A Legacy (11 page)

He uttered a small cry: was on her lap and flung his arms about her in instant ecstasy. Melanie flinched only slightly.

Tzara opened a palm—a persimmon dropped squashy on the marble. Robert sucked his cheeks.

"You dirty apes," said Sarah.

Leon, lightly on her breast, curled against striped silk, put his little black hand to Melanie's face.

"He loves you," Julius said: "and he is very difficult."

"The dear little monkey," said Melanie.

"Watteau!" said Sarah. "Look Jules, look—Watteau, pure Watteau, of the lightest, most sumptuous period."

What would you like to do this morning?" Sarah said.

"Jules Felden is taking me to Monaco to the Aquarium."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, my dear. You cannot expect me to come on all those strenuous excursions; and I really haven't got the time."

"That is quite all right," said Melanie; "he said he would bring Leon and another lady."

"Indeed," said Sarah.

"We are lunching at Kitty Wolfe's," said Edu, "she's specially asked you."

"That is quite impossible," said Melanie.

"You can't let old Kitty down—she likes to be exactly thirty-six."

"I'm sorry, Edu. I promised Baron Felden. Sarah?"

"Yes, Melanie?"

"Jules Felden says he will give me Leon. Is it not kind?"

"Your mother will be so pleased."

Melanie said nothing.

"Jules Felden is a very charming and accomplished man," said Sarah. "And, you realize, don't you, about twenty years older than you."

Melanie fluffed out her skirts. "I must get ready," she said. "It is time. It isn't good for mules to stand when they are warm."

"Preposterous," said Sarah.

"Well I don't know," said Edu.

"Utterly preposterous."

"Oh that," said Sarah. "High time some of us were baptized."

"Not while my mother is alive," said Edu.

"What can a man like Jules have in common with a girl like her?"

"He seems keen enough."

"For a week; a month. If she's got other ideas, she's going to have a jolt."

"I suppose we ought to find out about his intentions and all that."

"You are mad, Edu."

"Well, I thought you might. Felden's your pal."

"I've a good mind to send the little idiot back to Voss Strasse. I'm responsible to her parents, you know."

"Of course—Felden can't have much money."

"Hasn't he? I shouldn't have thought that."

"Well, he lives very simply."

"Not really," said Sarah.

"He inherited some land in Bavaria or somewhere."

"Yes, one forgets he's German."

"Not that there isn't plenty to go round," said Edu, "only if you are going to marry a man with a title it doesn't look at all the same, does it, if he's poor, if you know what I mean."

"It's all most unsuitable," said Sarah.

"He would have to get rid of Madame de la Turbie, Sarah—don't tell me you never heard of Madame de la Turbie?"

"Yes, yes. Everybody's heard of Madame de la Turbie."

"They say that's why Felden came to live here."

"Nonsense. What does she look like? I've seen her driving of course, but with all those veils you can't really tell."

"She used to be a stunner. She's getting on now."

"How old can she be?"

"She must be forty. Or nearly. Though it's hard to believe."

"It's what I am," said Sarah.

"Quite different," said Edu.

"I'm supposed to be my own reward."

"How you talk. Now who's going to tackle Felden? Melanie's one's sister, damn it all—"

"Edu! I absolutely forbid you."

"Snapping my head off?—what's the matter? Don't you think Jules Felden would be a pleasant fellow to have in one's family?"

"A pleasant fellow to have in one's family. . . ." said Sarah.

The mistral sprang up again, and for days swept down the Rhone Valley over the low long-bent patient trees into the sea, whirling dust and paper along the deserted waterfronts. The steam-heating was going full blast at the hotels, and at the villas the windows were rattling and the fireplaces smoked. In the hills, the women who went a la corvee des fleurs came back early after dawn, their hands stiff on the dripping bales of narcissi. At Julius's, Leon and the chimpanzees were kept indoors. Melanie, who was supposed to be still recovering from a bronchitis, coughed again. A doctor confirmed Sarah's order that she must keep her bed.

Julius sent fruit and flowers from his garden with his card and polite inquiries. He did not come himself; and, as far as Sarah could make out, he certainly did not write.

Melanie kept a French exercise book in her bedclothes.

