Gale Warning (8 page)

The position, of course, was absurd: I was free to make love to Audrey; but when I did so, I did so with my heart in my mouth.

By her desire, I did not put on dress-clothes, “for I must do you credit,” she said, “but I
will
wear a hat.” So I put on a dark-blue suit and hoped for the best, But when she appeared in the doorway in black and gold, then I knew that it did not matter how I was attired, for, once they had looked upon Audrey, no one would notice how anyone with her was clad.

I got to my feet and bowed.

“All right, St John?”

“Let me put it like this. I shall be the best-hated man in Paris, before the evening is out.”

Audrey smiled.

“You’re quite good, when you try,” she said. She turned on her heel. “And now come and do me up. That’s the worst of this dress.”

I do not wish to labour the point, but I was not then accustomed to fastening women’s clothes: yet twenty-seven ‘bobbles’ had to be wheedled through loops for the length of her spine. Since the loops were too small to admit them, the ‘bobbles’ would not go through, but when I pointed this out, my lady merely observed that that was as it should be, for then, once the ‘bobbles’ were in, they could not come out. Thus encouraged, I set to work, and after the first two or three, I got on very well, but our dinner arrived when six remained to be done, and we had to adjourn to her bedroom to finish them off.

Here I should say that, while there was only one bathroom, we each had a room to ourselves: mine, I suppose, was really a dressing-room, but at least it had a bed in it, and that was as much as I asked.

Whether anyone watched us that evening, I do not know, but, if they did, any doubts they had of Audrey’s business in France must have been cast forever out of their minds.

When the music-hall show was over, we drove to Montmartre, to eat an excellent supper and dance till two. I cannot answer for the company which we kept, but I can say with truth that none that I ever was in so well interpreted the spirit of revelry. The worship of Folly and Pleasure was unabashed; yet all were so gay and artless, so friendly and laughter-loving in all they did, that had some prelate arrived to rebuke their sins, I think he would have remained to share their
bonhomie
.

Audrey, of course, attracted much attention, and I do not think I should have been human if I had not been proud of the honour I seemed to have. She played up with a will, and I went the way of my heart – to give such a joint performance as I shall never forget. ‘Present mirth hath present laughter.’ And though I knew very well that the higher I soared the greater must be my fall, I fairly drained the cup which Fortune had put to my lips and let the frowning morrow take thought for itself.

Sure enough, I had my reward.

As we were dancing a valse—

“John, my dear,” breathed Audrey, “I think we’ll go after this.”

“Just as you please, my darling.”

I felt her lean back on my arm.

“Have you enjoyed tonight, John?”

My head came round to face hers, two inches away.

“My God, what d’you think?” said I – and looked into her eyes.

For a moment she met my gaze squarely. Then she looked down and away. The damage was done.

At once I strove to repair it.

“A few nights like this,” I murmured, “and I should get very good.”

Audrey spoke over my shoulder.

“You’re very good now,” she said.

With her words, the music slowed down and a moment later the dance was over and done.

“Thank you,
madame
.”

“And you, John dear.”

She slid an arm through mine, and I led her back to our table and called for the bill.

Three minutes later, perhaps, we were back in the car.

“Are you very tired?” said I.

“Not particularly. Why? D’you mean you don’t want to go home?”

“I don’t question my orders,” said I.

“I’ll give you that,” said Audrey. “You’ve – worked very hard tonight.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“As long as you’re satisfied.”

She made no answer to that, and we never spoke again until we were back in our suite.

Then she asked me to order some water, and when I had done so, she took her seat on her sofa and lighted a cigarette.

“All very well,” she said, “but I want to get down to things.”

I nodded.

“Amiens on Friday,” said I. “I think it would have been safe to go there tomorrow, instead.”

“So do I. But it can’t be helped. When Jonah says what he wants, he means what he says. So tomorrow we’ll go to Versailles – all the lovers do that.”

“I’m in your hands,” said I, and stifled a yawn.

Audrey opened her eyes.

“The quick-change artist,” said she. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I’m waiting for the waiter,” said I.

“God give me strength,” said Audrey. “And what’s biting the evangelist now?”

“Sorry,” said I. “It’s reaction. I’ve had a difficult day.”

