“How nice,” Eve said.
“We grew to love Monsieur Salles during his stay here,” Madame Chambord went on.
“I am sure you did,” Eve said.
“He was so distinguished,” Madame Chambord said.
“For God’s sake!” Bill said. “Let’s have something to drink.” He was embarrassed for Eve.
“Bring us the wine card,” Lew Cable said.
Madame Chambord went for the wine card. The English had become quiet when Eve came into the dining room, but now they were noisy again. There were two women and two men, all quite drunk. On their table were two whisky bottles. Mr. Palmer and Holmstrom were eating quietly in the back of the dining room. Madame Chambord came with a white waiter. He carried French bread and a tureen of soup. Madame handed the wine card to Lew Cable. “The moselle is excellent,” she said.
“Haven’t you any champagne?”
“Mais oui.” Madame was indignant. “We have the best.”
“Bring us two bottles.”
Madame sent the waiter for the champagne and ladled out the soup herself. Her manner had changed. The champagne had changed it. When the wine came in the silver ice buckets, she spun the bottles so they would cool evenly. She was very fat and the work made her sweat a little. The hair on the back of her neck was damp from the sweat. At last she poured the wine. Then she went to a cashier’s stand by the dining-room entrance. She had an account book there.
Eve lifted her glass to Lew Cable. “I’m very impressed,” she said.
“So are we,” Bill said.
They drank. The champagne was dry and cold. It made Jay feel very civilized. After the soup came fish and then lamb and fresh carrots. It was all very good.
Lew Cable talked exclusively to Eve. He talked about members of the international set he knew in Paris. He told her he had lived a great deal in Europe. He described his house at Nice and the chateau he’d leased on the Loire near Tours. Eve knew the chateau’s owner. Bill tried without much success to join the conversation, but Jay ate in silence. He thought Cable was being pretty obviously gallant. Well, he had got a rich wife from it. It paid off all right. Maybe it would pay off with Eve. He glanced at her. Her face was perfectly composed. It was a face that was at once haughty and intense. The cheekbones and the wide, red, mobile mouth gave it intensity, and the cool curve of the brows over the lavender eyes made it haughty.
He finished his champagne. The waiter filled his glass. He watched the waiter. He looked like Madame Chambord. He looked like the porter, too. It was funny about French porters. They all looked alike. Maybe all French porters were related. Maybe they were all related to Madame Chambord. He wished they weren’t. They wouldn’t remind him of Quebec then.
They were drinking coffee when one of the women in the English party came to their table. She was around forty, but she was still handsome. She had red hair and wore a great deal of rouge. “Aren’t you Eve Salles?” she asked Eve.
“Yes.”
“My dear, I’m so glad. I was afraid you weren’t. I’m Edna Rollins.” She had an American accent. “We met in Paris, at the Countess Frachotti’s. I don’t suppose you remember.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Eve said.
“Well, we did meet. And I’m so sorry to hear about your husband, darling.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“Have you given up hope of him?”
“No,” Eve said.
“I do want you to know how sorry I am.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Rollins glanced at Lew Cable. “Darling,” she said to Eve, “won’t you come over and meet my husband and the others? Do. Have a liqueur with us.” She smiled at Lew Cable. “I mean all of you, of course.”
“We’d like to,” Cable said.
Eve introduced everyone. “Please don’t stand up,” Edna Rollins said. “You embarrass me. I’ll leave at once. But don’t forget, darling, we’re expecting you.”
They watched her go to her table. The two Englishmen were middle aged. One was fat, with a face like a purple plum. He was noisy, but the other man looked as though he was asleep with his eyes open. He had a thin lantern-jawed face. The second woman was blond and pretty.
“They want to look me over,” Eve said.
“It’s not that,” Cable said. “They aren’t like that. I had a drink with the fat one. He struck me as very substantial.”
