“But,” said Bombaccio. “I did not know the Signorina had had a telegram.”
“Nor anyone else. Wonderful how it got to me; isn’t it? But it did — and don’t you forget it. Don’t you give way to any weakening on that point. I’ve had a telegram that my half-sister in Nice is very ill and now I’ve told you — you know I’ve had it.”
Bombaccio bowed with grave submission9.
“Off I go to pack and down I come to go. What car, Bombaccio?”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Rylands.”
“Don’t. Just get me that old Fiat10 in the village and I’ll clatter11 down to the station at Mentone right away. As soon as poss. It’s a case of life and death.”
“The next train for Nice,” reflected Bombaccio, “does not depart ——”
“Don’t go into figures,” said Miss Clarges. “Telephone and get that auto12 now.”
She reflected, knuckle13 to lip. “Wait a moment,” she said. “I’ll write a note — two notes.”
She went to a writing-table, placed a sheet before her, chose a pen and meditated14 briefly15. Bombaccio waited. Then her pen flew. One note she addressed to her hostess. It was a note of exceptional brevity and it was unsigned. ”Sorry,” wrote Miss Clarges. ”I’m gone and I won’t worry you again.“
“Sorry I got caught,” Miss Clarges remarked to herself, and licked the envelope. ”Fools we were.”
Then she directed a more elaborate epistle to Mr. Geoffry Rylands. ”Dear Geoff,” she scribbled16. ”That Limitless Field Preacher has got on my nerves. Another meal of talk with him and Mr. Pantaloon Buchan and I shall scream. I’ve fled to the Superba at Dear Old Monty. Where my friends can find me, bless ’em. A rividerci, Puppy.“
That got its swift lick also and a whack17 to stick it down.
“Here’s the documents!” she said.
Bombaccio was left developing a series of bows and gestures to express that all things in the world would be as the Signorina wished, while Miss Puppy vanished upstairs. Then he went slowly and thoughtfully to the telephone.
But he did not telephone. He hated the man who owned the old Fiat and there were two cars in the garage. One of them was booked for Monte Carlo after lunch, but that was no reason why Signorina Clarges should not have the other. In the well-known Terragena car she’d go through the French douane like a bird; in the hired car she wouldn’t. He would consult Signora Rylands. Or Signor Rylands.
And on reflection it became more and more distinctly unusual that a guest should depart in this fashion without some intimation from either host or hostess. There was something wrong in that. The fact of Signorina Clarges’ swift passage upstairs, originally a bare fact, became encrusted with interrogations; the brow of Bombaccio was troubled. She was giving all the orders. What should a perfect major-domo do?
Signora Rylands, he believed, was still in bed and inaccessible18. Signor Rylands? Signor Rylands? But ——? Consider ——? He had gone off with Signorina Clarges to swim. Yes. Something must have happened. Where was Mr. Rylands now? Why was he not ordering the car for the Signorina Clarges? Had he by any chance insulted her — and was she departing insulted?
But then, was it possible to insult the Signorina Clarges?
Perhaps the best thing would be to consult Frant, Mrs. Rylands’ maid, a stupid English person who mistook secretiveness for discretion19, but still the only possible source of indications just at present. . . .
These questionings were abruptly20 interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan coming through the front hall, with the vague, prowling air of a guest who has found nothing to do with his morning. He was wearing a new suit of tussore silk and wasting much neatness upon solitude21. The wave in his hair was in perfect condition.
He brightened at the sight of Bombaccio. ”Dove e tutto?“ he asked. He liked to address every man in his own language, as a good European should, and this was his way of saying “Where’s everybody?”
Bombaccio replied with the most carefully perfect English intonation22, “Colonel Bullace, Saire, is at the tennis.”
“E l’altri?“
Bombaccio expressed extreme dispersal by an expansive gesture and disowned special knowledge by a deprecatory smile. “Others are at the tennis,” he said.
“Lady Catherine?” asked Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan, trying to be quite casual in his tone.
“She loves the garden!” said Bombaccio and began a respectful retreat.
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan hovered23 vaguely24 for a moment and then turned his face towards the front entrance. Abruptly the retreat of Bombaccio was accelerated and Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan looking round for a cause, became aware of Miss Clarges, clothed now with unusual decorum, at the bend of the staircase.
“How about that car, Bombaccio?” cried Miss Clarges.
Bombaccio, not hearing with all his might, disappeared, and the door that led to the domestic mysteries clicked behind him. “Damn!” said Miss Clarges. “Hullo, Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan!”
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan moved to show that he was hullo all right.
“I’ve got a half-sister dangerously ill — in Monaco, and I want a car. I’m all packed up and ready to go. Leastways I shall be in ten minutes.”
“Can I be of any assistance?” said Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan unhelpfully.
“Naturally,” said Miss Puppy. “I want some sort of car got and some of the minions25 to carry my bags up to the gates. Everyone seems to be out of the way.”
“Anything I can do,” said Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan, looking entirely27 ornamental28.
“If you’d just warm Bombaccio’s ear a bit,” said Miss Clarges. “What’s wanted is movement. Getting a move on.”
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan felt the reproach in her tone. “I will stir things up. I do hope your half-sister ——”
But Puppy had vanished upstairs again.
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan reflected. He would go to the bell and ring and when somebody came he would say in a gentle masterful way: ”La Signorina Clarges e nervosa da la sua automobiglia. Prega de l’accelerato prestissimo.“
But he would have much preferred to have gone on straight into the garden to look for Lady Catherine. He felt they went better together.
