At that moment Daphnis was shown into the room.
Chapter VII
The Skeleton in the Cupboard
I actually felt the blood drain from my face. During the last two and a half months there had been innumerable midday heats during which I had lain, a sweating carcass, in my tent, and it had been too hot to do anything except think—think of Daphnis. There were no recreations to fill in the evenings out in the Western Desert and early to bed was the rule. On countless nights I had turned in, not yet tired enough to sleep, and lain there in the darkness only half-awake, dreaming—dreaming of Daphnis. For nearly all that time I had regarded her as irretrievably lost to me, endeavoured to force myself to accept the fact that I would never see her again, yet here she was before my eyes and to me infinitely more beautiful than my thoughts or dreams had ever painted her.
I had never before seen her in evening dress, and she was wearing a filmy crinoline frock with chains of tiny pink roses all over it so that she looked just like a Dresden china figure come to life.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been so utterly taken aback to meet her at the Wisharts’ house. From that last scene with her I had gone straight back to Mersa Matruh, so Barbara had no idea that there had been anything at all between us except an avowed admiration on my part, and it was just like her good nature to get her mother to include Daphnis in the party as a pleasant surprise for me.
For a second I was panic-stricken by the thought that Daphnis might think that I had planned this meeting, and if she still considered me a rogue might tell Mrs. Wishart that if I was to be in the party she must go home because, for reasons which she did not care to disclose, her mother most strongly objected to her knowing me. She might even tell the Wisharts why she did not wish to know me, and it was only then that I realised that neither Mrs. Wishart nor Barbara knew about my past or that I was passing under an adopted name.
My hands went cold and clammy. I momentarily contemplated flight, and I definitely wished that the floor would open and swallow me up. Barbara must have seen my evident perturbation, and, guessing something was wrong she leapt, like the good sort that she was, into the breach.
Under her make-up, and in the artificial light, it was impossible to tell if Daphnis had flushed or gone pale at the sight of me, but before we could meet absolutely face to face Barbara stepped forward and with a casual “Of course, you know Julian, don’t you?” brought us both to the sherry table, but so that she remained standing between us.
As we murmured a conventional greeting our eyes met, and although she was not smiling hers were not hostile. Some of the other guests arrived almost immediately afterwards, so conversation became general, and for the moment we were spared any further embarrassment.
We were a party of ten for dinner, and I imagine that Barbara had switched the cards at the last moment, as I was right at the other end of the table from Daphnis, so escaped the ordeal of having to make meaningless conversation with her; but that was only a postponement of the crisis which I knew I now had to face, and it came at the end of dinner, when Mrs. Wishart said:
“Now, you young people had better book up any dances that you want as by the time the girls have got their wraps we shall have to be off.”
It was the time-honoured formula by which a dance hostess ensures that the plainer girls in her party get a fair share of dances before the young men arrive at the dance and start booking up with the star attractions. In common politeness it was now incumbent on each of us men to ask each girl at the table for at least one dance, and leaving our seats we began to circulate before the women left the room.
When I reached Daphnis I said: “I had no idea that I’d be lucky enough to see you here. May I have a dance, or better still, if you can spare them, two?”
“I—I promised several to men who are going in other parties,” she said with a little catch in her voice, “so if you don’t mind we’ll make it one. Would Number Four be all right for you?”
That was not particularly encouraging, but at least it was the first fence taken without a tumble, and with a murmured “Thank you” I turned to ask for a dance from the girl who was next along the table.
If my very life depended upon it now I could not tell you if my first three partners danced well or badly; if they were pretty or plain, or even if they were dark or fair. I have no doubt at all that I talked the usual inconsequent nonsense about the band, the floor, the weather and the war, and I trust the poor dears remained quite unconscious of the fact that they were dancing with a human automaton completely incapable of registering any facet of their personality. I simply don’t remember anything more at all until I was gliding away into the throng of dancers with Daphnis.
We circled the floor twice in complete silence. She had lowered her eyes as we started off, and now she kept her face resolutely averted. Her profile was as cold as ice and for the life of me I could not think how to open up now that I had the chance that I had been so desperately anxious to obtain. The words would not even form in my mind and precious moments were flying. If the dance ended before I had broken the ice I felt quite certain now that she would excuse herself from giving me another on the plea that her programme was full up. Then this utterly unexpected break which the Fates had sent me would have been entirely thrown away.
Suddenly I felt her hand tremble on my arm and she burst out:
“Say something, can’t you! Say something or else take me back to Mrs. Wishart and get out!”
The revelation that she was as keyed up as I was lent me new confidence and I whispered:
“Daphnis, I’ve so much to say but it won’t be easy to say it here. Do you mind if we sit out the rest of the dance?”
She nodded and I caught a faint sigh as though she were relieved at having escaped from the strain of dancing with me further. We went up two flights of stairs and I had an anxious time looking for somewhere where we could talk freely, until on the top floor I found a small room with a single card-table but no players and no sitters-out in it. I could only hope that we’d be able to keep it to ourselves for the next ten minutes or quarter of an hour. Abruptly I pulled one of the chairs out from the card-table and said:
“Would you sit here, please?”
