Jonah and Co. (17 page)

Everywhere luxury was in evidence. There were plenty of lights, but they were all heavily shaded. So thick were the carpets that I could hardly hear my own footfalls. The atmosphere was pleasantly warm and full of the sweet scent of burning wood. What furniture I saw was very handsome. Three exquisite stalls, filched from some old cathedral, stood for a settle. A magnificent bronze loomed in a recess. At the head of the stairs was glowing a great Canaletto.

I followed my guide wonderingly…

A moment later she stopped to knock upon a door.

“Who is it?” cried Adèle.

I raised my voice, and she called to me to enter.

I opened the door into the finest bedroom that I have ever seen.

Upon the walls were panels of yellow silk, and all the silks and stuffs were grey or golden. A soft grey carpet, a deep sofa, a giant four-poster, a mighty press, a pierglass, chairs, mirrors, table-lamps – all were in beautiful taste. An open door in one corner, admitting the flash of tiles, promised a bathroom. On the bed my dress-clothes, which I had packed for San Sebastian, lay orderly. And there, upon a chair, in front of a blazing fire, sat Adèle, lightly clothed, looking extraordinarily girlish, and cheerfully inveigling a stocking on to a small white foot.

I looked round dazedly.

“Isn’t it priceless?” said Adèle. “Isn’t it all priceless?” She danced across the room and flung her arms round my neck. “And I thought you were never coming. I wanted to wait for you, lad, but they wouldn’t let me. But I’ve run a bath for you and put out all your clothes. By the way, I can’t find your links anywhere. Are you sure—”

“No,” I said, “I’m not. I’m not sure of anything. I’m not sure I’m awake. I’m not sure I’m alive. I’m not sure I’m not mad. ‘Sure’? I don’t know the meaning of the word. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Where are we? What’s it all mean?”

“My darling,” said Adèle, “I’ve not the faintest idea.”

“But—”

“Listen. You hadn’t been gone five minutes before a man came into the hotel and up to Jonah. He seemed very nervous and excited, but he was very polite. He couldn’t speak a word of anything but Spanish, but at last we gathered that he was asking us if we were the people who had wired to the Grand Hotel. When we said that we were, he talked faster than ever, and at last we began to understand that he’d got some rooms for us elsewhere. You can imagine our joy. Once we understood, he didn’t have to ask us whether we’d come. The next minute two chauffeurs were slinging the baggage on to a couple of cars, and, after we’d managed to explain that you were coming back, Berry paid some sort of a bill and we all pushed off. When we saw this wonderful house, we nearly fainted. As far as I can see, we’ve got it all to ourselves. Berry and Daphne are in another room like this, about two doors away, and Jill’s between us. I don’t know where Jonah is. I can only imagine that the man who came is the manager of the Grand Hotel, and that this is where they put people when their own place is closed.”

Unsatisfactory as it was, this seemed, roughly, the only possible explanation. Indeed, but for the magnificence of our lodging, it would have been reasonable enough. Still, we knew nothing of Spain. Perhaps this was their idea of hospitality. I began to like Pampeluna very much…

By the time I had had a hot bath I had begun to wonder whether it was worth while going on to San Sebastian.

We had dined in state. We had eaten an eight-course dinner, superbly cooked and admirably served. At the conclusion of our meal, folding doors had been opened, and we had passed into the shadowed comfort of a gorgeous library, where only the ceaseless flicker of a great log fire had lighted us to deep-cushioned chairs and a rich sofa, where coffee and liqueurs were set upon a low table and the broad flash of silver showed a massive cigar-box reposing conveniently upon an ebony stool.

With one consent, sitting at the feet of Epicurus, we had thrust uncertainty aside, and, thanking Heaven that we had fallen so magically upon our own, confined our conversation to the events of our journey, and compared enthusiastic notes regarding the wonders, entertainments, and perils of our drive.

From behind a big cigar Berry was slowly enumerating the accessories without which, to make life worth living, no car should ever take the road, when the door opened and a servant, bearing a salver, entered the room.

Stopping for an instant to switch on the light, the man stepped to my brother-in-law.

For a moment Berry glanced at the card. Then —

“English,” he said. “‘Mr Hubert Weston Hallilay, 44 Calle de Serrano, Madrid.’ Better have him in, hadn’t we?” He turned to the servant and nodded. “Ask him to come in,” he said.

