The Numbered Account (41 page)

‘Oh, very well indeed.' Julia expressed satisfaction; he offered her a cigarette, and lit it for her.

‘Of course from time to time there arrive
des embêtements',
he pursued, confidentially. ‘One expects to bring off a
coup
, and behold, something goes wrong at the last moment.' (Like Hell it does! Julia thought to herself. But obviously the Frau had at least not described her.) She spoke sympathetically, and ventured the hope that he had experienced no serious contretemps?—she was burning with curiosity to hear what else he would say. Herr Kaufmann shrugged philosophically. These things were all in the day's work—only one did not like to disappoint clients.

Julia, who had so successfully caused two of his clients to be disappointed, made appropriate sounds—again, it seemed uncanny that he should be telling her this. The little man then asked politely how she was enjoying her
séjour
in Switzerland?—and added ‘Now this time, Mademoiselle really
must
see Mont Blanc! It is a perfect day—all the peaks are clear.'

In fact it was a perfect day. The weather had lifted, and the Lake of Geneva shone a brilliant blue in the sun; at the right spot, this time, the little ‘Corsette-Air' man pointed out to Julia Europe's highest mountain, standing up like a vast pearl, projecting into the blue sky above the blue water. She looked at it with delight.

At Lausanne she got a porter and was making her way to the platform for Bellardon when suddenly Jean-Pierre
appeared, waving his black felt hat above his so un-clerical grey flannel suit.

‘Ah, there you are! I came on the chance; I had to be in Lausanne this morning, but I could not meet the earlier train, which we thought you might take.' Julia explained about taking Mrs. Hathaway to her hotel, and apologised for not having telephoned—‘I really didn't know exactly when I should arrive; and when I found out, there wasn't time to ring up. I am so sorry.'

‘Do not torment yourself! Germaine is an adept at keeping late lunches for me—cold, or in casseroles. Do you call these hot-pots?'

‘No—a hot-pot is a special kind of food: we call those dishes with lids casseroles too.' As they sped through the green fruitful countryside she asked after all the family; Jean-Pierre in his turn informed her that the Banque Républicaine had formally announced to him the recovery of the whole of Aglaia Armitage's fortune.

‘The old de Kessler signed the letter, but it was not very informative, so I rang up Maurice Chambertin; like all bankers he was extremely cautious, but he allowed me to gain the impression that you had played a considerable rôle in this affair; and when I told him that you were coming to visit us, he said—“Ask of her.” So now I do ask you.'

‘Well really June played a much larger rôle than me,' Julia said. ‘However, this is how it was'—and she gave him the whole story.

‘Made the exchange in the
toilette
! That was very
rusé!'
the Pastor exclaimed on hearing about Andermatt; he bellowed with laughter when Julia recounted her
triage
of the papers in the ladies' lavatory at the Fluss, and laughed more loudly still when she described how she had hidden the documents in a churn half-way up the Niederhorn. ‘Really, you should have one of the English decorations for this! You have earned it.'

Julia couldn't bear to go into the subject of decorations, because she and John had laughed about them together. Instead, she asked if the police had been after June in any
way? ‘Of course she is involved, up to a point; she did impersonate Aglaia, and made false statements at the bank—but I tried to keep her out of trouble.'

No, there had been no difficulties, he told her. ‘As La Cure is not registered as an hotel—though often it very much resembles one—I do not have to show the passports of my guests to the police, who in any case know me well. But I must say I feared trouble of some sort, since she was known to have been associated with that gang. How did you manage to avert it?'

‘Oh well, one way and another,' Julia said, with studied vagueness. ‘Your police are really very nice, I think.' She wanted to keep the Berne office out of it.

‘I expect they also think you very nice,' he said slyly.

They stopped in the nearest town to Bellardon for Jean-Pierre to make some household purchases for Germaine; Julia got out too, and stood in the little street in the hot sunshine, looking at the windows of the small shops, so curiously full of very up-to-date things. When the Pastor returned he threw his parcels into the back of the car; as he held open the door for her to get in he saw her face in the strong light.

‘You look exhausted!' he exclaimed—‘no, overstrained, rather. This whole affair must have worn on your nerves, I think?'

