They Were Found Wanting (26 page)

From there they went to the paddocks where the recently weaned colts had been placed, and then on to see the two famous stallions that Count Antal had brought from England.

It was a pity, thought Szent-Gyorgyi, that Fanny had not come to see all this. Though he never said so, he was especially proud of his thoroughbreds.

But the beautiful Fanny was far away, driving from farm to farm with Warday in an open carriage. She listened patiently to the explanations and reports of the farm overseers who were eager to show the visitors the milking charts, explain the chemical processes of butter-making, and outline the statistics of
percentage
yield and cost of transport. Everything produced here was, of course, sent to Vienna. Fanny kept quiet, standing, walking from place to place, turning, stopping again; and again walking on dutifully, always close to Warday, while from time to time she would nod in agreement as if she understood what was being talked about. And always she moved with that peculiar,
individual
walk, like a cat who placed one little paw directly in front of the other, lightly, in a single line.

It was already beginning to get dark when their carriage left the third farm and turned towards home. The evening sky was clear and beautiful but it was a trifle cold and this was perhaps the reason why the couple in the carriage sat so close together.

‘Imre, tell me, are you happy?’ Fanny broke the silence
between
them.

‘Oh, yes!’ he replied. ‘I can say that, but it isn’t such a great … I mean …’ He paused and then went on, ‘Well, that doesn’t exist anyway. Klara is really very nice, and she’s got some money of her own which comes in handy, and now we’re having a baby. It’s all wonderful, really,’

‘I’m very happy to hear it,’ said Countess Beredy. ‘I knew this was the right thing for you to do, and that’s why I made you do it. Remember?’

‘Oh, yes! You threw me out at the right moment, just the right moment!’ and he laughed good-humouredly.

Fanny turned to look at him. She opened her eyes slightly. They shone green in the evening light.

‘Though it was so good with you I knew you ought to start a family, and … and Klara was just right, a good match. It wasn’t easy for me to give you up, you know, a real sacrifice!’ The lie came easily from her lips: she knew she would have sent him
packing
anyway as the love between Laszlo Gyeroffy and Klara had just gone inexorably wrong and so if Imre was out of the way she would at last have the chance to get Laszlo for herself.

‘Sacrifice?’ asked Warday, astonished. ‘But, my darling, you told me … I remember the exact words, “you have to stop when you are still hungry”. That’s what you said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes; that’s what I
said
‚’ agreed Fanny, but she did not pursue the question of sacrifice, but went on, ‘and wasn’t I right? But we, we still have our appetites, don’t we? And if we wanted to …’

Warday looked up in startled surprise and pleasure. ‘Do you really mean that? Really?’ He looked down, straight into her eyes. Their faces nearly touched.

Fanny now opened her eyes wider than ever, the green flame shining ever brighter, filled with an appeal, a message, a command.

‘I still ache for you as much as ever!’

A long kiss followed, a familiar, breathtaking, overpowering kiss that left them both panting when they drew apart. Neither spoke; only her hand searched for his under the fur rug that
covered
their knees, her fingers, at once so small and yet so strong, clutching at him. They still did not speak; but when the carriage reached the wide lawn before turning into the castle gates she looked up at him and murmured, ‘When everyone’s asleep. The door after the little stair; it’s my bathroom, the first door!’

On one side of the castle’s great quadrangle, between the chapel and one of corner towers on the south side, two rooms had been thrown into one to make the dining-room; while on the other side was the library which led off Countess Elise’s private
sitting-room
. Between them the vast old former refectory of the Pauline monks had been turned into the castle’s principal drawing-room.

As was the custom when there were guests, everyone gathered in this drawing-room before dinner. Balint arrived early and, when he first entered the room, he fancied that he was alone. However he had barely crossed the threshold when from an
armchair
in the middle of the room opposite the fireplace, there got up a short plump elderly priest. Clean-shaven, well-groomed, pink and shining, he had very small piercing eyes set beneath bushy eyebrows. His rather short nose was thin and pointed. With his well-cut ecclesiastical dress he wore a wide red sash. He walked swiftly over to Balint and introduced himself. ‘I am Father Czibulka,’ he said with a slight Slovakian accent and, when in turn Balint had introduced himself, he went on, ‘Ah, indeed! I have heard a great deal about your Lordship, especially about how you have been promoting co-operative ideas in Transylvania. All that is very good, marvellous work!’

Balint was taken by surprise.

‘Oh, I hear about all sorts of things,’ the priest went on with a slight smile. ‘I often come here to stay with your cousins. And when I am home at Nagyszombat I always come over to say mass on Sundays. I’m really part of the furniture, as I was once Count Antal’s tutor. They call me “Pfaffulus” after the comic character. He gave me that name, impudent brat that he was! Didn’t you ever hear of it? All the children here call me that; behind my back, of course, because only Count Antal has the right to say it to my face!’ And he wagged his finger humorously at Balint.

