by Albert Cohen
'The only likely proposition in the whole place,' she observed. 'English, I'd say. I haven't seen her before. Her little Sealyham is a pet. Just look at the way he looks at his mummy.'
In the lounge where coffee was served, they perused a magazine together. Close by them, two couples who had just checked in, sensing they might be social equals, had struck up a conversation. After a preliminary exchange of pleasantries, they had dusted down their antennae and proceeded to probe each other's social standing, casually slipping into the conversation details about their respective professions and connections. Reassured, recognizing fellow denizens of the same ant-heap when they saw them, they blossomed and bloomed, communed loudly, and trumpeted their delight: 'Well, well! Isn't it a small world! Of course we knew them, we used to see a great deal of them! What a pity they left! Such lovely people!'
Further along, two other husbands, who had also been sniffing each other out by dropping the prestigious names of lawyers and bishops, were talking motor cars in the face of constant interruptions from the younger of the wives, a doll-like creature with a moon face who bore a striking resemblance to the wife of Petresco and, like Petresco's wife, was doing her adorable, skittish number, shrieking at frequent intervals, as she bobbed up and down and clapped her hands like a little girl, that what she wanted was a Chrysler, she did, a nice Chrysler, so there! All these people were aquiver to run with their kind, itching to be happy clots and lumps in the collective porridge. In silence, holding hands, the two lovers read on, noble and remote. Suddenly, she stood up.
'Let's go. They're making me feel ill.'
In their loving-room, they listened to the new records they had bought, discussed them, and then there were kisses. At two thirty he said he had a headache and wanted to lie down in his room, so they arranged to meet again for tea. Left to herself, she went back downstairs.
She found a chair in the lounge and flicked through a pile of tourist guides on a table, while, next to her, happy future corpses were making noisy plans for outings and the podgy doll again ran through her pretty-little-girl routine. Jumping up and down and clapping her hands, sillier than an American majorette, the oh-so-spontaneous little kitten again told her husband that she wanted a Chrysler, she did, a nice Chrysler, so there, highly delighted not only to be seen to be so headstrong but also to let their new friends know, by means of her endlessly reverberating childish refrain, that she and her husband were more than able to afford a Chrysler, thank you very much. But when Ariane got up and left she stopped her antics, and the conversation lapsed and gave way to whispers.
Ariane walked slowly along the gravel drive, where the woman with red hair was also strolling. Going up to the little dog, which was sniffing busily around, she bent down and stroked him. Smiles were offered, views on the attractions of Sealyhams were exchanged — jealous but loyal — then on the weather, so warm and it was the twenty-seventh of November too, quite extraordinary really, even for the Riviera.
Eventually they sat down in cane chairs under a sickly, dust-laden palm. Ariane made further enquiries as to the character of the little dog, which, having taken due note of all the ambient smells and judged them to be of no interest whatsoever, rested its chin on its front paws, heaved a great bored sigh, and pretended to go to sleep, but kept one eye half open on the progress of an ant.
The conversation having been carried on in English, the lady with the red hair confessed to being amazed by the perfect accent of her new acquaintance, who at once proceeded to evoke the wonderful years she had spent at Girton, Cambridge, and thereafter at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford. A gleam of renewed interest flickered in the eyes of the Englishwoman at the mention of these women's colleges, both so exclusive and attracting only students from the very best circles. She looked fondly at her new acquaintance. Lady Margaret Hall! Really! But how fascinating! Wasn't it a small world! Barbara and Joyce, dear Patricia Layton's twins, Viscountess Layton, you know, absolutely, were currently up at LMH and were very happy there, such a wonderful place. But look, she said with a smile, it's the hols after all, and a person might quite properly dispense with etiquette and introduce herself. She was Kathleen Forbes, wife of the British consul-general in Rome. After a momentary hesitation, her acquaintance also gave her name and said that her husband was an Under-Secretary-General at the League of Nations.
