Sir Stafford Nye adjusted himself more comfortably in his seat andlistened to the persistent2 hammering of the Nibelungen, with which theprogramme began.
Though he enjoyed Wagnerian opera, Siegfried was by no means his fa-vourite of the operas composing the Ring. Rheingold and G?tterd?mmer-ung were his two preferences. The music of the young Siegfried, listeningto the songs of the birds, had always for some strange reason irritated himinstead of filling him with melodic3 satisfaction. It might have been be-cause he went to a performance in Munich in his young days which haddisplayed a magnificent tenor4 of unfortunately over-magnificent propor-tions, and he had been too young to divorce the joy of music from thevisual joy of seeing a young Siegfried that looked even passably young.
The fact of an outsized tenor rolling about on the ground in an access ofboyishness had revolted him. He was also not particularly fond of birdsand forest murmurs6. No, give him the Rhine Maidens7 every time, althoughin Munich even the Rhine Maidens in those days had been of fairly solidproportions. But that mattered less. Carried away by the melodic flow ofwater and the joyous8 impersonal9 song, he had not allowed visual appreci-ation to matter.
From time to time he looked about him casually10. He had taken his seatfairly early. It was a full house, as it usually was. The intermission came.
Sir Stafford rose and looked about him. The seat beside his had remainedempty. Someone who was supposed to have arrived had not arrived. Wasthat the answer, or was it merely a case of being excluded becausesomeone had arrived late, which practice still held on the occasions whenWagnerian music was listened to.
He went out, strolled about, drank a cup of coffee, smoked a cigarette,and returned when the summons came. This time, as he drew near, hesaw that the seat next to his was filled. Immediately his excitement re-turned. He regained11 his seat and sat down. Yes, it was the woman of theFrankfurt Air Lounge. She did not look at him, she was looking straightahead. Her face in profile was as clean-cut and pure as he remembered it.
Her head turned slightly, and her eyes passed over him but without recog-nition. So intent was that non-recognition that it was as good as a wordspoken. This was a meeting that was not to be acknowledged. Not now, atany event. The lights began to dim. The woman beside him turned.
‘Excuse me, could I look at your programme? I have dropped mine, I’mafraid, coming to my seat.’
‘Of course,’ he said.
He handed over the programme and she took it from him. She opened it,studied the items. The lights went lower. The second half of the pro-gramme began. It started with the overture13 to Lohengrin. At the end of itshe handed back the programme to him with a few words of thanks.
‘Thank you so much. It was very kind of you.’
The next item was the Siegfried forest murmur5 music. He consulted theprogramme she had returned to him. It was then that he noticed some-thing faintly pencilled at the foot of a page. He did not attempt to read itnow. Indeed, the light would have not been sufficient. He merely closedthe programme and held it. He had not, he was quite sure, written any-thing there himself. Not, that is, in his own programme. She had, hethought, had her own programme ready, folded perhaps in her handbagand had already written some message ready to pass to him. Altogether, itseemed to him, there was still that atmosphere of secrecy14, of danger. Themeeting on Hungerford Bridge and the envelope with the ticket forcedinto his hand. And now the silent woman who sat beside him. He glancedat her once or twice with the quick, careless glance that one gives to astranger sitting next to one. She lolled back in her seat; her high-neckeddress was of dull black crêpe, an antique torque of gold encircled herneck. Her dark hair was cropped closely and shaped to her head. She didnot glance at him or return any look. He wondered. Was there someone inthe seats of the Festival Hall watching her– or watching him? Notingwhether they looked or spoke12 to each other? Presumably there must be, orthere must be at least the possibility of such a thing. She had answered hisappeal in the newspaper advertisement. Let that be enough for him. Hiscuriosity was unimpaired, but he did at least know now that DaphneTheodofanous–alias Mary Ann–was here in London. There were possibilit-ies in the future of his learning more of what was afoot. But the plan ofcampaign must be left to her. He must follow her lead. As he had obeyedher in the airport, so he would obey her now and–let him admit it–life hadbecome suddenly more interesting. This was better than the boring con-ferences of his political life. Had a car really tried to run him down theother night? He thought it had. Two attempts–not only one. It was easyenough to imagine that one was the target of assault, people drove so reck-lessly nowadays that you could easily fancy malice15 aforethought when itwas not so. He folded his programme, did not look at it again. The musiccame to its end. The woman next to him spoke. She did not turn her heador appear to speak to him, but she spoke aloud, with a little sigh betweenthe words as though she was communing with herself or possibly to herneighbour on the other side.
‘The young Siegfried,’ she said, and sighed again.
The programme ended with the March from Die Meistersinger. After en-thusiastic applause, people began to leave their seats. He waited to see ifshe would give him any lead, but she did not. She gathered up her wrap,moved out of the row of chairs, and with a slightly accelerated step,moved along with other people and disappeared in the crowd.
Stafford Nye regained his car and drove home. Arrived there, he spreadout the Festival Hall programme on his desk and examined it carefully,after putting the coffee to percolate16.
The programme was disappointing to say the least of it. There did notappear to be any message inside. Only on one page above the list of theitems, were the pencil marks that he had vaguely17 observed. But they werenot words or letters or even figures. They appeared to be merely a musicalnotation. It was as though someone had scribbled18 a phrase of music with asomewhat inadequate19 pencil. For a moment it occurred to Stafford Nyethere might perhaps be a secret message he could bring out by applyingheat. Rather gingerly, and in a way rather ashamed of his melodramaticfancy, he held it towards the bar of the electric fire but nothing resulted.
