William Somerset Maugham 7 страница

bed with him out of sheer good nature; but she just did not fancy

him. She was very fond of him, but he was so elegant, so well-bred,

so cultured, she could not think of him as a lover. It would be like

going to bed with an objet d'art. And his love of art filled her with a

faint derision; after all she was a creator, when all was said and do-

ne he was only the public. He wished her to elope with him. They

would buy a villa at Sorrento on the bay of Naples, with a large gar-

den, and they would have a schooner so that they could spend long

days on the beautiful wine-coloured sea. Love and beauty and art;

the world well lost.

" The damned fool, " she thought. " As if I'd give up my career to

bury myself in some hole in Italy! "

She persuaded him that she had a duty to Michael, and then the-

re was the baby; she couldn't let him grow up with the burden on his

young life that his mother was a bad woman. Orange trees or no

orange trees, she would never have a moment's peace in that bea-

utiful Italian villa if she was tortured by the thought of Michael's un-

happiness and her baby being looked after by strangers. One co-

uldn't only think of oneself, could one? One had to think of others

too. She was very sweet and womanly. She sometimes asked Char-

les why he did not arrange a divorce with his wife and marry some

nice woman. She could not bear the thought of his wasting his life

over her. He told her that she was the only woman he had ever lo-

ved and that he must go on loving her till the end.

" It seems so sad, " said Julia.

All the same she kept her eyes open, and if she noticed that any

woman had predatory intentions on Charles she took care to queer

her pitch. She did not hesitate if the danger seemed to warrant it to

show herself extremely jealous. It had been long agreed, with all the

delicacy that might be expected from his good breeding and Julia's

good heart, in no definite words, but with guarded hints and remote

allusiveness, that if anything happened to Michael, Lady Charles

should somehow or other be disposed of and they would then marry.

But Michael had perfect health.

On this occasion Julia had much enjoyed lunching at Hill Street.

The party had been very grand. Julia had never encouraged Charles

to entertain any of the actors or authors he sometimes came across,

and she was the only person there who had ever had to earn a li-

ving. She had sat between an old, fat, bald and loquacious* Cabinet

Minister who took a great deal of trouble to entertain her, and a yo-

ung Duke of Westreys who looked like a stable-boy and who flatte-

red himself that he knew French slang better than a Frenchman.

When he discovered that Julia spoke French he insisted on conver-

sing with her in that language. After luncheon she was persuaded to

recite a tirade from Phedre as it was done at the Comedie Francaise

and the same tirade as an English student at the Royal Academy of

Dramatic Art would deliver it. She made the company laugh very

much and came away from the party flushed with success. It was a

fine bright day and she made up her mind to walk from Hill Street to

Stanhope Place. A good many people recognized her as she thre-

aded her way through the crowd in Oxford Street, and though she

looked straight ahead of her she was conscious of their glances.

" What a hell of a nuisance it is that one can't go anywhere witho-

ut people staring at one. "

She slackened her pace a little. It certainly was a beautiful day.

She let herself into her house with a latch-key and as she got in

heard the telephone ringing. Without thinking she took up the rece-

iver.

" Yes? "

She generally disguised her voice when she answered, but for on-

ce forgot to.

" Miss Lambert? "

" I don't know if Miss Lambert's in. Who is it please? " she asked,

assuming quickly a cockney accent.

The monosyllable had betrayed her. A chuckle travelled over the

wire.

" I only wanted to thank you for writing to me. You know you ne-

edn't have troubled. It was so nice of you to ask me to lunch, I tho-

ught I'd like to send you a few flowers. "

The sound of his voice and the words told her who it was. It was

the blushing young man whose name she did not know. Even now,

though she had looked at his card, she could not remember it. The

only thing that had struck her was that he lived in Tavistock Square.

" It was very sweet of you, " she answered in her own voice.

" I suppose you wouldn't come to tea with me one day, would

you? "

The nerve of it! She wouldn't go to tea with a duchess; he was

treating her like a chorus girl. It was rather funny when you came to

think of it.

