the unbearable bassington-第13章

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challenging　the　sunlight　with　a　foreboding　of　the　coming　night。　　He　

sprang　laughing　to　his　feet。



〃Listen！　　My　summons　back　to　my　galley；〃　he　cried。　　〃The　Gods　have　

given　me　an　hour　in　this　enchanted　garden；　so　I　must　not　complain。〃



Then　in　a　lower　voice　he　almost　whispered；　〃It's　the　Persian　debate　

to…night；〃



It　was　the　one　hint　he　had　given　in　the　midst　of　his　talking　and　

laughing　that　he　was　really　keenly　enthralled　in　the　work　that　lay　

before　him。　　It　was　the　one　little　intimate　touch　that　gave　Elaine　

the　knowledge　that　he　cared　for　her　opinion　of　his　work。



Comus；　who　had　emptied　his　cigarette…case；　became　suddenly　

clamorous　at　the　prospect　of　being　temporarily　stranded　without　a　

smoke。　　Youghal　took　the　last　remaining　cigarette　from　his　own　case　

and　gravely　bisected　it。



〃Friendship　could　go　no　further；〃　he　observed；　as　he　gave　one…half　

to　the　doubtfully　appeased　Comus；　and　lit　the　other　himself。



〃There　are　heaps　more　in　the　hall；〃　said　Elaine。



〃It　was　only　done　for　the　Saint　Martin　of　Tours　effect；〃　said　

Youghal；　〃I　hate　smoking　when　I'm　rushing　through　the　air。　　Good…

bye。〃



The　departing　galley…slave　stepped　forth　into　the　sunlight；　radiant　

and　confident。　　A　few　minutes　later　Elaine　could　see　glimpses　of　

his　white　car　as　it　rushed　past　the　rhododendron　bushes。　　He　woos　

best　who　leaves　first；　particularly　if　he　goes　forth　to　battle　or　

the　semblance　of　battle。



Somehow　Elaine's　garden　of　Eternal　Youth　had　already　become　clouded　

in　its　imagery。　　The　girl…figure　who　walked　in　it　was　still　

distinctly　and　unchangingly　herself；　but　her　companion　was　more　

blurred　and　undefined；　as　a　picture　that　has　been　superimposed　on　

another。



Youghal　sped　townward　well　satisfied　with　himself。　　To…morrow；　he　

reflected；　Elaine　would　read　his　speech　in　her　morning　paper；　and　

he　knew　in　advance　that　it　was　not　going　to　be　one　of　his　worst　

efforts。　　He　knew　almost　exactly　where　the　punctuations　of　laughter　

and　applause　would　burst　in；　he　knew　that　nimble　fingers　in　the　

Press　Gallery　would　be　taking　down　each　gibe　and　argument　as　he　

flung　it　at　the　impassive　Minister　confronting　him；　and　that　the　

fair　lady　of　his　desire　would　be　able　to　judge　what　manner　of　young　

man　this　was　who　spent　his　afternoon　in　her　garden；　lazily　chaffing　

himself　and　his　world。



And　he　further　reflected；　with　an　amused　chuckle；　that　she　would　be　

vividly　reminded　of　Comus　for　days　to　come；　when　she　took　her　

afternoon　tea；　and　saw　the　bread…and…butter　reposing　in　an　

unaccustomed　dish。







CHAPTER　VII







TOWARDS　four　o'clock　on　a　hot　afternoon　Francesca　stepped　out　from　

a　shop　entrance　near　the　Piccadilly　end　of　Bond　Street　and　ran　

almost　into　the　arms　of　Merla　Blathlington。　　The　afternoon　seemed　

to　get　instantly　hotter。　　Merla　was　one　of　those　human　flies　that　

buzz；　in　crowded　streets；　at　bazaars　and　in　warm　weather；　she　

attained　to　the　proportions　of　a　human　bluebottle。　　Lady　Caroline　

Benaresq　had　openly　predicted　that　a　special　fly…paper　was　being　

reserved　for　her　accommodation　in　another　world；　others；　however；　

held　the　opinion　that　she　would　be　miraculously　multiplied　in　a　

future　state；　and　that　four　or　more　Merla　Blathlingtons；　according　

to　deserts；　would　be　in　perpetual　and　unremitting　attendance　on　

each　lost　soul。



〃Here　we　are；〃　she　cried；　with　a　glad　eager　buzz；　〃popping　in　and　

out　of　shops　like　rabbits；　not　that　rabbits　do　pop　in　and　out　of　

shops　very　extensively。〃



It　was　evidently　one　of　her　bluebottle　days。



〃Don't　you　love　Bond　Street？〃　she　gabbled　on。　　〃There's　something　

so　unusual　and　distinctive　about　it；　no　other　street　anywhere　else　

is　quite　like　it。　　Don't　you　know　those　ikons　and　images　and　things　

scattered　up　and　down　Europe；　that　are　supposed　to　have　been　

painted　or　carved；　as　the　case　may　be；　by　St。　Luke　or　Zaccheus；　or　

somebody　of　that　sort；　I　always　like　to　think　that　some　notable　

