I
As Mrs Cortman came to meet him with outstretched hand, Stafford Nyerecalled the term his great-aunt had used. Milly Jean Cortman was a wo-man of between thirty-five and forty. She had delicate features, big blue-grey eyes, a very perfectly1 shaped head with bluish-grey hair tinted2 to aparticularly attractive shade which fitted her with a perfection of groom-ing. She was very popular in London. Her husband, Sam Cortman, was abig, heavy man, slightly ponderous3. He was very proud of his wife. Hehimself was one of those slow, rather over-emphatic talkers. People foundtheir attention occasionally straying when he was elucidating4 at somelength a point which hardly needed making.
‘Back from Malaya, aren’t you, Sir Stafford? It must have been quite in-teresting to go out there, though it’s not the time of year I’d have chosen.
But I’m sure we’re all glad to see you back. Let me see now. You knowLady Aldborough and Sir John, and Herr von Roken, Frau von Roken. Mrand Mrs Staggenham.’
They were all people known to Stafford Nye in more or less degree.
There was a Dutchman and his wife whom he had not met before, sincethey had only just taken up their appointment. The Staggenhams were theMinister of Social Security and his wife. A particularly uninterestingcouple, he had always thought.
‘And the Countess Renata Zerkowski. I think she said she’d met you be-fore.’
‘It must be about a year ago. When I was last in England,’ said theCountess.
And there she was, the passenger from Frankfurt again. Self-possessed,at ease, beautifully turned out in faint grey-blue with a touch of chinchilla.
Her hair dressed high (a wig5?) and a ruby6 cross of antique design roundher neck.
‘Signor Gasparo, Count Reitner, Mr and Mrs Arbuthnot.’
About twenty-six in all. At dinner Stafford Nye sat between the drearyMrs Staggenham and Signora Gasparo on the other side of him. RenataZerkowski sat exactly opposite him.
An Embassy dinner. A dinner such as he so often attended, holdingmuch of the same type of guests. Various members of the DiplomaticCorps, junior ministers, one or two industrialists7, a sprinkling of socialitesusually included because they were good conversationalists, natural,pleasant people to meet, though one or two, thought Stafford Nye, one ortwo were maybe different. Even while he was busy sustaining his conver-sation with Signora Gasparo, a charming person to talk to, a chatterbox,slightly flirtatious8; his mind was roving in the same way that his eye alsoroved, though the latter was not very noticeable. As it roved round thedinner table, you would not have said that he was summing up conclu-sions in his own mind. He had been asked here. Why? For any reason orfor no reason in particular. Because his name had come up automaticallyon the list that the secretaries produced from time to time with checksagainst such members as were due for their turn. Or as the extra man orthe extra woman required for the balancing of the table. He had alwaysbeen in request when an extra was needed.
‘Oh yes,’ a diplomatic hostess would say, ‘Stafford Nye will do beauti-fully. You will put him next to Madame So-and-so, or Lady Somebody else.’
He had been asked perhaps to fill in for no further reason than that.
And yet, he wondered. He knew by experience that there were certainother reasons. And so his eye with its swift social amiability9, its air of notlooking really at anything in particular, was busy.
Amongst these guests there was someone perhaps who for some reasonmattered, was important. Someone who had been asked–not to fill in–onthe contrary–someone who had had a selection of other guests invited tofit in round him– or her. Someone who mattered. He wondered– hewondered which of them it might be.
Cortman knew, of course. Milly Jean, perhaps. One never really knewwith wives. Some of them were better diplomats10 than their husbands.
Some of them could be relied upon merely for their charm, for their ad-aptability, their readiness to please, their lack of curiosity. Some again, hethought ruefully to himself, were, as far as their husbands were con-cerned, disasters. Hostesses who, though they may have brought prestigeor money to a diplomatic marriage, were yet capable at any moment ofsaying or doing the wrong thing, and creating an unfortunate situation. Ifthat was to be guarded against, it would need one of the guests, or two oreven three of the guests, to be what one might call professional smoothers-over.
Did this dinner party this evening mean anything but a social event? Hisquick and noticing eye had by now been round the dinner table pickingout one or two people whom so far he had not entirely11 taken in. An Amer-ican business man. Pleasant, not socially brilliant. A professor from one ofthe universities of the Middle West. A married couple, the husband Ger-man, the wife predominantly, almost aggressively American. A very beau-tiful woman, too. Sexually, highly attractive, Sir Stafford thought. Was oneof them important? Initials floated through his mind. FBI. CIA. The busi-ness man perhaps a CIA man, there for a purpose. Things were like thatnowadays. Not as they used to be. How had the formula gone? Big Brotheris watching you. Yes, well it went further than that now. TransatlanticCousin is watching you. High Finance for Middle Europe is watching you.
