Martha in Paris by Margery Sharp Read Free Book Online

concealing this last inadequacy, reflected with surprising accurateness the formality of Martha’s sentiments; but Mrs. Taylor managed to think it very sweet of her.
    So did Eric manage to continue to think of Martha as sweet; also lonesome and defenceless. To be in love at last (in Paris) made Eric so happy—a club-tie, so to speak, at last awarded—he instinctively protected himself against disillusion by translating Martha’s every inappropriate characteristic into an appropriate virtue. Was she doggedly mute?—She was shy. Was she glum?—She was sad. Even the way she wolfed her food roused Eric’s protective tenderness: she obviously didn’t (the poor little thing) get enough to eat …
    â€œI don’t know what Martha’s people are paying for her,” said Eric worriedly, “but I’ve seen myself, Mother, she has nothing for lunch but a sandwich!”
    So he could translate even half a long French loaf over-stuffed with charcuterie . He was in love all right.
    Why Martha, to whom any possessive affection was peculiarly repellent, didn’t for her part nip his passion in the bud (even at the price of foregoing a weekly bath), was because she remained ignorant of it. Eric Taylor, in love, still wasn’t ready to make love. He felt himself he hadn’t yet quite got the hang. (By another neat piece of translation, feared to alarm Martha’s virginal timidity.) A parting pressure of the hand was the most he attempted; which upon Martha, who had a grip like a navvy’s, left no impression at all.
    Yet with what gay, offhand debonaireness did Eric now cash the pretty debs’ cheques at the City of London (Paris branch) Bank! How easily, now, met their long-lashed glances! Martha’s stolid regard meant far more to him.—How many a svelte gazelle-like form was obliterated, in that resolutely devoted eye, by Martha’s stocky figure! Eric had never been so happy in his life; and put on at least a couple of pounds.

Chapter Six
    Though Friday evening at the Taylors’ thus became a feature of Martha’s routine equally agreeable to all parties—Mrs. Taylor’s fears allayed, Madame Dubois and Angèle making up for lost time by rowing once a week, Martha herself, once a week, clean as a pink—there arose certain complications which Martha had not foreseen.
    She was definitely undesirous of any further involvement with her nice friends. One family evening a week was as much as she could stomach. She certainly didn’t want the Taylors cluttering up the rue de Vaugirard. But she had considerable difficulty in preventing it. As Madame Dubois pointed out, such regular hospitality entitled Mrs. Taylor to a little luncheon at least, if not a little dinner. (Also might not Angèle too, thought Madame Dubois practically, find in Mrs. Taylor a nice friend? Their circle was so narrow!) Madame Dubois dispatched by Martha several pressing invitations at first verbal, then by note. Nor would Mrs. Taylor have been surprised to receive such. Martha simply suppressed them; but then had to invent refusals. These were at first of the simple previous-engagement or cold-in-the-head type; but Martha soon grew bored with inventing even them.
    â€œMrs. Taylor says thank you very much,” reported Martha finally, “but she never goes out anywhere at all because of her back.”
    â€œWhat is wrong with her back?” demanded Madame Dubois suspiciously.
    â€œLumbago,” said Martha. (She knew about lumbago because Harry Gibson had it.)
    â€œIt does not seem to prevent her accepting other engagements!” cried Madame Dubois. “No doubt of a more interesting nature!”
    She was only too ready to suspect Mrs. Taylor of pride. She took umbrage—just as Mrs. Taylor did; Martha was undoubtedly guilty of fomenting bad Anglo-French relations, but at least she kept the Taylors out of the rue de Vaugirard.
    Angèle proved a