The Numbered Account (43 page)

‘No, never. It's such a long way from Malden. Oh. I should love that.'

A tall dark man was sitting with Mrs. Hathaway in the lounge of the hotel when they went in; after June had been introduced to Mrs. Hathaway he was presented in his turn—‘Dear Julia, let me introduce Colonel Jamieson, who is longing to meet you.'

‘I have really gate-crashed this party with that object,' the Colonel said. ‘I met Mrs. Hathaway at lunch at the Embassy three days ago, and when I overheard her telling the Ambassador that you would be coming through tonight, I forced myself on her. Didn't I?' he said, turning to his hostess.

‘Well yes!—but I was delighted at the opportunity of seeing you again.'

Watkins, seated at a table a short distance away, now came bustling up.

‘Good-evening, Miss Julia—I'm glad to see you looking so much better! Now, Madam, is this the young lady who's travelling with us?' She shook hands cordially with June. ‘Would you like to come and have a nice lemon-squash with me? As we shall be sleeping together tonight we might as well get to know one another.'

Julia saw, without surprise, that Mrs. Hathaway had dealt with Watkins to some purpose concerning June; she also noticed the keen appraising glance with which the Secret Service man followed the small, slightly limping figure to the other table, after he too had shaken hands with her.

‘So that is Miss Phillips?' he said. ‘How pretty she is—and what an extraordinary resemblance.'

‘Oh, do you know Miss Armitage?'

‘No, but of course when this thing broke we got every possible photograph of her—though you were ahead of us in turning in that one from
Paris-Match'.

‘Miss Probyn so often seems to be ahead of people,' Mrs. Hathaway said blandly.

‘You
are
kind; you mean ahead of Us! Yes, invariably; that is one reason why I wanted so much to meet Miss Probyn.' He turned to Julia. ‘And to say Thank you. You retrieved the whole situation. May I ask you one question?'

‘Yes, ask away—I won't promise to answer,' Julia said.

‘What prompted you to snatch the German lady's bag with the papers in it, in the Aares-Schlucht?'

‘No real reason. I simply thought the owner was a vulgar fat woman, who'd stuffed her bag with eatables—and a revolver; such an odd combination. So I just snatched it,' Julia said. She was not going to admit to a stranger the other reason.

‘Oh, when did you find the revolver? I hadn't heard about that.'

‘I didn't find it—it fell out with the biscuits and chocolate and all the rest.'

‘What happened to it?' the Colonel asked, interested.

‘It went the way of Mr. Wright, into the Aar,' Julia said, with her slow grin. ‘Mr. Antrobus kicked it in. How is he, by the way?' she asked, as casually as she could.

‘He came through yesterday; he isn't allowed to walk much yet, but the wound has healed very well,' Colonel Jamieson said.

‘And what about Wright? Is he still in hospital?' This was a useful cover-question—first John, then Wright.

‘No, he soon got over his concussion; he's in prison, along with his detestable superior.'

Julia glanced across at June, sucking lemon-squash through a straw at Watkins's table, in cheerful conversation with the lady's-maid.

‘What about the little creature?' she asked. ‘Will she be all right?'

‘Oh yes. She was our main source—through you. Any-how
you're taking her out of Swiss jurisdiction tonight.'

‘How soon could she come back into Swiss jurisdiction?' Julia asked, thinking of Germaine's suggestion.

‘Oh, as soon as her hair has returned to its natural colour!' Philip Jamieson said—‘and with a proper passport in the name of Phillips. Naturally you realise that this is all a frightful wangle' he went on; ‘but she did produce crucial information at a crucial moment, and the one thing the Swiss do really worry about is the reputation of their banks. Of course we fell down on that information, and you saved us—but I have tried to underplay that part, and to put her up as the saviour of the Banque Républicaine.'

‘Very wise,' Mrs. Hathaway put in. ‘Miss Probyn does not really need the approbation of Swiss banks, where as it has obviously been of assistance to Miss Phillips.'

Colonel Jamieson gave her an appreciative grin. ‘Nothing could please me more than to have your approval, Mrs. Hathaway,' he said.

Julia had a question to put too.

‘What about Monsieur Kaufmann of “Corsette-Air”?' she asked. ‘I met him in the train the other day on the way to Bellardon, and he seemed as merry as a grig.'

