Destiny (14 page)

Edouard stared at him in confusion. Jean-Paul put his arm around his shoulders and laughed.

"Don't you understand, little brother? Don't you see? It's terrible news, of course, but America will come in now. It's only a matter of time! We shall win the war after all. ..."

Across the room, the French ambassador, in white tie and tails, rose with a flourish. "Madame . . ."He bowed to Louise. "With your permission? I shall propose a toast." He lifted his glass, and everyone in the room stood up. "The Americans. Our new allies!"

"The Americans ..."

"The Yanks. God bless them." Isobel drained her glass.

"Such a relief, after all this time. Really, I feel quite proud. . . ." Louise smiled at the English banker who stood by her side. She rested one hand lightly and absentmindedly on his sleeve. Hugo Glendinning, watching this exchange, turned away to the window.

Jean-Paul ruffled Edouard's hair affectionately. "Little brother ..." He grinned. "Where the devil did you get that appalling tie?"

The following evening, Jean-Paul set about celebrating Edouard's birthday in the manner he considered appropriate. He organized a motley party of British and French officers, prevailed upon Isobel to rally a group of her prettier debutante friends, and booked seats for the new and undemanding hit at His Majesty's Theatre— Lady Behave.

"If there's a bloody raid, we'll just damn well ignore it," he announced to Edouard before he left. "On to the Cafe Royal for supper afterward, and then—on to a few other places I have in mind. Minus the ladies."

He gestured around the group of men who were knocking back whiskies in the Eaton Square drawing room. "Have to get a few in before the

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women join us. You know everyone? Pierre. Francois. Binky, Sandy. Chog."

Edouard looked around the group of young men. He was the only one in evening dress, the only one not in uniform. Jean-Paul moved away to supervise Parsons' dispensing of the drinks, which he considered slow, and the man addressed as Chog came across, gazed at Edouard fixedly, then lifted his glass.

"Tally-ho. Down the hatch. Your birthday, Jean says. Jolly good show."

He swallowed the remaining whisky in one gulp, went red in the face, and moved off smartly in the direction of Parsons. It was at that point that the women came in. Edouard looked from them to the assembled men with a sinking heart.

As if to spite Jean-Paul, Isobel, who had many decorative friends, had, this evening, selected the plainest. They stood bunched in a group by the door, living evidence that aU Louise's remarks about the dowdiness of London society women had merit. Five plump girls in unflattering frocks; one tall thin one, with a narrow clever face, her angular figure encased in a hideous brocade. Isobel, who was looking radiant and rebelhous, had clearly chosen them with great care. They looked as dismayed by the men as the men clearly were by them: the two groups met with hostile stares. Jean-Paul flushed with anger.

"Darling—I'll do the introductions, leave it to me." Isobel sailed forward with a dazzhng smile. "Harriet, this is Binky. Binky, this is Anne, and Charlotte, and Elizabeth—goodness, this is complicated, I'm sure you all know one another already. Chog, how simply lovely to see you. It's been too long. ..."

She held out her hand to Chog, alias Lord Vvyan Knollys, but Chog to his friends since preparatory school. Her smile grew even more radiant, and Edouard suppressed a groan. Chog was one of Isobel's pet hates; she could discourse on his failings—and often did—for hours.

Across the room, Jean-Paul, his face set, was bowing over the hand of the tall thin girl. Lady Anne Kneale; both he and Edouard had met her before, for she was one of Isobel's oldest friends. Jean-Paul dishked her, if that were possible, almost as much as Isobel disliked Chog. He was now making a steely and determined effort not to let that dislike show. Edouard turned away, suppressing a smile. The atmosphere, he felt, did not augur well for the evening.

By the time they all reached the theater in a fleet of cars and taxis, Isobel's face had set in that fixed and glittering smile, and Edouard knew it meant trouble. He suspected Jean-Paul did, too, for he was more than usually assertive. They arrived late, and the show had already started.

DESTINY • 93

Jean-Paul interpreted this as an especial rudeness on the part of the management.

"I've seen this show four times," he announced loudly as they all gathered in the foyer. "They know me backstage. You'd think they'd have the courtesy to hold the curtain for five minutes, damn it. . . ."

"Twenty minutes, darling." Isobel put her arm through Edouard's. "And I can't see that it matters in the least. It's the silliest show in London, isn't it, Anne?"

