Decorum (37 page)

Connor flicked the cigarette ash across the valley, took a sip of whiskey, and considered her as she jotted her notes. She looked well enough, he thought—perhaps a little strained about the eyes, or was it his imagination? Her frame, even beneath the woolen jacket, might have been a little thinner, though she had always been slim. He knew from experience how well she could hide her feelings just as he knew how vehemently she could express them. That she should want to hide her feelings when they were no longer his business was understandable, but he could not help wondering whether she was really all right. Though he wanted no truck with Blanche, he was acutely aware that this God in whom Francesca had so much confidence had probably set Blanche there because she was in some measure unfinished business. When she looked up at him, her expression was of surprise, as if his face betrayed his thoughts.

“Now what’s this favor you want?” he asked.

“I’d like an introduction to my next big story, darling,” she said. “I want to meet Sándor Király. Have you met him yet?”

“I have, as a matter of fact,” he said. “Mrs. West introduced me. Have you met her? She could probably get you some useful introductions. She hasn’t the usual qualms about making people’s acquaintance, if she wants to know someone. Whatever you may have heard, she is tactful and a good friend, so I’d appreciate your playing fair with her.”

“Yes, that would be splendid,” said Blanche loudly, and scratched a few words on the pad. “I’d be happy to meet Mrs. West. I think I should prefer the introduction to Király to come from you, though.”

“Very well,” said Connor.

He hesitated again and then decided to put the question to her.

“Are you all right, Blanche?” he asked with voice lowered. “I mean, really? I know it must sound like damnable gall to you, but I do want to know.”

“Why, certainly, darling,” she said, her air flippant as she drew on her cigarette. “Who wouldn’t be when one has spent every last penny on coming to this godforsaken place to wait while one’s lover—who doesn’t want to see her—is sent to the gallows?”

Blanche tossed her head as if tossing back tears and took a sip of whiskey.

“Is this guilt speaking?” she asked, looking him in the eye, but with a subdued voice.

“What I did was beneath me,” he said, “or at least beneath what I thought I was. I’m sorry, Blanche. I’m no good at parting.”

“No one is,” said Blanche. “Parting is always inconvenient to somebody.”

Clearly, Blanche was shaken. She looked as if she wished she were anywhere other than the terrace of a busy hotel. Her handbag lay in her lap. She clutched it like a life preserver. Connor wished he could have handed her his handkerchief, supposing her reluctant to retrieve her own. Her voice caught.

“Look, let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“I am sorry,” he said again. “Of course, I’ll help you with introductions. If it’s Király you want, I’ll produce him for you—and Ida, too.”

C
HAPTER
46

Cue balls clacked and scudded across the green baize. Glass-shaded lamps pooled their light over the tables. The dark woodwork deflected the low conversation as the players calculated their next shots.

Now at ten o’clock, the gentlemen stood, some with pool cues shouldered, to the nightly strains of “God Save the Queen” that echoed through the hotel. The sun dipped behind the mountains, leaving its rose and orange beams to mock the twilight with the promise of an early dawn. The temperate June air freshened the basement billiard room and carried off the sweet-and-sour cigar smoke. A manservant entered and closed the windows to a healthful crack and stirred the fire in the hearth.

Gentlemen were reduced to shirtsleeves, their tailcoats arrayed on hooks like ravens roosting in a tree. They bent over their cue sticks, an errant cigar stub poised between their teeth or held by two fingers with the cue resting in the crook of the thumb. A few men watched on the fringes, whiskey glasses and cigars in hand. Billiards afforded the chance to be seen mixing, to acquire nodding acquaintances, and having weeded out the social nuisances, to seek introductions.

“Sporting man?” asked Sándor Király of Connor, as the former shot the cue ball toward its target.

A cordial dinner with Király and Ida West had acquainted Connor with the Hungarian well enough to suggest billiards after coffee. Connor had as yet been unable to fulfill his pledge to Blanche, but hoped that with a friendly game and a drink or two an opportunity might suggest itself.

“Depends,” Connor replied, picking up the cube from the rail and chalking his cue stick. “I s’ppose you could say I was a gaming man rather than a sporting one.”

“Is there a distinction?” asked Sándor.

“A fine one, perhaps, for those who enjoy both,” said Connor. “One implies strategy. The other implies strength. I grant you that they do often occur together.”

“Ah, but there, do we not also venture into the realm of ingenuity and education?” asked an elderly gentleman bending to his cue stick.

The two men had offered a place in their game for this stranger—a minor English nobleman who had not been introduced nor introduced himself and who seemed in no hurry to discover who his companions might be. Connor wondered how this gentleman would react if Ida West were set upon him and how shocked Esther Gray would be.

“And luck perhaps,” said Connor.