With a sigh he tossed the programme back on to the table. But he felt justi-fiably annoyed. All this rigmarole, a rendezvous20 on a windy and rainybridge overlooking the river! Sitting through a concert by the side of a wo-man of whom he yearned21 to ask at least a dozen questions–and at the endof it? Nothing! No further on. Still, she had met him. But why? If she didn’twant to speak to him, to make further arrangements with him, why hadshe come at all?
His eyes passed idly across the room to his bookcase which he reservedfor various thrillers22, works of detective fiction and an occasional volumeof science fiction; he shook his head. Fiction, he thought, was infinitely23 su-perior to real life. Dead bodies, mysterious telephone calls, beautiful for-eign spies in profusion24! However, this particular elusive25 lady might nothave done with him yet. Next time, he thought, he would make some ar-rangements of his own. Two could play at the game that she was playing.
He pushed aside the programme and drank another cup of coffee andwent to the window. He had the programme still in his hand. As he lookedout towards the street below his eyes fell back again on the open pro-gramme in his hand and he hummed to himself, almost unconsciously. Hehad a good ear for music and he could hum the notes that were scrawledthere quite easily. Vaguely they sounded familiar as he hummed them. Heincreased his voice a little. What was it now? Tum, tum, tum tum ti-tum.
Tum. Yes, definitely familiar.
He started opening his letters.
They were mostly uninteresting. A couple of invitations, one from theAmerican Embassy, one from Lady Athelhampton, a Charity Variety per-formance which Royalty26 would attend and for which it was suggested fiveguineas would not be an exorbitant27 fee to obtain a seat. He threw themaside lightly. He doubted very much whether he wished to accept any ofthem. He decided28 that instead of remaining in London he would withoutmore ado go and see his Aunt Matilda, as he had promised. He was fond ofhis Aunt Matilda though he did not visit her very often. She lived in a re-habilitated apartment consisting of a series of rooms in one wing of alarge Georgian manor29 house in the country which she had inherited fromhis grandfather. She had a large, beautifully proportioned sitting-room30, asmall oval dining-room, a new kitchen made from the old housekeeper’sroom, two bedrooms for guests, a large comfortable bedroom for herselfwith an adjoining bathroom, and adequate quarters for a patient compan-ion who shared her daily life. The remains31 of a faithful domestic staffwere well provided for and housed. The rest of the house remained underdust sheets with periodical cleaning. Stafford Nye was fond of the place,having spent holidays there as a boy. It had been a gay house then. Hiseldest uncle had lived there with his wife and their two children. Yes, ithad been pleasant there then. There had been money and a sufficient staffto run it. He had not specially32 noticed in those days the portraits and pic-tures. There had been large- sized examples of Victorian art occupyingpride of place–overcrowding the walls, but there had been other mastersof an older age. Yes, there had been some good portraits there. A Raeburn,two Lawrences, a Gainsborough, a Lely, two rather dubious33 Vandykes. Acouple of Turners, too. Some of them had had to be sold to provide thefamily with money. He still enjoyed when visiting there strolling aboutand studying the family pictures.
His Aunt Matilda was a great chatterbox but she always enjoyed his vis-its. He was fond of her in a desultory34 way, but he was not quite sure whyit was that he had suddenly wanted to visit her now. And what it was thathad brought family portraits into his mind? Could it have been becausethere was a portrait of his sister Pamela by one of the leading artists of theday twenty years ago. He would like to see that portrait of Pamela andlook at it more closely. See how close the resemblance had been betweenthe stranger who had disrupted his life in this really outrageous35 fashionand his sister.
He picked up the Festival Hall programme again with some irritationand began to hum the pencilled notes. Tum, tum, ti tum–Then it came tohim and he knew what it was. It was the Siegfried motif. Siegfried’s Horn.
The Young Siegfried motif. That was what the woman had said last night.
Not apparently36 to him, not apparently to anybody. But it had been themessage, a message that would have meant nothing to anyone aroundsince it would have seemed to refer to the music that had just been played.
And the motif had been written on his programme also in musical terms.
The Young Siegfried. It must have meant something. Well, perhaps furtherenlightenment would come. The Young Siegfried. What the hell did thatmean? Why and how and when and what? Ridiculous! All those question-ing words.
He rang the telephone and obtained Aunt Matilda’s number.
‘But of course, Staffy dear, it will be lovely to have you. Take the four-thirty train. It still runs, you know, but it gets here an hour and a halflater. And it leaves Paddington later–five-fifteen. That’s what they meanby improving the railways, I suppose. Stops at several most absurd sta-tions on the way. All right. Horace will meet you at King’s Marston.’
‘He’s still there then?’
‘Of course he’s still there.’
‘I suppose he is,’ said Sir Stafford Nye.
Horace, once a groom37, then a coachman, had survived as a chauffeur,and apparently was still surviving. ‘He must be at least eighty,’ said SirStafford. He smiled to himself.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
motif
|
|
| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
melodic
|
|
| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
murmurs
|
|
| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
maidens
|
|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
overture
|
|
| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
percolate
|
|
| v.过滤，渗透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
scribbled
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
inadequate
|
|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
yearned
|
|
| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
thrillers
|
|
| n.紧张刺激的故事( thriller的名词复数 )；戏剧；令人感到兴奋的事；（电影）惊悚片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
profusion
|
|
| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
elusive
|
|
| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
royalty
|
|
| n.皇家，皇族 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
exorbitant
|
|
| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
dubious
|
|
| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
desultory
|
|
| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
outrageous
|
|
| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |