Life was so exciting! Mathilde gazed at him with such hot cheeks, such childish expectation, that James was almost overcome by a feeling of anxiety. But he suppressed it as quickly as Mathilde had suppressed her unease at Dr. Bernhard’s words. Instead, he picked up the shawl that had slid off her shoulders, carefully draping the blue cloth over her shoulders, and said quite casually, “So that the blue of your eyes will shine with even more intensity.” And without waiting for a reaction to his compliment, he went on, “I’d like to make a suggestion. The Kulm Hotel at the top of the mountain in St. Moritz, which you wanted to go to, is absolutely huge. It would take forever to get something to eat there, and it’s a place that we could go anytime with your aunt. We’d have to behave properly there, as is expected of the guests of a grand hotel.”
He took Mathilde’s hand and pulled her away. “I know something we could do that would be much more entertaining, if you don’t object to being a little daring.”
Of course she didn’t object. She was curious. She wanted to do something daring, something her family had not permitted so far, and at that moment, she felt flattered that so experienced a man should be interested in her.
“And what would that be?” she asked, eager to know, pulling her hand out of his.
“I bought a splendid picnic and took everything up to Pension Veraguth. Food will taste as good there as at the Kulm Hotel. I even got some champagne . . .”
Mathilde was taken aback. This was too risky, simply too daring. After all, the Pension Veraguth was where he was staying. His plan was far more compromising than anything she had imagined. She stopped in her tracks and shook her head.
“But nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen!” James said. “What do you imagine I could do to you? Or should I be worrying about what you are thinking? If I were sensitive, I might really feel hurt now.”
He brushed a strand of blond hair out of his face. Mathilde shook her head again.
“No, no. And you know very well that you’ve suggested something improper.”
And yet, the prospect of lunch at the Hotel Kulm had lost its glamour and thrill. He was right. It was a boring idea, even though it had at first seemed so terrific to her. She looked at James, not at all sure, and said nothing. Within moments, James had called for a carriage, and in no time, the two of them disembarked in St. Moritz.
They’d strolled for several blocks when James suddenly said, “There’s the streetcar. Have you ever ridden up to the village on an electric streetcar?”
Mathilde shook her head.
“No? You haven’t gone for a ride on the just-opened tramline that all of St. Moritz is so proud of? You’ve just ignored it up to now? Then come on, we’ll take the tram up to the village, and then you can decide whether you want to go on to the top of the mountain or come with me to my castle,” he laughed, “by which I mean Pension Veraguth. The decision is all yours. You just have to promise me that if you feel queasy on the tram, you won’t jump off while it’s in motion. If you do feel queasy, it will be better if you just reach for my hand—promise?”
His laughter was contagious. It seemed to indicate that he thought the idea of Mathilde’s being afraid was ridiculous.
The streetcar conductor in his open driver’s stand rang the bell.
“All right, then,” she said.
James reached for Mathilde’s hand. Her resistance was minimal, no more than a slight tug. Then her hand surrendered and came to rest softly in his.
We’ll be there soon,” James said. “The post-office square is the terminal. And now there’s no escape: You have to make a decision.”
With a boyish smile he leaned toward her; his smooth hair almost touching her cheek, his expression looking as if they were about to hatch some conspiratorial plot. There had never been anything quite this exciting in Mathilde’s small, cloistered life.
“We’re nearing my castle,’” he said. “Yes, Pension Veraguth is right there at the Postplatz. Oh, you’ll see,” he added soothingly, “I’m just showing off. It’s actually just a decent middle-class house. It’s not intimidating, nothing to be afraid of.” He pointed to the right and said, “The Hotel Kulm is a bit farther on up there. A few minutes’ walk,” he sighed. “We’d of course lose precious time with that. We can’t make Kate wait forever.”
The hand he was holding was hot, even though the day wasn’t very warm; clouds covered the sun every now and then, creating cooling slate-blue shade.
Mathilde said nothing. That was it then . . . everything was up to her.
His hand was firm and self-assured. The smell of his aftershave confused her, and his body was nearly touching hers. And she was wearing these stupid white crocheted gloves through which he must be able to feel her hot hand.
I’m engaged, she kept telling herself, but Adrian was infinitely far away, practically vanished from the face of the earth. The cosmopolitan scent emanating from James made her quite disloyal—the strand of hair falling across his forehead cast a slight shadow over his dark eyelashes. She felt overwhelmed by his eyes, the hand that held hers, his nonchalant voice. She must think of her parents, of Betsy—but what power did they still have over her? After all, she was really a grown-up now. James had recognized that; he had taken her seriously. He had left the decision up to her because he understood that she was capable of making her own decisions.
The electric streetcar stopped with a jolt.
“Come, we have to get off here,” James said, helping her down. How lovely she was in her confusion, how touching in her naïveté. A blind man could have seen the inner struggle with conventional virtue on her unhappy face.
“Don’t look so unhappy, Mathilde,” he whispered, pressing her arm, “people will think I’m leading you to the scaffold. But all I want is to have lunch with you.”
He was just a few years older than she, and those few years were decisive—and in his favor. He knew it, of course.