person　of　those　times　designed　Bond　Street。　　St。　Paul；　perhaps。　　He　

travelled　about　a　lot。〃



〃Not　in　Middlesex；　though；〃　said　Francesca。



〃One　can't　be　sure；〃　persisted　Merla；　〃when　one　wanders　about　as　

much　as　he　did　one　gets　mixed　up　and　forgets　where　one　HAS　been。　　I　

can　never　remember　whether　I've　been　to　the　Tyrol　twice　and　St。　

Moritz　once；　or　the　other　way　about；　I　always　have　to　ask　my　maid。　　

And　there's　something　about　the　name　Bond　that　suggests　St。　Paul；　

didn't　he　write　a　lot　about　the　bond　and　the　free？〃



〃I　fancy　he　wrote　in　Hebrew　or　Greek；〃　objected　Francesca；　〃the　

word　wouldn't　have　the　least　resemblance。〃



〃So　dreadfully　non…committal　to　go　about　pamphleteering　in　those　

bizarre　languages；〃　complained　Merla；　〃that's　what　makes　all　those　

people　so　elusive。　　As　soon　as　you　try　to　pin　them　down　to　a　

definite　statement　about　anything　you're　told　that　some　vitally　

important　word　has　fifteen　other　meanings　in　the　original。　　I　

wonder　our　Cabinet　Ministers　and　politicians　don't　adopt　a　sort　of　

dog…Latin　or　Esperanto　jargon　to　deliver　their　speeches　in；　what　a　

lot　of　subsequent　explaining　away　would　be　saved。　　But　to　go　back　

to　Bond　Street　…　not　that　we've　left　it　…　〃



〃I'm　afraid　I　must　leave　it　now；〃　said　Francesca；　preparing　to　turn　

up　Grafton　Street；　〃Good…bye。〃



〃Must　you　be　going？　　Come　and　have　tea　somewhere。　　I　know　of　a　cosy　

little　place　where　one　can　talk　undisturbed。〃



Francesca　repressed　a　shudder　and　pleaded　an　urgent　engagement。



〃I　know　where　you're　going；〃　said　Merla；　with　the　resentful　buzz　of　

a　bluebottle　that　finds　itself　thwarted　by　the　cold　unreasoning　

resistance　of　a　windowpane。　　〃You're　going　to　play　bridge　at　Serena　

Golackly's。　　She　never　asks　me　to　her　bridge　parties。〃



Francesca　shuddered　openly　this　time；　the　prospect　of　having　to　

play　bridge　anywhere　in　the　near　neighbourhood　of　Merla's　voice　was　

not　one　that　could　be　contemplated　with　ordinary　calmness。



〃Good…bye；〃　she　said　again　firmly；　and　passed　out　of　earshot；　it　

was　rather　like　leaving　the　machinery　section　of　an　exhibition。　　

Merla's　diagnosis　of　her　destination　had　been　a　correct　one；　

Francesca　made　her　way　slowly　through　the　hot　streets　in　the　

direction　of　Serena　Golackly's　house　on　the　far　side　of　Berkeley　

Square。　　To　the　blessed　certainty　of　finding　a　game　of　bridge；　she　

hopefully　added　the　possibility　of　hearing　some　fragments　of　news　

which　might　prove　interesting　and　enlightening。　　And　of　

enlightenment　on　a　particular　subject；　in　which　she　was　acutely　and　

personally　interested；　she　stood　in　some　need。　　Comus　of　late　had　

been　provokingly　reticent　as　to　his　movements　and　doings；　partly；　

perhaps；　because　it　was　his　nature　to　be　provoking；　partly　because　

the　daily　bickerings　over　money　matters　were　gradually　choking　

other　forms　of　conversation。　　Francesca　had　seen　him　once　or　twice　

in　the　Park　in　the　desirable　company　of　Elaine　de　Frey；　and　from　

time　to　time　she　heard　of　the　young　people　as　having　danced　

together　at　various　houses；　on　the　other　hand；　she　had　seen　and　

heard　quite　as　much　evidence　to　connect　the　heiress's　name　with　

that　of　Courtenay　Youghal。　　Beyond　this　meagre　and　conflicting　and　

altogether　tantalising　information；　her　knowledge　of　the　present　

position　of　affairs　did　not　go。　　If　either　of　the　young　men　was　

seriously　〃making　the　running；〃　it　was　probable　that　she　would　hear　

some　sly　hint　or　open　comment　about　it　from　one　of　Serena's　gossip…

laden　friends；　without　having　to　go　out　of　her　way　to　introduce　the　

subject　and　unduly　disclose　her　own　state　of　ignorance。　　And　a　game　

of　bridge；　played　for　moderately　high　points；　gave　ample　excuse　for　

convenient　lapses　into　reticence；　if　questions　took　an　

embarrassingly　inquisitive　turn；　one　could　always　find　refuge　in　a　

defensive　spade。



The　afternoon　was　too　warm　to　make　bridge　a　generally　popular　

diversion；　and　Serena's　party　was　a　comparatively　small　one