“There is nothing else to be done, Angelo. I regret the necessity as
much as you do.”
It was the day after Lily’s delightful drive with Beppo, and the words
floated out to where she was sitting in the late morning sunshine. They
were uttered by the Countess, whose sitting-room window was open.
The Count’s low answer to his wife’s observation took Lily somewhat by
surprise, for he spoke with much more feeling than she had yet heard him
display.
“I will not sully my lips by telling you the kind of information about
Monte Carlo the old brute expected me to give him.”
“All the more do I ask you to do this for the sake of our Beppo. His
whole future depends on it.”
“If I do as you wish, Lily will have to accompany me.”
The Count uttered these words in a slow, hesitating voice.
The girl had no wish to act as eavesdropper, so she called out: “Is
there anything I can do for you, Uncle Angelo?”
The Countess appeared at the window. She was flustered and looked
annoyed.
“The truth is,” she exclaimed volubly, “that Beppo is in business
relations with a Dutch gentleman. The matter concerns a British affair
in which they are both interested, and we think you may be useful in
assuring the Dutchman that things in England are going on quite well.
You came so lately from London, and we think this person will take your
word, when he would not take ours—” she waited a few moments, then said
firmly, “I should like you to go now, so will you put on that pretty new
coat and skirt? Then you can accompany Uncle Angelo to the Condamine.”
Lily hurried into the house, and a few minutes later the Countess was
walking across the lawn to see them off.
“Do not say anything of this matter to Beppo,” she said anxiously.
And Lily answered: “Of course I won’t, Aunt Cosy.” But she spoke very
coldly. She could not forgive the Countess Polda for having opened her
letter.
The two ill-assorted companions went down the hill together in absolute
silence. Count Polda was always a man of few words. But at last:
“I shall be asking my friend, Mr. Vissering, to supper to-night,” he
said suddenly. “I shall be obliged, Lily, if you would refrain from
mentioning the fact that you will be out this evening. He is very fond
of English people, and I do not know that he would come if he thought
that he was only to be alone with your Aunt Cosy and myself.”
Lily felt just a little uncomfortable. Not for the first time she told
herself that foreigners seem to have a curious dislike to telling the
truth.
But the girl had many things to fill her mind just now. In a sense she
was sorry that Beppo Polda was going back to Rome in two days, for she
had enjoyed seeing even a little glimpse of the brilliant, amusing world
of Monte Carlo in his company. Also she felt flattered at his obvious
admiration and liking for herself. Nothing could be nicer than the way
Beppo had behaved to her yesterday, and she resented M. Popeau’s hints
and insinuations very much indeed.
These desultory thoughts passed to and fro through Lily Fairfield’s mind
during the longish walk, and she was suddenly surprised to find herself
and the Count in a part of the Condamine where she had never been
before.
Was it here that Uncle Angelo’s business friend lived? Yes, for at last
they stopped in front of a large, old-fashioned house, across which was
written in large, black letters, “Utrecht Hotel.”
Walking through the open door into a small hall lit by a skylight, Count
Polda shook hands in a friendly way with a respectable-looking woman who
sat at a desk making out an account.
“Is Mr. Vissering in, Madame Sansot?” he asked. And the woman said,
“Yes, I believe so, Monsieur le Comte. But I will go and see.”
The woman came back after a few moments. “Mr. Vissering is very busy
writing in his room,” she said. “He begs Monsieur le Comte to call
another time.”
“Will you please take him up this card?” said Count Polda.
He went up to the desk where the woman had been sitting and dipped a pen
in the ink. Lily could not help seeing that on the card, on which was
engraved, above “Count Polda,” an elegant little coronet, he wrote the
words: “I have brought with me Miss Lily Fairfield, my young English
niece, whom you will perhaps be pleased to meet.”
Again the woman went off, and when she came back she exclaimed, “He will
be down in two or three minutes. Please come this way!”
She showed the visitors into a dingy little back room, where there were
three deep armchairs and a number of cane-bottomed chairs. On two
marble-topped tables were ash-trays and match-boxes. The windows were
shut, and the room smelt musty. What a strange place in which to receive
visitors!