Julia agreed that it had been rather anxious work. She had not realised that her unhappiness actually showed in her face, and was upset.

‘Well, with us you shall rest, and restore yourself. At La Cure there is, thank God, always peace. Oh—have you the new passport for
la petite?'
he added, as they drove off.

‘Yes—its equivalent, anyhow. She can get home.'

When they arrived Germaine and June met them on the doorstep; Julia noticed the surprise in her host's face when the young girl threw her arms round her neck and kissed her, saying—‘Oh, it's simply
lovely
to see you again! And thank you for sending me here; I am so happy,' she added, with a grateful glance at her hostess. Germaine and June
had already eaten, but they sat with Julia and the Pastor while they consumed the soup, the cold veal with salad, and the cheese which awaited them. Germaine too commented on how tired Julia looked, and after coffee dispatched her to her room to rest.

‘No, June; you are not to go up now—you can talk with Miss Probyn later.'

‘I thought I might unpack for her,' June said. She was hobbling about quite actively with the aid of an ebonised stick shod with rubber, known as a
Kranken-Stock
, but she spoke perfectly unresentfully.

‘You shall help me with that when I've had a shut-eye, June,' Julia said. She went up to her old room, and before lying down looked out of the window. Washing still hung along the lines beside the lawn, little apples were beginning to swell in the orchard-trees; the lilacs and peonies were over, but the familiar benign sense of peace and kindness reigned. She threw open a suit-case, took out a wrapper, and removed her pretty linen suit; as she lay down to rest she murmured—‘Blessed place!'

She got an even stronger sense of the blessedness of La Cure from seeing June there. The little ill-educated English suburbanite, so many of her values completely shoddy, was the oddest possible inmate of that household; yet there she was, perfectly at home and as happy as a bird, with no sense of strain on any side—and moreover making herself quite useful. Germaine exercised on her the quiet discipline normal in those fortunate families where tradition is still strong; and June did as she was told, obviously with great contentment.

The child duly came up after tea to help Julia unpack, which she did briskly—Julia was again struck by her ease of movement on her bad foot. ‘How is your ankle? It seems much better,' she said.

‘Oh, it's wonderful! That surgeon or whatever he is, in Lawsanne, pulled it about—oh it did hurt!—and then he said I was to have massarge for it, every other day.'

‘But can you get massage here?' Julia asked.

‘No, but there's a very good massoose in that little town
where Mrs. de Ritter does her shopping, so they've been taking me in—I haven't missed a single day. They
are
kind! And the swelling's nearly all gone—look.'

Julia looked, as the girl held out her foot—the injured ankle had almost returned to the delicate perfection of the other one.

‘How excellent—I am so glad,' she said.

‘Yes, but how's it all to be paid for?' June asked, with her usual directness. ‘That surgeon!—and an English girl who came and stayed a night here told me that Swiss massooses charge the earth, in our money. And these people are
poor
, reelly,' June said, staring at Julia with wide eyes. ‘Look at Mrs. de Ritter!—up before six, and doing all the housework, as well as the cooking. I asked her why she didn't have a girl in to help, and she said she couldn't afford it. I don't want them to spend money on me.'

‘I've been given the cash to pay for all your medical expenses,' Julia said. ‘So you needn't worry.'

‘Who by?' June, true to type, was incredulous.

‘The bank,' Julia lied swiftly. ‘You gave me that tip about the bus-tour, and the papers were all recovered; and the bank people were so pleased that when I said your ankle needed treatment, they gave me the money I asked for. Everything's covered.'

‘Oh, I am glad. And that girl, the proper Miss Armitage, will have her money back all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘I can't think now how I ever came to do a thing like that,' June said thoughtfully, smoothing and folding sheets of tissue paper on the polished top of the heavy old walnut chest of drawers. ‘Mum said I was a silly to go in for it; but it was worse than silly, it was downright wicked, helping to steal another girl's money. Oh'—with one of her bird-like hops to a different subject—‘what's happened to Mr. B., and that nasty Wright?'

‘Mr. Borovali is in prison,' Julia replied deliberately.

‘What, for stealing the papers and the money?' June turned pale. ‘What about Wright? Is he in prison too?'

‘Not yet—he's in hospital with concussion,' Julia said—still, in spite of everything, relishing the recollected picture of Antrobus hurling that disagreeable young man into the Aar. ‘But he'll be put in prison too, as soon as he's well enough.'

‘Out here?'

‘Yes. The crime was committed here.

‘Oh!' June, still very pale, again stared at Julia, her brown eyes wide. ‘And what about me?' she asked. ‘Shall I have to go to prison too?'

‘I hope not—I've tried to prevent it. You see you did something that's called “turning King's Evidence”, and when a person does that—'

‘Oh, I
never!'
June interrupted indignantly. ‘That's when a wide boy gives away his pals! I never did anything like that.'

‘No, I don't suppose you would call Wright and Boro-vali your pals, exactly,' Julia said calmly. ‘But in fact you did, didn't you, at one point decide to help me instead of them—and told me about the bus-tour? That's what is letting you out.'

June began to cry.

‘Oh, I never thought I'd be called King's Evidence! That's a nasty thing!'

Julia was startled afresh by June's highly peculiar moral code—for clearly she had one, of a sort.

‘Which do you think is worst—to let down two crooks like Wright and Borovali, or to steal another girl's money?' she asked. ‘You did let them down, granted; but what you were helping them to do before you changed your mind was plain theft. Which is worst?
Think
, June—you don't think enough.'

June sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with, Julia noticed, the gentian-embroidered handerchief bought in Interlaken.

‘Oh yes—“Thou shalt not steal”—Dad was always saying that. Yes, the stealing was the worst, and I'm glad I helped to stop it. But “King's Evidence” is a nasty word to have tacked onto one!'

‘Do try to make up your own mind, June,' Julia said rather impatiently; ‘don't be fooled by words.' June's attitude to the phrase ‘King's Evidence' was, she thought, an astonishing example of the frightening power of certain words among the ill-educated—purely emotive, bearing no relation to morals or conduct. It was like the Trades Unions' idiotic use of the word ‘black', which is really only short for ‘blackmail'—of the public at large.

The girl's reply, when it came—after more sniffing and eye-dabbing—surprised Julia.

‘These people here, the de Ritters I mean, don't care a thing about money. I never knew anything like it! And they're good, and
enjoy
being good. Can you beat that? She's so beautiful, and she dresses quite well; but she does her hair in that fearfully old-fashioned way, and never uses lip-stick—she says the Pastor's congregation wouldn't like it. I will say, they make you think!'

‘Well have they made you think whether you did right or wrong to help me to recover Miss Armitage's fortune, which you set out to steal?' Julia asked remorselessly.

‘Oh yes, I'm sure now that that was right. Only “King's Evidence”
is
a nasty word.'

‘Well it's the word that will keep you out of prison, please God—nothing else will,' Julia said.

June said nothing more, but continued to unpack; in the bright light from the high window Julia noticed that the dark line at the roots of the girl's hair was now very marked.

‘You didn't do anything about a rinse?' she asked. ‘Wasn't it possible?'

‘Yes, I found I could have had one in Lawsanne, but I didn't like to ask for it,' June replied. ‘I was worrying about them paying, of course; but even if I'd had the money, I should have felt funny, suggesting a rinse to them! It's not their sort of thing at all. But one of the daughters, Hahnriette they call her—she brings her wash for her Mum to do; as if she hadn't enough work!—said she'd set my hair if I washed it, so I did. Washed my hair in Lux, imagine!—but it came out lovely, as a matter of
fact. And Hahnriette set it a treat, don't you think?' She turned her small head this way and that, to display Hen-riette's set. Julia duly admired it.

‘Hahnriette has the sweetest kiddies,' June pursued. ‘They run round after me, though I can't speak a word of French. I do like them—I teach them English words, and they love it.' She paused, seeking for words to express a meaning new and unfamiliar to her. ‘This is the queerest set-up ever! They're all poor, and they're all good, and yet they're
happier
than any people I've ever known. It makes you think, doesn't it?' she repeated.