Whereupon Mrs Forbes became ebullient and utterly charming. Under-Secretary-General! Really! But how fascinating! Eyelids fluttering and with a fond look suffusing her face, she declared that she adored the League of Nations, a wonderful institution where so much wonderful work was done to promote international peace and mutual understanding! When people understood each other, they would love each other, now wasn't that so? she said with a smile, and her eyelids fluttered more exiquisitely than ever. Sir John was such a kind man, and Lady Cheyne was so accomplished, so considerate. Actually, one of her nieces had just got engaged to a second cousin of dear Lady Cheyne! All at once her beating eyelids turned into butterfly wings and she grabbed Ariane's hand. But of course! She remembered now! Her cousin, Bob Huxley, worked in the Secretariat! Madame Solal must surely know him, for he had spoken a great deal about Monsieur Solal last year, had sung his praises! But how fascinating! Her husband would be delighted to meet Monsieur Solal, because he too took the keenest interest in the League of Nations!
In response to a polite question from Ariane, Mrs Forbes, like a silvery trout safely returned to its native waters, said that she had been at Agay since the day before yesterday but that her husband would not be arriving until that afternoon, perhaps with dear Bob in tow. Yes, he'd had to make a detour to call on his dear friend Tucker, that's Sir Alfred Tucker, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, who was alas receiving treatment in a clinic which, as it happened, was in Geneva. 'A very, very dear friend,' she concluded with a dying fall and a modicum of melancholy tinged with coyness. But she had felt desperately run-down and had not had the strength to make the stopover at Geneva. After the social whirl of Rome, which was simply too wearing, all she had wanted to do was to get to the good old Royal, where she felt thoroughly at home, though its clientele was not of course entirely congenial nor very interesting, save naturally for a few exceptions, she added with a sweet smile, but it was so marvellously situated, perfectly heavenly surroundings. From one point of view it could be considered an advantage to stay in an hotel frequented by people of quite dissimilar backgrounds to theirs, because it meant that one could enjoy one's privacy. Oh yes, after the social round in Rome, which made such inroads into one's time, she so enjoyed this chance to relax and respect one's physical being, she said with an intellectual smile. Oh, were she free to follow her own tastes, she would gladly turn her back on the social whirl and settle for a hermit's life of solitude, indulge her passion for nature, and be nearer God, with only a few good books for company. But it was the duty of the wives of holders of official positions to sacrifice themselves and to some extent assist their husbands, she affirmed, giving her companion in executive matrimony a sweet smile. And in addition to the ghastly social round, which was so invasive, there was also the requirement to keep abreast, was there not, of anything that was of interest from the intellectual point of view — vernissages, concerts, lectures, social problems, the books which people were talking about, not to mention tedious staff problems when, as she was, one was expected to maintain a certain social style. Oh yes indeed, she was only too happy to be a simple body for these two weeks, to bathe in the dear old Med and play a set or two of tennis every day. By the by, perhaps Madame Solal would care to make up a mixed foursome with them tomorrow? And perhaps Monsieur Solal might like to join them?
So it was agreed between them that they should meet outside the hotel at eleven next morning. Having had her social appetites whetted by the reserve and refinement of the Under-Secretary-General's delightful wife, Mrs Forbes took her leave, her teeth bared affectionately, then retired, followed by her little dog, quite delighted with the cat
ch she had landed.
CHAPTER 85
The following day, a little before four o'clock, they went down to take tea in the small lounge of the hotel and sat down by the window overlooking the terrace, which she opened so that they might enjoy the balmy air. Seeing him blink, she drew the curtains to take the edge off the sun's brightness. When she had drunk her first cup of tea, she said that anyone would think it was April, not November. This was followed by a silence. To fill it, he suggested they should give marks out of twenty to the clothes she had bought in Cannes. The conversation got under way immediately, and they saw eye to eye on giving top marks to the evening dress in that truly ravishing deep pink. An evening dress, he thought, what was the point? For what reception, official dinner or ball was it intended?
They moved on to the other items and she argued fiercely, not suspecting for a single moment what pity he felt to see her falling so easily for the lure. As she hesitated between a seventeen and an eighteen for the ruby cardigan, he felt an urge to kiss her on the cheek. But no, they were lovers. They were sentenced to lips.