Mathilde smiled gratefully at him. What a fuss she was making! It really was all just about having lunch together, and after that she’d take a carriage and hurry back to Kate, giving the excuse that she had been held up because of Dr. Bernhard’s examination. She and Kate would then go to the golf course, and James would come upon them and ask them innocently, “How are the ladies doing today?”
“Here is the Pension Veraguth,” James said, breaking into her thoughts and pointing to a large old Engadine house. “And again there are various possibilities open to us, in case you agree that we shouldn’t waste time strolling up the mountain to the Kulm Hotel. There’s a shady terrace here where they serve meals à la carte, and on the second floor there’s a Stüva, a Swiss pine-paneled room, where we can probably eat quite undisturbed because most of the pension’s guests don’t stay at the hotel for lunch. But we could also”—he let go of her arm in order to let her know she was free to make her own decision—“sneak up to my room like two adventurers. The champagne is chilling in cold water in the sink. You’ll laugh when you see my improvised arrangement . . .”
Mathilde nodded, undecided.
James took that to mean she agreed to his last suggestion. He stepped into the pension’s hallway, looked around, and then pulled her up the stairs.
A moment later Mathilde was standing in his room. A rustic double bed almost completely filled it. Involuntarily she took a step back, leaning with her back against the door.
“Unfortunately I don’t have a suite like yours,” James said, “but don’t look at the bed, just look at the view, our picnic, and perhaps at me?”
He almost felt sorry for her, standing there like that. Her lower lip trembled as if she were about to break into tears, but then she merely said, “I left my parasol on the streetcar.”
Then she was silent.
James spread a white towel on top of the little table near the window and took the bread, small pastries, a
nd cheese out of a basket. Then he moved an armchair next to the table for her and invited her to sit down. From a drawer in the bureau he took two plates and two champagne glasses. He opened the bottle of champagne without letting the cork pop.
Once she’d had a glass, she would probably loosen up a bit. My God, he would actually have to wake up this Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. And yet in the presence of her aunt she hadn’t been at all shy. James almost came to regret that he hadn’t simply sat her down on the terrace below and then in a little while brought her back to Kate at the hotel.
But she was here now; she already had the champagne glass in her hand, had taken off her straw hat, and was smiling shyly at him. Her eyes sparkled. Kate’s eyes didn’t sparkle when she looked at him, he thought suddenly; they mocked, and flashed provocatively, but they didn’t sparkle. It was remarkable, he thought, the feelings, the emotions that sparkling eyes could inspire. But Mathilde was just a nice young girl, no more and no less. Nothing earthshaking.
“Would you like to take your gloves off for the picnic?” he asked, to his surprise sounding almost affectionate, with only a hint of mockery in his voice.
She remained silent, but didn’t refuse when he took her glass and said, “Wait, may I . . .?”
Kate was angry. Mathilde had not shown up for lunch. Nor had James. She’d waited for quite a while, which wasn’t like her, but her other friends had gone to Pontresina; there was no one else, and so she finally had to eat by herself. Robert had left early in the morning for Chur; it was an incredibly long journey with the post coach—thirteen hours. Lord knew when the train tracks would be extended to St. Moritz.
She was sitting with her coffee when Mathilde finally turned up. The girl was breathless.
“Excuse me, Kate,” Mathilde burst out as she sat down. “I’m really sorry, but I was detained. The examination with Dr. Bernhard took a long time. I hope you didn’t wait for me too long with lunch.”
Mathilde looked absolutely distraught. She must have been rushing to get here.
“Don’t worry, dear, I didn’t. I really don’t mind at all eating by myself. But I hate lack of punctuality.”
She didn’t ask whether Mathilde had eaten anything, but got up before the waiter could even ask Mathilde if she wanted something.
“Then let’s go now. What did we decide? Were we going to play golf? Actually, I don’t feel much like playing . . .”
Mathilde swallowed. James would be coming to the golf course; that’s what had been agreed. “Yes,” she said, “we agreed that we would play golf. As far as I know, James was going to meet us there . . .”
“Oh, James,” Kate broke in, “you can’t depend on him. We’ll enjoy ourselves without him, won’t we? I feel like going to Isola. We could take a carriage or walk there if you’d like. What do you think?”
Mathilde felt awful. And what about James? Maybe it was better after all if they didn’t see each other this afternoon. Actually, it would be best if they never saw each other again. From now on, she really had to do whatever she could to avoid him. Best of all would be to leave Maloja immediately. Only, how could she survive if she didn’t see him again today?
“Oh, I had no idea this would be such a difficult decision for you,” Kate remarked. “I didn’t know you cared so much about James. You probably don’t want to disappoint him, to stand him up; how—” She interrupted herself and laughed. “Oh well, forget it. But you could at least do me this one favor.”
She waved to a lady she apparently knew. Then, not waiting any longer for an answer from Mathilde, who actually didn’t know what she should say, she turned to the doorman, “A carriage, please.”
Once she was sitting in the carriage with Mathilde silent beside her, Kate’s mood improved. James would come to Isola if he didn’t find them at the golf course, thank heavens. With just Mathilde for company, even something fun like shooting clay pigeons would be the most boring thing in the world. In any case, the weather was decent and the ride to Isola was lovely.
The restaurant in Isola was open, and the two ladies hadn’t been sitting long on the wooden veranda with hot chocolate and blueberry cake when James joined them. Mathilde blushed when she saw him, which prompted Kate to say that James should beware of seducing frivolous, young girls who were engaged.
“You do know that Mathilde is engaged, don’t you?”
“How was I supposed to know that?” James replied while Mathilde’s face turned an even darker red.
“Well, I’m telling you now. That is probably what Betsy would have done too. And I’m taking her place this afternoon, so to speak.” Kate put on a severe expression. “But tell us what you did this afternoon, since you didn’t come for lunch.” She took his arm in a familiar gesture, just as he was about to sit down next to Mathilde, and directed him to a chair next to her. “Stay right here. And now tell us what you did.”
James looked around him for a long time, saying nothing, but Mathilde’s heart was pounding as if it were about to explode.
“It’s really beautiful here,” he said and smiled at Mathilde. Then he turned to Kate.
“There’s not much to tell. I lost a tennis match, even though I’m an excellent player—as you know.”
Mathilde heaved a sigh of relief and concentrated on her blueberry cake topped with a billow of whipped cream.
“But who could possibly beat you? It would be a first, since I’ve known you,” Kate replied.
“And would you believe it, it was a woman who beat me. I think the best thing for me is not to say anymore.”
Kate darted a sharp glance toward Mathilde. But she had just turned to the hostess to ask for a glass of water. Then Mathilde looked at Kate inquiringly as if she’d missed part of the conversation.
“Did you hear that, Mathilde?” Kate said. “James lost a match, and not only that, he lost to a woman. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to take that!”
The entire situation seemed highly suspicious to Kate.
Mathilde didn’t answer her, sending instead a prayer to heaven that Kate wouldn’t pursue the matter. Her prayer was answered. For Kate never revealed all her trump cards—at any rate not prematurely and not in situations that brought her no rewards. She suggested, instead, that they go and watch the sharpshooters before engaging in some shooting as well.
James pushed his sports cap lower on his forehead and said, “I can watch, yes, but I can’t shoot today. I’ve had enough strenuous activity for one day.” He laughed, bending over and holding his back like an old man.
James seemed unaffected by what had happened between him and Mathilde. He seemed both relaxed and inaccessible. Mathilde was disappointed. She’d obviously not been able to rattle his composure, and that really hurt. What she felt was a violent stab of pain that made her heart contract. Made worse by her shame at being dumb enough to want him even more now after the game was already long over for him. At least so it seemed.
Mathilde didn’t know which was worse, her shame, her guilty conscience, or her longing, which seemed to grow minute by minute, for a tender look of understanding from him.
That prayer was not answered.
Kate was the only one enjoying herself, effusively applauding the victorious shooter.
Mathilde spent a restless night, coughing more than usual and waking up repeatedly after crazy dreams that she couldn’t remember. For some time already there had been nights when she perspired excessively. She would get up and change her nightgown as quietly as possible so as not to awaken Betsy sleeping in the adjoining room. She was running a fever and couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore, even though she would have liked to. And at breakfast she told her aunt—who was still talking enthusiastically about the hike with Edward—that Dr. Bernhard wanted to examine her more thoroughly today after the earlier routine examination and that he wanted to talk with both of them. Betsy was taken aback, but she
reluctantly agreed when Mathilde implored her not to involve her mother, at least for the time being, but to wait until after they had seen the doctor.
“Now tell me honestly whether you have pain in your chest here and here when you cough,” Dr. Bernhard inquired after he had carefully listened to Mathilde’s chest and back with his stethoscope. “And no evasions like yesterday.”
Mathilde nodded. Yes, there was pain when she coughed, but it was normal for one’s chest to hurt when . . .
“And you never feel a shortness of breath?”
“No,” she answered, with some trepidation, for she was getting worried. “No . . . not every time. The cough isn’t always the same . . .”
“But you know what I mean. And you probably also feel feverish in the evenings? You are actually running a fever now.” Dr. Bernhard blew his nose with a white handkerchief, then wiped it once to the left and once to the right across his bristly mustache before putting it back into the pocket of his white coat.
“So now I shall tell you and your aunt what I think. You ought to stop the bath treatment immediately; it is much too strenuous for you. You have tuberculosis. But I think it is still at a relatively early stage.”
Tears came to Mathilde’s eyes. Betsy took her hand, shocked. Tuberculosis. It was almost as if, out of the blue, a judge had pronounced a death sentence on an innocent.
“I am sorry to cause alarm. I know this isn’t good news.”
“Good Lord, no! But what does it mean?” Betsy cried.
But Dr. Bernhard, a burly man with a kind soul, seeing the hectic red in Mathilde’s cheeks, decided not to give them a long exhaustive explanation right then, but to make sure first that Mathilde was put to bed.
“Madam, I’ll explain in greater detail what we know, medically, in the next few days. Right now, we should first consider what to do. The lucky thing in this situation is that up here you are in one of the best possible places for treatment and healing. The high-altitude air and sun are exactly what your niece needs now.”
Portrait of a Girl Page 12