“Have you, indeed?” flashed Audrey. “And what about me? Hugged and kissed by a man that I hardly know, and, instead of doing him violence, I have to fawn upon him and slobber back.”

Here a knock fell upon the door.

“Play up – sweetheart,” said I, and called “Come in.”

The waiter came and went.

As the door closed behind him, I got to my feet.

Then I walked up to the sofa, and bent my head.

“Do me your violence,” I said.

My lady searched my eyes.

Then—

“Give me some water,” she said, “and don’t be a fool.”

“Or a cad. I’ll do my best – but I haven’t much hope.’

And, with that, I turned to the tray.

When I returned to her, I found she was up on her feet.

As she took the glass from my hand—

“I hate to ask you,” she said. “But if I’m to sleep tonight, you’ll have to undo this dress.”

I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her about.

“I’ll undo what I’ve done,” said I. “A symbolical act. How many fools would sell their souls for the chance?”

“Well, gently does it,” said Audrey. “I can’t help being a girl – and I value this frock.”

“God forgive you for that,” said I. “But I wouldn’t if I were He.”

She did not answer me, but stood very still; and though my hands were trembling, I was so resolved to be deft that I think they could have been trusted to set a watch. Be that as it may, I had my way with the ‘bobbles’ in half the time it had taken to put them into their loops, and I never once touched her skin or, so far as I know, snapped a thread of the most inconvenient confection that ever a woman put on.

“That’s that,” said I. “Will you go to bed first? Or shall I?”

She drank her water and put the glass back on the tray.

“As I’m half undressed,” she said, “I’m afraid I must ask you to wait.”

“Very good,” said I. “Sing out when you’re through with the bathroom, and I’ll start in.”

She shrugged her dress on to her shoulders and left the room, and I flung myself into a chair and covered my eyes.

I confess that I felt sick of life.

A sudden storm had arisen out of a halcyon day – a savage, senseless squall that had carried us whither it listed and left us leagues apart. All my dreams had been shattered within twelve hours, and my very pleasant fortune replaced by as grim a prospect as anyone could have devised. Once a relation is soured, the only thing to do is to sever it out of hand: but we could not sever our relation; we had to work together – perhaps for months. To spend your life with someone with whom you are in love, who does not love you, can only be a bitter-sweet business, when all has been said and done: but to spend your life with someone with whom you are in love and on very bad terms – well, if such an outlook appalled me, I think I may be excused. It must, of course, be remembered that Lady Audrey Nuneham was a very exceptional girl. She was undeniably lovely, her charm was very potent, her spirit was very high – and, when she was out of humour, her tongue was a sharp sword.

A quarter of an hour went by before she lifted her voice.

Then—

“All clear,” she cried, and, before I could make any answer, I heard the slam of her door.

Though I knew that I should not sleep, it seemed best to retire. I did so heavily – to find my bed unready and the coverlet still in its place. I stripped it in some impatience, but when I could find no pyjamas, no slippers, no dressing-gown, then it dawned upon me that the servants had naturally expected that I should spend the night in the other room. My things were there, of course – and the door was shut.

The discovery did me good. For Audrey must have seen them and have purposely let them lie – to put to inconvenience the man with whom she was cross. And that was not the way of a great heart; that was the way of a jade.

I took out clean pyjamas, performed my usual toilet and went to bed. What is more, I went to sleep. My wounds had been salved by the thought that my idol had feet of clay.

I do not know how long I slept, but I know that something woke me and I started up on an elbow and sought for the switch.

“It’s all right,” breathed Audrey. “It’s me. Don’t put on the light.” I gave up my search for the switch and lay very still. “I waited such ages for you to come for your things, and then I realized that you must have done without them and gone to bed. So I had to come to you. I mean, you see, we couldn’t have parted like that.”

I propped myself on an elbow and felt very much ashamed. But, whilst I was searching for words, a warm arm slid round my neck and her cheek came to rest against mine.

“Why did we quarrel, St John?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s – the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Or I, my dear. I’d been so happy with you.”

I found her fingers and put them up to my lips.

“I’m afraid I broke down,” I said. “I’m not a very good actor, and actors who can’t really act sometimes get carried away. And when they realize that – well, then they break down.”

