They Were Counted (60 page)

Then she underlined ‘told’ and ‘chance’ before going to the bell and pressing it gently so that its ring would not be too loud. In a few moments Ilus opened the door and asked: ‘You rang, my Lady?’

‘Close the door … quickly now! Did anyone see you come in here?’

‘No, my Lady, there was no one in the passage.’

‘Ilus, this is very important! Take this letter – and don’t tell anybody – do you promise?’ The girl nodded. Klara went on
hurriedly
: ‘I trust you, but you must take care!’ and then,
whispering
, ‘Give this letter to Count Gyeroffy, only to him, into his own hands, do you understand? Only to him, and no one must see you. Maybe he’ll be at home now, lB Museum Street. It’s either the third or fourth floor, I can’t remember which, but someone will tell you. You will do it, won’t you?’

‘Of course, my lady, with pleasure.’

‘Take care, Ilus. No one must see you!’

‘Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll do it straight away.’

‘Hurry then. It’s very important!’ Suddenly Klara felt
overwhelmed
by hope and gratitude and she rose, put her arms round the girl’s waist and kissed her as she would a sister. The little maid, however, drew back in shame as if she were unworthy of such confidence.

‘Don’t, my lady, please don’t!’ she said, and slipped quickly and silently out of the room.

 

The King’s Cup was the most important event of the whole
racing
season. Everybody would be there, everybody had to be there; every woman with any pretence to being in Society wore her prettiest and most expensive clothes, and everyone was
determined
to be seen by everyone else. The grandstands and private boxes were crammed and the public enclosures were full. The crowds came because the races offered such a variety of
entertainment
– the sight of rich, fashionable, smartly-dressed society
people
in the private enclosures, the chance of spectacular wins at the tote, the excitement of a closely-fought finish and, above all, the exhilarating feeling that they were all part of Budapest’s most brilliant social event.

The procession of carriages bringing the spectators to the Park Club was in itself a spectacle not to be missed. On the narrow road that turned off the Tokolyi Avenue just after the railway
station
and passed by the poor quarter of Szazhaz – the slums had not then been cleared away – hundreds of horse-drawn vehicles wended their way to the race-course. There were smart two-
in-hands
drawn by high-stepping trotters, four-horse English
coaches
driven by their owners with eight people seated on the roof together with a liveried coachman whose only function on that day was to blow lustily on his coaching horn, Hungarian
Jukkers
with four or five horses in the traces all decorated with
multi-coloured
tassels and, whatever the carriage, there was always a great deal of whip-cracking and noise. In the open carriages the ladies would sit with lace-covered hats; and when one of the rare automobiles entered the procession, with its rattling engine-noise and stinking exhaust fumes it seemed as if even the horses turned up their noses, sensing, perhaps, that these horrible new-fangled machines had been sent to destroy them.

The principal grandstand was the last to fill up, for the most fashionable people always tried to be the last to arrive. Row upon row of seats were gradually being occupied in what looked from afar like a gigantic sloping flower arrangement, where the ladies’ dresses blossomed in a hundred different shades of pink, blue, red, lilac and white, punctuated only by the shiny black cylinders of the men’s top hats. Even the lawns in front of the stands were covered with a mass of people, radiating colour, life and happiness as they moved about slowly and leisurely in the bright sunshine.

Laszlo Gyeroffy arrived early. He went immediately up to the top of the grandstand from where he could most easily watch for the arrival of the Kollonich family. He was even more carefully dressed than usual, in a new iron-grey morning coat and a double-breasted butter-coloured waistcoat. As a daring
innovation
he had put on a pair of pin-striped trousers which, though not yet generally worn, would be permissible on this occasion when new fashions were expected and accepted without criticism, however bizarre they might seem. They were pressed to
knife-sharp
creases and with them he wore a highly-polished pair of box-leather shoes with beige-coloured insets. In his lapel, as
always
, he wore the yellow carnation that had become the symbol of his love for Klara.

Laszlo stood very straight. The long line of his fashionably cut coat showed his slim figure at its best and more than one woman looked at him with desire in her eyes.

He, however, did not look at anybody for his eyes were fixed on the entrance gates through which streamed the crowd of
racegoers
who spread out over the lawns, greeted friends and looked for places to sit. From his eagle’s nest Laszlo could see everything that went on beneath him. Now the proud and supremely
self-confident
ladies of high society and rich banking circles, and most of the lovely girls who attended the balls at the Casino and Park Club were already there. He caught a glimpse of Neszti
Szent-Gyorgyi
who had brought with him a famous Belgian
grande
cocotte
, at that time established as his official mistress. She was seated just beyond the members’ enclosure, her chair pushed slightly in front of the others as if she were the queen of Turf
society
. Kristof Zalamery appeared for a moment, escorting the two little
danseuses
from the Orfeum, but they soon disappeared among the crowds below. A little later Countess Beredy could be seen at the centre of a little group composed of her nieces, d’Orly, Devereux and old Szelepcsenyi. Fanny could be seen instructing her entourage to find some chairs and place them close to the rails.