‘I’ve heard it, all right,’ said Balint, laughing. ‘And always with great affection.’

They chatted for a while, walking up and down the huge room in which, although there were any number of red and gold brocade-covered sofas and armchairs – and also a large concert grand piano and a quantity of potted palms – there was still plenty of room to move about. So large was it that despite all these furnishings there was still an air of emptiness in that huge room.

When they had exchanged a few sentences the priest looked about him as if to make sure that no one was there to overhear what he was about to say and then turned to Balint and asked, ‘Please tell me. Do you have any news of your cousin, poor Laszlo Gyeroffy, the Countess’s nephew?’

Abady started to tell the story of Laszlo’s unpaid gambling debts which had led to his resignation from the Casino Club and exile from Budapest society, but Czibulka stopped him. ‘Oh! I know all about that, perhaps a little more than you might guess. I was very worried about him the last time he was here. No! What I want to know – is how is he now? Has he been able to pull
himself
together? Has he found any consolation for his sorrows?’ and, hardly waiting for Balint to reply, he went on, ‘I feel so sorry for him and think of him often. Look at this,’ and he paused, fished in the pocket of his soutane and brought out a tiny parcel wrapped in silk paper before going on, ‘I brought this for him from Rome. It’s a little medallion, blessed by the Holy Father. Do please give it to him. It may help the poor fellow. And tell him I pray for him. Of course,’ he went on, ‘this must be a secret
between
us! You understand, don’t you?’ And here he broke off because they could hear the door opening and footsteps approach from the direction of the library which was situated between the drawing-room and the dining-room.

‘Pfaffulus!’ called Antal Szent-Gyorgyi across the dinner table. ‘I’m sure you’ve brought some secret plot with you from Nagyszombat. I can see your nose twitching from here!’

The priest felt his nose in pretended alarm.

‘Oh, dear!’ he said. ‘What a dreadful give-away!’ and he laughed. However he went on at once to relate what he had come to tell them.

It seemed that the neighbouring constituency of Szerencs was vacant and there was to be a by-election soon. Two-thirds of the people in the villages there were of Hungarian origin – and all of them fierce adherents of the radical separatist 1848 party – while the remaining one third were Slovaks and rabid socialists to boot. The former member had been a constitutional-minded adherent of the Conservatives and he had only been elected because formerly all such ‘elections’ merely followed meekly what had been ordered by the ruling party in Budapest. Now the situation was different and it was rumoured that a really
independent
candidate would stand and that, if he did, since the Conservatives had no backing in the district, he was sure to get in.

‘And that, I fancy,’ murmured the little priest, ‘might not be – er – entirely desirable, eh?’ And he turned to his hostess with a gesture that seemed to be asking her opinion. Countess Elise merely smiled; she was not one to embroil herself in any
argument
, and certainly not a political one. Instead it was her
sister-in-law
, Countess Illesvary, who was sitting next to her brother and who loved nothing better than discussing politics, who replied, ‘But that would be dreadful!’

‘It could still happen! Especially if no socialist candidate
presents
himself and if the Constitutional party doesn’t withdraw! Even then it wouldn’t be easy unless the clergy and all the
white-collared
employees banded together. And this could only come about if – how shall I put it? – the High Court of Jablanka was known to approve and support such a move.’

Now Wuelffenstein thought he should put his oar in, though moderating his usual vehemence as he knew Szent-Gyorgyi
considered
any sign of enthusiasm to be a breach of good manners. Even so his voice trembled with emotion as he said, ‘It’s really too much to ask this of us. Why, the Constitutional party suffered enough last year when the district boundaries were re-drawn; and what’s more it’s entirely against the movement towards party unity.’

The priest turned his well-shaven face in the direction of Fredi. Pfaffulus’s antenna-like eyebrows were lightly raised as he took out the long-handled lorgnette, which was kept stuck
between
two buttons sewn to the red sash round his waist, looked hard at the young politician, and said, ‘In my modest opinion, I feel that the voters’ feelings must be allowed to count for
something
, don’t you think?’

‘As far as the voters are concerned, it doesn’t really matter which party or coalition they vote for. We’re all in the same camp and everyone’s got more or less the same programme!’ was Wuelffenstein’s cynical reply.

‘How right you are!’ said Szent-Gyorgyi coldly. ‘There’s not a pin to choose between the lot of you!’

This was an acid reference to the mutually incompatible
policies
which had recently led to the dissolution of the pact which had resulted in an uneasy alliance between the ruling 1867 Party and those who supported the complete independence of Hungary from Austria. Fredi, however, did not grasp the allusion.

‘I’m glad you agree!’ said Wuelffenstein, entirely missing the point and believing his host to be on his side. ‘Neither Kossuth nor the People’s Party should put forward a candidate. They’ve absolutely no right, no right at all! Why should we be forced to surrender a district? Never, as far as I’m concerned!’