‘No!—did you really? How amusing. Did he show any signs of distress?'

‘All he said was that it was
“embêtant”
sometimes to have to disappoint one's clients. But the Swiss police must know quite well who his clients were; will they get after him—for the bank's sake?'

‘I rather think he may be advised to restrict his activities to his lawful business of selling surgical stays,' the Secret Service man said guardedly. ‘But however much he may have wished to oblige these particular clients, in fact he did nothing except receive a telephone call. One might say that he is the second person your activities have kept out of prison,' he added, with a glance at the neighbouring table.

Colonel Jamieson soon afterwards took his leave, and they all went in to have dinner. June had evidently got
onto quite comfortable terms with Watkins, but she was a good deal overawed by Mrs. Hathaway, with her height, her grey hair, her assured manner, and clear incisive way of speaking. In fact the older lady went out of her way to be nice to the young girl, enquiring about her foot, her advertising work, and her mother; but June was too abashed to give more than brief answers—there was none of the giddy outpouring to which Julia was accustomed, though a direct question as to whether her mother was not lonely while she was away at work elicited the fact that ‘Mum' belonged to a whist-club, which occupied all her spare time.

‘She's like a real dowager on the films, isn't she?' June observed to Julia in the Ladies as they were washing and tidying-up before going to the train. ‘One can just see her wearing a tiara at some grand ball!' Julia, who took the dimmest view of the utterly phoney dowagers usually displayed on films said Yes, but the thing about Mrs. Hathaway was that she was kind.

‘Oh I'm sure she is—only I mean she doesn't look it,' June said. ‘Dowagers don't, do they?'

Julia went on ahead to get all the luggage out of the
consigne
and register the big pieces through to Victoria; she met the rest of the party at the station entrance, and with their small luggage they boarded the
Wagons-Lits
coach to Calais. This was very hot, after standing all day in a siding in the sun; the gleaming mahogany panels, the green plush, everything was warm to the touch; the windows were closed and the slatted shutters drawn up. Mrs. Hathaway sank down on her bunk—the beds were already made, but even the fresh sheets were not cool, as sheets should be—opened her bag, and handed Julia a fifty-franc note.

‘Do give that to the attendant, and tell him to come and open the windows.'

‘But that's four pounds!' Julia said, rather shocked.

‘Yes, but there are four of us. In any case I want a bottle of Vichy Water, and so do you, I expect—and what is four pounds compared to being asphyxiated?'

Julia went and did as she was told. The note produced a deep bow and instant attention; the bottles of Vichy-Water were brought—with corks; their tickets and passports were taken over; the shutters were lowered, and the windows, in both compartments—when Julia went to supervise this operation in the one next door, occupied by June and Watkins, she found the girl screaming with laughter, half-way up the little carpeted ladder leading to the top berth.

‘I told her I'd sleep on top, Miss, because of her foot,' Watkins said; ‘but she says she has a fancy for the steps.'

‘There was none of this when we came out,' June observed, climbing down after the man had left. ‘Sat up all night, we did. I call these beds lovely—and this.' She patted the little ladder. ‘And the wash-basin is ever so clever, folding up like that.'

‘Now, shall you be all right, Watkins?' Julia asked.

‘Oh yes, Miss. It's much better with a bit of air.'

‘Well if you get cold in the night just ring that bell and tell the man to put the window up a little.'

‘I can't tell him anything, Miss,' Watkins said, smirking complacently.

‘I can work the window myself,' June put in. ‘See?' She raised first the window and then the shutter, and lowered them again.

‘There's a smart girl! Yes, Miss Probyn; I shall be all right with her.'

‘Good-night, then'—she returned to Mrs. Hathaway.

‘Yes, they're fine,' she said in answer to a question. ‘June's taking the top bunk, because she has what Watkins calls “a fancy for the steps”; and she can work the window too,' she added, with her gurgling laugh. ‘I wish this tedious train would leave, so that we could undress and go to sleep. Are you very tired, Mrs. H.?'

‘No, not in the least. But I think I will unpack, and get out my sleeping-pills and so on.'

‘I'll curl up on top while you do,' Julia said, and climbed a little ladder like that which so pleased June.