When everything had been given a mark, she suggested a stroll along the shore. 'The sea, the ever changing yet unchanged sea,' she said, quoting Valery for his benefit. Not particularly taken with artiness of this kind, he smiled appreciatively then said he had a headache. She immediately suggested aspirin, and got up to go for some. He refused the offer, saying that he would rather lie down for an hour or two, and asked her if meantime she would pop over to Saint-Raphaël and buy some more records. He had a yen to hear the Brandenburg Concertos.
'I think they're wonderful!' she said, getting up again. 'But I'll go to Cannes to be sure of getting all six. I've just time. There's a train in a couple of minutes.'
He stood, ashamed to be fobbing her off like this, she so innocent, so pleased to be making herself useful. To give her a cud of happiness to chew while she was on the train, he said in a voice oozing sincerity that just now, upstairs, they had made wonderful love together. She looked up at him gravely and kissed his hand, and he ached with pity, tried to think of some other way of making her happy, to give her something to look forward to, some little goal for when she got back.
'Later on I'd like you to try on your new dresses again for me, one by one. You look so marvellous in them.'
She gave him a heart-meltingly grateful look, breathed deeply, revived by this draught of admiration, said she'd have to get a move on if she wasn't to miss her train, and was off. He watched her run for all she was worth, so eager, poor girl, to fetch records he didn't want. But at least he had given her something to think about. He'd have to come up with some fresh ideas when she got back, after she'd finished trying on the dresses. She'd been very disappointed that morning when he had told her that Forbes had rung to postpone their game of tennis. She had already got into her shorts, was raring to go and very happy. Was the Forbes woman really ill?
He sat down again, took a swallow of lukewarm tea, and looked at the time. She'd be on the train now, thinking about him, happy to be fetching new records for him. Remember to gush later on when she tried on her frocks.
A hum of voices. He stubbed out his cigarette, peered through the gap in the drawn curtains, and recognized the Englishwoman with the red hair, la Forbes, bursting with rude good health, being gracious to a very tall woman in her fifties with an immensely long chin, in whose company she shortly sat down on the cane divan just under his window. He edged closer.
Oh yes, Mrs Forbes exclaimed, she knew Alexandre de Sabran very well. He had spoken to them frequently of his uncle the Colonel, who was military attache at Berne! Wasn't it a small world! Who would ever have thought that here at Agay she would be talking to the aunt of dear Alexandre of whom she saw so much in Rome, whom she positively adored, and who both for herself and her husband was quite simply Dear Sacha, an absolutely delightful boy who, by the by, was enormously highly thought of by the ambassador, she had it from the dear ambassador's own lips! This very evening she would write and tell Sacha that she'd had the pleasure of making his aunt's acquaintance! So Colonel de Sabran was presently observing the Swiss army on manoeuvres, was he? But how fascinating! Obviously, as military attache, it was part of his official duties, she said with a smile as she sucked on a social barley-sugar. Oh the army, she positively adored the army! she sighed, and she fluttered her eyelashes. The army! Honour, discipline, ancient traditions, chivalry, an officer's word his bond, cavalry charges, mighty battles, field marshals deploying brilliant tactics, men dying like heroes! There was no finer career! If only she'd been a man! What was nobler than to lay down one's life for one's country! For there would always be war, nothing would stop it, the League of Nations could talk until it was blue in the face. And would the Colonel be joining her soon? she asked, with a look ablaze with sympathetic interest. In three days! Her husband and she would be delighted to meet him and give him the latest about Dear Sacha.
Whereupon she suggested that Madame de Sabran might care for some refreshment, enquired as to her preferences, summoned a waiter with one forefinger, ordered China for Madame and very strong Ceylon for herself, asked for very hot buttered toast to be brought in a napkin, and never once did she so much as glance at the man. Having thus reminded him of the base clay of which he was made and of the fact that he existed solely to wait upon the wives of military attaches and consuls-general, she turned dreamily to her congenial companion, who was a colonel's lady and an authentic baroness. After alluding briefly to dear Sir Alfred Tucker and Viscountess Layton — a rare soul if ever there was — she cleared the decks for harpooning-stations. How wonderful it was to be at Agay, simply to follow one's physical rhythms, to be able at last to play tennis every day, to be free for a little while of the tiresome social round which, when all was said and done, was so banal, didn't Madame de Sabran agree?
