Csardas (46 page)

But even with odd visits to the manor and little family parties where she could flirt with Felix, the winters were unbearable. She begged Adam finally to take an apartment in town, somewhere they could stay throughout the winter months. “And who would look after the estate?” Eva shrugged. “Why can’t you do what everyone else does? Put a manager in. Or come back during the week and just stay whenever you can with me in town.”

“I have explained to you, Eva,” he said patiently, “that the reason our estate is so successful is because I do not leave it in the care of a manager.”

“Then travel back and forth between town and here,” she said petulantly.

“No.” They were having dinner in the room that had, in Madame Kaldy’s time, been dusty and unused. Now it was lavish and slightly vulgar in gold plush and with a modern serving-table and chairs.

“I think you are mean.” She pouted prettily. “You know how I hate the winters here. I am a town girl. I’m not used to this primitive life.”

“You should not have married a farmer, should you?” he asked quietly. “You can have whatever you like to make you happy here, Eva. You can furnish and entertain and rebuild to your heart’s content. You can have as many servants from the estate as you need. But I am staying here. It is my home. And you are staying with me.”

That was another surprising thing about Adam, surprising and disconcerting. She had thought when she married him that his adoration would cover any whim of hers, any behaviour however outrageous. And indeed he was indulgent in many matters. But there were times when no matter how she wheedled, cried, and pleaded, she could not get her own way. The visit to Malie in Budapest was such a case.

When she received the letter from her mama telling her of the wonderful idea, that she and Kati should go to Budapest, she couldn’t wait to tell Adam.

‘“How exciting, Adam! I am going to stay with Malie in Budapest!”

She should have recognized the stillness, the sudden tensing of his shoulders, but she didn’t.

“Kati and I will go at the end of the month and stay until spring when we all come up to the country. Oh, Adam! I can’t wait to stay in Budapest. It seems years since I was there!”

“You were there on your honeymoon,” Adam said quietly. And then he turned, fastening his tie and fixing the studs in his cuffs. “I’m afraid, Eva, that you must decline your sister’s invitation. I see no reason why you shouldn’t go for a few days if you wish. But you are not staying away from me for three months.”

She was amazed. Amazed, but not unduly perturbed. “But Malie is my
sister!”
she cried. “You let me visit Mama and Papa in town. Why won’t you let me visit my sister?”

“You may visit her for a week. That is quite long enough.”

“But it isn’t long enough!” She was so cross she nearly stamped her foot. Then she remembered the way she used to handle Papa and she glided over to Adam and curled her head against his shoulder. “Please, Adam. I should so love to see my sister—and her babies too.”

“You shall see them. For a week.”

“But I stayed with Mama and Papa for a month last winter!”

“It was a mistake. Too long. You won’t be away from me that long again.”

“Why?” She was nearly crying with frustration.

“Because you are not old enough or responsible enough or sensible enough to be away for too long. And anyway, I need you here.” He turned away to the mirror and began to brush his hair.

“But—you don’t need me! I’ll tell the servants how to look after you. They did it beautifully last winter. They’ll cook for you just the same!”

Cool green eyes regarded her quizzically in the mirror. “I wasn’t thinking of my food,” he said dryly, and he grinned in such a common way that she flushed.

“You are so very vulgar,” she said stiffly.

“Yes. But you are not going to Budapest for longer than a week.”

“Then I shall not go at all!”

“As you wish.”

“I think you are mean and selfish and—” Frustration proved too much and angry tears burst from her.

Adam patted her shoulder affectionately, dried her tears with his fingers, and said consolingly, “You’ll feel better when you’ve cried, Eva. Then when you’ve finished we’ll go and have our supper.”

She screamed at him, hit him, cried again, allowed herself to be soothed, and later that night tried to bribe him with her body, all to no avail. And because she didn’t wish to lose face with Mama, she had to write and say she couldn’t bear to leave Adam for so long and would just spend a week in Budapest. Then she sulked and spoke only when necessary to Adam until the time came for her departure, trying to force him to relent. Her fury was increased because Adam didn’t even appear to notice he was being punished.