The servant bowed and withdrew.

A moment later a fair-haired boy, perhaps twenty-three years old, was ushered into the room.

He greeted us respectfully, but with an open-hearted delight which he made no attempt to conceal.

“How d’you do? I’m most awfully glad to see you. Officially, I’m here by request. The comic mayor got hold of me. He’s worried to death because he can’t converse with you. I don’t suppose you mind, but it’s shortening his life. I’ve had a fearful time with him. There are about a thousand things he wants to know, and he’s commissioned me to find them out without asking any questions. That, he says, would be most rude. Unofficially, I’m – well, I’m at your service. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have been here before. I’m attached to Madrid, really, but I’m putting in six weeks here – for my sins.”

“You’re very kind,” said Berry. “Incidentally, you’re a godsend – the second we’ve had today. The first, I may say, lies in five feet of water on a particularly blasted mountainside. But don’t be disconcerted. We shouldn’t think of drowning you. For one thing, you’re much too valuable. And now sit down, and have some cold coffee and a glass of kümmel.”

As he sank into a seat —

“Mr Hallilay,” said Daphne, twittering, “I can’t bear it.
Why are we here
?”

The boy looked at her curiously. Then —

“Well,” he said, “there was no other place. Even if the Grand had been open, I gather it’s hardly fit… Of course there’s been the most awful mix-up. Trust Spain for that. The Post Office knew they couldn’t deliver the wire. Instead of telling somebody, or communicating with Pau, they let it lie in the office till this afternoon. Then they took it to the mayor. Of course he nearly died. But, being a man of action, he got a move on. He flew round here and laid the facts before the steward – the owner happens to be away – and arranged to put this house at your disposal. Then he rushed round, borrowed a couple of cars, and spent what time he had left splitting his brain over your wire and hovering between the station and the various approaches to Pampeluna. As an inevitable result, he missed you, and when he finally had the brain-wave of inquiring at the Grand and found you’d already arrived, he nearly shot himself.”

“But why – I mean,” I stammered, “it’s devilish good of the mayor and you and everyone, but why – in the first place, why did the Post Office take the wire to the mayor?”

Hallilay raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” he said slowly, “when they saw the telegram, they realised—”

“Who sent the wire?” said Berry.

“I did,” said Jonah. “I said,

Retenez lundi soir, deux grandes deux petites chambres avec salle de bain en suite, arrive en auto.

MANSEL.”

For a moment I thought the boy was going to faint. Then he covered his face and began to shake with laughter…

Presently he plucked a form from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me.

“That may have been what you sent,” he said jerkily, “but here’s how the wire arrived.”

Retenez lundi soir, deux grandes deux petites chambres avec salle de bain, suite arrive en auto.

MANOEL.

After I had read it aloud there was a long, long silence.

At length —

“I see,” said Berry. “I knew our journey would be eventful, because my wife put her teeth in upside down this morning, but I little dreamed it was to be a royal progress. However. I take it one of the things the mayor would like to know is – er – what has become of – of—”

Hallilay nodded tearfully.

“That, sir,” he said, “is the first and foremost question upon an unanswerable list.”

We left Pampeluna upon the following afternoon, in response to a wire from San Sebastian peremptorily desiring us immediately to repair to that resort.

Hallilay, as good as his word, was of inestimable service. He had, indeed, dealt with the delicate situation with admirable judgment. Finally he covered our retreat in a masterly manner.

From the first he had insisted that the role we had unconsciously assumed must be deliberately maintained. Our scruples he had brushed to one side.

“Whatever happens, Pampeluna must never know the truth. It’d be most unpleasant for you – obviously. For the mayor – well, Spaniards are very proud, and I think it’d kill him. Very well, then. Your course, plainly, is the line of least resistance. 0 friends, Romans, countrymen, it’s – it’s too easy.” He broke off and glanced meaningly about him. “I’m not much of a diplomat, but – well, the best is good enough for me.”

Talk about Epicurus…

How Adèle Bought a Bottle of Perfume

Which Had No Smell, and I Cut Eulalie Dead

“I must have a paper,” said Berry. “I haven’t read the news for fifty-five hours, and – and anything may have happened. Supposing the rouble and the shilling have changed over. The tie I’m wearing ’d be worth about six hundred pounds.”