'By the by, would you like to make up a tennis foursome with us? Shall we say tomorrow, at eleven?'
Madame de Sabran, highly conscious of the gulf which separated the diplomatic service from the consular, acquiesced with muted enthusiasm and a thin smile. Her lack of enthusiasm thrilled Mrs Forbes, for it was an indication of the size of the catch she had landed, and her covetousness was increased thereby. She directed a fawning smile at Madame de Sabran, who stood up and said she would be back in a moment. Sure in the knowledge of her twenty-four social carats, she made a stately exit.
On her return, with eyes of blue ice and looking for all the world like a supercilious giraffe, she peered from a disdainful distance at the podgy doll-woman who was going through her set routine in the lounge, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands together. Placing one hand along her scrawny rump in the manner of Madame Deume the elder, the baroness satisfied herself that her skirt hung properly, then sat down and congratulated Mrs Forbes on her excellent command of the French language. To which Mrs Forbes of the red hair replied modestly that she couldn't honestly claim any credit for that because she had always talked French with her nanny ever since she was a little girl. This particular brought a smile of approval to the razor lips of Madame de Sabran, who, after a moment's silence, brought up the subject of that very odd couple who never spoke to anyone. Who were those people, where did they come from, what did the man do? The desk-clerk had told her the name, but she had forgotten it.
'Was it Solal?' asked Mrs Forbes, with hope ashine in her eyes.
'Yes, that's it. I remember now.'
'To be avoided like the plague,' said Mrs Forbes with an obsequious smile. 'Ah, here's our tea. First, let's quench our thirst and then I'll tell you all about it, it's quite a tale, you'll see. I have it from the horse's mouth. Heard all about it from my cousin Robert Huxley, who is an adviser with the League of Nations, a great friend of Sir John Cheyne, whom you probably know. (As she did not in fact know him, Madame de Sabran's face moved not a muscle.) Bob got here yesterday with my husband and will be spending a few days with us, a charming boy, I would be delighted to introduce him to you. Oh
yes, those two should be avoided like the plague.'
He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. This morning, in her tennis shorts, so pleased, all ready and waiting for her date with la Forbes. What had he let her in for? Mrs Forbes put down her empty cup, sighed pleasantly, said that there was nothing like tea for quenching one's thirst, settled back into the divan, gave a contented smile, and embarked upon her good deed for the day.
'To be avoided like the plague, dear Baroness,' she said again. (She was burning to say simply my dear, but judged that she would be better advised to wait until tomorrow, until the game of tennis, which would furnish a more propitious moment.) 'They are living in sin. In sin,' she repeated. 'My cousin has put me fully in the picture. The woman is the wife of one of his colleagues at the League of Nations. It all came out straight away, because the poor husband tried to kill himself the very day the guilty couple ran away together. Fortunately they got to him just in time. But when I think she had the gall to tell me that she was the man's wife while all the time she has a lawful husband alive and well in Geneva!'
'I'm surprised that they put up with that sort of thing here,' said Madame de Sabran.
'Especially since they were required to register under their real names, since they had to show their passports. I made enquiries at the desk. But that's not all, there's more. You won't credit it, but the man had a top job in the League of Nations. I should add that he's a Jew.'
'Doesn't surprise me in the least,' said Madame de Sabran. 'Their sort worm their way into everything. Do you know, there are even a couple at the Quai d'Orsay! We live in strange times.'
'A very top job, I was saying . . .'
'It's a mafia,' said Madame de Sabran knowingly. 'Really, I'd rather have Hitler than Blum any day. At least the Chancellor is someone who stands for order and a firm hand, a real leader. But please go on.'