“That’s Rollins,” Eve said. “He is substantial. I suppose he’s made half a million out of meat packing. He once worked in a Chicago packing house; killed the cows with a mallet, I believe. Now he’s the representative for the British Empire.”
“The women look like elderly tarts,” Bill said.
“The other’s Lady Faulkener.”
“And the guy with the glassy stare is Lord Faulkener?”
“His name is Hobbs. Lord Faulkener lives in Paris with a dress model.”
“Well,” Bill said, “this is fascinating. Life in the upper class What’s Hobbs, then?”
“He makes shoes and belts. He’s quite rich.”
Bill said, “And the safari is in Belgian territory so they won’t be seen?”
“Possibly, though I don’t believe Lady Faulkener minds.”
“I really thought they were nice,” Lew Cable said. “I’m sorry as hell.”
“It’s all right. I might as well get used to being a celebrity. You know, it isn’t quite as if I’d murdered Lucien.”
“It isn’t at all like that,” Bill said.
“Quite a bit.” Eve looked at the English. “I’m the woman who lost her wealthy husband on an African safari. Not as good as the woman who murdered her husband, but still something of a celebrity.”
“You’d better have a drink,” Jay said.
“I do think I’d better.”
Jay poured her a drink. “No need of getting tight,” Cable said, scowling.
“She’s safe with us,” Bill told him. “Don’t you feel safe with us, Eve?”
“Quite safe.”
“You may be safe with Bill,” Lew Cable said. “But I’m not sure about Jay.”
“No?” Eve said. “Why not?”
“He’s a man of mystery. A married man of mystery.”
This was supposed to pass as a joke, Jay saw, but Cable’s voice was not pleasant. He was watching Eve. She was surprised.
“Are you married?” she asked Jay.
“No,” Jay said.
Cable said, “Tell the truth, Jay.”
“I am.”
Cable did not believe him, but he didn’t say anything. Eve looked at Jay. Another lukimbe was being played in the courtyard now. The music sounded as though a wind had set in motion a number of strings of shells and glass beads. It was a pleasant minor noise. They finished the wine.
“We’d better join the British,” Bill said.
“To hell with them,” Jay said.
“No. Please come,” said Eve. “All of you. Please. Then they can’t concentrate on me.”
They went to the other table. Lady Faulkener was a blonde with bad teeth. Edna Rollins made the introductions. She had forgotten Bill’s name. “Louis,” Bill said. “Joe Louis.”
“Not the fighter?” Lady Faulkener asked.
“A cousin,” Bill said.
“But I understood he was black.”
“German propaganda,” Bill said.
Rollins was standing. The others had not gotten up, not even Hobbs. He still seemed to be asleep. His eyes were open, but he did not look up from the table.
“Suppose we have coffee in the bar,” Rollins said.
Edna Rollins said, “It’s so much cozier.”
Hobbs was helped to his feet. He seemed to be able to walk, but Lady Faulkener had to steer him into the bar.
“Why don’t they put him to bed?” Jay asked Edna Rollins.
“He doesn’t want to miss anything.”
“I’d say he was missing everything,” Bill said.
�
�You’d be surprised,” Edna Rollins said.
She went ahead with Bill. Jay was the last out of the dining room. Mr. Palmer and Holmstrom had gone. Madame Chambord leaned towards him over the cashier’s table.
“Did the meal go well, Mr. Nichols?”
“It went very well.”
“We endeavor to please,” Madame said.
“I am happy to hear that,” Jay said.
Two tables had been pulled together in the barroom and on them were brandy bottles and coffee. Cable held Eve’s chair and then sat next to her. Jay sat by Edna Rollins. The black barman poured them brandy.
“You’re an American, aren’t you?” Edna Rollins asked.
“Yes.”
“I am, too. Born in St. Louis.”
“I was born in Evanston, Illinois.”
Lady Faulkener was listening to them. There was a bright eager look on her face, even when no one was paying attention to her. She had been pretty, and from a distance she was still pretty. Both women had that nervous brightness of women whose looks have begun to fade, Jay thought. He wondered which one pursued Holmstrom. It could be either of them.
