They Were Divided (49 page)

Outside the house Bischitz saw the car and asked the chauffeur about his master. When he learned that it was Count Abady, who was rich and important and a close relation of the dead man, he at once began to wonder if he might be able to get him to pay for all the soap, paraffin and brandy that Regina had stolen from the shop. He knew he could not send in an account for these to Dr Simay, who was hard and severe and would only say that he was not responsible for what the shopkeeper’s daughter might have pinched on the sly. Bischitz was not even sure that it had been Regina, for all he knew for certain was that he had missed some stock that he thought ought to have been there, and he could not even say how much had been taken. Still, he now thought, such a distinguished gentleman as Count Abady was certain to have a softer heart than the stern lawyer, for wasn’t he even now inside the house and, as he had seen through the
window
, talking kindly to his daughter?

Accordingly he hastened back to the shop and started to make out a bill. Being an honest shopkeeper he was careful not to add anything extra – though he did round off the total – but added it all up more or less to what he thought had disappeared.

When Abady came out of the house just before midday Bischitz had already been waiting for him for some time. Hat in hand he introduced himself and, after a lengthy explanation, offered Balint his account. He never mentioned how many times he had slapped Regina when he fancied she had taken something, but spoke warmly of her as if she had done it all with his approval. He even managed to give the impression that he had encouraged her.

Balint was about to take the bill, which amounted to a few thousand crowns, when a carriage with jangling harness drove up from the north and stopped beside them. A short, stout man with greying hair stepped out. He was aged about sixty and wore a short imperial and thick glasses. Peering at Abady with the slightly squinting gaze of the short-sighted, he spoke directly to the shopkeeper.

‘What sort of a bill is that?’

Bischitz started and then, rushing his words, he began to explain that there had been certain expenses which, merely out of discretion of course, he had not mentioned before for, still out of discretion of course, there had been some old debts of Count Laszlo’s … and some new ones … and he hadn’t wanted to trouble anyone with them.

There was nothing soft about the lawyer, for it was Dr Simay who had arrived, and he at once called the shopkeeper to order.

‘I gave strict instructions that you were to give no credit. Further I forbade you to turn to anyone else in anything that
concerned
Count Gyeroffy’s needs. Give that to me,’ he ordered, ‘and I will look it over.’ He then went up to Abady and
introduced
himself, ‘Dr Geza Simay, at your service.’

They shook hands and Balint then explained that he had come at once to provide whatever was necessary for Laszlo’s
funeral
, and added that he had brought the necessary funds with him.

‘That won’t be necessary, my Lord,’ replied Simay. ‘I have already made all the arrangements. The announcements have been sent out from my office. The coffin will be here in half an hour and the service and interment will take place tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. The local pastor has already agreed to conduct the service.’

‘But the costs? My cousin had no money, and the small annuity that he has been receiving from Azbej ceases with his death. I would never agree that the man who deprived Laszlo of
everything
should now wish to appear generous and pay for his funeral’

Simay smiled.

‘Azbej is paying for nothing, my Lord. There has been no annuity or anything else from him. Up until now it is I who have provided everything for Count Laszlo, and I shall settle these costs as well.’

‘What? No annuity from Azbej? But I thought…? Well then, where did the money come from?’

Simay paused for a moment, as if he had just realized that
perhaps
he had said more than he should. Then, unperturbed and unhurried, he went on to tell something, if not all, of the truth.

‘I used to look after all the late Mihaly Gyeroffy’s affairs; so it was quite natural that I should see to his son’s interests too.’

‘So it was you who provided for Laszlo?’

‘Not I myself. I merely arranged what had to be done,’ said Simay hesitantly. ‘I had my orders. It is the same with the funeral.’

‘You had your orders?’

‘Exactly. I am a lawyer, you know, and this had been part of my legal work.’ Simay spoke somewhat dryly, and then, to cut short any further enquiry, he turned to Bischitz and said, ‘The coffin will arrive at any moment. Please have a few strong men ready to carry it into the house!’ To Abady he said: ‘I hope your Lordship will now excuse me. I have to go up to the family vault,’ and after a brief farewell hurried off up the hill towards the manor house.

Balint was surprised by what he had just heard and asked
himself
who then could it have been who had kept Laszlo from
starvation
. Could it have been his aunts? Surely not Agnes Gyeroffy, Princess Kollonich? Or her sister Countess Szent-Gyorgyi, the gentle Elise? That was more likely; and yet how could she have organized all this so quickly when she lived so far away at Jablanka, in the Slovakian province of Nyitra? It was possible, he supposed, that she had given her instructions in advance; and yet it seemed unlikely. It was all very mysterious.

There was nothing more for Balint to do at Kozard that morning so he got into his car and was driven back to Kolozsvar where he found a telegram waiting for him. It was from Julie Ladossa, saying that she would arrive by that evening express from Budapest.

So she really was coming!

Balint at once wondered if her arrival would make for any
problems
with the others who would be coming for the funeral. How would they behave towards the notorious former Countess Gyeroffy? Would they greet her correctly … or cut her dead? That would be dreadful, no matter how justified. Balint now
realized
that it had been thoughtless of him to have sent off that
telegram
; but as he had he would now have to suffer the consequences. As to himself he decided at once that he would behave towards Julie Ladossa as if he knew nothing at all about her past. He would give her all the respect that was due to her as Laszlo’s mother, just as if she had never abandoned the position to which she had been born. That, he decided, was the right thing to do.

He went to meet her at the station. The train was on time.

Holding herself as erect as the last time he had seen her she got down from the carriage with head held high. She was wearing the same black dress as she had that night in Vienna and Balint wondered if it was the only good dress she possessed. She held out her hand, explaining that she would have been there in the
morning
but that as they were staying at the Royal Hotel and not at the Hungaria she had not received the news at once.

She spoke calmly, in even natural tones. She showed no signs of sorrow or tearfulness. In fact there was no change in her
manner
, though Balint felt that if anything her face was even more expressionless than when they had last met. Was the vertical
furrow
on her forehead a shade more pronounced and her lips even more compressed, as if she was consciously clenching her jaws? It was so uncertain that Balint was not sure if it was really there or whether he had imagined it.

He took her to the Central Hotel and saw her to her room,
saying
that he would fetch her in his car at eight-thirty the following morning.

‘Are you taking anyone else?’ she asked.

‘No. Only you, Aunt Julie.’

At that last word she turned her head away abruptly. Then, very quickly, she muttered, ‘Goodnight!’ and disappeared into her room.

Balint returned home on foot. As he went he was assailed by many memories of childhood and of his years at school when he and Laszlo had lodged together at the Theresianum in Vienna. His heart contracted with sorrow and he was so overcome that tears filled his eyes. He longed for Adrienne’s comforting
presence
, but she had had to leave again for Lausanne some five days before as they had wired her that her daughter was ill again and that she should come to be with her. If Adrienne had been at home he could have gone straight to her and told her of his
sadness
, and she would have listened and understood and comforted him; but she was not there and he had no one to whom he could pour out what was in his heart.

He walked on until he reached the Abady town house, but when he reached the entrance he stopped, knowing that he would not sleep. Perhaps a long walk would help calm him, he thought, and so, even though a slight rain had started, he turned away and quite involuntarily headed for the Monostor road, towards the Uzdy villa. For a long time he stood there, by the bridge that
led to the park, and then, after wandering for a while down the tree-lined alleys, he made his way back to the centre of the town. He had been walking for more than an hour and a half.

As he entered the market square he stopped, startled. A tall dark woman was standing on the sidewalk in front of the church. She just stood there without moving, apparently staring at the main entrance, lit up by one of the streetlights.

Balint had recognized her at once: it was Julie Ladossa.

Holding her voluminous coat tightly around her, she stood there like a figure of stone; and Balint wondered how long she had been there and if, like himself, she had been wandering about in the dark night ever since they had parted earlier that evening.

He turned swiftly away in case she should catch a glimpse of him and think that he was spying on her. Balint now took a turn through the streets of the old town and when he finally found himself in the passage beside the Town Hall which gave onto the market square, he looked again towards the church.

The dark shape was still there, just as before, motionless in the slight drizzle. Was she going to stay there all night?

The street in front of the little house at Kozard had been deserted when Balint had arrived the previous day: now it was thronged with people. All the village folk were standing there waiting.

The road was muddy, but the rain had stopped and so
everyone
could wait without getting wet.

The Bischitz husband and wife were there, dressed in all their finery as if for the Sabbath; and Fabian was strutting about giving orders in a stentorian voice. Old Marton was hovering
disconsolate
near the house. Only Regina was nowhere to be seen.

The entire Azbej family had turned up – Mrs Azbej, short, fat, full-bosomed, with several double chins; the Azbej children, short and dark, with eyes like tiny black plums, the image of their father; and the dishonest little lawyer himself, all self-importance, strutting about playing the host and receiving the eminent mourners as they arrived.

He had already welcomed the chief judge of the district and the doctor from Iklod and led them towards the ramshackle barn that stood in a corner of the manor house grounds.