After a week of it, Sarah stood in the room and said, her eyes on the girl, "One's had enough of this weather, I've decided to cut out March. This kind of a spring cannot be good for you either. As soon as you're up again we are going to shut the villa and go home."

Melanie's small face shrivelled.

Sarah, loathing weakness, loathing power, overcome, goaded by her own position, went on—feeling the moment long, still, touchable almost; hearing the nonchalant words falling and stretching. "I think I shall begin pack-

ing up now. Let me see—what day are we?" Melanie did not stir; only those round simian eyes, all brown, moved between the wall and Sarah. Sarah said, "Why, what can it be to you? Jules could come to Berlin."

Melanie did not speak at once. "He does not like Berlin," she said.

"You could always try staying on. I'm sure Lady De Moses or someone would be delighted to put you up."

"Jules would not like me if it were like that."

Melanie was shivering under her eiderdowns; yet it was Sarah who, cold with revulsion, could hardly carry herself to the door.

From where they lived, there were no walks. Again, Sarah put down her paper volume of Anatole France; stood up; turned to the window; tried to read. She was a woman who had to know herself just in all her dealings. She liked few people, had never loved and liked at the same time for long; she could not afford not to like herself. Dignity and conscience were her shell and her recourse. She had presence, she was instructed, she judged, she was too tall; men treated her as she appeared to them, and never, once, had she been spoken to in the way Julius spoke to Tzara, his chimpanzee. Nor was there anyone from whom this could have been entirely acceptable: she sought rectitude, success, character; looks, wit and mind, and had never found them united in one person. Without looks she could not be moved, looks and a civilized facade; mind she was long resigned to finding only among those of her acquaintance who were slovenly and self-interested, or slovenly and indifferent; and at that period of her life she was quite alone.

Once more Sarah put down her book, and faced what there was to face, and saw that it was nothing and that it was irremediable, and saw that if she did not put it aside she would be destroyed. It had no name, no future; it could not be helped; but she could help herself. If one

can feel no sympathy, one can at least act with justice; and Sarah saw her way. She went at once to Edu and, aware of the effect of her own presence in the sickroom, made him take the message. The barometer was rising, it had been an absurd idea, the girl was not to worry, of course they were going to stay on; she was not to worry about anything at all.

"Shut up this dump?" Edu said. "Why it's the best idea ever. You must admit it's foul... Do let's leave. I insist."

"Certainly not," Sarah said; "tell Melanie we're going to stay at least till after Easter." And she returned to Thais, free for the first time in many weeks of that corrosion, with something of the conscious pleasure and detachment of a convalescence.

"Quite hopeless," said Julius.

"Hopeless?" said Sarah.

"Can't you see? A young girl. Merz's sister. Avec les jeunes filles cela ne pent finir qu'avec le manage."

"Well yes/ 3 said Sarah.

"That's what I thought."

"The step is not entirely uncommon."

"Too soon," said Julius.

"She is young. Yet she'll never be much older; you know in a way I think she knows you awfully well, Jules. Well enough for your comfort, that is."

"I mean / am too young."

"What do you intend to do?"

"What can I do?" said Julius.

Two days later he said, "Sarah, I've made up my mind. I shall go to Paris."

"Have you thought of her?" "I think of her all the time."

On Mid-Lent Thursday Edu took his wife, Melanie and Julius to the dinner and dance at the Hotel de Paris in

Monte Carlo. He had meant to make the party eight, but Sarah advised against it. As they were shown to their table the Maitre-d'Hotel saw Julius and said, "I shall tell Gaston you are here, sir." Edu had never been served better and he was pleased. Later, Julius apologized for not being able to dance; he was in mourning, he explained, for his father-in-law.

"Father-in-law?"

"My brother's actually. Conrad Bernin."

"The Under-Secretary?"

"His father. Old Count Bernin. He died six months ago."

"Oh I remember. Edu, the one who tried to put that Bavarian boob on the Spanish throne. He must have been an interesting man, Jules."

"Oh no, he was very dull."

Edu rose to dance with his sister; people in the room looked up, and at her dress.

"Dommage" said Julius. "Quite impossible. The expense for one thing. You see, I cannot afford a wife."

"Melanie's not poor," said Sarah.

"I suppose not. I am."