Before leaving the room the woman came close up to the Count and said in
a low voice:
“Does Monsieur le Comte know anything about Mr. Vissering? We find him a
very curious kind of gentleman! He insists on paying every day, and he
is so mean—he scrutinises every sou in the account! Yet we know that he
has a very large sum of money always on his person. That is not safe in
a place like Monte Carlo, and my husband has begged him again and again
to leave his money in our safe. But he is very suspicious.”
“I know even less about him than you do,” answered the Count amiably.
“But I am not surprised at what you tell me. A certain type of _nouveau
riche_ either spends too much or too little. I know very little of your
client. You will remember that you yourself introduced him to me.”
“Yes, and I’m very grateful to Monsieur le Comte for the trouble he
took. But as a client Mr. Vissering has disappointed us very much!” She
waited a moment. “Was Monsieur le Comte able to get the card of
admission he desired so much to possess? Fancy a man of that wealth not
being able to get into the Club!”
“That was simply because Mr. Vissering did not already belong to a club
in his own country. He is very old-fashioned, as you know, but there is
no harm in him.”
The woman looked dubiously at Lily. “Ah, Monsieur le Comte, you do not
know the things that I know! But there—I will say nothing.”
After Madame Sansot had left them the Count turned to Lily: “This fellow
Vissering is truly a queer kind of man,” he muttered. “He was one of the
war profiteers of Holland. That makes him feel he has the right to be
insolent. You must not notice his odd manner.”
Lily smiled.
“Of course I won’t, Uncle Angelo!”
Those who love Lily Fairfield hope that she will live to a good old age,
but however long she lives she will never, never forget that shabby
little smoking-room of the Utrecht Hotel. And yet what happened there
did not seem at the time so very remarkable, memorable, or strange—it
was simply very disagreeable and unexpected.
After they had been waiting there perhaps in all five minutes, the door
opened, and a huge old man walked into the room. Lily told herself that
he looked like a big, shaggy Newfoundland dog—only not so nice! What was
impressive about the stranger was a look of age wedded to that of great
vitality. His ugly, powerful face bore a strange expression of hesitancy
and expectation.
Count Polda bowed, coldly and distantly.
“As I was passing by, I thought, Mr. Vissering, that I would come in and
convey to you an invitation from my wife. The Countess will be very
pleased if you will come and spend this evening with us.”
There was a pause. By way of answer the old man came close up to where
his visitors were standing. He did not even glance at the Count, but he
stared at Lily, and there was something so searching in that bold, hard,
measuring look that the girl’s own eyes fell before it.
“So this is your niece, Monsieur le Comte?” he said at last, speaking
French with a strong, gutteral accent.
“Yes,” replied the Count, rather nervously. “This is Miss Lily
Fairfield, my English niece.”
Then the old Dutchman broke into English.
“Is it true,” he asked the girl abruptly, “that the Count is your
uncle?”
If it came to the point, it was, of course, not true. But Lily told
herself quickly that what she was or was not did not concern this odious
old man.
“I am on a visit to my aunt, the Countess Polda,” she said quietly.
“Then Madame la Comtesse is English?” asked Mr. Vissering.
That question Lily did not feel called upon to answer. And the Count
interposed: “I shall be grateful if you will speak French. I learnt
English as a young man, but it is not a language with which I am
familiar.”
And then the old Dutchman turned again to Lily, and, speaking this time
in French, and with a kind of ogreish look and familiar intonation,
which she found very unpleasant and disconcerting, he exclaimed:
“I asked you that question, Mademoiselle, because, as a matter of fact,
I inquired of my good new friend here, Count Polda, whether he knew any
charming young ladies in Monte Carlo with whom I might make
acquaintance. I am on the look-out for a little wife.”
Lily stared at him. What an extraordinarily, disagreeable, ridiculous
old man! And what a very odd kind of joke to make to a girl he had only
met a few moments ago!
“I have always admired young English ladies very much,” went on the
strange old fellow, “and I have here before me a perfect specimen.” He
bowed.
It was an ungainly bow, a kind of imitation of the Count’s elegant and
graceful salute.