“You silly St John,” said Audrey. “If you could act at all, I shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t understand,” said I.

“I know. Never mind. But always be natural with me. I’ll tell you where to get off. And please forgive what I said. I said it to make you angry, and I take every syllable back.”

I held her fingers tight.

“I – I wasn’t too charming,” I said.

“You were simply odious,” said Audrey. “You can be, you know. But only when you’re acting – so please give it up.”

“But—”

“Whoever wakes first calls the other. Good night, St John.”

As she moved, I turned my head quickly, and brushed her face with my lips.

“Good night, Audrey – my darling.” She caught her breath. “I thought there was no one like you, and now I know.”

“Sleep well, St John.”

And then she was gone, and only her perfume was left.

When English people drive to the
Gare du Nord
and take a train which is going to one of the Channel ports, it may be fairly assumed that they are about to return to the country which gave them birth. But some such trains stop at Amiens…

Audrey and I reached the city before mid-day.

We put our luggage into the cloakroom, inquired the way to the cathedral and left the station on foot. After a few minutes’ walk, we entered the famous shrine. For a quarter of an hour we examined the treasures of glass and stone – to say nothing of those of wood, which, honestly, I liked better than anything else. I never saw anything finer than the carved-oak stalls of the choir, and when I learned from some book that the men who made this magic were paid three-halfpence a day, I perceived that the progress of which mankind is so proud, may well be known to the gods by another name.

Then we came out of the church – by another door, to see that four cars had been berthed a little way off. One was a business-like coupé, painted an elephant grey, and Bell was standing by this, with a hand on its door.

A moment later we three were within the car, and Bell was picking his way up a crowded street.

“No news, Bell?” said Audrey.

“Not at the moment, my lady – from London, I mean, But everything’s all right here. I’ve found a nice little villa – it’s nothing much to look at, but inside it’s very clean. And it’s got a very good garage that takes two cars.”

“What about the cooking?” said Audrey.

“I have a cook-general, my lady. She’s very willing and quiet and I don’t think she’ll talk. I’ve followed her twice to market, but she doesn’t seem to have any friends. She buys what she wants, but she never stops to gossip, as most of them do.”

“Isn’t he marvellous?” said Audrey. “Bell, I’d love to have seen you stalking the cook.” Bell, who was very reserved, permitted himself to smile. “And now for the burning question. What have you said about us?”

“I’ve called you ‘
Madame
,’ my lady, from first to last. I said that ‘
Monsieur and Madame
’ were coming today. But she never asks no questions: she’s not that sort.”

“Good for you,” said Audrey. “But you mustn’t call me ‘my lady,’ or that’ll tear everything up.”

“Very good, madam,” said Bell.

“You mentioned two cars,” said I.

“This and another, sir. The other’s the best of the two. This one’ll do all you ask, and do it well. But – well, the other’s a Lowland.”

“Oh, I can’t believe it,” said Audrey.

“Mr Chandos’ orders, madam. In fact, he arranged it all, and I only did as he said.”

Audrey, sitting between us, returned to me.

“Have you driven a Lowland, John?”

“Never,” said I. “But I’ve heard they’re terribly good.”

“A Lowland,” said Audrey, “is alive. Whatever action you take, a Lowland’s response is so swift that sometimes it actually seems as though the car must have known what you wanted to do.”

“Poor Mr Plato,” said I. “He’s not going to have a look-in.”

“There are times when I hate you,” said Audrey, and left it there.

The villa was very well placed, for it stood at the end of a road on the skirts of the town, and a lane, which was little used, ran down by its side. The principal entrance, of course, was facing the road, but doors from the stable-yard gave into the lane. The latter led into the country without any check, and since, within two miles, it met a main road, was affording a way of approach which suited us down to the ground. The garden was walled and the villa itself was low, and indeed I sometimes think that the fellow for whom it was built must have been about some business which he wished to keep to himself. In a word, it was just what was wanted – by someone without the law.

The house looked ramshackle, and, frankly I should not have cared to winter beneath its roof; but within it was very pleasant and though there was only one bathroom, this had been recently made and fully deserved its name.

