Inevitable (21 page)

S
HE HAD SUDDENLY GONE PALE
as if seized by a powerful emotion. She covered her face with her waving fan and her fingers trembled violently; her whole body shuddered.

“That is a beautiful thought,” said Mrs Holt. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I always find a particular charm in Dutch people. There is that vagueness that we find so elusive, and then a sudden light that flashes as if from a cloud … I hope to meet you again. I am at home every Tuesday at five o’clock. Would you drop in sometime with Mrs Uxeley?”

“Certainly, with great pleasure …”

Mrs Holt proffered a hand, which she shook, and disappeared among the other guests. Cornélie had got up, her knees unsteady. She stood there, half turned towards the room, looking in the mirror. Her fingers played with the orchids in a Venetian glass on the console. She was still a little pale, but she controlled herself, though her heart was pounding and her chest heaving. She looked in the mirror and saw first her own figure, her slender beautiful shape in her black and white chantilly outfit, with its white lace train, foaming with flounces; the black lace tunic over it was scalloped and strewn with steel sequins and blue stones with a spray of orchids on her completely sleeveless corsage, which left her neck, arms and shoulders bare. Her hair was held in place by three
Greek pearl bands, and her white feather fan—a present from Urania—was as light as foam against her neck. In the mirror she saw first herself and then
him
. He approached her. She did not move, only her fingers played with the flowers in the glass. She had an impulse to flee, but her knees were shaking and her feet seemed paralysed. She seemed rooted to the spot, as if hypnotised. She could not move. And she saw him coming closer and closer, while her back was half turned to the room. He approached and in so doing seemed to emit a web in which she was trapped. Mechanically she looked up and her eyes met his in the mirror. She thought she would faint. She felt wedged between him and the glass. In the mirror the room revolved, the candles whirled giddily, like a dancing firmament. He still said nothing. Then in the unbearably narrow space between him and the mirror, which did not even protect her as a wall might have done, but reflected him so that he seemed to have caught her twice over, from two directions at one—she slowly turned and looked him in the eye, but did not speak either. They surveyed each other in silence.

“You never thought … you’d ever see me here,” he said at last.

It was over a year since she had heard his voice. But she felt it inside her.

“No,” she said at last, haughty, cold and distant. “Although I saw you a few times, in town, on the Jetée.”

“Yes,” he said. “Should I have said hello, do you think?”

She shrugged her bare shoulders, and he looked at them. She felt for the first time that she was half-naked that evening.

“No,” she replied, still cold and distant. “Just as you needn’t have spoken to me just now.”

He smiled at her. He stood before her like a wall. Like a man. His head, his shoulders, his chest, his legs, his whole figure loomed in front of her in their intense masculinity.

“Naturally I didn’t need to,” he replied, and she felt his voice inside her, and she felt the sound of him pouring into her like molten bronze into a vase. “And if I’d met you somewhere in Holland, I would have simply taken off my hat, but not talked to you. But we’re in a foreign country here …”

“What has that got to do with it?”

“I felt like talking to you … I wanted a talk with you. Can we do that as strangers?”

“Strangers …” she repeated.

“Well, all right, we’re not strangers. In fact, we are surprisingly intimately acquainted, aren’t we? Come and sit next to me and tell me how you’ve been getting on. Did you like Rome …”

“Yes,” she said.

As if by willpower he had guided her towards a chaise-longue behind a Louis XV screen, half damask, half glass—and she sank down into a rosy twilight of candles, surrounded by bouquets of pink roses in all kinds of Venetian glasses. He sat down on a pouf, leaning slightly towards her, arms across his knees, hands folded.

“There was quite a lot of talk about you in The Hague. First about your pamphlet. And then about your painter.”

Her eyes bored into him like needles. He laughed.

“You can look just as angry as you used to. Tell me, do you still hear from your family? They’re in a bad way.”

“Now and then. I was able to send them some money recently.”

“That’s damned nice of you. They don’t deserve it. They said that you’d ceased to exist for them.”

“Mama wrote to say they had such terrible money worries. So I sent a hundred guilders. I couldn’t afford any more.”

“Oh, now they see you send money, I expect you’ll exist for them again.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t care about that. I felt sorry for them. I was sorry I couldn’t send more.”

“No, not if you look so extraordinarily chic …”

“I don’t pay for this …”

“I just mention it in passing. I’m not venturing to criticise. I think it’s damned nice of you to send money. But you’re still extraordinarily chic. Listen, shall I tell you something. You’ve grown into a damned beautiful woman.”

He looked at her with that smile of his, which she had to look at. Then she answered very calmly, waving her fan lightly over her bare neck, concealed in the froth of her fan:

“I’m damned pleased you think so.”

He guffawed loudly.

“Right, I like that, you’re still good at witty repartee. Always on the ball. Damned good show!”

She got up, nervous, her face contorted.

“I must leave you, I have to go to Mrs Uxeley.”

He spread his arms a little.

“Stay and sit for a bit. It’s a tonic talking to you.”

“Restrain yourself a bit then and don’t ‘damn’ so much. I’m not used to it any more.”

“I’ll do my best, if you stay.”

She flopped down and hid behind her fan.

“Let me say then that you really have become a very, very beautiful woman. Is that what you call a compliment?”

“It’s more like it.”

“Well, I can’t do any better than that, you know. You’ll have to make do with that. So tell me something about Rome. What was your life like there?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’m interested.”

“You’ve no business to be interested in me …”

“No, but I just am. I’ve never forgotten you completely. And I’d be amazed if you’d forgotten me.”

“Completely,” she said coolly.

He looked at her with that smile of his. He did not reply, but she sensed that he knew better. She was afraid to go on trying to persuade him.

“Is it true what they say in The Hague? About Van der Staal?”

She looked at him loftily.

“Well, tell me …”

“Yes …”

“My, you’re a shameless one. Don’t you care about anything any more?”

“No …”

“And how are you getting on here, with the old woman?”

“How do you mean?”

“Do they accept that just like that here in Nice?”

“I don’t flaunt my independence and my behaviour here is beyond reproach.”

“Where is Van der Staal?”

“In Florence.”

“Why isn’t he here? …”

“I don’t feel like giving any more answers. You’re being indiscreet. It’s no business of yours and I won’t be interrogated.”

She became very agitated and got up again. He stretched out his arms.

“Really, Rudolf, let me go,” she begged him. “I must see Mrs Uxeley. They’re dancing a
pavane
in the ballroom and I have to receive and give some orders. Let me go.”

“I’ll take you then. May I offer you my arm.”

“Rudolf, please go away. Can’t you see how nervous you’re making me? It was so unexpected meeting you again here. Please go away, leave me alone, otherwise I won’t be able to keep up appearances. I’ll start crying. Why did you speak to me, why did you come here, where you knew you would meet me?”

“Because I wanted to see one of Mrs Uxeley’s parties,
and
because I wanted to meet you.”

“Surely you realise that seeing you again makes me nervous. What good does that do you? We’re dead for each other … What’s the point of taunting me like this …”

“That’s precisely what I’d like to know. Whether we’re dead for each other.”

“Dead, dead, completely dead!” she cried violently.

He laughed.

“Come on, stop being so theatrical. Surely you can understand that I was curious to see you again and talk to you. I saw you in the streets, in your carriage, on the Jetée, and I liked seeing you looking so good, so chic, so happy, and so lovely. You know that I simply have a great weakness for beautiful women. You’re much lovelier than you were when you were my wife. If you had been as you are now back then, I would never have divorced you … Come on, don’t be childish. No one knows us here. I think it’s damn wonderful to meet you here, to chat to you and give you my arm. Take my arm. Stop nagging and I’ll take you where you have to go. Where will we find Mrs Uxeley? … Introduce me … as an acquaintance from Holland …”

“Rudolf …”

“Come on, I want to, stop nagging. What harm will it do? It amuses me, and it’s fun walking around with your ex-wife at a ball in Nice. Wonderful town, isn’t it? I go to Monte Carlo every day, and I’ve been damn lucky. Won three thousand francs yesterday. Do you fancy coming with me …?”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“I’m not out of my mind. I want to enjoy myself. And I’m proud to have you on my arm.”