"It has quite a lot of competition, but actually, you might be right. . . ."

Anne Kneale drawled the words in a way clearly designed to provoke. She and Isobel exchanged glances. Jean-Paul flushed.

"Well, I like it. Edouard will enjoy it. Now, let's get a move on, shall we?"

"I wonder why Jean likes it so much?" Isobel's cheek brushed Edouard's shoulder; the emerald eyes flashed up at him mockingly. "I can't imagine, can you, Anne? Can you, httle brother?"

During the first half of the show the men in their party were loudly responsive and the women muted. Isobel hardly bothered to look at the stage. She sat next to Edouard, and fluttered her program, and stared around the house, and all the time she rested her thigh against his. At one point there were nudgings and muffled whisperings from the men as one young actress made her first entrance, and Jean-Paul lifted his opera glasses and focused them on the stage ostentatiously. Chog laughed, and Isobel put her hand with its emerald ring on Edouard's thigh. She turned her head.

"Do you know, Edouard, I really don't think I can bear this," she said in a low distinct voice.

To his own surprise Edouard took her hand in his and pressed it. He held it until the intermission came, and they all withdrew to the bar for champagne.

"Jolly little piece, what?" Chog propped himself against the bar and smiled at Edouard with the kindliness derived from considerable quantities of alcohol. "Not too demanding, you know? I like that. Nothing too serious. Serious theater makes my balls ache."

Frangois and Pierre started a complicated argument in French as to whether or not such a play could be performed in Paris, and, if so, whether or not it might appeal to a boulevardier audience. Isobel set down her glass of champagne untasted, and disappeared to the ladies' room. After some

94 • SALLY BEAUMAN

hesitation her friends accompanied her. The minute the women had gone, the men relaxed.

"You saw her?" Jean-Paul turned to the man called Sandy, who was wearing the uniform of the Brigade of Guards. "The little one in the last scene—the one with the lovely eyes? She's new. She wasn't in it last time I came."

"I told you. I know her. Not worth the bother." Sandy sighed.

"How do you know?"

"Tried it. No dice. Rather a prissy girl. Gets on her high horse at the drop of a hat. Frightfully boring."

"You'd like to bet on that?"

Jean-Paul's face had its muhsh look. Sandy shrugged.

"My dear fellow. By all means try. Maybe your Galhc charm will win the day. It has been known."

"Awfully thin." Chog outlined a more impressive female form with his hands. "I wouldn't bother, old chap."

"I like her eyes." Jean-Paul was not to be swayed. "She has beautiful eyes. Violet eyes."

"She's called Violet." Sandy yawned. "Not enormously original, is it?"

"Violet eyes make my balls ache," said Chog in the manner of one setthng the matter.

"Send your card 'round," said the one called Binky helpfully. "Never know your luck."

"My friend ..." Jean-Paul put his arm around him. "That is exactly, but exactly, what I plan to do."

He drew his card out of his uniform pocket and was still in the process of writing something on it when Fran§ois gave a cough, and Pierre nudged him. Isobel had returned.

She stood looking at them all for a moment, her friends hovering in the background. Then she gave them her most ravishing smile.

"The most extraordinary thing has happened," she said brightly. "Do you know, I've developed an allergy to this play? I really don't think I could possibly sit through the second half. In fact, by the oddest coincidence, we all feel the same way." She gestured to the group of young women behind her. Anne Kneale laughed, and Isobel glanced at her reprovingly.

"So, we've all decided to leave you, and just jump in the cars and go home. No! Don't say a single word. This is Edouard's birthday, and I wouldn't have that spoiled for anything. So you just go back in and forget us altogether. Darling Edouard ..." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Happy Birthday. I hope you have a lovely evening. . . ."

She turned, disappeared through the throng at the bar, and was gone.

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There was a moment's silence. The men looked at one another. Edouard looked at the floor.

"Tant pis. " Jean-Paul, unruffled, finished writing on his card. He beckoned to the barman; the card and a five-pound note exchanged hands. Jean-Paul turned around. He smiled.

"And now, now, mes amis, we start to enjoy ourselves. Yes?"

