
‘Have you pawned it?’
He reddened again.
‘No. I dressed in rather a hurry tonight.’
She only had to look at his tie to know that he had done no such thing. He was lying to her. She knew that he had pawned his watch in order to take her out to supper. A lump came into her throat. She could have taken him in her arms then and there and kissed his blue eyes. She adored him.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
They drove back to his bed-sitting room in Tavistock Square.
14
NEXT day Julia went to Cartier’s and bought a watch to send to Tom Fennell instead of the one he had pawned, and two or three weeks later, discovering that it was his birthday, she sent him a gold cigarette-case.
‘D’you know, that’s the one thing I’ve wanted all my life.’
She wondered if there were tears in his eyes. He kissed her passionately.
Then, on one excuse and another, she sent him pearl studs and sleeve-links and waistcoat buttons. It thrilled her to make him presents.
‘It’s so awful that I ca
n’t give you anything in return,’ he said.
‘Give me the watch you pawned to stand me a supper.’
It was a little gold watch that could not have cost more than ten pounds, but it amused her to wear it now and then.
It was not till after that night when they had first supped together that Julia confessed to herself that she had fallen in love with Tom. It came to her as a shock. But she was exhilarated.
‘I who thought I could never be in love again. Of course it can’t last. But why shouldn’t I get what fun out of it I can?’
She decided that he must come again to Stanhope Place. It was not long before an opportunity presented itself.
‘You know that young accountant of yours,’ she said to Michael. ‘Tom Fennell’s his name. I met him out at supper the other night and I’ve asked him to dinner next Sunday. We want an extra man.’
‘Oh, d’you think he’ll fit in?’
It was rather a grand party. It was on that account she had asked him. She thought it would please him to meet some of the people he had known only from their pictures. She had realized already that he was a bit of a snob. Well, that was all to the good; she could give him all the smart people he wanted. For Julia was shrewd, and she knew very well that Tom was not in love with her. To have an affair with her flattered his vanity. He was a highly-sexed young man and enjoyed sexual exercise. From hints, from stories that she had dragged out of him, she discovered that since he was seventeen he had had a great many women. He loved the act rather than the person. He looked upon it as the greatest lark in the world. And she could understand why he had so much success. There was something appealing in his slightness, his body was just skin and bone, that was why his clothes sat on him so well, and something charming in his clean freshness. His shyness and his effrontery combined to make him irresistible. It was strangely nattering for a woman to be treated as a little bit of fluff that you just tumbled on to a bed.
‘What he’s got, of course, is sex appeal.’
She knew that his good looks were due to his youth. He would grow wizened as he grew older, dried up and haggard; that charming flush on his cheeks would turn into a purple glow and his delicate skin would go lined and sallow; but the feeling that what she loved in him would endure so short a time increased her tenderness. She felt a strange compassion for him. He had the high spirits of youth, and she lapped them up as a kitten laps up milk. But he was not amusing. Though he laughed when Julia said a funny thing he never said one himself. She did not mind. She found his dullness restful. She never felt so light-hearted as in his company, and she could be brilliant enough for two.
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