“But a man has to be ready when the opportunity—luck if you like—presents itself,” retorted the gentleman and then made his shot. He took up his cigar from the rail and drew on it. “Was it not the philosopher Seneca who said that luck is simply where opportunity and preparation meet? A man can spend his whole life preparing for the one moment when he realizes what he’s done and what he’s worked towards and what it all means, and finally is ready to seize the opportunity that is placed before him.”

“That’s very true, sir,” said Connor. “Many years of backbreaking work go into many a lucky break. The trouble is many men today want the lucky break without doing the work beforehand.” Connor paused to take his shot.

“Still, as you say, the two principles so often meet together,” said Sándor. “Climbing and mountaineering certainly rely on strength, especially when one has misread twenty centimeters of cliff in front of one. Ideally, though, a more accurate reading—and a convenient cleft or outcropping—can make actual strength a less formidable consideration. Leverage, when properly applied, can be more important.”

“Ah,” said the elderly gentleman, standing as the designated ball dropped into the pocket. “Leverage is an important consideration, especially when applied strategically, if I may say so. Leverage requires one to know the precise nature of one’s own strength and to use it to best advantage.”

“Exactly, very well put, sir,” continued Sándor. “In fact, when one considers the importance of leverage, I believe, if trained properly, ladies may even become good climbers.”

“Hmph,” grumbled the elderly gentleman. “I can believe anything of ladies these days.”

“I can think of one or two who might try it,” said Connor, smiling to himself.

“Exactly,” said Sándor. “One sees many ladies here in Banff taking long hikes and being guided over rough terrain, even mountaineering in a small way. In Europe, many ladies of beauty and accomplishment have a taste for vigorous exercise in the mountain air—and of course an appreciation for the beauty of their surroundings. Their only real encumbrance in moving from hiking to serious mountaineering is their clothing.”

“What would you do, sir,” asked the old gentleman, “put ’em in jodhpurs or plus fours and hobnailed boots? Gaiters, too, I suppose. Damned silly business for ladies, if you ask me.”

“Why not?” said Sándor with a smile. “They wear the hobnails already and the plus fours would not bother me, especially if it is safer for them, rather than to become entangled in long skirts. I should prefer them in plus fours if it prevented the need for carrying them down a mountain with a broken ankle or scraping them off the bottom of a ravine where there is no sign of civilization. God knows we men run the risk enough even with the proper attire and gear. Yes, I should much prefer the ladies to climb in plus fours.”

“Damned progressive way of thinking, sir,” complained the gentleman. “Popular with the ladies, are you? Women are always wanting some damned thing or other, even if they know it’s not good for ’em.”

“Who is to tell them what is good for them, if not themselves?” asked Sándor with a grin. “You, sir?”

“It’d be an improvement,” muttered the gentleman.

Ah yes, thought Connor. Logic, leverage, and knowing what was in one’s own best interest. If only women understood a good thing when presented to them in a forthright, logical fashion. If only Frankie could accept what was so plainly reasonable from his point of view—the unimpeachable logic of a match with himself. He tried to picture her in plus fours and hobnail boots but found it an effort. He was a little dismayed that the effort was not so great when applied to Blanche.

“Maybe
instinct
is a better word than
strategy,
” Connor offered with a chuckle.

“What do you find so amusing about instinct, sir?” asked Sándor. “It is a vital ingredient in so many of men’s pursuits.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Only I can hear certain ladies chide me that what might be called ‘instinct,’ so revered in men, is called ‘intuition’ and reviled in women. They, poor females, generally receive precious little credit for intuition, while we, poor mutts, rely on instinct when we have precious little else.”

“Well said, sir,” Sándor replied.

“Utter bosh,” the elderly man said, addressing Connor. “You must be popular with the ladies, too.”

“I only wish it were so, sir,” said Connor.

“Speaking of ladies and their pursuits,” said the gentleman as he replaced his cigar on the rail and prepared his shot, “has anyone had any dealings with this lady reporter?”

Grateful that the subject had introduced itself, Connor nonetheless was cautious. Such an introduction might lead anywhere and might well turn from opportunity to disaster.

“What makes you ask?” Connor ventured.

“Has she been making herself a nuisance?” asked Sándor.

“As a matter of fact,” said the gentleman. Connor held his breath. “No. I shouldn’t say she was a nuisance—exactly. Damned if I can catch her eye half the time.”

Connor smiled and shot a look at Sándor, who returned it with amusement.

“Thought I might be able to help, don’t you know. Offer her introductions, that sort of thing. Seems determined to do it all on her own—like so many of these damned females who don’t want a man to give them a helping hand. Think they can do it without proper introduction these days. They’ll soon find out.”