Jean-Paul was an habitue of numerous fashionable restaurants and clubs in the West End of London. Since he was who he was, and had a reputation as a big spender and lavish tipper, he was welcomed fulsomely in spite of the fact that his parties often became a little wild. The places he favored all had a clientele that was chic, rich, and slightly louche. A mixture of officers, London society, black marketeers, actresses, and chorus girls—that was the sort of companionship Jean-Paul favored. He haunted the Caprice, the Ivy, and the Cafe Royal, and, if the evening went on, and promised well, the notorious Four Hundred. He was an easily satisfied customer. A good table, assiduous service, plenty to drink, beautiful women within view, tinkling piano music, if possible a small dance floor: this was enough; Jean-Paul was content. He liked the Cafe Royal, he said, because he always had a good time there. With its elaborate mirrors and scurrying waiters, it reminded him of the Dome or the Coupole—it reminded him of Paris.

Tonight, as his party were obsequiously ushered to their table, he was in high good humor. He had won the first part, at least, of his bet. Trooping along with him were five fellow officers, Edouard, and two women. The prettier, who had three lines in Lady Behave, must be Violet, Edouard thought, for she had violet eyes. The plainer seemed to be there to give Violet moral support. She was, she confided to Edouard, in the theatrical profession herself, but just beginning. In Lady Behave she was a walking understudy. The war had hit the theatrical profession very badly, she told him, very badly indeed. The best you could hope for, really, was a tour entertaining troops.

Jean-Paul was noisily determined that Edouard was going to have a good time. He insisted Edouard sit between the two young women, Violet on his left and Irene—a name he pronounced in the French manner, very gallantly—on Edouard's right. Jean-Paul himself sat opposite them, and the other young men arranged themselves as they pleased.

Irene giggled. "Oh, doesn't it sound lovely the way he says it, Vi? Much more romantic. There's a Frenchman for you."

"How do you say it?" Edouard said gallantly, his spirits sinking.

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"I. Re. Ne." She giggled again. "Horrible, isn't it? I never liked it myself, but there you are, you're stuck with the name God gave you, aren't you? Some's lucky, some's not. Take Violet now. I think that's a lovely name, don't you? Especially when you've got eyes to match. I said to the other girls, I said—you shouldn't call her Vi, you really shouldn't. It's a crying shame. But what can you do? Vi she was, and Vi she stuck. ..."

Edouard turned to look at Violet curiously. She had said nothing since she had joined them at the stage door, and she was now sitting silently. One thin hand was clutching the stem of her champagne glass; the other was crumbling a bread roll. She was very pretty, he thought, though not the type Jean-Paul usually favored. She was terribly thin, with small deh-cate bones, wrists he could easily have circled with finger and thumb. She had a tiny heart-shaped face, softly waved brown hair. She was pretty enough, but not startlingly so, until she looked up and you saw the eyes that had attracted Jean-Paul's notice. They were huge, thickly fringed with dark lashes, and the color of pansies; they looked slightly dreamy, and also slightly afraid. Edouard looked at the eyes, the thin wrists, the slightly shabby frock of pale mauve silk, the wilting rose she had pinned to her neckline, and he felt pity rise. She looked a bom victim; he hoped desperately that Jean-Paul would leave her alone.

'T say. Miss Fortescue. Violet, isn't it? May I call you Violet?" On her other side Chog leaned forward. "That was a frightfully good show, you know. We all thought so. Frightfully good."

"Did you think so?" The violet eyes lifted slowly to Chog's face. Her voice was soft, well-educated, quite different from Irene's raucous tones.

"I'll say. And you, too, of course. Frightfully good." Chog's fund of compliments exhausted, he cast around wildly for another topic of conversation. "Must be jolly good fun, being an actress. Frightfully hard. Never know how you manage it. Learning all those lines."

"Three lines isn't terribly taxing."

"What? Oh, gosh. Yes. Well. Was it only three? Thought it was far more than that."

"How kind. I must have said them especially well."

Edouard glanced at her with renewed interest. There was not a hint of a smile; she appeared completely serious. Chog, unsure if he was being teased, hesitated, and then laughed. The champagne arrived, Irene claimed Edouard's attention once more, and he heard no more of the fragments of conversation from his right.

Francois, Pierre, and Jean-Paul began a heated conversation about the progress of the war: exactly when the Americans could be expected to come in; whether the Boches would ever take Moscow; whether Rommel would take Tobruk; whether any of them would see France free again.