A diplomatic difficulty has been asked here for you to watch him. Oh yes.
There was often a lot behind things nowadays. But was that just anotherformula, just another fashion? Could it really mean more than that, some-thing vital, something real? How did one talk of events in Europenowadays? The Common Market. Well, that was fair enough, that dealtwith trade, with economics, with the inter-relationships of countries.
That was the stage to set. But behind the stage. Back-stage. Waiting forthe cue. Ready to prompt if prompting were needed. What was going on?
Going on in the big world and behind the big world. He wondered.
Some things he knew, some things he guessed at, some things, hethought to himself, I know nothing about and nobody wants me to knowanything about them.
His eyes rested for a moment on his vis-à-vis, her chin tilted12 upward,her mouth just gently curved in a polite smile, and their eyes met. Thoseeyes told him nothing, the smile told him nothing. What was she doinghere? She was in her element, she fitted in, she knew this world. Yes, shewas at home here. He could find out, he thought, without much difficultywhere she figured in the diplomatic world, but would that tell him whereshe really had her place?
The young woman in the slacks who had spoken to him suddenly atFrankfurt had had an eager intelligent face. Was that the real woman, orwas this casual social acquaintance the real woman? Was one of thosepersonalities a part being played? And if so, which one? And there mightbe more than just those two personalities14. He wondered. He wanted tofind out.
Or had the fact that he had been asked to meet her been pure coincid-ence? Milly Jean was rising to her feet. The other ladies rose with her.
Then suddenly an unexpected clamour arose. A clamour from outside thehouse. Shouts. Yells. The crash of breaking glass in a window. Shouts.
Sounds– surely pistol shots. Signora Gasparo spoke13, clutching StaffordNye’s arm.
‘What again!’ she exclaimed. ‘Dio!–again it is those terrible students. It isthe same in our country. Why do they attack Embassies? They fight, resistthe police–go marching, shouting idiotic15 things, lie down in the streets. Si,si. We have them in Rome–in Milan–We have them like a pest everywherein Europe. Why are they never happy, these young ones? What do theywant?’
Stafford Nye sipped16 his brandy and listened to the heavy accents of MrCharles Staggenham, who was being pontifical17 and taking his time aboutit. The commotion18 had subsided19. It would seem that the police hadmarched off some of the hotheads. It was one of those occurrences whichonce would have been thought extraordinary and even alarming butwhich were now taken as a matter of course.
‘A larger police force. That’s what we need. A larger police force. It’smore than these chaps can deal with. It’s the same everywhere, they say. Iwas talking to Herr Lurwitz the other day. They have their troubles, sohave the French. Not quite so much of it in the Scandinavian countries.
What do they all want–just trouble? I tell you if I had my way–’
Stafford Nye removed his mind to another subject while keeping up aflattering pretence20 as Charles Staggenham explained just what his waywould be, which in any case was easily to be anticipated beforehand.
‘Shouting about Vietnam and all that. What do any of them know aboutVietnam. None of them have ever been there, have they?’
‘One would think it very unlikely,’ said Sir Stafford Nye.
‘Man was telling me earlier this evening, they’ve had a lot of trouble inCalifornia. In the universities–If we had a sensible policy…’
Presently the men joined the ladies in the drawing-room. Stafford Nye,moving with that leisurely21 grace, that air of complete lack of purpose hefound so useful, sat down by a golden-haired, talkative woman whom heknew moderately well, and who could be guaranteed seldom to say any-thing worth listening to as regards ideas or wit, but who was excessivelyknowledgeable about all her fellow creatures within the bounds of her ac-quaintance. Stafford Nye asked no direct questions but presently, withoutthe lady being even aware of the means by which he had guided the sub-ject of conversation, he was hearing a few remarks about the CountessRenata Zerkowski.
‘Still very good-looking isn’t she? She doesn’t come over here very oftennowadays. Mostly New York, you know, or that wonderful island place.
You know the one I mean. Not Minorca. One of the other ones in the Medi-terranean. Her sister’s married to that soap king, at least I think it’s a soapking. Not the Greek one. He’s Swedish, I think. Rolling in money. And thenof course, she spends a lot of time in some castle place in the Dolomites–ornear Munich–very musical, she always has been. She said you’d met be-fore, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. A year or two years ago, I think.’