As there were two comfortable armchairs in the room she looked a little surprised, so I added:
“I want to sit opposite you so that you’ll be able to look me in the eyes and form a better judgment as to if I’m lying or not. I expect you think that I’m about the lowest sort of swine, but I hope to convince you that the account Tortino gave of an episode in my past was very far from being the whole truth.”
She made no reply, but sat down and took out a fat Egyptian cigarette from a small gold case. As I lit it for her I went on:
“My name was not Julian Day, but it is now. I changed it legally some time back by deed poll. As a young man I did quite well at Oxford and I took a high place in the examinations for the Diplomatic Service. All my friends considered that I was on a good wicket. The trouble was that I was just a little bit too clever.
“It was when I was in my first post in Brussels that I slipped up. I ran across an elderly man there whom I had met once or twice during my time at Oxford. His name was Sean O’Kieff, and I had good reason to believe that he was a Secret Service agent working against my country. As you may know no member of the Diplomatic Corps is ever allowed to participate in espionage or counter-espionage, but I was young and enthusiastic, and I thought I would be able to bring this notorious spy to book without its transpiring that I, as a member of the staff of the British Embassy, had had any hand in it.
“To appreciate the situation fully you must understand that this man was not a small-time crook. He was very rich and he had homes in half a dozen cities, including Brussels, in which he ran a magnificent apartment with many servants. He was also an occultist with a considerable reputation, and he was one of the most entertaining raconteurs that I have ever met, so these qualities, together with ample m
oney, enabled him to penetrate practically any social circle that he wished.
“O’Kieff appeared to take a fancy to me and gradually he took me into his confidence. Even the greatest crooks seem to have that vein of conceit which goes with the criminal character. Sometimes late at night he would boast to me of the huge organisation which he had built up, and I learned that it was not only concerned with selling military secrets to the highest bidder; illicit armament deals, liquor-running and dope-smuggling were also carried out by it on a world-wide scale.”
Daphnis was looking straight at me now. Her eyes were inscrutable, but I had lost all sense of nervousness and continued my story without hesitation.
“Seven men controlled this huge criminal combine and every one of them had a name to conjure with which was far above the status in which the police ordinarily look for criminals. They were the real Lords of the Underworld, living in affluence and power, all unsuspected by the intellectual cream of European society into which they had been accepted on account of their wealth and dominating personalities. There was Lord Gavin Fortescue, the dwarf cripple brother of an English duke, Azrael Mozinsky, the Polish Jew multi-millionaire, a German baron, a Portuguese count, a Japanese general and a high Egyptian official named Zakri Bey.
“I found out that the Big Seven were going to meet that year in Brussels for their annual conference, and it seemed to me that it was a heaven-sent opportunity to break up the whole diabolical gang, if only I could get something on them. It was then that I committed the only real crime to which I won’t deny my guilt. I got cold feet.
“Instead of going through with the job myself I went to Carruthers, who was the First Secretary of our Embassy, told him what I had been up to and asked for his help. He gave me a terrific dressing-down for monkeying with Secret Service matters at all, but he realised the immense importance of breaking up this gang, and that, as it had taken me months to worm my way into O’Kieff’s confidence, it was quite impossible at the last moment to transfer the whole job to proper British agents outside the Diplomatic Service.
“More for the purpose of looking after me than anything else, I think, Carruthers agreed to meet the Big Seven and that was just the very thing that O’Kieff had been playing for. He had been on to my little game the whole time, and only encouraging me as useful bait to hook a much bigger fish.
“Carruthers and I dined with O’Kieff and Mozinsky and the rest of that unholy crew. I was given drugged wine so I passed out soon after the meal, and was found in the gutter of a Brussels slum next morning. What happened to Carruthers nobody will ever know for certain, but I believe that O’Kieff hypnotised him.
“In any case, Carruthers took the whole crowd back to the British Embassy that night, and entertained them there as though they were his bosom friends. Then he led them down to the Chancellery, unlocked the safe and made them free of its contents. All the papers were put back, and it was found locked again next morning. They hadn’t stolen a thing, and had actually been invited into the Embassy by one of its principal officials, so they couldn’t be accused of anything; but during that midnight session those crooks had been able to possess themselves of many of Britain’s most important Diplomatic secrets.
“When Carruthers woke up he remembered absolutely nothing about it; but the night porter described the men who had been in the previous night’s party and testified to having seen them sitting with Carruthers round the open safe. After the showdown Carruthers walked quietly upstairs and shot himself. I was very ill for several days, and directly I was well enough I was sent home to be kicked out of the Service with ignominy. I’ve been a wanderer ever since. That is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
As I finished, Daphnis stubbed out her cigarette.
“I’m glad that we’ve met again tonight,” she said in a low voice. “There are always two sides to every question. I had heard Paolo’s; I wanted to hear yours. I wanted to know the truth—what girl wouldn’t?”
“Then why in heaven’s name didn’t you write to me and say you’d see me?” I asked.
“Because no good could have come of our meeting. Since it’s happened by chance, that’s different; but I’d made up my mind that I owed it to my family and myself to avoid you as far as I possibly could in the future.”
“But why, Daphnis? Don’t you believe what I’ve just told you?”
“What I believe makes no difference.”
“It does to me. It means everything. I don’t care two hoots in hell who else does or does not believe in me, but I must know that you do for my own future peace of mind.”
“All right, I do believe you. I felt certain the whole time that there must be some explanation.”
“Thank God!” I exclaimed, but as I spoke she stood up and said, after a second’s silence:
“Well, I suppose we should be getting downstairs.”
“Not yet,” I pleaded hastily. “Tell me about Paolo. I suppose he went back to Italy with his legation? Are you still engaged to him?”
“No. There was another scene the day after you left, and he came to plead with me again just before he sailed for Italy; but I told him that, having once made up my mind I couldn’t marry him, I was not going to alter it.”
I had risen with her, and now, leaning forward across the table, I seized one of her hands. “Daphnis, if you’re free, won’t you—won’t you …?”
“No, Julian, no,” she quickly pulled her hand away. “I’ve already told you—it’s finished.”
An unworthy instinct to hurt her made me burst out: “So you’re afraid of the disgrace which still attaches to me. I meant to tell you the whole sordid story before I asked you to marry me, but no suitable chance occurred. I thought that I’d paid up sufficiently for this single folly of my youth already; but apparently I was wrong. You would have sent me packing in any case, directly I told you of it and you realised that it might be unpleasant for you as my wife if once every few years we’d happened to run up against anyone that I used to know when I was in the Diplomatic.”
“No. To say that is unfair and beastly. I think it was much braver of you to face the music and stick it out than to do as your friend and seek escape in suicide.”
“Is it that you never really cared, then?” I asked desperately.
“It isn’t that either.” Her eyes were troubled, and from the way in which she suddenly clasped her hands together I could see that she was terribly distressed. Her voice came in a painful whisper. “You seem to have forgotten that Britain and Italy are now at war.”
“So that’s the trouble,” I sighed. “Of course, I know you’re half Italian, but your mother is Greek by birth, isn’t she; and your stepfather’s a Greek, and nearly all the friends among whom you’ve moved for years past here in Alexandria are Greeks; so why should you feel so strongly for Italy?”
She spread out her hands with a little helpless gesture. “Everyone thinks my love for Italy is strange, but it isn’t really. I was quite young when Mother left my Italian father, and I have always idolised him. I’m an only child, you know, so I was very much alone and I had lots of time on my hands to build romances. In my daydreams it was always my tall, handsome father who turned up and rescued me unexpectedly from boring lessons and horrid governesses. The fact that I didn’t even see him again until I was out of the schoolroom didn’t alter that, and when I was old enough to appreciate him properly I wasn’t disappointed.”
She paused for a moment then rushed on: “He must have been terribly good-looking when he was younger. Whenever we’ve met, he’s treated me as an equal instead of just a young girl who’s never been anywhere or done anything very much, and he has a magnificent brain. Greece is my country and I love it dearly, but in this quarrel between Britain and Italy how can I help my heart being with my father’s people? I want to shout ‘Vivas!’ for every Italian victory; as I did when those splendid Blackshirts threw the British right out of their corner of Somaliland the other day.�
��
“Oh, come!” I protested. “That wasn’t much to shout about. The Italians were at least five to one against us. They had mechanised troops, whereas we hadn’t a single tank in the whole of British Somaliland, and Berbera is not even fortified.”
“There!” she burst out bitterly. “You see! You haven’t even the grace to acknowledge a triumph when it is obtained against you. The Italian Cavalry officers are better riders than you are, as they have proved again and again at the Olympia horse shows in London, yet you English have the insolence to refer to them openly as ice-cream merchants, waiters and dagos.”
“Please,” I begged. “Couldn’t we forget the war? We’d make a pact never even to mention it when we were together.”
“How could we, Julian? That’s impossible, and you must see that it is. The war shrieks at us from every hoarding. With every week that passes it is affecting life in Alexandria more seriously. Very soon it will be part and parcel of our daily lives, although, theoretically, Egypt is still supposed to be neutral.”
“But if we love each other we shouldn’t let the war come between us. You do love me, Daphnis, don’t you?”
“I did,” her voice was only a whisper, “but I made myself forget about you, and it’s all over now.”
“It’s not. It can’t be!” I insisted, taking her hand again. “You can’t just love a man one day and not care if he lives or dies the next.”
“I do care,” she admitted suddenly, looking straight into my eyes, “but I tell you this war lies between us like a sword. It was that which the fortune-teller must have meant when he told the sands for me the day after you were carried unconscious into my home. He described you quite clearly. There could have been no mistake, and he swore to me that only ill could come to both of us if we let love have its way. Please don’t make things harder for me by asking me to dance again, and—and, please, take me back to the ballroom now.”
At that moment, to my dismay, four elderly people came in to occupy the table at which we were standing for a game of bridge; so I had no option but to do as she asked.
The Sword of Fate Page 10