Both girls were quiet when they arrived in Budapest. Kati seemed overawed and unable to believe that she was away from her husband and mother-in-law. But Eva—when she saw the way Amalia lived—was consumed with a bitter and corrosive envy.

Malie and David Klein had a nine-room apartment in the fashionable Fifth District, in Pannonia Street. Set round a courtyard of trees and flowers, with a red stone fountain playing in the centre, the whole block was elegant and expensive. So was Malie. Since her marriage they had only seen her up at the farm, and mostly she had been pregnant. Now, in her own setting, the new, luxurious, cosmopolitan setting her husband had provided, she suddenly seemed... what? Sophisticated? No, not that, but—grown up.

The apartment was so beautiful it made Eva hate her own country bungalow that she had spent so much money in refurnishing. Malie’s apartment was filled with pictures and hanging carpets, with books, even a grand piano. And the people who came to the apartment were different from any Eva had ever met before: painters and writers, politicians, the editor of an intellectual left-wing newspaper, a psychiatrist, an English actor, a Polish pianist, all gathered together eating and drinking and talking, and in their midst Malie moved with friendly ease, warm, witty, gracious, as though she had known these people all her life.

The bitterness grew because she—the enchanting Eva Ferenc—didn’t seem to be as popular with these smart city people as she was in her own provincial society. She looked beautiful, she knew that. Since marriage she had fined down, and the short skirts now worn revealed that Eva’s legs were as well shaped as the rest of her. She even went out on the second day and had her hair bobbed, wanting to prove by such drastic action that she was still the more fashionable, the more lively, the more
moderne
of the Ferenc girls. And that evening as she walked into Malie’s sitting-room, waiting for praise and compliments and admiration, she found nothing but politeness and the chance to sit and listen to more of David Klein’s boring friends talking about the economic situation.

It was the same whomever she talked to. She, who knew so well how to flirt, how to make society conversation fascinating, how to tilt an ordinary commonplace remark into something amusing and vaguely naughty, found she didn’t understand the way these people spoke. She became bored and irritable, and finally she ceased making an effort to join in the evening and went and sat beside Kati, whispering in her ear about clothes and Felix and what parties they would give this summer.

The whole week was like that, more and more disappointing, so disappointing she could have cried. Wherever they went—coffee at Gerbeaud, cocktails at the Bristol, tea on Margaret Island—it was the same. People, men and women, would rush over, kiss Malie’s hand, and talk about dreary, uninteresting, boring things like picture exhibitions and articles in the press, things that were nothing to do with
people
at all.

Her depression and disgust grew with the realization that Kati—dull, dreary old Kati!—was enjoying it more than she was. Oh, she didn’t talk or join in anything, but she listened. And when Eva tried to gain her attention at a luncheon because she was so bored, Kati hushed her because someone was talking. When, at the end of the week, Malie said how sad it was that Eva must go home she was unable to control her rancour.

“Heavens!” she said, laughing shrilly. “I’m glad it’s Kati staying for three months and not me! Kati doesn’t seem to be quite as bored as I am. Who would have expected Budapest to be boring!”

When she saw Malie’s distressed expression she felt even worse.

“Oh, darling!” said Malie. “I did want you to enjoy it all! I felt so sorry you were only here for a week, that’s why I arranged so many parties and invited all these people for you to meet. I know how much you love company and meeting people.”

“It’s been lovely seeing you and the boys, Malie,” she replied feebly. “And David has been kind. It’s just...”

It was all too much—the disappointment of the holiday, the fact that she had to return to the country in February, Malie’s apparent happiness and contentment with her married life—it was too much and she burst into swift, heartbreaking sobs. Instantly Malie’s arms were round her, all concern and anxiety. “Oh, darling! What is it? Are you unhappy? Don’t you want to go home? Are you missing Adam? What is it, Eva?”

“It’s nothing.” She scrubbed a handkerchief over her face. “Just—oh, I don’t mean to begrudge you anything, Malie. I’m sure you deserve it all, but you seem to have... to have everything!” She bowed her head and sobbed louder. “You have everything! And I have nothing!”

“Nothing?”

