Bellamy to dine and go to a play; and a few weeks afterward she said to Targatt and Nadeja: “I think I will live with Mr. Bellamy. He has an empty flat that I could have, and he would furnish it beautifully.”
Though Targatt prided himself on an unprejudiced mind he winced slightly at this suggestion. It seemed cruel to Dmitri, and decidedly uncomfortable as far as Targatt and Nadeja were concerned.
“But, Katinka, if Bellamy’s so gone on you, he ought to marry you,” he said severely.
Katinka nodded her assent. “Certainly he ought. And I think he will, after I have lived with him a few months.”
This upset every single theory of Targatt’s with regard to his own sex. “But, my poor girl—if you go and live with a man first like … like any woman he could have for money, why on earth should he want to marry you afterward?”
Katinka looked at him calmly. Her eyelashes were not as long as Nadeja’s, but her eyes were as full of wisdom. “Habit,” she said simply; and in an instant Targatt’s conventional world was in fragments at his feet. Who knew better than he did that if you once had the Kouradjine habit you couldn’t be cured of it? He said nothing more, and sat back to watch what happened to Mr. Bellamy.
IV.
Mr. Bellamy did not offer Dmitri a position as book-keeper; but soon after his marriage to Katinka he took him into his house as social secretary. Targatt had a first movement of surprise and disapproval, but he saw that Nadeja did not share it. “That’s very nice,” she said. “I was sure Katinka would not desert Dmitri. And Mr. Bellamy is so generous. He is going to adopt Katinka’s three children.”
But it must not be thought that the fortunes of all the Kouradjines ran as smoothly. For a brief moment Targatt had imagined that the infatuated Bellamy was going to assume the charge of the whole tribe; but Wall Street was beginning to be uneasy, and Mr. Bellamy restricted his hospitality to Katinka’s children and Dmitri, and, like many of the very rich, manifested no interest in those whose misfortunes did not immediately interfere with his own comfort. Thus vanished even the dream of a shared responsibility, and Targatt saw himself facing a business outlook decidedly less dazzling, and with a still considerable number of Kouradjines to provide for. Olga, in particular, was a cause of some anxiety. She was less adaptable, less suited to fitting into cracks, than the others, and her various experiments in song and dance had all broken down for lack of perseverance. But she was (at least so Nadeja thought) by far the best-looking of the family; and finally Targatt decided to pay for her journey to Hollywood, in the hope that Boris would put her in the way of becoming a screen star. This suggestion, however, was met by a telegram from Boris ominously dated from Reno: “Don’t send Olga am divorcing Halma.”
For the first time since his marriage Targatt felt really discouraged. Were there perhaps too many Kouradjines, and might the Kouradjine habit after all be beginning to wear thin? The family were all greatly perturbed by Boris’s news, and when—after the brief interval required to institute and complete divorce proceedings against his film star—Boris left Reno and turned up in New York, his air of unperturbed good-humour was felt to be unsuitable to the occasion. Nadeja, always hopeful, interpreted it as meaning that he was going to marry another and even richer star; but Boris said God forbid, and no more Hollywood for him. Katinka and Bellamy did not invite him to come and stay, and the upshot of it was that his bed was made up on the Targatts’ drawing-room divan, while he shared the bathroom with Targatt and Nadeja.
Things dragged on in this way for some weeks, till one day Nadeja came privately to her husband. “He has got three millions,” she whispered with wide eyes. “Only yesterday was he sure. The cheque has come. Do you think, darling, she ought to have allowed him more?”
Targatt did not think so; he was inarticulate over Boris’s achievement. “What’s he going to do with it?” he gasped.
“Well, I think first he will invest it, and then he will go to the Lido. There is a young girl there, I believe, that he is in love with. I knew Boris would not divorce for nothing. He is going there to meet her.”
Targatt could not disguise an impulse of indignation. Before investing his millions, was Boris not going to do anything for his family? Nadeja said she had thought of that too; but Boris said he had invested the money that morning, and of course there would be no interest coming in till the next quarter. And meanwhile he was so much in love that he had taken his passage for the following day on the Berengaria. Targatt thought that only natural, didn’t he?