“I’m acquainted with her,” said Connor. “Certainly she’s a determined lady and wants to get on and make a good job of this reporting, but I think you’ll find, sir, that she would welcome any introductions you might offer.”
If this gentleman offers her anything else, Blanche can take care of herself,
he thought.

“If she has any sense of decorum,” said Sándor, “she may be somewhat reluctant because no one has introduced her to you.”

“I can assure you,” said Connor, “she is keenly aware of social boundaries and would hardly sacrifice her professional reputation by barging in where she isn’t wanted. If I can help in any way, sir, I would be happy to effect an introduction myself.”

“Damned fine-looking woman,” said the gentleman as he bent to his cue, took his shot, and stood straight. “And who might you be, sir, if I may ask?”

Connor introduced himself and proceeded to recite a catalogue of reasons the gentleman should consider him an appropriate go-between. Had he not promised Blanche assistance, the man’s cross-questioning might have rankled him. Instead he regarded the man as Blanche’s avenging angel and bore the interrogation with more patience than was normally his wont. By the time the examination was over, the gentleman had consented to allow Mr. O’Casey the honor of presenting him to Mrs. Wilson. The question was, how to transfer this evident enthusiasm for Mrs. Wilson from the Englishman to Sándor Király.

“You understand,” said the gentleman, “I abhor publicity. Shocking business, generally speaking.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Sándor. “Reporters are so often such low people, scrounging for crumbs from which they make a soufflé to feed the public—all air and no substance.”

“On the other hand,” said the gentleman, backpedaling vigorously but with perfect dignity, “one can be overly scrupulous in these matters. Seeing one’s name in the papers on occasion—under the right circumstances, of course—does no harm.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Wilson is a well-educated, knowledgeable sort of lady,” said Connor. “I believe she has relations in Italy and has lived and traveled abroad a good deal. I think I can safely say that she would conduct an intelligent interview.” More than that, Connor dared not promise.

“What about you, Király?” Connor continued. “Why don’t you let me introduce you?”

“I can hardly imagine a lady reporter, however knowledgeable, would find climbing and outdoorsmanship the least bit interesting. Besides, if I want publicity I can generally find it on my own—or, I should say, it generally finds me.”

“Ah. So all this liberal talk of ladies and their interests and abilities is just that—all talk, eh?” jibed the gentleman. “Can’t actually stick it when it comes to the point, eh?”

“Not at all, sir—” Sándor began, a little defensively.

“Wouldn’t actually take a woman out on that mountaineering of yours, eh?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I really cannot tolerate—”

“Wouldn’t care to have a small wager? That is, if she’s as good a reporter as O’Casey here makes out.”

At the word
wager
the billiard room stood still. The players brought their cues to rest as their attention migrated from their own tables to Connor’s.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Sándor. He looked as if this sudden scrutiny were an inconvenience to maintaining his normal cool reserve.

“I’m intrigued,” said Connor, as nonchalantly as he could manage. Until this moment, he thought he knew Blanche well, particularly where men were concerned. In fact, he realized he had no idea how she would react when a roomful of gentlemen of “the right sort” were fixed upon her or what her wishes would be. It surprised—and to some extent comforted—him that his instinct was to protect her as he would want to protect any woman from attentions that might prove a nuisance. On the other hand, he thought, this was Blanche, a woman who knew well men’s intentions and whose new profession would bring her all manner of attention that she would have to manage herself. In fact, she might regard his solicitude as interference. Women could be so difficult.

“Just what do you propose, sir?” asked Connor, trying not to jump two steps ahead when only one was required.

“Now, now, don’t interfere, O’Casey,” said the gentleman, as if reading Connor’s thoughts. “I’ll bet you any sum you like, Király, that if you let O’Casey here introduce this Mrs. Wilson to you, you can’t get her to report on more than your trifling social interests rather than your sporting interests.”

“I have no particular social interests worth reporting,” said Sándor, preparing to take his shot. “So there is no point in introducing me.”

“Precisely my point,” persisted the gentleman. “Your lack of social interests forces the issue, don’t you know. It’s the sporting interests or nothing, don’t you see.”

“What do you think of my chances, O’Casey?” asked Sándor.

“I can’t say for certain that she wouldn’t try the social angle first, especially if that’s what her paper has sent her here to report,” said Connor, trying to leave Blanche a sufficiently wide opening. “Mrs. Wilson certainly knows her own mind, however, and I wouldn’t put it past her if she were to come round to your way of thinking. I think it’s a fair bet.”

“There, you see,” said the gentleman in triumph. “So what will it be? What will you consider
sporting?
”

The Hungarian frowned at Connor and considered for a moment.

“If I win, you shall outfit my next expedition. I can provide you with a rough sum for two guides, my man, a packer, horses, gear, and possibly one or two other persons.”