I set down my cup and picked up the receiver.

So you’re really off tomorrow, are you? said an attractive voice. Well, don’t miss Fuenterrabia. It’s only five miles out of your way, and it’s worth seeing. They sell most lovely scent in the Calle del Puerto. Ask for their ‘Red Violets.’

With a chunk I was disconnected, and a second later a bureau clerk had promised to procure an English paper and send it up to my room.

Less than an hour ago we had arrived at San Sebastian – according to plan. A very handsome run had ended becomingly enough in the drive of a palatial hotel, and, though it was growing dusk as we had slipped into the town, we had seen quite enough of our surroundings to appreciate that, where Nature had succeeded so admirably, man had by no means failed.

And now we were taking tea in my sister’s bedroom and discussing what Berry called “the order of going in.”

“We’d better decide right away,” said my brother-in-law, “to stay here a week. It’s perfectly obvious that two nights are going to be no earthly.”

“All you’re thinking of,” said Daphne, “is the Casino. I knew it would be like this.”

“All right,” replied her husband; “look at the guidebook. We haven’t seen this place yet, and there are twelve excursions – all highly recommended. We can cut out Tolosa, because I see we did that this afternoon. That was where the child lobbed the jam-tin into the car. I fancy I passed the cathedral when I was chasing him. Anyway, I shall say so.”

“I am told,” said I, “that Fuenterrabia’s worth seeing.”

“It’s the show place about here,” said Jonah. “Old as the hills. That’ll take a morning alone.”

I yawned.

“There’s a shop there,” I said, “in the Calle del Puerto, where they sell some wonderful scent. I believe it’s all good, but their ‘Red Violets’ is simply ravishing.”

The girls pricked up their ears.

“Who told you all this?” said Adèle.

“I can’t imagine,” said I truthfully. “But she had a nice voice. You know – one of those soft mellifluous ones, suggesting that she’s bored to distraction with everything except you.” I took out a cigarette and looked about me. “Anyone got a match?” I added.

“Blow the matches,” said my sister. “When did all this happen?”

“This afternoon,” said I. “I’d always heard that San Sebastian—”

“Is she staying here?” said Adèle.

“In the hotel? She didn’t say.”

“But how did you come to speak to her?” demanded my wife.

“I didn’t,” I said. “She spoke to me. I tell you I’ve always heard that San—”

“And you communed with her?” said Berry. “With your lawful wife working herself to death on the first floor unpacking your sponge-bag, you exchanged secrets of the toilet with a honey-toned vamp? Oh, you vicious libertine… Will she be at the Casino tonight?”

“I didn’t ask her.”

Berry raised his eyes to heaven.

“You don’t know her name; you never asked where she’s staying, and you’ve fixed nothing up.” He sighed heavily. “Some people don’t deserve to get on.”

“I hadn’t time,” I pleaded. “We got on to scent almost at once.”

“Why scent?” said Jonah. “Or is that an indiscreet question?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Berry. “The scent was on the handkerchief he picked up. It’s been done before.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jill.

“I’m glad you don’t, darling. One expert in the family is bad enough.” He nodded at me. “I used to think I was useful, till I’d seen that Mormon at work. Talk about getting off… Why, he’d click at a jumble sale.”

“Would he really?” said Adèle interestedly. “I’d no idea he was so enterprising.”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“My dear,” he said, “he’s a blinkin’ marvel. Where you and I ’ld be standing outside a stage-door with a nervous grin and a bag of jujubes, he’d walk straight up to a Marchioness, say, ‘I feel I must tell you that you’ve got a mouth in a million,’ and –
get away with it
. But there you are. In the present case—”

“–for once in a way,” said Adèle, “the lady seems to have made the running.” She turned to me with a smile. “Well, Juan me lad, tell us some more about her. Was she fair or dark?”

I nodded at Berry.

“Better ask him,” I said. “He knows more about it than I do.”

“She was dark,” said Berry unhesitatingly. “A tall willowy wench, with Continental eyes and an everlasting pout. Am I right, sir?”

“You may be,” said I. “Not having seen the damsel…”

There was an outburst of incredulous objection.