Targatt swallowed his ire, and said, yes, he supposed it was natural enough. After all, if the boy had found a young girl he could really love and respect, and if he had the money to marry her and settle down, no one could blame him for rushing off to press his suit. And Boris rushed.
But meanwhile the elimination of two Kouradjines had not had the hoped-for effect of reducing the total number of the tribe. On the contrary, that total had risen; for suddenly three new members had appeared. One was an elderly and completely ruined Princess (a distant cousin, Nadeja explained) with whom old Kouradjine had decided to contract a tardy alliance, now that the rest of the family were provided for. (“He could do no less,” Katinka and Nadeja mysteriously agreed.) And the other, and more sensational, newcomers were two beautiful young creatures, known respectively to the tribe as Nick and Mouna, but whose difficulties at the passport office made it seem that there were legal doubts as to their remaining names. These difficulties, through Targatt’s efforts, were finally overcome and snatched from the jaws of Ellis Island, Nick and Mouna joyfully joined the party at another new restaurant, “The Transcaucasian”, which Nadeja had recently discovered.
Targatt’s immensely enlarged experience of human affairs left him in little doubt as to the parentage of Nick and Mouna, and when Nadeja whispered to him one night (through the tumult of Boris’s late bath next door): “You see, poor Papa felt he could not longer fail to provide for them,” Targatt did not dream of asking why.
But he now had no less than seven Kouradjines more or less dependent on him, and the next night he sat up late and did some figuring and thinking. Even to Nadeja he could not explain in blunt language the result of this vigil; but he said to her the following day: “What’s become of that flat of Bellamy’s that Katinka lived in before—”
“Why, he gave the lease to Katinka as a wedding-present; but it seems that people are no more as rich as they were, and as it’s such a very handsome flat, and the rent is high, the tenants can no longer afford to keep it—”
“Well,” said Targatt with sudden resolution, “tell your sister if she’ll make a twenty-five per cent cut on the rent I’ll take over the balance of the lease.”
Nadeja gasped. “Oh, James, you are an angel! But what do you think you could then do with it?”
Targatt threw back his shoulders. “Live in it,” he recklessly declared.
V.
It was the first time (except when he had married Nadeja) that he had ever been reckless; and there was no denying that he enjoyed the sensation. But he had not acted wholly for the sake of enjoyment; he had an ulterior idea. What that idea was he did not choose to communicate to any one at present. He merely asked Katinka, who, under the tuition of Mr. Bellamy’s experienced butler, had developed some rudimentary ideas of house-keeping, to provide Nadeja with proper servants, and try to teach her how to use them; and he then announced to Nadeja that he had made up his mind to do a little entertaining. He and Nadeja had already made a few fashionable acquaintances at the Bellamys’, and these they proceeded to invite to the new flat, and to feed with exotic food, and stimulate with abstruse cocktails. At these dinners Targatt’s new friends met the younger and lovelier of the Kouradjines: Paul, Olga, Nick and Mouna, and they always went away charmed with the encounter.
Considerable expense was involved by this new way of life; and still more when Nadeja, at Targatt’s instigation, invited Olga, Nick and Mouna to come
and live with them. Nadeja was overcome with gratitude at this suggestion; but her gratitude, like all her other emotions, was so exquisitely modulated that it fell on Targatt like the gentle dew from heaven, merely fostering in him a new growth of tenderness. But still Targatt did not explain himself. He had his idea, and knowing that Nadeja would not bother him with questions he sat back quietly and waited, though Wall Street was growing more and more unsettled, and there had been no further news of Boris, and Paul and Olga were still without a job.
The Targatts’ little dinners, and Nadeja’s exclusive cocktail parties, began to be the rage in a set far above the Bellamys’. There were almost always one or two charming young Kouradjines present; but they were now so sought after in smartest Park Avenue and gayest Long Island that Targatt and Nadeja had to make sure of securing their presence beforehand, so there was never any danger of there being too many on the floor at once.
On the contrary, there were occasions when they all simultaneously failed to appear; and on one of these evenings, Targatt, conscious that the party had not “come off’, was about to vent his irritation against the absent Serge, when Nadeja said gently: “I’m sorry Serge didn’t tell you. But I think he was married today to Mrs. Leeper.”