“You Americans have so many cities,” Lady Faulkener said.
“We’ve only two important ones,” Jay said.
“Really?”
“St. Louis and Evanston, Illinois.”
Lady Faulkener stared at him. Then she smiled gingerly, as though she was afraid her face would crack. “You’re joking,” she said.
“No,” Jay said. “Mrs. Rollins will tell you.”
“You bet I will,” Edna Rollins said. “But don’t call me Mrs. I’m Edna. And this is Daphne.”
Lady Faulkener smiled again at Jay. “What’s your name?”
“Jay. Jay Nichols.”
“Do call me Daphne,” she said.
The waiter came around with more brandy and coffee. The tinkle of the lukimbes was faint. “You’re not the writer?” Edna asked.
“I wrote a book once,” Jay admitted.
“Not Hello, Satan!?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it! That was a good book. So funny. Daphne, did you read it?”
“Is that the one about the war in the States?”
“No. That’s Gone with the Wind, dear.”
“Then I didn’t read it.” Daphne turned to Jay, bright-eyed and intense. “I didn’t read the Wind one, either.”
Rollins was telling Eve and Lew Cable a hunting experience. His voice was deep. “—when the beggar went into the brush I knew we were in for trouble. I told Holmstrom——”
“Daphne doesn’t read American writers,” Edna said. “She likes Evelyn Waugh.”
“I like her, too,” Jay said.
“He isn’t a her.”
“Well, I like him, then.”
“I don’t believe the chap’s a writer at all,” Daphne said.
Edna nudged Bill, who had been listening to Rollins. “Is this man a writer?”
“Jay? Sure. He wrote Hello, Satan!”
Eve was looking at Jay. She was not listening to Rollins.
“You see,” Edna cried. “We’ve a literary man.”
“I don’t believe it,” Daphne said. “The chap’s not a writer. He thought Evelyn Waugh was a woman.”
“He was joking,” Edna said.
Everyone was looking at Jay. Rollins paused in his story. “I didn’t start this,” Jay said.
Hobbs’s lantern jaw moved up and down. “He could be a writer,” he said, speaking for the first time. “They bob up everywhere.”
“Why, darling,” Daphne said. “You’ve come back to us.”
“Say something witty, Jay,” Edna commanded. “Show ’em.”
“Noel Coward,” Jay said.
“There,” Edna cried proudly.
“Only fifty-six shopping days until Noel,” Jay said.
Both women looked at him blankly. “What do you think of James Hilton?” Daphne asked.
“I never heard of him.”
“Never heard of James Hilton?”
“No.”
“Edna, this chap’s never heard of James Hilton.”
“Well, my God!” Edna said.
Lew Cable and Eve were still listening, but Rollins was talking to Bill. Hobbs was sitting very straight in his chair, his eyes fixed glassily on Eve. He did not seem to be listening to anything.
Daphne asked, “What do you think of Shaw?”
“One of America’s greatest racing drivers.”
“Well, my God!” Edna said again.
“The chap can’t be a writer,” Daphne cried.
“Wait a minute,” Edna said. “Wait a minute. What about Gone with the Wind, Jay?”
“It’s a splendid book.”
“There,” Edna said triumphantly.
“It weighed three pounds,” Jay said. “I guess it weighed more than any first novel ever did. Three pounds.”
“The chap isn’t a writer,” Daphne said.
“Sure I am,” Jay said. “Ask me something else.”
“Well, who is your favorite writer?”
“That’s easy. I am.”
“He’s a writer,” Edna said.
In a silence Rollins’ voice boomed across the table. “—he was coming at a dead run and I had only one shot left. I said to myself, ‘Shoot straight, Rolly, or the beggar will——’”
“How do you happen to be on a trip like this?” Daphne asked Jay.
“It’s a job.”
“You mean you’re paid to come along?”