He found some difficulty in putting matters right with the minion26 who responded to his ring. The fellow did not seem to understand his own language and evidently missed the purport29 of Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan’s communication altogether. He seemed to think Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan was complaining of the manner in which Mrs. Rylands’ English chauffeur30 discharged his duties and expressed himself, with some vivid and entertaining pantomime, as being in the completest agreement. He repeated the expression “molto periculoso” several times with empressement. Now the Italian driver was a model of discretion. Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan was still trying, without too complete an admission of a linguistic31 breakdown32, to mould the conversation nearer to Miss Clarges’ heart’s desire, when Lady Catherine appeared in the low oblong blaze of sunshine beyond the dark pillars of the portico33. He dismissed the minion with a gesture and walked forward to meet her.
The hall behind him was left for a moment in silence and shadow, and then its ceiling and central parts resonated to the rich voice of Miss Clarges. “What the hell?” the voice of Miss Clarges inquired, passionately34 but incompletely, and her door slammed. She must have been listening on the landing. A few moments later, the muffled35 wheeze36 of a distant electric bell was audible from the servants’ quarters, a bell that kept on ringing persistently37. Miss Clarges was ringing.
Before Lady Catherine became aware of Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan in the dim coolness of the entrance, her face betrayed a certain perturbation and she was hurrying. At the sight of him, she slackened her gait and became a sauntering queen, ruddy in the halo of the green umbrella.
“So hot,” she said, chin up and smiling. “Too hot! I’m coming in to write letters. Are you for Monte Carlo this afternoon?”
“In this blaze?” he doubted and shrugged38 his shoulders.
She hovered over him for a moment, not quite sure what to do with him.
“Lucky man!” she said. “You’ve got nothing to do but read the English papers and keep cool.”
She made her way round him to the staircase, smiling him down.
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan was left in the silent hall. He went to the table on the terrace side where the freshly-opened newspapers were displayed. He threw them about almost petulantly39. He felt he had never seen less attractive newspapers. Even the head-lines of the Daily Express seemed dull. He sat down at last to The Times, to learn who had died and who had gone abroad.
Then came an interruption of Geoffry, very hot, moist and open-necked, in search of Bombaccio and drinks and ice for the tennis court. At his appearance on the terrace Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan shrank deeper into his arm-chair beside the pillar.
“Hullo!” said Geoffry. “Papers come?”
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan made a gesture of his newspaper to express anything Geoffry liked except an inclination40 to talk, and Geoffry passed on. He came back presently, followed by Bombaccio with a jingling41 tray and passed across the terrace and down the marble steps towards the tennis court. Then after a large interval42 of silence, came footsteps on the staircase. He turned hopefully and saw Miss Clarges in travelling dress. He stood up in spite of a faint disappointment. At any rate she was going.
“I’m off,” she said. “No chance of saying ta-ta all round. You’ll have to do it for me.”
“I hope it’s all right about the automobile43.”
“God knows,” she said. “I’m going up the garden after my bags to see. Have to fuss round up there if it isn’t. Extraordinary they don’t bring a motor road right down to the house. Sacrificing comfort to gardening, I call it.”
She smiled conventionally and turned towards the entrance. Then she stopped short and became rigid44. She had seen something outside there that as yet Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan could not see. ”Glory!“ she gasped45.
She had forgotten Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan for an instant. Then she turned to him and saw his inquiring face. “I’ve left something in my room,” she explained, and turned tail and fled upstairs. The next moment the feet of two people became visible and then the all of them in the sunlit space uphill beyond the portico. Mrs. Rylands was approaching, and she walked like a woman in a trance and beside her in silence, looking very large and awkward and uncomfortable, was Mr. Sempack. Before the entrance, they parted without a word; Mr. Sempack stood irresolute46 and Mrs. Rylands came on in.
She did not seem to see Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan standing47 still beside the newspaper table.
She walked to the staircase and then, after a momentary48 pause, made her way up it, helping49 herself with a hand upon the banister.
For some seconds Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan remained lost in thought, and then, still thinking, he seated himself upon the newspaper table. Presently Miss Clarges appeared descending50 the staircase with an unwonted softness. She looked as though she might say almost anything to Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan, but what she did say simply and almost confidentially51 was, “So long.” Then she went out into the sun-glare and vanished up the hill towards the gates upon the road.
Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan shook his head slowly from side to side, disapprovingly52, took counsel with his diamond ring, struggled off the table, and made his way, still thinking deeply, to his own room in the turret53.
He paced his floor obliquely54. It had become plain to him what had happened.
He was glad to have a little time to himself to consider the situation before facing the world. What exactly ought a fine-minded, thoroughly55 Europeanised American gentleman to do? Not simply that. He was really fond of his hostess. Fond enough to put his pose into a secondary place. What could he do for her?
The turret room had four windows that looked east and west and north and south and as Mr. Plantagenet-Buchan paced up and down from corner to corner, he would ever and again lift his downcast eyes, first to this pretty sunlit picture and then to that. And presently he became aware of something white, minute in perspective, something moving, far off, among the red sun-scorched rocks of the headlands to the west that came out like a scenery wing to frame the distant view of Mentone. He took a pocket monocular that lay upon his toilet table out of its case, focused it and scrutinised this distant object. It was a man in flannels56 scrambling57 along a little precipitous path that led round the cape58. He moved with every symptom of haste and irritation59. He slipped and recovered himself, and stood still for a moment in profile looking up at the shiny rocks, with an expression of reproachful inquiry60. Unmistakably it was Philip Rylands.
He was making off. To nowhere in particular.
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1
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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3
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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6
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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7
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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9
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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14
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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15
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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17
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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18
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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20
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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21
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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24
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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25
minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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minion
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| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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36
wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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38
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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39
petulantly
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40
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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41
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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42
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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43
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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44
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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45
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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46
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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47
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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48
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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49
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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50
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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51
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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52
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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53
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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54
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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55
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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56
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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57
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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58
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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59
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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60
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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