‘Oh yes, I suppose when she was over in England before. They say shewas mixed up in the Czechoslovakian business. Or do I mean the Polishtrouble? Oh dear, it’s so difficult, isn’t it. All the names, I mean. They haveso many z’s and k’s. Most peculiar22, and so hard to spell. She’s very literary.
You know, gets up petitions for people to sign. To give writers asylumhere, or whatever it is. Not that anyone really pays much attention. Imean, what else can one think of nowadays except how one can possiblypay one’s own taxes. The travel allowance makes things a little better butnot much. I mean, you’ve got to get the money, haven’t you, before youcan take it abroad. I don’t know how anyone manages to have moneynow, but there’s a lot of it about. Oh yes, there’s a lot of it about.’
She looked down in a complacent23 fashion at her left hand, on whichwere two solitaire rings, one a diamond and one an emerald, whichseemed to prove conclusively24 that a considerable amount of money hadbeen spent upon her at least.
The evening drew on to its close. He knew very little more about his pas-senger from Frankfurt than he had known before. He knew that she had afa?ade, a fa?ade it seemed to him, very highly faceted25, if you could usethose two alliterative words together. She was interested in music. Well,he had met her at the Festival Hall, had he not? Fond of outdoor sports.
Rich relations who owned Mediterranean26 islands. Given to supporting lit-erary charities. Somebody in fact who had good connections, was well re-lated, had entries to the social field. Not apparently27 highly political andyet, quietly perhaps, affiliated28 to some group. Someone who moved aboutfrom place to place and country to country. Moving among the rich,amongst the talented, about the literary world.
He thought of espionage29 for a moment or two. That seemed the mostlikely answer. And yet he was not wholly satisfied with it.
The evening drew on. It came at last to be his turn to be collected by hishostess. Milly Jean was very good at her job.
‘I’ve been longing30 to talk to you for ages. I wanted to hear about Malaya.
I’m so stupid about all these places in Asia, you know, I mix them up. Tellme, what happened out there? Anything interesting or was everything ter-ribly boring?’
‘I’m sure you can guess the answer to that one.’
‘Well, I should guess it was very boring. But perhaps you’re not allowedto say so.’
‘Oh yes, I can think it, and I can say it. It wasn’t really my cup of tea, youknow.’
‘Why did you go then?’
‘Oh well, I’m always fond of travelling, I like seeing countries.’
‘You’re such an intriguing31 person in many ways. Really, of course, alldiplomatic life is very boring, isn’t it? I oughtn’t to say so. I only say it toyou.’
Very blue eyes. Blue like bluebells32 in a wood. They opened a little widerand the black brows above them came down gently at the outside cornerswhile the inside corners went up a little. It made her face look like arather beautiful Persian cat. He wondered what Milly Jean was really like.
Her soft voice was that of a southerner. The beautifully shaped little head,her profile with the perfection of a coin–what was she really like? No fool,he thought. One who could use social weapons when needed, who couldcharm when she wished to, who could withdraw into being enigmatic. Ifshe wanted anything from anyone she would be adroit33 in getting it. He no-ticed the intensity34 of the glance she was giving him now. Did she wantsomething of him? He didn’t know. He didn’t think it could be likely. Shesaid, ‘Have you met Mr Staggenham?’
‘Ah yes. I was talking to him at the dinner table. I hadn’t met him be-fore.’
‘He is said to be very important,’ said Milly Jean. ‘He’s the President ofPBF as you know.’
‘One should know all those things,’ said Sir Stafford Nye. ‘PBF and DCV.
LYH. And all the world of initials.’
‘Hateful,’ said Milly Jean. ‘Hateful. All these initials, no personalities, nopeople any more. Just initials. What a hateful world! That’s what I some-times think. What a hateful world. I want it to be different, quite, quite dif-ferent–’
Did she mean that? He thought for one moment that perhaps she did. In-teresting…
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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elucidating
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的现在分词 ) | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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industrialists
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| n.工业家，实业家( industrialist的名词复数 ) | |
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flirtatious
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| adj.爱调情的，调情的，卖俏的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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diplomats
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| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
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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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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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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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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pontifical
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| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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faceted
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| adj. 有小面的，分成块面的 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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affiliated
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| adj. 附属的, 有关连的 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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