" I don't know why not. "

" Will you really? " his voice sounded eager. He had a pleasant vo-

ice. " When? "

She did not feel at all like going to bed that afternoon.

" Today. "

" O. K. I'll get away from the office. Half-past four? 138, Tavistock

Square. "

It was nice of him to have suggested that. He might so easily ha-

ve mentioned some fashionable place where people would stare at

her. It proved that he didn't just want to be seen with her.

She took a taxi to Tavistock Square. She was pleased with herself.

She was doing a good action. It would be wonderful for him in after

years to be able to tell his wife and children that Julia Lambert had

been to tea with him when he was just a little insignificant clerk in

an accountant's office. And she had been so simple and so natural.

No one to hear her prattling away would have guessed that she was

the greatest actress in England. And if they didn't believe him he'd

have her photograph to prove it, signed yours sincerely. He'd laugh

and say that of course if he hadn't been such a kid he'd never have

had the cheek to ask her.

When she arrived at the house and had paid off the taxi she sud-

denly remembered that she did not know his name and when the

maid answered the door would not know whom to ask for. But on lo-

oking for the bell she noticed that there were eight of them, four

rows of two, and by the side of each was a card or a name written in

ink on a piece of paper. It was an old house that had been divided

up into flats. She began looking, rather hopelessly, at the names

wondering whether one of them would recall something, when the

door opened and he stood before her.

" I saw you drive up and I ran down. I'm afraid I'm on the third flo-

or. I hope you don't mind. "

" Of course not. "

She climbed the uncarpeted stairs. She was a trifle out of breath

when she came to the third landing. He had skipped up eagerly, like

a young goat, she thought, and she had not liked to suggest that

she would prefer to go more leisurely. The room into which he led

her was fairly large, but dingily furnished. On the table was a plate

of cakes and two cups, a sugar basin and a milk-jug. The crockery

was of the cheapest sort.

" Take a pew, " he said. " The water's just on the boil. I'll only be a

minute. I've got a gas-ring in the bathroom. "

He left her and she looked about.

" Poor lamb, he must be as poor as a church mouse. "

The room reminded her very much of some of the lodgings she

had lived in when she was first on the stage. She noticed the pathe-

tic attempts he had made to conceal the fact that it was a bedroom

as well as a sitting-room. The divan against the wall was evidently

his bed at night. The years slipped away from her in fancy and she

felt strangely young again. What fun they had had in rooms very like

that and how they had enjoyed the fantastic meals they had had,

things in paper bags and eggs and bacon fried on the gas-ring! He

came in with the tea in a brown pot. She ate a square sponge-cake

with pink icing on it. That was a thing she had not done for years.

The Ceylon tea, very strong, with milk and sugar in it, took her back

to days she thought she had forgotten. She saw herself as a young,

obscure, struggling actress. It was rather delicious. It needed a ges-

ture, but she could only think of one: she took off her hat and gave

her head a shake.

They talked. He seemed shy, much shyer than he had seemed

over the telephone; well, that was not to be wondered at, now she

was there he must be rather overcome, and she set herself to put

him at his ease. He told her that his parents lived at Highgate, his

father was a solicitor, and he had lived there too, but he wanted to

be his own master and now in the last year of his articles he had

broken away and taken this tiny flat. He was working for his final

examination. They talked of the theatre. He had seen her in every

play she had acted in since he was twelve years old. He told her that

once when he was fourteen he had stood outside the stage door af-

ter a matinee and when she came out had asked her to sign her na-

me in his autograph-book. He was sweet with his blue eyes and pale

brown hair. It was a pity he plastered it down like that. He had a

white skin and rather a high colour; she wondered if he was con-

sumptive. Although his clothes were cheap he wore them well, she

liked that, and he looked incredibly clean.

She asked him why he had chosen Tavistock Square. It was cent-

ral, he explained, and he liked the trees. It was quite nice when you

looked out of the window. She got up to look, that would be a good

way to make a move, then she would put on her hat and say good-

bye to him.