The slender thoroughbreds entered for the first race had
already
paraded in front of the judges’ box when Laszlo saw his aunt arrive with Klara. They passed slowly towards the
grandstand
, pausing to greet friends before finding their places below him. The princess chose a seat with the other dowagers while Klara sat with a group of young people in the first row.

Laszlo did not move; he wanted to wait until his aunt decided to walk down to the saddling enclosure, or stroll across the
members
’ lawn surrounded by their friends, or became in some way sufficiently preoccupied that she would not notice when he staged his ‘chance’ meeting with Klara. He felt sure that this was what Klara had meant by the word, for she would not be at ease if she were still under the stern eye of her stepmother.

He had to wait until well after the second race. All this time the princess sat without moving, just ten paces away and slightly behind Klara. Then, as the public was beginning to move
towards
the saddling-up enclosure before the King’s Cup race, Laszlo saw the Archduke’s equerry step towards the princess, bow to her and murmur some message in her ear. Immediately she stood up and, accompanied by two other ladies, moved slowly and graciously towards an inner staircase. She had been
summoned
to the Royal Box. Now was the time to go to Klara and speak to her alone.

It was not easy to reach her against the stream of racegoers who were now milling about trying to find good places before the next race. It was not easy either to avoid acquaintances who tried to greet him as he pushed his way against the crowd, sometime jumping over seats when the narrow aisles were too full of people trying to come up just as he wanted to go down. At last he made it and found himself beside her. Klara made room for him on the bench beside her. They sat very close to each other, so close that Laszlo felt himself in an ecstasy of delight, intoxicated by the heady scent of Parma violets with which she seemed to be surrounded.

Klara spoke softly and rapidly, looking not at him but straight ahead. She spoke urgently, but took care that no one who saw them together – for they were surrounded by friends and
acquaintances
– would notice anything unusual.

‘I told them yesterday. It was dreadful, but that doesn’t
matter
. You have to promise me something …’

‘Anything!’

‘That you won’t gamble any more. For my sake!’

‘Of course. Whatever you say … anything … everything!’ whispered Laszlo.

Now she looked straight into his eyes.

‘Promise me!’ she said and offered him her narrow hand hoping that anyone who saw would take it that they were shaking hands to seal a wager.

Laszlo understood at once that he could now answer out loud.

‘I promise!’ he said, rather pompously, and squeezed her hand.

Klara was flooded with joy and relief, all the confidence that had deserted her after the terrible interview with her parents
restored
by those two simple words. Once again she saw their
marriage
as certain; in a few months she would stand before her father and say: ‘See, Laszlo isn’t gambling any more. He has given it up for me and this is the greatest proof of his worth! And he’ll never do it again, never ever again!’ And, as these thoughts came to her she also exulted that it had been she who had saved him, this very minute, from certain destruction. Ever since the previous day’s talk with her father, when she had been deeply
influenced
by his passionate denunciation of gamblers and
gambling
, she had been forced to recognize the facts and admit to herself that for Laszlo gambling could become a fatal obsession; and in recognizing this she had decided that it would be she, and she alone, who would save him. Now she had done it. He was saved … and the feeling was wonderful.

For a moment she allowed herself to look at him. Then she saw her younger brother Niki a few steps away. He was looking at them, obviously watching them; and of course this would all be reported back to the princess. It was the moment to send Laszlo on his way.

‘We’ve been seen!’ she said softly, and then went on in a loud confident voice, ‘Now hurry off to the tote and put this on for me.’ and, opening her little silken purse, she took out some coins and handed them to him. ‘Here are ten crowns. Do hurry!’

It was all so natural, or seemed so, and it was equally natural that Laszlo should lean towards her as he took the coins from her hand and that this should give him the opportunity to whisper: ‘Can I sit beside you tonight?’

‘Yes, of course. Now I don’t mind anymore,’ she said softly, her lips scarcely moving because she was so happy and thankful and so relieved, and because she loved him all the more for those two little words which rang so loudly in her heart. She had his oath and in her thundered triumphantly the knowledge that he was hers, now and forever. Her ocean-grey eyes sparkled as she watched him leave the stand and walk across the lawn below.

‘Which did you choose?’ asked a girl who sat behind her. ‘Not Patience, I hope, she’s everyone’s favourite! You won’t win a sou!’

‘I won’t tell you,’ said Klara, turning round. ‘No! No! It’s a
secret
, my very own secret!’ And she laughed wickedly, but so full of joy was she, joy, triumph and sheer happiness, that her
laughter
was as soft and voluptuous as the cooing of a dove.

 

Gyeroffy hurried through the mass of people on the lawn
propelled
by a superstitious compulsion that he must, no matter what, put Klara’s money on a horse. When he reached the betting counter he could hardly get to the clerk so thick was the crowd waiting to place their bets, and when he did get to the front and push forward his ten crowns his mind was a blank and he could not remember the name of a single horse that was running. ‘Which horse, please?’ asked the clerk impatiently. Laszlo could think of nothing. He had not even looked at his programme,
indeed
he seemed to have lost it. A number, quickly, he thought to himself, any number! ‘Nine!’ he said swiftly, without thinking; and then it suddenly crossed his mind that he had chosen right since the nine was a winning number at chemmy and baccarat and would bring him luck. He picked up the ticket and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat.