Eustace and Hilda (83 page)

“All done,” he said, returning jauntily. “Now let's have another drink.” He felt a different man.

“How did she take it?” asked Mrs. Alberic, responding to the change in him.

“Oh, she wasn't there; she was out in the gondola. I can guess who with. I gave a message to a servant, the maestro di casa, as a matter of fact.”

“Who's he?”

“He corresponds to the groom of the chambers in an English household.”

“Oh, really? Did you say I was an old friend?”

“Well, I said a friend. ‘Vecchia' would have meant you were an old lady.”

She laughed. “Like Lady Nelly.” She hesitated, and seemed to be debating with herself. Then, sipping her cocktail she said, “You know, I knew some Staveleys once. I wonder if they were any relation.”

“Did you?” exclaimed Eustace.

“Yes, they were neighbours of ours at a place called Anchorstone. We saw a lot of them.”

“Then you know Anchorstone,” cried Eustace.

“I lived there as a child.”

“So did I.”

They fixed questioning eyes on each other, and a half-frightened look came into Mrs. Alberic's face.

“I heard the barman call you something just now. I believe you're Eustace—Eustace Cherrington.”

“Then you must be Nancy Steptoe.”

Nancy Steptoe, who, Dick told him, had married a wrong 'un called Alberic. Eustace didn't know how he looked, but a blush slowly mounted on Mrs. Alberic's face.

“So you
are
an old friend!” he exclaimed.

The blush, he could not guess why, deepened, and, as it ebbed, left behind the face of the Nancy he remembered.

“Think of us meeting like this,” she said, as carelessly as she could. The blood struggled back into her face. “Almost a pick-up, wasn't it?”

Eustace didn't like the term.

“Oh, but we knew each other really,” he said. “We just didn't remember each other's names.”

The bar began to fill with people. “Come along,” commanded Eustace, “let's go to the Gambaretta. We can talk better there.”

Proud and protective, he was leading her away when the barman called after him, “Scusi, Signor Shairington, but shall I put these drinks down to the Contessa?”

After all, Lady Nelly did owe him something. “Yes, you might as well,” said Eustace carelessly.

“So now you understand,” Nancy said, “why I'm glad to be leaving India. He can get his divorce if he likes. I don't care. I've no children.”

Eustace felt deeply sorry for her.

“But won't he give you any money, or anything?”

“Not he, why should he?”

“But it was all his fault, really.”

“He doesn't see it like that.”

Eustace prayed for counsel from the Venetian night. They were dining out of doors, between the bright windows and open door of the restaurant, which gave them all the light they needed, and a church on whose vast bare wall their figures made dramatic and intimate silhouettes. There only lacked the moon; but a growing pallor in the sky suggested the moon might soon be coming. On such a night...

Such a night accorded ill with the story that Eustace had just been hearing, but found a ready response in the mood the story had evoked in him. He knew that Nancy's prettiness belonged to a lower order of looks than Hilda's obvious or Lady Nelly's elusive beauty, but for that reason it was the more approachable; like a tune heard at a street corner, it could be enjoyed without being admired.

“Shall we have a strega?” he said.

“A what?”

“A liqueur called strega. Strega means witch.”

“How well you know Italian! You've made a lot of headway in six weeks.”

“Oh, you only have to know a little French and Latin.”

“
Only
.”

Lemon-yellow, sweet and syrupy, the liqueurs soon stood beside them.

“Ooh,” said Nancy. “It tastes of soap.”

“Perhaps that's how a witch does taste. Do you remember tell-ing me Miss Fothergill was a witch?”

“Oh, that old lady. I'd quite forgotten her. She left you some money, didn't she? Have you spent it all?”

“Well, not quite all.”

“You've still got some left?”

“Oh, just enough to keep up appearances.”

“I believe she was in love with you.”

“Oh no, she couldn't have been. I was much too young, and besides——”

“Besides what?”

“Well, nobody has been.”

“I don't believe that. And haven't you been in love with anyone?”

Eustace hesitated. “I—I don't think so.”

“Oh, come now, you must have been. I believe you were in love with me once.”

She raised the strega to her lips, and he seemed to see it coursing down her throat, a golden stream, befriending her, doing her good. “Perhaps I was.”

“Don't you think you could be again?”

“I—I——” Eustace sighed and stopped, aware that this question embarrassed and disturbed him less than would have seemed possible an hour ago. “I think all that sort of thing was scolded out of me when I was a child.”

“They wouldn't let you speak to me. Did they think I was a bad influence?”

Eustace said nothing.

“I believe they were jealous of you and wanted to keep you to themselves. What happened to Hilda? Did she ever marry?”

“No.”

“Too fond of you?”

“Oh no, I'm sure that wasn't the reason. She got taken up with —with other things.”

“You haven't brought her out here?”

“No.”

“Nor your aunt?”

“No.”

“And your father's dead, you say?”

“Yes.”

“They're none of them here.” Nancy looked round her, as though to make sure that the darkness was free from restraining presences. “Well, I am glad to see you again,” she said.

“So am I to see you.”

“What an age it's taken us to meet. The last time we were alone together was the time of the paper-chase.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted to see me after that?”

“Oh yes, Nancy, I often tried to.”

“What a difference it might have made if they'd let us.”

“Ye—es.”

“You don't sound very certain. Have you changed, I wonder?”

“I don't think so. Do you think I have?”

“A moment ago I wondered, but perhaps not. You were always rather sweet, you know.”

“Was I?”

“Well, I thought so. You liked me, didn't you?”

“Oh
yes
, Nancy.”

“You said that rather dutifully. Perhaps you think I've changed?”

“I think you've got prettier.”

“You always said nice things. I'm not prettier, I'm a positive hag; but anyone would be who's gone through what I have.”

“Poor Nancy.”

“Oh, well.”

As she sat sipping her strega, with the strong light and shadow playing on her, Eustace saw how thin and fragile-looking she was. He could not dissociate her from her physical delicacy nor from the tale of wrong and injustice that had caused it.

“I suppose I have changed. I've grown up. Have you, I wonder?”

Eustace smiled, and at any rate metaphorically expanded himself.

“Oh yes, I think so.”

“Do you enjoy pottering about in Venice?”

“Oh yes, but I work too, you know.”

“Dancing attendance on her, you mean? I expect she makes you earn your keep.”

“Well, in a way, but she means to be considerate.”

“I knew a man who lived that sort of life, and he said it was slavery.”

“What sort of life?”

“You know, being a rich woman's darling. He called it something else. In the end he just cut and run.”

“Did he?”

“He said it was no life for a man. He said people laughed so when they saw him dancing with her.”

“I don't dance with Lady Nelly,” said Eustace.

“Well, whatever you do, I shouldn't think it could be much fun. But you always did have a weakness for old ladies.”

“Lady Nelly isn't old,” said Eustace.

“Oh, I'm not trying to put you against her. I envy her—I'd be jolly glad to be in her shoes. I was thinking of you and the kind of things people say. They've much more sympathy, you know, with a real love-affair. Even I know that.”

“A real love-affair?”

“Yes, when there's something on both sides. Wouldn't you like that?”

Eustace felt himself being hurried towards an unknown goal.

“I like seeing people in love.”

“But you don't envy them?”

“Perhaps I do, a little.” He thought of Barbara and Jimmy, of Lord and Lady Morecambe, of Dick and Hilda, and a sense of far-off, unattainable sweetness possessed him. “But I don't think it's for me, somehow.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I told you.”

“Oh, nonsense. You were only a child then.”

“But I am very fond of you, Nancy. I didn't remember how fond I was.”

“What's in the way, then? I'm very fond of you.”

The summer before Eustace had been with a reading-party in a chalet in the Alps. One day they traversed a glacier. Roped, he found he could jump the crevasses better than he expected. Then one came which didn't seem much bigger than the others. The man on the far side held out his hand; Eustace could feel what it would be like to be across; but he couldn't make the jump, and the party had to follow the side of the crevasse to a point where it narrowed. He remembered the incident now.

“Are you going to be here long, Nancy?” he temporised.

“I was going to-morrow. I might stay for a day or two. It just depends.”

Eustace didn't ask what it depended on. “But could you cancel your wagon-lit ticket?”

“I don't need to. I'm going to sit up.”

“I'm sorry.... We could meet in England, couldn't we?”

Nancy twitched her fur impatiently.

“I don't know where I shall be then. But don't let me be a burden to you.”

“You're not, you're not!” wailed Eustace. “Let's have another drink! Cameriere!” he cried. “Ancora due strega!” Nancy looked appeased. “What are you doing to-morrow?” he went on.

“I told you, taking the train for London.”

“Oh, don't do that.”

“Well, what are
you
doing?”

“I don't quite know ... perhaps going shopping with Lady Nelly.”

“Then it's not much use my staying, is it? You won't want me for your shopping-party.”

“I'm sure she'd love you to come ... or we could meet some other time.”

A tired look that Eustace was too absorbed to notice came into Nancy's face. Her attitude relaxed, and the million tiny threads by which she was holding Eustace went slack too.

“I don't think you're really interested,” she said. “I don't blame you. Why should you be, after all these years? I'm nothing to you. I don't know why I thought——”

“Oh, but you are!” cried Eustace, relieved but distressed by her change of tone. “You don't know how often I've thought of you, Nancy! If they hadn't been so—so severe with me.” He suddenly saw himself and Nancy a married couple of old standing; he was still enjoying the benign patronage of Lady Nelly and all the privileges of his bachelor life, while she had been spared all the horrors of her marriage with Captain Alberic. “Please don't go, Nancy. Stay a little longer. We could have such fun.”

A gleam kindled in Nancy's blue eyes. She looked meditatively into her strega.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I mean it,” cried Eustace. “There are—there are such heaps of things we could do together.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “You're very sweet,” she said. “You always were. It's a pity——” She left the sentence unfinished.

“A pity we didn't meet sooner? But we have met now.”

Nancy laughed. “Come along,” she said. “It's time you were taking me back.”

They walked in silence through the airless alleys, skirted the dark bulk of the Fenice, and before they knew where they were found themselves under the gold arrow pointing to Nancy's hotel. Here they stopped.

“Come in and have one more drink,” Nancy said. “I expect Tonino's got some of your favourite poison.”

“Will he still be up?” Eustace asked.

“If he isn't you can go away again.”

Tonino was still behind the bar in his white coat, otherwise the room was empty. Nancy asked for orangeade and Eustace ordered another strega.

“You will have a head in the morning,” Nancy said. “Do you do this every night?”

“I don't dine with you every night,” said Eustace.

Nancy gave him a teasing look. “I believe you just make me an excuse for drinking.”

“Oh no—though I wouldn't drink alone, of course.”

“So I am some help?”

“I wish I could be some help to you,” said Eustace earnestly.

The barman had retired to an inner sanctum, out of sight if not out of earshot.

“You could be,” said Nancy slowly, “if you wanted to be.”

I shall have to put this very delicately, thought Eustace.

“I didn't dare to ask you,” he said. “But would you really let me help you?”

Nancy's lips curved in a smile.

“Honoured. Delighted. Overjoyed.”

Bending forward, Eustace said, in what was meant to be a whisper, but was not, “Then will you give me your address?”

“My address?” repeated Nancy. “Why, you know it. Do you mean the number of my room?”

Confusion clouded Eustace's very vision. Putting his strega down untasted, he struggled on.

“I mean so that I could send it to you.”

“It?” said Nancy.

“Well, the cheque.”

Nancy said nothing. Avoiding Eustace's eye she glanced over each shoulder in turn, as though she felt a draught. Then she looked him full in the face. Rising to her feet, she said, “Are you trying to pay me off?”