" Yes, it is rather charming, isn't it. It's so London; it gives one a

sort of jolly feeling. "

She turned to him, standing by her side, as she said this. He put

his arm round her waist and kissed her full on the lips. No woman

was ever more surprised in her life. She was so taken aback that she

never thought of doing anything. His lips were soft and there was a

perfume of youth about him which was really rather delightful. But

what he was doing was preposterous. He was forcing her lips apart

with the tip of his tongue and now he had both arms round her. She

did not feel angry, she did not feel inclined to laugh, she did not

know what she felt. And now she had a notion that he was gently

drawing her along, his lips still pressing hers, she felt quite distinctly

the glow of his body, it was as though there was a furnace inside

him, it was really remarkable; and then she found herself laid on the

divan and he was beside her, kissing her mouth and her neck and

her cheeks and her eyes. Julia felt a strange pang in her heart. She

took his head in her hands and kissed his lips.

A few minutes later she was standing at the chimney-piece, in

front of the looking-glass, making herself tidy.

" Look at my hair. "

He handed her a comb and she ran it through. Then she put on

her hat. He was standingjust behind her, and over her shoulder she

saw his face with those eager blue eyes and a faint smile in them.

" And I thought you were such a shy young man, " she said to his

reflection.

He chuckled.

" When am I going to see you again? "

" Do you want to see me again? "

" Rather. "

She thought rapidly. It was too absurd, of course she had no in-

tention of seeing him again, it was stupid of her to have let him be-

have like that, but it was just as well to temporize. He might be tire-

some if she told him that the incident would have no sequel.

" I'll ring up one of these days. "

" Swear. "

" On my honour. "

" Don't be too long. "

He insisted on coming down stairs with her and putting her into a

cab. She had wanted to go down alone, so that she could have a lo-

ok at the cards attached to the bells on the lintel.

" Damn it all, I ought at least to know his name. "

But he gave her no chance. When the taxi drove off she sank into

one corner of it and gurgled with laughter.

" Raped, my dear. Practically raped. At my time of life. And witho-

ut so much as by your leave. Treated me like a tart. Eighteenth-cen-

tury comedy, that's what it is. I might have been a waiting-maid. In

a hoop, with those funny puffy things - what the devil are they cal-

led? - that they wore to emphasize their hips, an apron and a scarf

round me neck. " Then with vague memories of Farquhar and Golds-

mith she invented the dialogue. " La, sir, 'tis shame to take advanta-

ge of a poor country girl. What would Mrs. Abigail, her ladyship's wo-

man, say an she knew her ladyship's brother had ravished me of the

most precious treasure a young woman in my station of life can pos-

sess, videlicet* her innocence. Fie, о fie, sir. "

When Julia got home the masseuse was already waiting for her.

Miss Phillips and Evie were having a chat.

" Wherever 'ave you been, Miss Lambert? " said Evie. " An' what

about your rest, I should like to know. "

" Damn my rest. "

Julia tore off her clothes, and flung them with ample gestures all

over the room. Then, stark naked, she skipped on to the bed, stood

up on it for a moment, like Venus rising from the waves, and then

throwing herself down stretched herself out.

" What's the idea? " said Evie.

" I feel good. "

" Well, if I behaved like that people'd say I'd been drinkin'. "

Miss Phillips began to massage her feet. She rubbed gently, to

rest and not to tire her.

" When you came in just now, like a whirlwind, " she said, " I tho-

ught you looked twenty years younger. Your eyes were shining so-

mething wonderful. "

" Oh, keep that for Mr. Gosselyn, Miss Phillips. " And then as an af-

terthought, " I feel like a two-year-old. "

And it was the same at the theatre later on. Archie Dexter, who

was her leading man, came into her dressing-room to speak about

something. She had just finished making-up. He was startled.

" Hulloa, Julia, what's the matter with you tonight? Gosh, you look

swell. Why you don't look a day more than twenty-five. "

" With a son of sixteen it's no good pretending I'm so terribly yo-

ung any more. I'm forty and I don't care who knows it. "

" What have you done to your eyes? I've never seen them shine li-

ke that before. "

She felt in tremendous form. They had been playing the play, it

was called The Powder Puff, for a good many weeks, but tonight Julia

played it as though it were the first time. Her performance was brilli-

ant. She got laughs that she had never got before. She always had

magnetism, but on this occasion it seemed to flow over the house in

a great radiance. Michael happened to be watching the last two acts

from the corner of a box and at the end he came into her dressing-

room.