“My niece,” interposed Count Polda quickly, “has just come from London,
and she has much that is interesting to say about her happy, prosperous
country.”
“There are not many Dutchmen in London,” said Mr. Vissering grimly.
“Before the war Germans were preferred.” He laughed harshly. “As for us,
we have always preferred France to England.”
And then Lily, feeling that the time had come when she must say
something to help Uncle Angelo, suddenly remarked, a little timidly, and
yet firmly too:
“I wonder, Monsieur, if you are acquainted with a Dutch gentleman named
Baron van Voorst? He is the only Dutchman I have ever met.”
And then, to her surprise, and to the Count’s relief, there came a
distinct change over the old man. He drew a long breath.
“I have not met him,” he said, again speaking in English, but in a very
different and a far more courteous tone. “The Baron is certainly a very
distinguished man; one of our best-known statesmen. Do I understand you
to say that you are personally acquainted with him?”
“Yes,” said Lily, feeling—she could not have told you why—a little less
uncomfortable. “I know him and his family quite well. He had his
daughter with him—a girl about my own age—and they both said they hoped
I would go some day to Holland; in fact, they asked me to go and stay
with them there next spring to see the tulips in flower.”
Here Count Polda intervened with what Lily could not help feeling was a
rather uncalled-for, and snobbish, interruption:
“My niece, Miss Fairfield, comes of a very good English family,” he
observed pompously.
“People of good family are but human after all,” said the old man
disagreeably. “Does Mademoiselle frequent the Casino?”
He was certainly speaking more pleasantly, but, still, there was a
curious note in his voice—a note to which Lily was very unaccustomed,
that of a certain contemptuous familiarity.
“I’ve only been in the Rooms once,” she said quietly.
“And did Mademoiselle play?”
Lily laughed. “Oh yes,” she exclaimed. “Of course I played—and I won
too! But my bag was stolen.”
There was a long pause, and then all at once Mr. Vissering exclaimed: “I
beg of you to sit down! Forgive my rudeness for not having invited you
to do so before.”
Count Polda hesitated. He looked at Lily, as if wishing to discover how
she felt. But she, on her side, was only anxious to do what would best
further Uncle Angelo’s and Beppo’s business relations with this
unpleasant, eccentric old man. So she sat down on one of the
cane-bottomed chairs, and Mr. Vissering let himself fall heavily into
one of the armchairs.
“Well,” he said, “is it a bargain? Am I to have the company of Miss
Fairfield this afternoon in the Rooms? If so, I will bring with me a
pretty gold purse containing a thousand francs, and I will give her a
lesson in gambling.”
The Count answered for the now astonished and indignant Lily.
“I am sorry, but that is impossible! My niece has an engagement this
afternoon. Meanwhile, I recall to your memory my wife’s invitation. We
hope you will do us the pleasure of coming up to La Solitude for supper.
We are simple people, but I think you would enjoy an evening in the pure
air.”
The old man seemed to be hesitating. “I do not know how I should find
your house,” he said at last. “I should not care to take a taxi. Once
you are in a taxi you are no longer your own master! I am one of those
men who believe in their own good right arm, as our friends the Germans
used to say. I like to carry my fortune—or as much of it as I have with
me—on my person.”
“There need be no question of a taxi,” said the Count quickly. “I’ve
been offered the loan of a motor by a friend. I will call at the garage
on my way home and arrange to fetch you. The same motor will, of course,
bring you back. You will be put to no expense.”
“Ah, that is better! And you will bring our charming young friend here
to fetch me?”
The Count shook his head. “_I_ will fetch you, Mr. Vissering.
Mademoiselle will be with my wife, waiting to greet you at La Solitude.”
“Did you say dinner would be at seven o’clock?” asked the old man. “It
is my habit to lunch early, therefore I am hungry by seven.”
“It shall certainly be seven—or even half-past six, if you prefer it,”
said the Count courteously.
“No, seven will do. I shall expect you here at half-past six. Oh—and a
word more. I was much gratified the other day by your kindly giving me a
card of admission to the Club. But I have not cared to use it, being
alone. Would you mind coming down with me there to-night, and acting as
my introducer?”