She pulled her arm free.

“There’s nothing for you to be proud about …”

“Now don’t get spiteful, I’m just joking; let’s enjoy ourselves. There’s the old woman … She’s looking for you.”

She had gone through a number of rooms on his arm and at a tombola, where people were jostling to win gifts
and trinkets, they saw Mrs Uxeley, Gilio and the ladies Rosavilla, Costi and Luca. They were very cheerful, acting like children round the pyramid of baubles, when the roulette wheel had come up with their number.

“Mrs Uxeley,” Cornélie began, her voice trembling. “May I introduce a compatriot of mine, Baron Brox …”

Mrs Uxeley fluttered, and said a few friendly words, and asked if he would like to draw a number … The roulette wheel spun …

“A countryman of yours, Cornélie?”

“Yes, Mrs Uxeley.”

“How do you … say his name?”

“Baron Brox …”

“A splendid fellow! A handsome man! An amazingly handsome specimen. What is he, what does he do?”

“He’s an officer, a first lieutenant …”

“What regiment?”

“Hussars …”

“In The Hague?”

“In The Hague.”

“An amazingly handsome fellow. I like big, strong men like that …”

“Mrs Uxeley, is everything going as planned?’

“Yes, darling.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“I’m having a few twinges, but it’s all right.”

“Shouldn’t they be dancing the
pavane
soon?”

“Yes, make sure the girls go and change. The hairdresser has brought the wigs for the young people, hasn’t he?”

“Yes …”

“Gather the youngsters together then and tell them to hurry. They must begin in the next half hour …”

Rudolf Brox came back from the tombola, where he had won a silver matchbox. He thanked Mrs Uxeley, who fluttered, and when he saw Cornélie moving away, he followed her.

“Cornélie …”

“Please, Rudolf, leave me; I have to collect the girls and young people for the
pavane
. I’m very busy …”

“I’ll help you …”

She beckoned a pair of girls, told a couple of servants to find the young people in the various rooms and tell them to make their way to the dressing-rooms. He could see that she was pale and trembling all over.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired.”

“Let’s go and have a drink then.”

She was beside herself with nervousness. The music of the invisible orchestra pounded ferociously in her brain. And the countless candles sometimes spun before her eyes like a dancing firmament. The rooms were crammed full. People bustled, laughed loudly, showed each other their gifts, trod on ladies’ trains. An intoxicating, oppressive atmosphere of flowers and festivities and tepid perfumed femininity hung like a cloud. Cornélie went hither and thither, looking, and had finally collected the girls. The master of ceremonies came to ask her something. A steward came to ask her something. And Brox did not budge from her side.

“Let’s go and have a drink now …” he repeated.

She took his arm mechanically and her hand trembled
on his black sleeve. He pushed through the throng with her and they passed Urania and De Breuil. Urania said a few words that Cornélie did not catch. The buffet-room was also crowded, buzzing with high-pitched laughing voices. The steward stood behind the long tables like a minister. He controlled the whole process of serving. There was no pushing and shoving, no fighting for a glass of wine or a roll. People waited until a lackey presented what they had ordered.

“Everything is well organised,” said Brox. “Is it all your work …?”

“No it’s been like this for years …”

She slumped into a chair, looking pale.

“What do you want?”

“A glass of champagne.”

“I’m hungry. It was a poor dinner in my hotel. I want something to eat.”

He ordered the champagne for her. First he had a pie, then another, and then a chateaubriand steak with petits pois. He drank a couple of glasses of red wine, and then a glass of champagne. The lackey brought him everything one at a time on a silver salver. His handsome, virile face had a brick-red hue and an animal strength. The tough hair on his massive round head was cut short all over. His large grey eyes were smiling, with a clear, direct, impudent look. A heavy, well-tended moustache, full and luxuriant, sat above a mouth full of sparkling white teeth. He stood with his feet slightly apart, with a military solidity about his tailcoat, which he wore with simple correctness. He ate slowly and with relish, savouring his good glass of fine wine.

Involuntarily she watched him from her chair. She had drunk a glass of champagne and asked for a second, and this stimulus revived her. Her cheeks regained some of their colour, her eyes sparkled.