" D'you know the prompter says we played nine minutes longer to-

night, they laughed so much. "

" Seven curtain calls. I thought the public were going on all night. "

" Well, you've only got to blame yourself, darling. There's no one

in the world who could have given the performance you gave to-

night. "

" To tell you the truth I was enjoying myself. Christ, I'm hungry.

What have we got for supper? "

" Tripe and onions. "

" Oh, how divine! " She flung her arms round his neck and kissed

him. " I adore tripe and onions. Oh, Michael, Michael, if you love me,

if you've got any spark of tenderness in that hard heart of yours, let

me have a bottle of beer. "

" Julia. "

" Just this once. It's not often I ask you to do anything for me. "

" Oh well, after the performance you gave tonight I suppose I can't

say no, but by God, I'll see that Miss Phillips pitches into you tomor-

row. "

WHEN Julia got to bed and slipped her feet down to the comfort of

her hot-water bottle, she took a happy look at her room, rose-pink

and Nattier-blue, with the gold cherubs of her dressing-table, and

sighed with satisfaction. She thought how very Madame de Pompa-

dour it was. She put out the light but she did not feel at all sleepy.

She would have liked really to go to Quag's and dance, but not to

dance with Michael, to dance with Louis XV or Ludwig of Bavaria or

Alfred de Musset. Clairon and the Bal de l'Opera. She remembered

the miniature Charles had once given her. That was how she felt to-

night. Such an adventure had not happened to her for ages. The last

time was eight years before. That was an episode that she ought to

have been thoroughly ashamed of; goodness, how scared she'd be-

en afterwards, but she had in point of fact never been able to think

of it since without a chuckle.

That had been an accident too. She had been acting for a long ti-

me without a rest and she badly needed one. The play she was in

was ceasing to attract and they were about to start rehearsing a

new one when Michael got the chance of letting the theatre to a

French company for six weeks. It seemed a good opportunity for

Julia to get away. Dolly had rented a house at Cannes for the season

and Julia could stay with her. It was just before Easter when she

started off, and the trains south were so crowded that she had not

been able to get a sleeper, but at a travel agency they had said that

it would be quite all right and there would be one waiting for her at

the station in Paris. To her consternation she found when they got to

Paris that nothing seemed to be known about her, and the chef de

train told her that every sleeper was engaged. The only chance was

that someone should not turn up at the last moment. She did not li-

ke the idea of sitting up all night in the corner of a first-class carri-

age, and went into dinner with a perturbed mind. She was given a

table for two, and soon a man came and sat down opposite her. She

paid no attention to him. Presently the chef de train came along and

told her that he was very sorry, but he could do nothing for her. She

made a useless scene. When the official had gone, the man at her

table addressed her. Though he spoke fluent, idiomatic French, she

recognized by his accent that he was not a Frenchman. She told him

in answer to his polite inquiry the whole story and gave him her opi-

nion of the travel agency, the railway company, and the general

inefficiency of the human race. He was very sympathetic. He told

her that after dinner he would go along the train and see for himself

if something could not be arranged. One never knew what one of

the conductors could not manage for a tip.

" I'm simply tired out, " she said. " I'd willingly give five hundred

francs for a sleeper. "

The conversation thus started, he told her that he was an attache

at the Spanish Embassy in Paris and was going down to Cannes for

Easter. Though she had been talking to him for a quarter of an hour

she had not troubled to notice what he was like. She observed now

that he had a beard, a black curly beard and a black curly moustac-

he, but the beard grew rather oddly on his face; there were two bare

patches under the corners of his mouth. It gave him a curious look.