Lew Cable was listening to them. “Times are hard in the States, Lady Faulkener.”
“Mr. Cable pays my salary,” Jay explained.
“How interesting,” Daphne said.
She turned to Rollins, who was now being attacked by two lions. Bill was listening to the story.
“Don’t let Daphne snoot you, Jay,” Edna said. “She used to be at the glove counter in Selfridge’s.”
“Let’s have a drink,” Jay said.
He poured brandy into their glasses. They drank and then Edna said, “Excuse me. I have to go to the baffy.” She went to the baffy. Eve turned to Jay.
“I read your book, too.”
“Did you?”
“I thought it amusing. I didn’t connect the name. It had a very good sale in England.”
“Much better than in America.”
“Let me ask you something, Jay,” Lew Cable said.
“All right.”
“Why’d you take a job with me if you’re such a fine writer? At twenty dollars a week?”
Bill moved away from Rollins. “Lay off, Lew,” he said.
“I wanted to get out of America,” Jay told Cable.
“Why?”
“Lay off, Lew,” Bill said again.
“Well, it’s damn funny,” Cable said. “I hire a man and then I’m not supposed to ask questions about him.” He looked at Bill, but he was talking to Eve. “How do I know why he left America?”
“Do you think I’m a bank robber?” Jay asked.
“No. But I heard you were married. And you deny it. Why shouldn’t I know something about you?”
“You’re not taking my word for him?” Bill asked.
Cable said, “Sure.” He did not want a row with Bill.
Bill stood up. “Let’s get some air, Jay.”
“All right.”
They went into the courtyard. The air was cold. A half-moon made the cobblestones look white. Natives stood across the court, listening to the music of the lukimbes. Their voices were hushed.
“Sometime I’ll punch the bastard,” Bill said.
“He’s damn big.”
“It’s all for Eve’s benefit.”
“Why does he bother?” Jay asked.
“He thinks she likes you.”
“She likes us all.”
“He doesn’t think so.”
“Tell him about Linda if it will help any,” Jay said.
“To h
ell with him,” Bill said.
They listened to the tinkling music. A night bird was catching insects above the two lamps on the other wall. They watched the bird for a time. It was very peaceful in the courtyard. Bill said, “Coming in?”
“In a minute.”
“I’ll see you, then.”
He went away.
CHAPTER 15
JAY WATCHED THE NATIVES across the court. The men were seated on the cobblestones around the lukimbe players; their voices came to him softly. There were women there, too, but they were silent. The clothes and teeth of the natives were milky in the reflected light of the moon. The stars looked very close in a sky that was still purple and without clouds. In the bar there was much noise, the laughter often louder than the music of the lufyimbes. Air moved across the courtyard, cold against Jay’s face.
Why shouldn’t Bill tell Cable about Linda? he thought. Cable had heard something about her. There was no reason why he shouldn’t hear all about her. What was, was, he thought; no silence could make it different. He had the memories. Silence did not make them more vivid. They were his, and he loved them. All but one. And he need not recall that one. He would not recall it. There were enough other ones.
It was dusk and the gulls were noisy on the beach and the afternoon wind had gone down so there was no reason for the pounding surf. Then, in the spring, Linda could not swim and he had bathed alone, going far out into water that was warm and soft and green. When he came from the beach he smelled the stew and they ate dinner and afterwards washed dishes and he remembered Linda then, pleased that she had been able to make dinner, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, and they talked as they washed, smelling the clean odor of soap flakes in hot water, and their hands touched when she gave him dishes to dry.
“Thursday is our nicest day” he said.
“Don’t you miss Mary?”
“Yes. I’ll always miss Mary. But this is fine.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“We’ll have fun later, too, darling.”
“I hope so,” she said. “The doctor said today it would be the first week in May.”
“What did he say about you?”
“He said I was very healthy.”
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll have a baby every year.”
“Oh, Jay! Not that often.”
“I’d like to make a baby now.”
“How could you? With me so big?”
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