“Mrs. Leeper? Not the Dazzle Tooth-Paste woman he met at the Bellamys’, who wanted him to decorate her ballroom?”
“Yes; but I think she did not after all want him to decorate her ball-room. And so she has married him instead.”
A year earlier Targatt would have had no word but an uncomprehending groan. But since then his education had proceeded by leaps and bounds, and now he simply said: “I see—” and turned back to his breakfast with a secret smile. He had received Serge’s tailor’s bill the day before, and had been rehearsing half the night what he was going to say to Serge when they met. But now he merely remarked: “That woman has a two million dollar income,” and thought to himself that the experiment with the flat was turning out better than he could have imagined. If Serge could be disposed of so easily there was no cause to despair of Paul or Olga. “Hasn’t Mrs. Leeper a nephew?” he asked Nadeja; who, as if she had read his thought, replied regretfully: “Yes; but I’m afraid he’s married.”
“Oh, well—send Boris to talk to him!” Targatt jeered; and Nadeja, who never laughed, smiled a little and replied: “Boris too will soon be married.” She handed her husband the morning papers, which he had not yet had time to examine, and he read, in glowing headlines, the announcement of the marriage in London of Prince Boris Kouradjine, son of Prince Peter Kouradjine, hereditary sovereign of Daghestan, and Chamberlain at the court of his late Imperial Majesty the Czar Nicholas, to Miss Mamie Guggins of Rapid Rise, Oklahoma. “Boris has a little exaggerated our father’s rank,” Nadeja commented; but Targatt said thoughtfully: “No one can exaggerate the Guggins fortune.” And Nadeja gave a quiet sigh.
It must not be supposed that this rise in the fortunes of the Kouradjines was of any direct benefit to Targatt. He had never expected that, or even hoped it. No Kouradjine had ever suggested making any return for the sums expended by Targatt in vainly educating and profitably dressing his irresistible in-laws; nor had Targatt’s staggering restaurant bills been reduced by any offer of participation. Only the old Princess (as it was convenient, with so many young ones about, to call her when she was out of hearing) had said tearfully, on her wedding-day: “Believe me, my good James, what you have done for us all will not be forgotten when we return to Daghestan.” And she spoke with such genuine emotion, the tears were so softening to her tired magnificent eyes, that Targatt, at the moment, felt himself repaid.
Other and more substantial returns he did draw from his alliance with the Kouradjines; and it was the prospect of these which had governed his conduct. From the day when it had occurred to him to send Katinka to intercede with Mr. Bellamy, Targatt had never once swerved from his purpose. And slowly but surely he was beginning to reap his reward.
Mr. Bellamy, for instance, had not seen his way to providing for the younger Kouradjines; but he was ready enough to let Targatt in on the ground floor of one of those lucrative deals usually reserved for the already wealthy. Mrs. Leeper, in her turn, gave him the chance to buy a big block of Dazzle Tooth-Paste shares on exceptional terms; and as fashion and finance became aware of the younger Kouradjines, and fell under their spell, Targatt’s opportunities for making quick turnovers became almost limitless. And now a pleasant glow stole down his spine at the thought that all previous Kouradjine alliances paled before the staggering wealth of Boris’s bride. “Boris really does owe me a good turn,” he mused; but he had no expectation that it would be done with Boris’s knowledge. The new Princess Boris was indeed induced to hand over her discarded wardrobe to Olga and Mouna, and Boris presented cigarette cases to his brothers and brother-in-law; but here his prodigalities ended. Targatt, however, was not troubled; for years he had longed to meet the great Mr. Guggins, and here he was, actually related to that gentleman’s only child!
Mr. Guggins, when under the influence of domestic happiness or alcohol, was almost as emotional as the Kouradjines. On his return to New York, after the parting from his only child, he was met on the dock by Targatt and Nadeja, who suggested his coming to dine that night at a jolly new restaurant with all the other Kouradjines; and Mrs. Guggins was so much drawn to the old Princess, to whom she confided how difficult it was to get reliable window-washers at Rapid Rise, that the next day Targatt, as he would have put it, had the old man in his pocket. Mr. Guggins stayed a week in New York, and when he departed Targatt knew enough about the Guggins industries to make some very useful reinvestments; and Mrs. Guggins carried off Olga as her social secretary.
