Part 68 (1/2)
”Come back as soon as you can they have gone very dull here.--CHARMIAN.”
She knew that in sending this telegram she was coming out of her role; but her nerves drove her into the weakness.
Within a week Claude and Gillier returned.
Charmian noticed at once that their expedition had not drawn the two men together, that their manner to each other was cold and constrained. On the day of their return she persuaded Gillier to dine at the villa. He seemed reluctant to accept, but she overcame his hesitation.
”I want to hear all about it,” she said. ”You must remember what a keen interest I have in everything that has to do with the opera.”
Gillier looked at her oddly, with a sort of furtive inquiry, she thought. Then he said formally:
”I am delighted to stay, madame.”
During dinner he became more expansive, but Claude seemed to Charmian to become more constrained. Beneath his constraint excitement lay in hiding. He looked tired; but his imaginative eyes shone as if they could not help speaking, although his lips were often dumb. Only when he was talking to Susan Fleet did he seem to be comparatively at ease.
The good Algerian wine went round, and Gillier's tongue was gradually unloosed. Some of the crust of formality flaked off from him, and his voice became a little louder. His manner, too, was more animated.
Nevertheless, Charmian noticed that from time to time he regarded her with the oddly furtive look at which she had wondered before dinner.
Presently Gillier found himself alone with Charmian. Susan Fleet and Claude were pacing up and down in the garden among the geraniums.
Charmian and Gillier sat at the edge of the court. Gillier sipped his Turkish coffee, poured out a gla.s.s of old brandy, clipped a big Havana cigar, which he took from an open box on a little low table beside him.
His large eyes rested on Charmian, and she thought how disagreeably expressive they were. She did not like this man, though she admired his remarkable talent. But she had had a purpose in persuading him to stay that evening, and she was resolved to carry it out.
”Has it gone off well?” she asked, with a careful lightness, a careful carelessness which she hoped was deceiving. ”Were you able to put my husband in the way of seeing and hearing everything that could help him with his music?”
”Oh, yes, madame! He saw, heard everything.”
Gillier blew forth a cloud of smoke, turned a little in his chair and looked at his cigar. He seemed to be considering something.
”Then the expedition was a success?” said Charmian.
Gillier glanced at her and took another sip of brandy.
”Who knows, madame?”
”Who knows? Why, how do you mean?”
”Madame, since I have been away with your husband I confess I begin to have certain doubts.”
”Doubts!” said Charmian, in a changed and almost challenging voice. ”I don't quite understand.”
”That your husband is a clever man, I realize. He has evidently much knowledge of the technique of music, much imagination. He is an original, though he seldom shows it, and wishes to conceal it.”
”Then--”
”A moment, madame! You will say, 'That is good for the opera!'”
”Naturally!”
”That depends. I do not know whether his sort of originality is what the public will appreciate. But I do know very well that your husband and I will never get on together.”