They Were Divided (45 page)

He had been in excellent health until the end of the summer and indeed, throughout the four years of his confinement, and though his mind had gradually grown ever more clouded, his physical condition had even improved. He had put on weight and there seemed to be no reason why he should not live for years, even possibly outliving his wife.

In the middle of September, however, his persecution-mania took a new turn. He said nothing to anyone, not even to Adrienne who visited him often, but he began to imagine that his medical adviser was trying to poison him. Normally it was to Adrienne that he would confide his innermost thoughts, but not this time. It was his keeper who began to notice a change in the patient and soon diagnosed the trouble. Uzdy started by sniffing at his food suspiciously, and then leaving most of it on the plate until he was eating almost nothing. The doctor did his best to persuade him to eat but though Uzdy pretended to agree, he would tip the soup into the wash-basin and throw the meat and vegetables into the lavatory pan. When this was discovered they tried installing a
little
electric cooker in Uzdy’s room so that he himself could
prepare
the eggs that his keeper brought him telling the sick man, though of course it was not true, that he had smuggled them in from outside without the hospital people knowing anything about it. He also brought him apples and pears and a little silver
knife with which to peel them himself. This worked for a few days, but proved to be a failure when Uzdy, from his window, caught sight of his keeper talking to the hated doctor. From then on he refused to eat at all, and would soon have died of starvation if Fate had not decided otherwise.

He grew very thin, barely more than skin and bones, and for hours he would pace up and down his room without stopping. Soon he could hardly keep himself upright, but reeled from side to side grabbing hold of whatever piece of furniture he found in his way. Though too weak to stay upright for more than a moment without support, nothing would make him stop.

On the last day of October he slipped and struck his back against the bedpost. The injury sparked off an attack of pleurisy which soon affected his lungs. In three days he was dead.

He was buried at Varalmas, where his own mad father had been interred. It was after this that Adrienne decided to visit her daughter.

It was still necessary in those days to do nothing which might cause tongues to wag and so Balint left before her, having arranged that they should meet in Salzburg and only from there go on to Switzerland together. They did this principally because it would not have been thought seemly, despite the
circumstances
, for Adrienne to have travelled alone with a man during the first weeks of mourning. They used the opportunity to talk over their future together. Adrienne was insistent that they should wait until the year’s official mourning was at an end before they married. This, she felt, was for the sake of her daughter who would never afterwards wonder why her mother had not waited for the customary period. Balint felt obliged to agree.

In spite of the reason for this voyage it turned out to be like a honeymoon. Here, for the first time, they were alone, with no fear of discovery or exposure, and happy in the knowledge that their future together was at long last assured.

Balint’s only regret was that his mother had not lived to see how things had turned out. He knew that she would no longer have opposed his marriage to Adrienne but, on the contrary, would have rejoiced with him. He remembered how sweet and welcoming she had been to Adrienne that time they had so
unexpectedly
met at Gerbeaud’s. He knew that his mother would have approved.

Balint had chosen a small pension on the edge of the lake. It had only twenty rooms and had been converted from the country
retreat of some patrician family from Geneva who had had it built at the end of the 18th century and named it, after the fashion of those days, ‘Monbijou’. The name had been kept, and suited it well. It was designed in the French manner, elegant and stylish, and typical of the sort of modest, but not too modest, retreat built by the wealthy of those days. The house faced the lake. In front of it a wide lawn sloped gently down to the water’s side and it was backed by giant oak-trees. Across the lake the mountains rose, a wild jumble of rocky crags above which, whenever the clouds parted, could be seen the snow-covered triangular peak of Mont Blanc. This seemed to float so high in the sky that it was
difficult
to imagine that it was anywhere attached to the earth.

There they stayed for eight days, eight days of quiet joy and happiness far removed from the impassioned fever of their first coming together in Venice when every minute of that month of frenzied love-making had to be made the most of as both of them feared that any one of those days might have been their last on earth. Then every dawn might have heralded a parting made final by death. Now all was different. They lived together beside the lake in calm intimacy … and in the happy promise that soon they would never again be parted.

They made all sorts of plans, reaching out many, many years ahead. They would have a quiet wedding with only two
witnesses
, no one else. Some modernization would have to be done at Denestornya; electricity installed and two new bathrooms, one for Adrienne and the other … the other for the future when their son, who had not been spoken of by them for a long time, not since Uzdy’s madness, would then at long last have become a
reality
. This, they now felt, was sure; and the child would be the crown of their love, a descendant who would be the living proof of their enduring will to live.

A
FTER THE MEETING
Balint went to a concert given by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra to hear one of the Beethoven symphonies.

It was quite late when the concert was over and Balint hurried to get to Sacher’s before midnight when the public dining-room closed.

He was too late. The lights had been turned out and all the tablecloths removed. Balint found himself somewhat put out for he did not know anywhere else where he could get a quiet meal without music. He turned back from the dining-room and had just entered the front hall when he met Peter and Niki Kollonich coming in.

‘Have you come to get some food?’ asked Balint. ‘They’ve just closed here, so I’ve got to find somewhere else.’

‘Come and join us then,’ replied Peter. ‘We’ve got a private room for supper. Kristof Zalamery and I booked it in advance!’

‘It’s really very nice of you, but if it’s with gypsy music and girls then I don’t think it’s for me tonight.’

They reassured him. No gypsies and no girls, except for one who would be coming later. She was La Pantera, a famous Spanish dancer who had been appearing at the Ronacher Theatre for the last two months and who had thrown the imperial capital into a fever.

Abady had already heard of her. She was, he knew, beautiful as well as being an accomplished dancer – but she had become even more famous for her diamonds which had been pictured in every illustrated paper in the world. This had been done many, many times, since La Pantera, or her manager, used these famous jewels for the dancer’s publicity. Just in case interest in the
diamonds
should wane, they were stolen every five or six months – only to be recovered a week or ten days later. Each time this
happened
they could be written up again, with every detail lovingly described and the enormous value greatly exaggerated so as to tease the respectable reader.

Balint and his cousins were shown into the private room where they found only Fredi Wuelffenstein, who had been invited by Zalamery. Fredi, who was also a member of the delegation, was admiring his tall, slim figure in the wall mirror. With his padded shoulders, pale blond hair and the face of a white negro, it looked as if he had been trying to emulate the statesmanlike poise he had so admired in Berchtold that afternoon.

Then Stefi Szent-Gyorgyi came in and they all started to talk. At first Fredi tried hard to get them onto politics but this did not suit either Balint or the Kollonich brothers. First of all each one of them wanted to know why the others were in Vienna. Stefi, it seemed, was going to England to hunt, while Peter and Niki were on their way back to Hungary after a visit to Upper Austria where they had been invited for the pheasant-shooting. At first
the talk was all about guns and horses and game-birds, but it was not long before they started to talk about La Pantera and Kristof Zalamery. They all knew that Kristof had fallen madly in love with the dancer the very first night she appeared; and since then the whole town had been talking about the fortune that he had been spending on her, and especially about the diamond dog-collar necklace that he had added to her famous collection. Every detail was known to the good people of Vienna. It had been bought at Klinkosch’s in the Mehlmarkt and had cost sixty thousand crowns. It was also known that he was ferociously
jealous
and guarded her like a dragon, and so, though he liked to show her off, he never left her side.

‘At this very moment he’s waiting in his carriage at the stage door of the Ronacher. He’ll stay there until she’s changed and then,’ said Peter, ‘he’ll bring her straight here thereby making sure she doesn’t meet anyone else on the way!’

Niki laughed. ‘What an ass that Kristof is! All that money spent on the girl and all that trouble keeping an eye on her … and she cuckolds him every night!’

‘That can’t be possible! Why, he lives with her at the Imperial Hotel!’

‘Oh yes, but they have separate rooms divided by a
sitting-room
. Kristof can stay with her only until three a.m. Then she sends him away saying she has to get her sleep if she’s going to be able to dance properly the following night. That’s when the others come in!’

‘What rubbish you do talk!’ said Peter, who was always upset by his brother’s love of making mischief. ‘That’s far too
complicated
. Why would anyone else be there, ready and waiting? Where are they? In the corridor? In the hall? It’s absurd: nothing but the usual lying Viennese gossip!’

‘Not a bit of it. La Pantera has a confidante, half-secretary, half-procuress. She is older than the dancer and goes everywhere with her. Everyone calls her “Contessa”, probably because it sounds well. Anyhow you strike your bargain with her, and you wait in her room, which is next to La Pantera’s, until the coast is clear!’

‘And how do you know all this?’ asked his brother angrily.

‘How do I know it? How? Everyone in Vienna knows it!’

‘Everybody is … everybody is nobody.’

‘Well, if you really want to know,’ chuckled Niki, ‘it’s because I did it only yesterday. It wasn’t even very expensive, only five
hundred crowns. It was worth it just for the fun of it all. I rather like making a fool of that good old Kristof!’

Abady felt slightly nauseated.

He got up to leave, but it was too late. Just at that moment the door opened and Zalamery entered with the dancer upon his arm.

The man was built like a Hercules, though slightly balding and beginning to run to fat. He was a heavy man and though his dinner-jacket had been made by one of London’s most famous tailors and was a perfect fit, on Zalamery it looked as if it had been rented from a stage costume shop. It was like this with everything he did. He owned a large stable of racehorses … but never won a race. His forests in Marmaros were endless … but he never shot a stag himself, though it was true that his guests had some good sport. He was a good-hearted man, but vain. He liked to be admired, and he liked to show off the splendour of his
possessions
. This was why he felt impelled to bring his mistress for his friends to see.

The woman was truly beautiful. She was tall and slim. Under a helmet of raven-black hair her face was one of classical beauty and her eyes sparkled under the thickest of black lashes. Her hands, feet and legs were perfectly formed, but her glory was her walk. She moved like one of the great cats, a puma or a jaguar, who seemed always ready to pounce. It was presumably from this quality that she had been named La Pantera, the leopard. Her look was cold as ice, like that of a wild beast.

She wore a dress of dark blue silk with wide sleeves. It was tied at the waist by a sash of the same material and seemed to be half evening dress and half tea-gown. She wore only one piece of jewellery, the diamond collar that Kristof had given her. This was just to please the donor: the rest she only wore when she danced.

Introductions were made and she offered her hands for the men to kiss.

There was nothing to show that she even noticed Niki, and it is possible that she did not even remember him for it was obvious to Balint at least that she was not really interested in other people. To her everything was reduced to business, her dancing, her
diamonds
, her beauty and her fixed icy smile.

She talked coolly about all sorts of bland cosmopolitan
subjects
. Her manners were impeccable.

Saying that she was tired after the performance, she asked only for a glass of champagne and a little cold fish, nothing more.

‘We won’t be staying long, will we?’ she asked Zalamery
humbly
, as if to underline to the other men that she regarded Kristof as her lord and master. She then told how she had a rehearsal at midday because she was preparing a new number, a Russian dance which was very difficult but which would be very beautiful. She would have to work hard at it, she said, because she was going to do it at St Petersburg in three weeks’ time. It would be just right for a Russian audience, and she was sure they were going to love it.

And so she rattled on. Everything she said was impersonal, even mechanical, and Balint was sure that this was how she talked in every city she visited, with hundreds and hundreds of adoring men whose names she may never have learned and whose faces she forgot at once. Then she would move on to another capital and to other men. If she had not been so beautiful she would have been essentially boring. As it was her movements were so fluid and so alluring that to watch them was such a joy that no one noticed the banality of her conversation. Her hands, her fingers, her arms moved always in perfect harmony with the tilt of her head and the line of her shoulders. The picture seemed to have no flaw. It was as if a great artist had designed every pose she adopted.