"Are you sure? All those things you're always buying . . . Not that I'm not convinced that what you and Edu call my daubs won't turn out the better investments. Still—"

"Investments?"

"And you say you are poor!"

"I shall be. Quite soon."

"Jules? You are not spending more than your income?"

"I don't know. I'm spending money."

"Money comes from somewhere," said Sarah.

"It's in a bank," said Julius.

"How did it get there?" said Sarah.

"Old Bernin arranged about the account. You see, I inherited it. When my poor father died in '82. Not the money, our place. My elder brother ran it, and Clara. Clara is my sister-in-law. I don't think she ran it very well. Then

my brother became secretary to her father and they didn't live there any more. They have no children. So it was sold. Old Bernin did it all, actually."

"Have you ever done any work, Jules?"

"Oh yes," said Julius. "I've had quite a hard life. Nearly ten years of it."

"Ten years of what? How little we know about you."

"I worked in an Embassy," said Julius.

Edu and Melanie came back from the floor. The men had some more brandy, Julius talked to the headwaiter about the phylloxera. It was one of his big subjects.

"Phylloxera?" said Melanie.

"The disaster," said Julius. "The American vine louse."

"Another turn, Melanie? Jolly band."

"As you like, Edu."

Sarah said, "Jules, what will you do when your money comes to an end?"

"I have no idea," said Julius.

"You ought to think. Doesn't it worry you?"

"Life is very worrying."

"We should like to know what you think of this, sir," said the headwaiter.

Julius tasted. "All right, Ricardo," he said. "I haven't come across anything like it these days. I have to send for mine from England, you know."

"Berry Bros, are running low too, I hear."

"I suppose you wouldn't have a bottle or two to spare?"

"I already thought of it, sir. Guillaume has put half a dozen aside; I shall see that they are sent to you, sir."

"That must be hard luck on your other guests," said Sarah.

"Madame—most of our guests have been drinking Spanish brandy under Hennessy labels. It is always a pleasure to serve Monsieur le Baron; Monsieur le Baron pays attention to what he eats and drinks."

"Jules," Sarah said, "Melanie is a very rich girl indeed. Didn't you know that? I mean her father is."

"Her father?"

"Yes, Jules, yes. Her father. She has got a father, and a mother. All of us have."

"Oh," said Julius. "I am sure they are most agreeable people."

V
on?" said Grandpapa Merz. "Von? Got himself baptized, eh, like poor Flora's husband?"

"Of course he didn't get himself baptized," said Sarah.

"They won't give you the von if you don't get baptized. Refused it myself three times. Once to the old Kaiser, twice to Wil'hem."

"The Barony in question was conferred by Ottomark the Bear," said Gottlieb.

"How do you know?" said Edu.

"I took the liberty of consulting the Almanach de Gotha last time I had occasion to be in your house, sir."

"We have always been Jews," said Grandmama.

They were at second breakfast. Second breakfast was laid every morning at eleven-fifteen on a long table in the middle of the Herrenzimmer, a dark, fully furnished room with heavily draped windows that led from an antechamber to an antechamber. The meal was chiefly for the gentlemen. They ate cold venison with red-currant jelly, potted meats, tongue and fowl accompanied by pumpernickel, toast and rye-bread, and they drank port wine. Grandmama sat with them. She had a newly-laid egg done in cream, and nibbled at some soft rolls with Spickgans, smoked breast of goose spread on butter and chopped fine. Grandpapa had a hot pousin-chicken baked for him every day in a small dish with a lid; and Cousin Markwald, who had a stomach ailment, ate cream of wheat, stewed sweetbreads and a special kind of rusks. Sarah had not let Gottlieb add a cover for her; Edu took a glass of sherry.

"You say he isn't baptized, Sarah?" said Grandpapa.

"He was baptized at birth," said Edu.

"Like the Rosenheim children. Bad new habit."

"What does he do?" said Friedrich. Friedrich ate heavily, in a solid, unhurried, unnoticing way, entirely accustomed to what he was consuming.

"He is a gentleman who lives in France and collects furniture," said Edu.

"An art dealer," said Friedrich.

"Not at all," said Edu.

"He used to be in the Diplomatic Service," said Sarah.