“I, being a Monegasque, have no right to enter the Club,” said the
Count. “But I have many friends, any one of whom would be charmed to
introduce you. I will see one of them, the Marchese Pescobaldi, about
the matter at once on leaving here.”
“I thank you,” said Mr. Vissering slowly.
“And now we must be going home, Lily,” said the Count in a relieved
tone. “Your aunt will be expecting us.”
The girl got up. Somehow she felt she did not want that strange old man
even to touch her hand. She bowed distantly.
He accompanied them into the hall. “Till to-night, then,” he said in
French. Then, breaking into English, he exclaimed, “And do not forget—do
not forget what I told you just now, my fair young lady!”
“What you told me just now?” repeated Lily uncomfortably. Did he mean
that ridiculous proposal that he should take her to the Casino and give
her money to gamble with?
“That I am on the look-out for a dear little wife!”
Lily made no answer to this peculiar remark. She tried to smile, but
when she got out in the street she took a deep breath. She had felt as
if stifled in that frowsy little smoking-room.
“What a brute, eh?” exclaimed the Count, after they had walked a few
yards in silence. “You must forgive me, my dear Lily, for having exposed
you to that low fellow’s vulgar joking!”
“I’ve never met such an extraordinary man,” said the girl hesitatingly.
“His manner was so odd. Do you think that he is a little mad?”
“He is an eccentric,” said the Count shortly.
“I can’t imagine why he wants to belong to the Club.”
“He is, as you say in England, a snob,” observed the Count drily.
“And do you really think he will be useful to Beppo?” asked Lily.
“I know he will be,” replied the Count grimly.
Then he fell into one of his long silences.
“Have you not forgotten, Uncle Angelo, the message to the Marchese?”
asked Lily at last. “I mean about Mr. Vissering and the Club.”
“I have thought the matter over,” said the Count gravely, “and I do not
feel I can propose such a plan to the Marchese. Mr. Vissering would be
out of place in the Club.”
“You also said something about a car for to-night,” said Lily.
“I have changed my mind about that too. I do not care to ask favours of
people. I shall take one of those nice taxis that look like a private
car, from one of the hotels.”
When they were within sight of La Solitude, he asked suddenly: “Are you
going out with Beppo and the Pescobaldis this afternoon?”
“No,” said Lily. “There would not be room for me in the car. The
Marchesa has asked some people they know in the hotel to go with them.
Beppo said they meant to start early this morning, but they will be back
in ample time for dinner, of course. I am to be at the Hidalgo Hotel at
a quarter to seven.”
“And what time will you be home?” asked the Count. He turned and looked
at Lily as he spoke. She was surprised, for he never seemed to take the
slightest interest in her comings or goings.
“Beppo wants me to have supper with him and his friends after the
performance. They kindly suggest bringing me back, as Aunt Cosy would
not like me to return alone so late.”
“Then we cannot expect you home till after eleven?”
“I fear it will be twelve o’clock, Uncle Angelo. But Cristina is going
to sit up for me. It is very kind of her to do so.”
She waited, and then added, a little shyly: “I am so very fond of
Cristina, Uncle Angelo!”
“You are right to be that,” he said feelingly. “She is a most excellent
woman.”
“She is so fond of Beppo,” said Lily.
“Yes—yes, indeed; she could not love him more if she were his own
mother! There is nothing—nothing that Cristina would not do for my
Beppo——”
There came a tone of real emotion into the Count’s voice, and the girl,
looking round at him, told herself how very strange it was that the same
man could be so frank and so deceitful, so cold in manner and at the
same time such a devoted father. He now looked curiously pale and puffy,
as well as very, very tired.
“I wish Beppo could have stayed on in Monte Carlo a little longer,” she
said kindly.
The Count looked at her fixedly. “I hope,” he said slowly, “that Beppo
will stay in Monte Carlo for a considerable time.”
Lily was surprised to hear him say this. Surely Beppo was going back to
Rome at once? His own and his friends’ rooms at the Hotel Hidalgo were
already let to another set of people from two days hence.