“Oh!” Eva waved a deprecating hand. “That horrible old farmhouse isn’t anything like this, you know it isn’t. And we began so differently, didn’t we? You had a honeymoon in Vienna and Paris; I came to Budapest. And Adam won’t buy a motorcar or a flat in the town for the winter! He’s no fun, Malie. You remember how stodgy he always was; can you imagine how dreary it is living with him all the time? And Madame Kaldy doesn’t like me. Every time I go and see Felix she’s rude and unpleasant to me. I hate it there! If it wasn’t for Felix—” She felt Malie’s arm leave her shoulder and looked up to see that Malie was staring at her, an expression of disbelief on her face

“Oh, no, Eva, not after all these years! Married to Adam, and still you carry that absurd obsession for Felix in your heart. How can you? You see how unhappy he has made poor Kati, how he ignores her, and still you hanker for him.”

“You don’t understand,” she mumbled. “He didn’t want to marry Kati. He told me so himself. It was because of the estate. If Papa had had the money he would have married me. I know he would.”

“But he didn’t marry you, Eva,” Amalia said slowly. “He didn’t ask you to marry him, and Adam did. You had a choice. No one forced you to marry Adam.”

“It was the only way I could be with Felix!” she screamed. “Kati didn’t count. He only wanted her money, and I had to be with him the only way I could!”

She was sobbing and crying so loudly she didn’t hear the little moan that was almost a grunt from the other side of the room. But Malie heard and looked across. Kati, smiling painfully, apologetically, was standing inside the door. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I heard Eva crying and I wanted to do something. I shouldn’t have come in.... I’m sorry....”

Amalia’s face was white and Eva felt a faint twinge of unease. Suddenly Malie looked like Papa in one of his rages.

“Of course you should have come in, Kati. When Eva makes enough noise to disturb the entire house, anyone has a right to come in.”

“I didn’t mean—” began Eva.

“Eva has been behaving very badly and feeling sorry for herself, Kati. That is why she spoke so unkindly about you. She didn’t mean to be rude or vindictive, did you, Eva?”

Suddenly Eva was really afraid. Malie’s usually gentle eyes were blazing and she was looking at Eva as though she hated her. Malie, her own sister, the one person in the world who loved her no matter what she said or did; now Malie had turned against her. Nobody understood. Nobody sympathized or wanted to help her.

“It’s all right,” said Kati, staring down at the carpet. “I understand. I understand about everything.”

They were all quiet. Even Eva ceased to make a noise; she just sat on the edge of her bed picking at her handkerchief. The traffic outside seemed particularly loud, the noise of wheels sloshing through melted snow echoing in the ravine between the tall buildings.

“I’m sorry, Kati,” Eva said finally.

“It’s all right.”

“I mean—I don’t suppose it was true, the things I said.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I—” She began to cry again, because she didn’t like the feeling that Malie and Kati were cross with her. She relied on Malie so much, and in a curious way Kati’s adoration was also necessary. “I’m sorry to have been so horrible,” she wept. “It’s just—oh, Malie, you seem so
happy.
You have your two boys, and David
adores
you.”

“I am sure Adam adores you,” Malie replied, melting slightly.

“Yes. But I was married before you—and I have no children.” Inspired, she turned to Kati, anxious to enlist Kati as an ally in any cause at all. “And we get so tired of Madame Kaldy being spiteful because she has no grandchildren, don’t we, Kati? Really, Malie, you have no idea of her continual goading: ‘Two daughters-in-law, neither of whom seem prepared to provide me with a grandchild’—that’s all we hear, isn’t it, Kati?”

Kati didn’t answer, but the ruse had worked because Amalia could understand that Eva might be unhappy about not having any children.

“I’m sure you’ll both have children soon,” she comforted.

“I shan’t.”

They both turned to look at Kati. Her lumpy, plain face was expressionless.

“Of course you will, darling. One day—”

“It’s impossible.”

The traffic noise had ceased; a momentary lull of cars and carriages made the room silent again. This time the silence was ominous and neither Eva nor Amalia were able to move or say anything. Malie had a swift backward recollection of the three of them together in a bedroom once before, all looking in a mirror: Eva and Kati both in white dresses, one so lovely, the other so plain.

“Madame Kaldy blames me. She says I am infertile. And I cannot bring myself to tell her that there is no way of knowing if I am or am not.”