The introductory chords rang out, faded, and up out of their cadence swelled the lullaby of an exquisite valse, rising and falling and sweeping so rarely that in a moment the quiet room was filled with melody.
It was manifest that Adèle Feste was no ordinary player of tunes.
I had never thought of her as a pianist, and I stood still, spell-bound, staring like a zany and thinking, too, how beautiful she was. And she sat there regardless, straight as an arrow, making me music fit for a king.
The valse faded, a brown eye glanced in my direction, a faint smile played about the red lips, and, with tuck of drum, the familiar pulse of “Come Over Here” came throbbing into audience. I crossed the room and sat down beside my lady on the broad seat.
The smile deepened.
“That wasn’t an invitation,” said Adèle.
“I know,” said I. “It was a challenge. You wicked girl. May I talk to you, or is it badgering as well as sacrilege?”
“Carry on.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? ”
“You never asked. Besides—”
I sighed.
“‘Orpheus with his lute made trees.’ You are making most precious melody. And I am about to make love.”
With a frown, Adèle threaded her way out of rag-time and into “The Soldiers’ Chorus.”
“No good,” said I. “And it isn’t the music, either. It’s the laughter in your eyes and the play of your lips and the sweep of your dark hair–” I stopped to gaze at the rosy, pointed fingers that fled so fast over the keys. “I always loved your hands, and now I shall reverence them, too.”
With a shrug of her dainty shoulders, Adèle stamped off the parade-ground and climbed into Montmartre. At the touch of those slender fingers the plaintive strains of “Bohême” rose up, hesitating and tremulous.
“You witch,” I whispered. “You Columbine. Adèle, I—”
“If you’re going to be silly, I shall stop.”
“That would be fatal. The minute you stop I shall kiss you. Your only hope is to go on playing till Monseigneur comes into the room.”
Adèle raised her eyebrows and shot me a curious glance. The next minute she tumbled out of opera and fell into rag-time again.
“Does she sing, too?” said I.
“She has been known to. But I think I’ve done enough harm for one day.”
“Harm?”
She nodded.
“You’ve given me the time of my life. You’ve translated yourself. You’ve expressed your charm in melody.”
The tune faltered, recovered its rhythm, and then, drawing to a close, slowed down and – stopped. But before its last notes had died away, the sensitive fingers had leaped again into life, and Adèle was floating into the valse of “The Lilac Domino.”
I bit my lip.
With the tail of my eye I saw her mouth quiver with suppressed laughter.
The haunting melody flowed on, and I closed my eyes. She was playing very softly, so that we both heard the steps in the room above and a door bang.
“The siege is raised,” said I. “Here comes the relieving force.”
Then I stood up.
“I’ve just loved it,” I said.
For a moment Adèle looked me in the face. Then she deliberately took her hands off the keys and examined her left palm.
“You know,” she began, “I—”
When I touched her on the shoulder, she put up her face like a child.
The steps came to a stop in the hall outside, and the next moment the door opened and a man came in.
From his dress and manner I took him to be a valet. Standing by the door, he bowed and then spoke rapidly in broken English.
“If Signor and Signora ’ave come to see Monseigneur, I am afraid ’e will not come for some time. ’E was go to ze Vatican ago one ’alf-hour.”
We stared at him in silence.
“I am very sorry,” he added, spreading out his hands and inclining his head to one side. With shrugged shoulders he stood there, Apology personified.
I tried to mutter something, but no words came. I could hear Adèle’s breath coming short and quick by my shoulder. And I knew that she was gazing, as I was, at the man with the bent nose whom I had chased so vainly two days before.
We were all late for dinner that night, and it was nearly a quarter to nine before we took our seats in the restaurant of the hotel.
For more than an hour we had all been sitting in Daphne’s room, discussing the latest development of the tragedy, and as yet we had arrived at no decision regarding the steps we should take.
Meditatively Berry sipped his soup. Then he laid down his spoon and addressed me.
“You’re positive he didn’t recognize you?” he said.
“Quite.”
“Then I think you were wise not to collar him.”
“I agree,” said Jonah. “Now you know where he is, you can lay your hand on him at any time. If he’d tried to bolt when he saw you, that would have been another matter.”
“It’s the most extraordinary thing I ever knew,” said Daphne. “Weren’t you frightened, Adèle?”
Miss Feste shook her head.
“I just felt stupefied,” she said. “To this moment I don’t know how I got out of the house.”
“Nor do I,” said I. “I know I tripped over everything and nearly took a toss down the front steps. I was like a man in a dream.”
“But what about Monseigneur Forest?” said Jill. “Oughtn’t he to know?”
“That’s what worries me,” said Adèle. “It’s such a terrible thing for him to have that awful man in his service – waiting on him.”
“And why wasn’t he there when he asked you to tea?” said Daphne.
“Oh, I expect he’d forgotten all right. He’s awfully vague. All the same—”
She broke off, knitting her smooth brows.
“Well, let’s leave it alone for a bit, anyway,” said Berry. “We’ll settle what’s got to be done tomorrow morning. And now – what shall we drink?”
