The Portuguese Escape by Ann Bridge Read Free Book Online Page B

dear Richard, you know perfectly that nobody ever sees me
well
. As Maurice Baring once said—“I’m always worse, and
never
better!” However, thank you for the little phrase.’
    Atherley laughed.
    â€˜Moreover, your intention in greeting me is not in the least single-minded,’ the Hungarian went on. ‘You simply wish to be introduced to Countess Hetta Páloczy. Very well—Countess Hetta, allow me to introduce Mr. Richard Atherley, First Secretary at the British Embassy, who in spite of this lamentable exhibition of double-talk is really my very good friend.’
    Hetta, laughing, held out her hand. Richard Atherley was very good-looking in a rather neutral English way: that is to say, that although he was very tall he had hazel, not blue eyes, and mouse-coloured hair, and his skin, though clear and healthy, was by no means pink. But his face was intelligent and expressive, something one noticed long before the excellent modelling of the features and the brilliance of the hazel eyes; he looked gay and amusing and pleasant. He was all three. He bowed over Hetta’s hand and kissed it, surprising her.
    â€˜
Tiens!
We are going all Hungarian, are we?’ said M. de Kállay. ‘Well
je m’absente
—which in American means “I’ll leave you to it”.’ He, too, kissed Hetta’s hand, and hobbled away.
    â€˜What a very nice man this is,’ Hetta said, looking after him. When coaching her daughter for her first appearance in society Countess Páloczy’s main injunction had been ‘Talk!’—she was now endeavouring to carry it out.
    â€˜Yes, he’s an absolute darling, and as clever as paint, too.’
    To his immense surprise Hetta said—
    â€˜Would you repeat that?’
    â€˜Repeat what?’
    â€˜This that you said about his being clever.’
    â€˜I said he was as clever as paint, didn’t I?’
    â€˜Yes. Would you tell me what this means?’
    â€˜Oh, just that he’s very clever—it’s an expression one uses. But why did you want it repeated?’
    â€˜Mr. Waller told me I should say “Would you repeat that?” when I have not understood, instead of saying “Please?” It seems that “Please” has a disagreeable sound in English.’
    Atherley gave his big laugh.
    â€˜Oh, Townsend! What a man! You go on saying “Please?” as much as you like. Do you know, I believe I went to your house in Hungary once?’ he went on.
    â€˜Did you really? When? Mr. Waller said you knew Hungary.’
    â€˜It was in 1939—I was staying with the Talmassys at Bula, and they took me over to lunch at Detvan.’
    â€˜1939—oh, then I was only six, so I could not have seen you! Did you like it?’
    â€˜Yes, I thought it a most charming place—dignified and yet so homely, with that great courtyard, and the farm buildings. And full of sun.’
    â€˜Was it not? Oh, you have completely
seen
it!—this is evident.’
    â€˜I liked the new chapel your father had just built, too. Of course it wasn’t as perfect as the little old rococo one, but like that it was a part of the house, as well as being big enough for all the peasants to come to Mass in on Sundays, instead of trailing over to Bula.’
    â€˜Oh, yes; that meant so much to them. Did you see the telegram?’ the girl asked eagerly.
    â€˜You mean the one from Cardinal Pacelli that hangs up in the porch, framed, giving the building his blessing? Yes, of course I did—your father showed me that at once. It seems they were friends.’
    â€˜Indeed yes—he was often at Detvan; they were close friends. And now one is the Holy Father, and the other is dead,’ Hetta said, on an elegiac fall of voice which struck Atherley with curious force.
    â€˜I’d forgotten—of course Pacelli is Pope now,’ he said,conscious of a certain lameness in his words after