For some reason best known to himself, Bell had made up his bed in the harness-room: but I think the truth is that, though he waited upon us from morning to night, during the hours of darkness he liked to be near the cars, for on the Vane and the Lowland our enterprise hung. Had anything happened to them, we should have been awkwardly placed, for they were both picked cars, and to get them into the country had not only taken time, but had cost eight hundred pounds. Both cars could have come in for nothing on any day in the week, if Chandos had been content for them to bear English numbers and GB plates: but such things distinguish a car in a foreign land, and Richard William Chandos did nothing by halves.

Like master, like man. No matter what it cost him, Bell would leave nothing to chance. I have shown that he was efficient as very few servants are: as I shall show, his sense of duty was high: but a rarer quality still was his
amour propre
.

After luncheon I took the Vane and drove along to the station to take our luggage away. And while Audrey unpacked her clothes and Bell was dealing with mine, I studied the large-scale maps of the country which we were to learn.

At the first blush, our task looked monstrous. An irregular network of roads sprawled without rhyme or reason wherever I gazed, and it must, it seemed, take a lifetime to learn one tenth of the number we hoped to know. Then I saw that the first step to take was to get by heart two things which I could have from the maps without going out of doors, for that these two things were, so to speak, master keys, which would unlock every gate to which we might come. And one of the two was distance; and the other, direction.

If I always knew how far I was from, say, Rouen, and always knew exactly where Rouen lay; though I had seen it but once, the district between me and Rouen would take rough shape in my mind, and I should know where a road led to because I knew the country which it had been made to serve.

And then I saw the value of landmarks. If the country was as flat as it seemed, one good landmark might serve me for twenty miles – signpost and milestone in one, whose legend I could read, however far off I might be.

And so I arrived at the truth that, if we were to make good, the country was what I must study, and not the roads. The rivers and hills and forests would all give me information which I could trust, but, unless it was posted, a road would tell me nothing and, if I depended upon it, would certainly let me down.

Once I had realized this, the orderless system of ways which had shocked me so much, sank to its true proportion for good and all, and though, from this time on, I used a map a great deal, I was never again dismayed by such a labyrinth.

Here Audrey appeared – in tweeds and a white silk shirt.

“Dear God, St John, aren’t you ready? Bell’s starting the Lowland up.”

“Sit down,” said I, “and I’ll teach you to read a map.”

“You go and change,” said she, “and I’ll teach you to drive a car.”

Though he knew it to be out of order, Mansel himself, I think, would have done as she said, for her big, brown eyes were alight and her eager face was aglow, and the man who could have put out such radiance must first have put off his manhood – or else have been blind from birth.

She let me choose the way, so we went to Dunkirk by St Omer, and back by Boulogne. That was a run of well over two hundred miles; but it seemed a great deal less, for the Lowland was very smooth and went like the wind, and Audrey drove as though she was a part of the car.

By her especial desire, I drove for half an hour.

“Go on. I want you to. It isn’t fair that I should have all the fun.”

In fact, I was something reluctant to take the wheel, for she was a far better driver than I shall ever be, and to suffer the weaker vessel was not her way.

As I let in the clutch—

“Have you ever watched,” I said, “a fool untying a knot?”

She looked straight ahead.

“I’ve often been sorry for that. But I didn’t know you then.”

“Audrey,” said I, “you have one most remarkable gift.”

“Only one, St John?”

“All the others are graces,” said I. “But this is a gift.”

“Very quick,” said Audrey. “Go on.”

“You can inflict the very hell of a wound: but you can heal it so gently that your victim treasures the scar.”

“I see. But the scar remains.”

“Oh, damn the girl,” said I. “She’s got it the wrong way round.”

A hand came to rest on my sleeve.

“No, she hasn’t, St John. But she doesn’t like the word ‘scar.’”

“Scar be damned. ‘Sweet and twenty’ has kissed it and made it well.”

With the tail of my eye I saw her chin go up.

“Fall out, the officers,” she commanded.

“I’m not on parade,” said I, and let the Lowland go.

As a rule, Bell stayed at the villa, for, to keep in touch with Mansel, one of us had to be there from nine to ten in the morning and from seven to eight at night. (This, of course, in case of a telephone-call. In case such a call was urgent, whoever was out in the car would always ring up the villa about midday – an inconvenient duty, which we were sorely tempted, but never dared to omit.) But once a week I sent him abroad with Audrey, and once a week my lady would ‘hold the fort.’