‘Do smoke,' Mrs. Hathaway said, quickly and expertly
taking what she required from her small dressing-case. ‘Here's something for you,' she said after a moment; ‘something I'm sure you'll need tonight'—and she handed up a small pewter saucer with delicate but rather florid ornamentation. ‘The worst feature of top bunks in sleepers is no ash-tray,' Mrs. Hathaway pursued. ‘I thought you could carry this in your hand-bag for journeys. Don't lose it—it's an old one.'

Julia was examining the small object delightedly.

‘It's quite beautiful,' she said. ‘Darling Mrs. H., how very good of you. It's the perfect thing. Where did you find it?'

‘In an antique shop here. Rudolf Waechter came over a couple of days ago to have lunch and say Goodbye, so I asked him to help me to get it—all the
antiquaires
here know him too well ever to try to swindle him. He thinks that it's not Swiss, or it would be plainer; possibly South German, or perhaps from the Low Countries. But it is quite a good piece—probably seventeenth century.'

Julia climbed down the ladder and gave her old friend a hug. ‘Mrs H., it's too darling of you! Why should you give me an antique ash-tray?'

‘Why not?' Mrs. Hathaway replied, kissing her in return. ‘But do go up aloft again, or I shan't have room to move.' When Julia had obediently re-climbed the ladder, pewter ash-tray in hand, Mrs. Hathaway spoke again, measuredly.

‘Apart from the fact that I wanted to give you a pretty ash-tray to travel with—instead of that horrible tin lid that I have so often seen you carrying about—I felt that you ought to have some tangible reward or memento, however small, of what you have done. Our officials can't do it, and for June's sake, as you heard, they have wisely prevented the Swiss authorities from understanding the true position; I didn't really understand it myself till Colonel Jamieson and I had a little talk at the Embassy, and he did what I believe they now call “put you in perspective” for me. So I thought
I
would give you something.'

Julia didn't venture to climb down again for fear of being in the way, so she spoke her thanks over the edge of the bunk. She was almost ready to cry, touched by the charming present and by Mrs. Hathaway's feeling that she deserved a reward, but tormented by the fact that she so little wanted any reminder of this Swiss trip. The up-and-down conversation went on.

‘Rudolf Waechter sent you his best wishes—he said he was too old to send you his love,' Mrs. Hathaway remarked from below. Julia said that Herr Waechter was a lamb, and she wished she'd seen him again. Then, with a smart switch of subject—‘What are you going to do about this child June?' Mrs. Hathaway asked.

Julia, touched a moment before, felt a little impatient even with her beloved Mrs. H.

‘Why should I do anything about her?' she asked, knocking ash from her cigarette into the little pewter dish, perched on the green blanket of the upper berth.

‘Oh, surely you can't get out of it?' Mrs. Hathaway said, opening the wash-basin and preparing to brush her teeth. ‘Is there any real difference between the slopes of the Niederhorn and the road from Jerusalem to Jericho? And if ever anyone fell among thieves, she did.'

Julia was silent, at last rather ashamed of her reluctance to ‘take on' June. When the tooth-brushing was over she told Mrs. Hathaway of Germaine's suggestion that June might take a post as a
bonne d'enfants
in Switzerland.

‘Oh, that was why you asked Colonel Jamieson how soon she could re-enter Swiss jurisdiction? I think it an excellent idea; if it was arranged through the de Ritters, as of course it would have to be, one could be sure of her being sent to a suitable family. Yes, obviously that is the perfect solution,' Mrs. Hathaway said, rinsing out her tooth-glass and beginning to wash her face in soap and water; her generation did not use creams and cotton-wool to clean their faultless skins. ‘But what is she to do till her hair grows brown again?' she asked, as she dried her face.

‘Oh, go on with modelling her feet—she doesn't need her hair for that, and she can wear one of those full smothering
French berets that cover everything,' Julia said. ‘Pity we aren't going by Paris, or I could have got her one; but Fanny de Purefoi is always coming over—I'll make her bring one.' She paused. ‘Someone ought to call on the “Model Face” and hint to the manager not to give her any more outside jobs, don't you think? You'd do that much more impressively than me, Mrs. H.—could that be your share in this Good Samaritan effort?' She stubbed out her cigarette, gratefully, on the pewter saucer, so much firmer and more solid than the tin lid which—Mrs. Hathaway was quite right—she usually carried in her bag for use as an ash-tray on journeys.