The discussion of this new topic was cut short by the arrival of the wine-waiter with a magnum of champagne.
“My fault,” said Berry, by way of explanation. “And two others are on the way, so please get down to it. Today’s my birthday.”
“But you had one six weeks ago,” said Adèle. “The day we went to Sakkara.”
“I think I mentioned that I had had several lives. This is the anniversary of the birth of Titus Oates. In view of the proximity of the Vatican, I hardly like to give you ‘No Popery,’ but when I pass my glass across the asparagus, you’ll know what I mean.”
“I believe you were whipped at the cart’s tail from High Holborn to Marble Arch,” said Jonah. “Did it hurt?”
My brother-in-law groaned.
“Don’t talk about it,” he said. “The driver lost his way and took us round by Victoria Street. And people were very rude. As much as fifteen and six was paid for a dead cat that afternoon.” Mournfully he emptied his glass. “Why should this wine have appeared before a medical board?”
“Why?” said Jonah.
“Because it’s only fit for light duty. However—”
“I think it’s priceless,” said Jill.
“Sweetheart,” said Berry, “if I gave you corked ginger ale, I believe you’d say it was nectar. As a matter of fact, a woman’s opinion about wine is rather less valuable than that of a gorilla on heraldry. They go by the colour, you know. Yellow for champagne, red for port, green for starboard.”
“I confess I’ve never made drink a study,” said Daphne, “if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s not your fault, my dear. It’s your upbringing. Now, when you were at the board school, they ought to have—”
“Whatever you do, Adèle,” said my sister, “don’t marry a wag.”
“Anyone would think you two were deadly enemies,” said Adèle, smiling.
“But we are,” said Berry. “What makes you thi
nk otherwise?”
Adèle glanced at the roses pinned to my sister’s dress.
“He didn’t see me, but I was in the shop when he bought them,” she said slowly. “And I heard what he said.”
“I protest,” said my brother-in-law hastily, a tinge of red creeping into his brown cheeks.
“And I,” said Jonah, “can explain the champagne.” He smiled and nodded at Berry. “Seven years ago today I was his best man.”
Daphne’s face was transfigured, and when I slid my hand into hers under cover of the table-cloth, her fingers closed on it with a pressure that was more eloquent than the tenderest sonnet ever penned.
Dinner became a festive meal.
Just as I was lighting my second cigarette, some of the lights were lowered.
“Hullo,” said Berry, “what are they doing?”
“I know,” cried Jill excitedly. “We’re going to have some movies. Look. There’s the screen going up.”
“By Jove, she’s right,” said I. “I suppose they always do it on Saturdays. That’s why the place is so full tonight.”
A moment later the screen was in place and a great shaft of light leaped from between the curtains of a gallery at the opposite end of the salon. As the remaining lights were extinguished:
“I do hope we have Charlie Chaplin,” said Jill. “I simply love him.”
The next minute we were plunged into the mill-race which has been appropriately named ‘Current Events.’ His troops marched past the King of Italy at thirty miles an hour. Two British destroyers passed us doing seventy knots. A French general decorated and embraced eight of his officers in something under fifteen seconds. After a short breathing space, during which the lights were raised, we were regaled with an indifferent farce, in the course of which seven people followed one another unhesitatingly through a river, down a fire-escape, along some telegraph wires, and into a flour-mill.
“Shall we go or stay?” said Berry, when the screen was empty again.
“Let’s try one more,” said his wife.
“Right-o.”
“A Daughter of the Capitol” proved to be a melodrama of slight merit – so slight, indeed, that after two or three minutes I settled myself in my chair as comfortably as I could and made ready to sleep.
How long I dozed I do not know, but a stifled cry from Adèle sent my heaviness flying. I could just see that she was staring at the screen. Instinctively I followed her gaze. I was just in time to see a scared-looking man with a bent nose stab another viciously in the back. When he had robbed his victim, the assailant darted out of the picture. A moment later I saw myself sprinting across the square like one possessed, and in my wake a tall, slim girl, with the slenderest ankles, running like a deer.
The next minute there was a flicker, and the scene changed to a hospital ward.
But I had had enough.
As I groped my way to the door, a glance over my shoulder showed me that I was not alone. Five other shadowy forms were stealing in the same direction, threading their way between the tables.
When we had all emerged into the deserted lounge, we stood looking at one another, blinking in the strong light. Then Adèle abandoned herself to a tempest of laughter, buried her face in her hands, and leaned shaking against a pillar. Jonah tried to say something and broke down. Daphne and Jill fell upon my neck and sobbed.
“Featuring Miss Adèle Feste and – and – and friend,” panted Berry. “Can – can you beat it?”
He squirmed in an ecstasy of mirth.
“But – but I’ll swear there was no camera,” I stammered, beginning to laugh.
“In – in one of the ground-floor windows,” stuttered my brother-in-law. “Or a doorway, or something. And the valet was making a little pocket-money in his spare time. What a pity you didn’t collar him this afternoon!” With an effort he pulled himself together. “Seriously, you know, you two are not to be trusted. Next time you go out on your own I shall follow you.”