With his black hair, drooping eyelids and rather long nose, he remin-

ded her of someone she had seen. Suddenly she remembered, and

it was such a surprise that she blurted out:

" D'you know, I couldn't think who you reminded me of. You're

strangely like Titian's portrait of Francis I in the Louvre. "

" With his little pig's eyes? "

" No, not them, yours are large, I think it's the beard chiefly. "

She glanced at the skin under his eyes; it was faintly violet and

unwrinkled. Notwithstanding the ageing beard he was quite a young

man; he could not have been more than thirty. She wondered if he

was a Spanish Grandee. He was not very well dressed, but then fo-

reigners often weren't, his clothes might have cost a lot even if they

were badly cut, and his tie, though rather loud, she recognized as a

Charvet. When they came to the coffee he asked her whether he

might offer her a liqueur.

" That's very kind of you. Perhaps it'll make me sleep better. "

He offered her a cigarette. His cigarette-case was silver, that put

her off a little, but when he closed it she saw that in the corner was

a small crown in gold. He must be a count or something. It was rat-

her chic, having a silver cigarette-case with a gold crown on it. Pity

he had to wear those modern clothes! If he'd been dressed like

Francis I he would really look very distinguished. She set herself to

be as gracious as she knew how.

" I think I should tell you, " he said presently, " that I know who you

are. And may I add that I have a great admiration for you? "

She gave him a lingering look of her splendid eyes.

" You've seen me act? "

" Yes, I was in London last month. "

" An interesting little play, wasn't it? "

" Only because you made it so. "

When the man came round to collect the money she had to insist

on paying her own bill. The Spaniard accompanied her to the carri-

age and then said he would go along the train to see if he could find

a sleeper for her. He came back in a quarter of an hour with a con-

ductor and told her that he had got her a compartment and if she

would give the conductor her things he would take her to it. She was

delighted. He threw down his hat on the seat she vacated and she

followed him along the corridor. When they reached the compart-

ment he told the conductor to take the portmanteau and the dis-

patch-case that were in the rack to the carriage madame had just

left.

" But it's not your own compartment you're giving up to me? " cri-

ed Julia.

" It's the only one on the train. "

" Oh, but I won't hear of it. "

" Allez, " the Spaniard said to the conductor.

" No, no. "

The conductor, on a nod from the stranger, took the luggage

away.

" I don't matter. I can sleep anywhere, but I shouldn't sleep a wink

if I thought that such a great artist was obliged to spend the night in

a stuffy carriage with three other people. "

Julia continued to protest, but not too much. It was terribly sweet

of him. She didn't know how to thank him. He would not even let her

pay for the sleeper. He begged her, almost with tears in his eyes, to

let him have the great privilege of making her that trifling present.

She had with her only a dressing-bag, in which were her face cre-

ams, her night-dress and her toilet things, and this he put on the

table for her. All he asked was that he might be allowed to sit with

her and smoke a cigarette or two till she wanted to go to bed. She

could hardly refuse him that. The bed was already made up and

they sat down on it. In a few minutes the conductor came back with

a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses. It was an odd little

adventure and Julia was enjoying it. It was wonderfully polite of him,

all that, ah, those foreigners, they knew how to treat a great act-

ress. Of course that was the sort of thing that happened to Bern-

hardt every day. And Siddons, when she went into a drawing-room

everyone stood up as though she were royalty. He complimented

her on her beautiful French. Born in Jersey and educated in France?

Ah, that explained it. But why hadn't she chosen to act in French rat-

her than in English? She would have as great a reputation as Duse if

she had. She reminded him of Duse, the same magnificent eyes and

the pale skin, and in her acting the same emotion and the wonderful

naturalness.

They half finished the bottle of champagne and Julia realized that

it was very late.

" I really think I ought to go to bed now. "

" I'll leave you. "

He got up and kissed her hand. When he was gone Julia bolted

the door and undressed. Putting out all the lights except the one just

behind her head she began to read. Presently there was a knock at

the door.

" Yes? "

" I'm sorry to disturb you. I left my toothbrush in the lavabo. May I

get it? "

" I'm in bed. "

" I can't go to sleep unless I brush my teeth. "