“Sorry,” I added, “but the liaison was conducted upon the telephone. Just now. When I ordered the paper. The lady had no idea she was giving me counsel. So, you see, we’re both blameless. And now may I have a match?”

“Well, I am disappointed,” announced Adèle. “I quite thought we were off.”

“So did I,” said Daphne. “And you never even – Oh, it’s spoiled my tea.”

Even Jill protested that I had “led them on.”

In some dudgeon, I began to wonder if I should ever understand women.

An hour and a half had slipped by.

Ready for dinner with twenty minutes to spare, I had descended to the lounge. There a large writing-table had suggested the propriety of sending a postcard to the sweetest of aunts, who, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, invariably presumed our death after fourteen days.

There being no postcards available, I started a letter…

For a page and a half my pen ran easily enough, and then, for no reason whatever, my epistolary sense faltered, laboured, and ceased to function.

I re-read what I had written, touched up the punctuation, and fingered my chin. I reviewed the past, I contemplated the future, I regarded my fingernails – all to no effect. There was simply nothing to say. Finally I rose and went in search of a waiter. There was, I felt, a chance that a Martini might stimulate my brain…

I returned to my seat to find that, while I had been gone, a heifer from another herd had come to drink at the pool.

Immediately upon the opposite side of the writing-table sat one of the prettiest women that I have ever seen. Her colouring was superb. Beneath a snow-white skin all the wild beauty of a mountain-rose glowed in her cheeks; each time she moved, a flashing mystery of red and golden lights blazed from the auburn crown piled on her head; stars danced an invitation in the great grey eyes. Her small straight nose, the exquisite line of her face, her fairy mouth alone would have redeemed the meanest countenance. A plain black velvet dress, cut rather high at the throat, but leaving her lovely arms bare from the shoulder, and a complete absence of jewellery, showed that my lady knew how pictures should be framed…

With an effort I bent to my letter. From being difficult, however, the composition of another two pages of coherent prose had become formidable. Turning to the past, I could remember nothing. Looking into the future, I found myself blind. As for the present, I felt instinctively that a description of the curve of my vis-à-vis’ mouth would be out of place and might be misunderstood.

I observed suddenly that my lady had stopped writing. After a moment she read over what she had written and put in two commas. Then she put a dash at the end of her last sentence. Such an addition had not occurred to me. For what it was worth, I adopted it surreptitiously. When I looked up, the tips of four pointed fingers were being regarded with some severity. Finally the girl laid down her pen, and, propping her chin on two ridiculous fists, stared dismally upon the neutral zone between our respective blotting pads.

“Have you dealt with the weather?” said I.

The stars, which had stopped dancing, leaped again into life.

“Fully,” she said.

“And the place?”

She nodded.

“And the people staying in the hotel?”

“I’ve just said they’re all very dull.”

I wrote rapidly. Then —

“‘The people here,’” I read, “‘are nearly all very dull.’”

For a moment she looked at me. Then she picked up her pen.

“How,” she demanded, with a dazzling smile, “do you spell ‘nearly’?”

“Only one ‘r’,” I replied. “Same as ‘adorable.’”

‘Nearly’ went down – rather shakily.

I pulled up my cuffs.

“‘Spanish furniture,’” I said, following my pen, “‘is like the Spanish – on the large side. Everything is too big.’”

“‘–too big,’” said my lady, with her head on one side. “You see, my confidence in you is supreme.”

“One moment,” said I. “There’s only one ‘w’ in ‘sweet,’ isn’t there?”

“Yes,” she said, bubbling. “Same as ‘awful.’”

I cleared my throat.

“‘The table, for instance,’” I continued, “‘at which we – I am writing, is simply huge. If it were only half as wide, it would be much more – er – convenient.’”

The two white shoulders began to shake with laughter.

I thought very swiftly. Then —

“New paragraph,” I said.

“Half a page more,” breathed my companion.

I frowned.

“‘They have,’” I announced, “‘quite a good Casino here.’”

Our two pens recorded the statement. “‘The great thing to do is to go there after dinner.’”

The custom was reported in duplicate.

“‘But I’m not going tonight,’” said the girl, “‘because–’”

“But—”

“‘–I’ve got to do my packing.’”