Every day, rain or shine, either the Vane or the Lowland would be on the road by six, but we always came back to the villa before night fell. This seemed the wisest plan, for though it meant a long run before we could enter the region that lay about Havre, at the villa we could relax as we could never have done at any hotel: and that was everything, for there were times when we were too tired to eat, and once, I remember, Audrey fell asleep at the table and never opened her eyes, though I picked her up in my arms and carried her up the stairs.

So long as the weather was fair – and it very seldom rained – our work was about as pleasant as work can be, and after a very few days we, so to speak, found our feet and began to ‘sense’ direction and to pick up the lie of the land with astonishing speed. I never would have believed that with so little practice I could have told what was coming before it came into my view, but the study proved to me that a countryside is just like a living volume which very few of us have ever been trained to read. I have spent so much of my life in the open air that I was more fitted than some for such an exercise, but to learn to read was so simple and the legends, when read, were so clear that I think any man could do it, who cared to try. Best of all, the roads, from being our masters, became our humble servants to carry us where we liked. We knew where they must lead us, because we knew the country through which they ran, and, though sometimes, of course, they turned upon us and bit us, as serpents do, our confidence was not shaken, because we had come to treat them as they deserved.

Since the Lowland’s head could be dropped, we were free of the sun and the wind from morning to night, and though for most of the time we had to sit still, I think we grew harder and fitter every day. The hot weather coming on, Audrey took to a singlet and well-cut shorts – and lent a grace to an outfit which not every woman can wear. Her form was so slim, and her legs were so clean and so straight that to see her stand up on some knoll, with the early sunshine about her and the sparkle of the dew at her feet, remembered the tales of the classics which I had learned as a child: she always went bare-headed, and when she shook back her curls and shaded her eyes to scan some stretch of country which could not be seen from the car, she might have strayed out of some idyll, such as Theocritus wrote.

I do not think we attracted lasting attention, because, perhaps, the ground which we had to cover was spread so wide: then, again, the French number-plates were a very great help, for they made the car one of a thousand, instead of one of a score: and I must confess that Audrey’s barbarous spectacles did their share, for they dimmed – for passers-by – the light of her countenance.

Either Mansel or Chandos wrote to us three times a week. Their letters were very cheerful and did us good; but only one, which came on the tenth of June, let fall any sort of hint that the man for whom we were waiting was thinking of making a move.

When the time comes, it said, Rowley will join you somehow, as best he can. You two will stick to the Lowland, and he and Bell to the Vane: and the four of you, working together, will, I am sure, be able to bring it off. But don’t forget that, until you report your progress, we two shall have to sit still – for the simple reason that we shall not know where you are: so warn the cook that Carson is coming to take Bell’s place, and ring him up at the villa as soon as ever you can.

But, though the days went by, the telephone-bell never rang, and Audrey began to get fretful and to flirt with the mutinous theory that we were wasting our time.

I did my best with her, but, when all was said and done, I had a very poor case, for to draw a bow at a venture costs little enough, but we were intensively training for an action which might never take place.

We were seven miles from the coast, when I touched my companion’s arm and pointed up at a coppice which rose on our right.

“Take me there, will you, Audrey? On the other side of that wood, I think there’s a bluff. If I’m right, I believe that from there a man with a pair of glasses can see the crossroads at Cerf.”

“But Cerf’s over there – the other side of those hills.”

“I know, but a valley runs east. Less than a valley – a groove. And I think that that bluff commands it. I can’t be sure.”

“Ridge upon ridge in your way. Can you see through chalk?”

“That wood stands high,” said I. “It’s worth trying, anyway. I’ve dreamed about those crossroads. They’re a perfect place for Plato to give us the slip.”

Audrey shrugged her shoulders and let in her clutch.

“I’ll honour your whim,” she said: “but only because that wood looks nice and cool and I want my lunch. I’m sick of this ‘Girl Guide’ business, and that’s a fact.”

“Sorry,” said I. “I forgot it was Ascot week.”

“Ascot be damned,” said Audrey. “I’d rather be here than there. But I want to do something worthwhile. In the last two months I’ve drunk enough speculation to float a fleet. And I never did like soft drinks.”