VI.
Stimulated by these successive achievements Targatt’s tardily developed imagination was growing like an Indian juggler’s tree. He no longer saw any limits to what might be done with the Kouradjines. He had already found a post for the old Prince as New York representative of a leading firm of Paris picture-dealers, Paul and Nick were professional dancers at fashionable night-clubs, and for the moment only Mouna, the lovely but difficult, remained on Targatt’s mind and his pay-roll.
It was the first time in his life that Targatt had tasted the fruits of ease, and he found them surprisingly palatable. He was no longer young, it took him more time than of old to get around a golf-course, and he occasionally caught himself telling his good stories twice over to the same listener. But life was at once exciting and peaceful, and he had to own that his interests had been immensely enlarged. All that, of course, he owed in the first instance to Nadeja. Poor Nadeja—she was not as young as she had been, either. She was still slender and supple, but there were little lines in the corners of her eyes, and a certain droop of the mouth. Others might not notice these symptoms, Targatt thought; but they had not escaped him. For Targatt, once so unseeing in the presence of beauty, had now become an adept in appraising human flesh-and-blood, and smiled knowingly when his new friends commended Mouna’s young charms, or inclined the balance in favour of the more finished Olga. There was nothing any one could tell him now about the relative “values” of the Kouradjines: he had them tabulated as if they were vintage wines, and it was a comfort to him to reflect that Nadeja was, after all, the one whose market value was least considerable. It was sheer luck—a part of his miraculous Kouradjine luck—that his choice had fallen on the one Kouradjine about whom there was never likely to be the least fuss or scandal; and after an exciting day in Wall Street, or a fatiguing struggle to extricate Paul or Mouna from some fresh scrape, he would sink back with satisfaction into his own unruffled domesticity.
There came a day, however, when he began to feel that the contrast between his wife and her sisters was too much to Nadeja’s disadvantage. Was it because the others had smarter clothes—or, like Katinka, finer jewels? Poor Nadeja, he reflected, had never had any jewels since her engagement ring; and that was a shabby affair. Was it possible, Targatt conje
ctured, that as middle age approached she was growing dowdy, and needed the adventitious enhancements of dress-maker and beauty doctor? Half sheepishly he suggested that she oughtn’t to let herself be outdone by Katinka, who was two or three years her senior; and he reinforced the suggestion by a diamond chain from Carder’s and a good-humoured hint that she might try Mrs. Bellamy’s dress-maker.
Nadeja received the jewel with due raptures, and appeared at their next dinner in a gown which was favourably noticed by every one present. Katinka said: “Well, at last poor Nadeja is really dressed,” and Mouna sulked visibly, and remarked to her brother-in-law: “If you want the right people to ask me about you might let me get a few clothes at Nadeja’s place.”
All this was as it should be, and Targatt’s satisfaction increased as he watched his wife’s returning bloom. It seemed funny to him that, even on a sensible woman like Nadeja, clothes and jewels should act as a tonic; but then the Kouradjines were funny, and heaven knew Targatt had no reason to begrudge them any of their little fancies—especially now that Olga’s engagement to Mrs. Guggins’ brother (representative of the Guggins interests in London and Paris) had been officially announced. When the news came, Targatt gave his wife a pair of emerald ear-rings, and suggested that they should take their summer holiday in Paris.
It was the same winter that New York was thrown into a flutter by the announcement that the famous portrait painter, Axel Svengaart, was coming over to “do” a chosen half-dozen sitters. Svengaart had never been to New York before, had always sworn that anybody who wanted to be painted by him must come to his studio at Oslo; but it suddenly struck him that the American background might give a fresh quality to his work, and after painting one lady getting out of her car in front of her husband’s motor-works, and Mrs. Guggins against the background of a spouting oil-well at Rapid Rise, he appeared in New York to organise a show of these sensational canvases. New York was ringing with the originality and audacity of this new experiment. After expecting to be “done” in the traditional setting of the Gothic library or the Quattro Cento salon, it was incredibly exciting to be portrayed literally surrounded by the acknowledged sources of one’s wealth; and the wife of a fabulously rich plumber was nearly persuaded to be done stepping out of her bath, in a luxury bathroom fitted with the latest ablutionary appliances.
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