“I believe you’re jealous.”
Berry only grinned, but Daphne put her lips to my ear.
“I should be,” she whispered, “if I were in love with Adèle.”
6: Nemesis
The gates, which it was obviously impossible to shut, were dragged to, those of my organs which had been displaced sank back into position, four bells rang, and the train plunged forward. There was just enough play between my face and a smart little velvet hat for the two to collide violently.
“Ow!” said the owner.
“That was my nose,” I said. “I hope it won’t bleed.”
“So do I,” said the man immediately north-west of me.
Fifteen seconds later, without any warning, the train came to an abrupt stop.
“I’m sure it will bleed now,” said I. “Nothing can stop it.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then:
“I don’t wish to jump to any hasty conclusion,” said Berry, “but I think I saw a notice to the effect that there was more room in the rear of the train.”
“You did,” said I.
“Well, if that’s true,” said Berry, “they must be very crowded in front. You know,” he added, “this is very nearly as bad as the Four Arts Ball.”
“At least there was variety about that function,” said the major half-left of my breast-bone. “People removed their feet from your insteps every now and then. I don’t mean to say they didn’t put them back, but it gave the circulation a chance.”
“Force of will,” said Berry, “can do anything. Let’s all pretend we’re waiting to see the Boat Race.”
The velvet hat shook slightly.
“As a matter of fact,” said I, “it reminds me irresistibly of Earl’s Court.”
The allusion proved unfortunate, and it took us all several seconds to convince a lady with four parcels, whose hat appeared to have been caught in the gates, that the train was in fact going to Warwick Avenue.
When the excitement had subsided:
“Why Earl’s Court?” said the man immediately north-west of me.
“Because this is the sort of thing you used to pay for,” said I. “If you remember, you could ruin a dress-suit there for sixpence, while with eighteen-pence and a little judgment you could become a confirmed invalid. Of course,” I added, “you can’t expect so much for twopence halfpenny.”
With a frightful jerk the train resumed its career.
The rearrangement consequent upon its arrival at Oxford Circus partook of the nature of a violent struggle for existence.
Under cover of the confusion I sought to recover a package which I had dropped at Piccadilly. My fingers encountered its surface, but when I tried to pick it up, it appeared to be attached to the floor. While I was digesting this phenomenon:
“Somebody appears to be trying to lift me into the air,” said the major. “I may as well say at once that, in the circumstances, I believe such a feat to be beyond their strength.”
Guiltily I wriggled the string of my package clear of his right spur.
Amid the frenzied bellowing of officials the train proceeded on its way. Two hundred yards further on it came to a dead stop.
Berry cleared his throat.
“It cannot be too widely known,” he said, “that I propose to emerge at Regent’s Park. The funny-looking man on my left will accompany me.”
The ripple of amusement that greeted this remark was rudely terminated by a coarse laugh from the conductor.
“You’ll ’ave to look sharp about it,” he said. “We don’t stop there.”
There was a roar of merriment.
I addressed myself to the major.
“A walk,” I said, “will do that vulgar fat man good. If he had walked more in the past, we should not now be suffering quite so much inconvenience.”
“Before we break up,” said Berry, “I should like to say how much I’ve enjoyed this. I’ve been assaulted more times than I can remember, my ticket has been knocked out of my hand, and I’ve los
t my gent’s umbrella. It only remains for me to be robbed.”
“All right as long as you don’t carry anything in your hip-pocket,” I murmured thoughtlessly.
The effect of my words was electrical. Simultaneously every man within earshot sought to assure himself that his hip-pocket was inviolate. The fact that everyone was wearing an overcoat further complicated a gesture which demands more than ordinary elbow-room, and in a moment the utmost confusion prevailed.
Berry braced himself against the gate.
“May I suggest,” he said, “that everybody feels in the hip-pocket of the neighbour immediately in front of him? In this way the investigation now afoot will be greatly simplified, and by an exchange of confidences…”
Somebody laughed hysterically. There were unmistakable signs of panic.
“The first ’and as feels in my ’ip-pocket’ll get wot for,” said an explosive voice.
The threat was launched inside the coach, and I felt glad we were on the platform.
Happily the train chose this moment to resume its journey.
The sudden burst of apologies, which succeeded its impulse, suggested that several hands which should have been straphanging were otherwise engaged.
The major spoke into my ear.
“I’m not a lawyer,” he said, “but I should say that your friend has been guilty of a summary offence. Conduct more calculated to lead to a breach of the peace I never witnessed.”
I screwed my head round.
“If I give you his address,” I shouted, “will you promise to summon him?”
The major blenched.
“God forbid!” he said. “I’d rather go back to France.”
As we were walking down Marylebone Road, Berry demanded a cigarette. Before proceeding to unbutton my overcoat, I eyed him suspiciously.
“Where are your own?” said I.
“Probably still in my case,” he said gloomily.
“Well, why—”
“And that,” said Berry, “was in my hip-pocket.”
Introductory Titles
(in order of first publication)
These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels
Courts of Idleness Page 21