I groaned. Then —

“‘But I shan’t go tonight,’” I declared, “‘because I’m going to help a friend pack.’” I looked up cheerfully. “Yes ?”

“‘I shall look forward,’” she said, smiling, “‘to seeing you again – some time.’”

“‘Soon.’”

The pretty head went to one side.

“‘With my love,’” she said quietly.

“‘Your devoted servant,’” said I.

For a second my lady hesitated. Then she signed a name, crammed her letter into an envelope, and rose to her feet.

The stars in the wonderful eyes had become misty, and there was a strange wistful curve to the exquisite lips.

For an instant we looked at one another. Then —

“Just ‘Eulalie,’” she said.

The next moment she was gone.

I turned to see Daphne, Adèle, and Berry a dozen paces away…

I advanced with what composure I could summon.

“I have been endeavouring,” I said, “to atone for this afternoon.”

There was a frosty silence. Then —

“So I see,” said my sister icily.

Berry passed a hand across his eyes.

“Ugh!” he said shuddering. “I’ve gone all goosegogs – I mean, gooseflesh. Will she be at the Casino tonight?”

My wife set a hand upon my arm.

“I must admit,” she said, smiling, “that she had a mouth in a million.”

By half past ten the next morning we were again upon the road.

The almanack swore it was March, but here was a summer’s day. Not a cloud was floating in the great blue sky: down to the tenderest breeze, the winds were sleeping: the sun was in all his glory. For earth herself, the stains of winter were being done away. Out of the country’s coat the greys and browns, lately so prominent, were fading notably. As thick as fast, the green was coming in. As we rounded a bend and sailed down a long sweet hill towards the frontier, the road was all dappled with the shadows of youngster leaves.

Our way seemed popular. Car after car swept by, waggons and lorries went rumbling about their business, now and again two of the Guardia Civil – well-horsed, conspicuously armed and point-device in their accoutrements – sat stiff, silent, and vigilant in the mouth of an odd by-road.

Come to the skirts of Irun, we switched to the left, and five minutes later we were at Fuenterrabia.

A city with a main street some four yards wide, keeping a king’s palace, if hatchments be evidence, remembering more dukes than shopkeepers, its house-walls upholding a haphazard host of balconies and overhung with monstrous eaves – a pocket stronghold, set on the lip of Spain, staring at sea and land, each sunlit rood of which is fat with History – a lovely star upon the breast of Fame, chosen by English poets to enrich their songs, Fuenterrabia is among the crown jewels of Europe.

We thrust up the Calle Mayor and into the Plaza de Armas. There we put the cars in the shade and alighted eagerly to view the town at close quarters.

“Look at that little boy,” cried Jill, “eating an apple. Where’s the camera? Get him to stand in the sun, Boy, against that old wall.”

“That’s right,” said Berry. “And there’s a dog scratching himself. Ask him to devil his tenants beside the Post Office. If we get a good picture, we can call it
Local Affection, or The Old, Old Story
and send it to
The Field
.”

To humour my cousin’s whim, I approached a dirty-looking child…

Despite my assurances of goodwill, however, the urchin retired as I advanced, all the time consuming his apple with a nervous energy, which suggested at once a conviction that I had my eye upon his fruit and a determination to confound my strategy. The apple was dwindling fast, and, redoubling my protests, I quickened my pace. For a second the boy hesitated. Then he took two last devastating bites, flung the core in my face, and took to his heels.

Pursuit being out of the question, I returned furiously to the others, to find them, as was to be expected, quite weak with laughter.

“It w-was good of you, Boy,” declared Jill, tearfully. “And I got such a precious picture – just as he threw it.”

“I suppose you know,” I said stiffly, “that he hit me upon the nose.”

“There must,” said Berry, “have been some misunderstanding. The Spaniard’s courtesy is proverbial. You’re sure you weren’t rude to him, brother?”

“Certain,” said I grimly.

“Dear, dear,” said my brother-in-law, opening a guidebook. “It’s most mysterious. Just listen to this.
The stranger is at first apt to be carried away by the obliging tone of society, by the charming spontaneity of manner, and by the somewhat exaggerated politeness of the people he meets.
There now. Were you carried away at all? I mean, if you were—”