Balint was wondering whether she had studied her effects, or whether they were natural and inborn, when across the room from him he saw an elderly woman come in and stand by the door of the apartment.

She was of middle height and rather thin. She wore a dress of smooth black silk. Her hair must once have been light brown but there remained now only a few strands of this colour: the rest was bluish silver and there was a great deal of it piled in two thick tresses into the form of a crown much in the style that can be seen in portraits of the Empress Elisabeth, Queen of Hungary. On each side of her face some tiny short curls framed her high slightly oriental cheekbones. It was an interesting face, pale and elegant, and its pallor was accentuated by a startling pair of black eyebrows that just met in the middle. Though obviously no longer young, she held herself very straight, and so distinguished was her bearing that beside her the splendid La Pantera might have been just a pretty chambermaid.

She greeted no one and did not seem to expect to be greeted herself. She was like a soldier, on duty and waiting for orders.

‘
J
’
ai
tout
rassemblé
,
madame
–
I’ve collected everything. Here they are,
il
ne
manque
rien
–
there is nothing missing,’ and she passed her hand over the sizeable morocco-leather bag that hung from her arm. It was clear that she was speaking of the diamonds which were always in her charge. ‘Do you need anything else?’

‘No. Not now. You can go back to the hotel, Contessa … No, wait a moment! Take this with you, please!’ replied La Pantera. Then she turned to Zalamery and said: ‘You won’t mind if I take this off now, will you?’ as she touched the diamond dog-collar he had given her.

‘Would you undo it for me?’ she asked and bent her lovely neck to Zalamery’s broad chest.

It was not easy for him, and a few moments passed before his thick fingers managed to release the clasp.

While this was happening the Contessa stood quietly by
without
moving. Only her eyes moved as she looked round the table and Balint felt that they lingered for a moment when they came to him. It was almost as if she would have liked to look longer at him. He was attracted by her looks and by those light grey eyes set under the dark eyebrows. He felt he had somewhere seen that glance before, but it was only a fleeting impression and soon passed away.

Kristof handed the diamond collar to the Contessa. The lock of the leather bag clicked to; then she looked once more at Abady and for a moment stared hard at him. Then she turned back to the dancer and said,
‘Bonne
nuit,
madame.
Bonne
nuit,
messieurs
,’ and with a slight inclination of her head with its massive crown of
silver
hair, she left the room.

Balint was not sure if he had imagined it, but it had seemed to him that when the Contessa was saying goodbye to the men in the room she was really only saying it to him. Who was she? Who could she be? Had he ever seen her before?

All around him the conversation started up again, but Balint could think of nothing but the woman who had just gone out.

A few moments later a waiter came in and handed a visiting card to Abady. On it was printed the name ‘Comtesse Julie Ladossa’ and on the other side had been written a few words in Hungarian,
‘
Please
come
out
for
a
moment
’
.
Julie Ladossa! She was Laszlo Gyeroffy’s mother!

He went out at once and found her sitting on one of the sofas
that lined the walls of the ante-room. The morocco-leather bag was on her knees and resting on it were her hands, long narrow aristocratic hands that were still beautiful even if lined with age. They were an artist’s hands, Laszlo’s hands. Balint sat down beside her.

‘Please don’t be offended that I asked you to come out. It is such a long time since I talked to anyone from my own country. I recognized you at once – you’re so like your father – and so as to be sure I asked the head waiter if it really was you.’

‘What can I do for you?’ asked Balint, but he found himself too embarrassed by the encounter to go on. It would have been absurd to greet Laszlo’s mother with some polite formula like ‘How do you do?’ especially as he had met her acting as
someone
’s servant, or was it worse than that?