‘Anything!’
‘That you won’t gamble any more. For my sake!’
‘Of course. Whatever you say … anything … everything!’ whispered Laszlo.
Now she looked straight into his eyes.
‘Promise me!’ she said and offered him her narrow hand hoping that anyone who saw would take it that they were shaking hands to seal a wager.
Laszlo understood at once that he could now answer out loud.
‘I promise!’ he said, rather pompously, and squeezed her hand.
Klara was flooded with joy and relief, all the confidence that had deserted her after the terrible interview with her parents restored by those two simple words. Once again she saw their marriage as certain; in a few months she would stand before her father and say: ‘See, Laszlo isn’t gambling any more. He has given it up for me and this is the greatest proof of his worth! And he’ll never do it again, never ever again!’ And, as these thoughts came to her she also exulted that it had been she who had saved him, this very minute, from certain destruction. Ever since the previous day’s talk with her father, when she had been deeply influenced by his passionate denunciation of gamblers and gambling, she had been forced to recognize the facts and admit to herself that for Laszlo gambling could become a fatal obsession; and in recognizing this she had decided that it would be she, and she alone, who would save him. Now she had done it. He was saved … and the feeling was wonderful.
For a moment she allowed herself to look at him. Then she saw her younger brother Niki a few steps away. He was looking at them, obviously watching them; and of course this would all be reported back to the princess. It was the moment to send Laszlo on his way.
‘We’ve been seen!’ she said softly, and then went on in a loud confident voice, ‘Now hurry off to the tote and put this on for me.’ and, opening her little silken purse, she took out some coins and handed them to him. ‘Here are ten crowns. Do hurry!’
It was all so natural, or seemed so, and it was equally natural that Laszlo should lean towards her as he took the coins from her hand and that this should give him the opportunity to whisper: ‘Can I sit beside you tonight?’
‘Yes, of course. Now I don’t mind anymore,’ she said softly, her lips scarcely moving because she was so happy and thankful and so relieved, and because she loved him all the more for those two little words which rang so loudly in her heart. She had his oath and in her thundered triumphantly the knowledge that he was hers, now and forever. Her ocean-grey eyes sparkled as she watched him leave the stand and walk across the lawn below.
‘Which did you choose?’ asked a girl who sat behind her. ‘Not Patience, I hope, she’s everyone’s favourite! You won’t win a sou!’
‘I won’t tell you,’ said Klara, turning round. ‘No! No! It’s a secret, my very own secret!’ And she laughed wickedly, but so full of joy was she, joy, triumph and sheer happiness, that her laughter was as soft and voluptuous as the cooing of a dove.
Gyeroffy hurried through the mass of people on the lawn propelled by a superstitious compulsion that he must, no matter what, put Klara’s money on a horse. When he reached the betting counter he could hardly get to the clerk so thick was the crowd waiting to place their bets, and when he did get to the front and push forward his ten crowns his mind was a blank and he could not remember the name of a single horse that was running. ‘Which horse, please?’ asked the clerk impatiently. Laszlo could think of nothing. He had not even looked at his programme, indeed he seemed to have lost it. A number, quickly, he thought to himself, any number! ‘Nine!’ he said swiftly, without thinking; and then it suddenly crossed his mind that he had chosen right since the nine was a winning number at chemmy and baccarat and would bring him luck. He picked up the ticket and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat.
When Laszlo left the tote counter he decided not to go back to the grandstand, as he knew that if he did he would be drawn back to Klara. Instead he remained on the lawn from where he could just see the horses moving at a slow canter towards the start. Because of the dense crowd, all that he could see was the flash of racing colours above the undulating sea of black top hats. For the first time he became interested in the race and so started to look for a place from which he would be able to watch properly. He hardly noticed where he was going until his way was suddenly barred by the frothy green lace of a lady’s parasol.
‘Stop at once!’ said a merry female voice. ‘So you don’t even notice me any more?’ It was Fanny Beredy, surrounded by her nieces and faithful band of admirers. Greetings and laughter followed, with Laszlo being teased for his sudden interest in the races. Realizing that he must know on which horse he had placed Klara’s bet, he asked the others to let him see a programme. ‘Since when have you been interested in horses?’ asked Fanny. ‘You haven’t actually bet on one, have you?’
‘I have!’
‘You? Backing the horses now?’ The remark sounded like a mild rebuke, inferring that cards were quite enough.
‘Just this once.’
‘Which one, may one ask?’ said d’Orly.
‘Number nine.’
‘That will get nowhere! The Festetic filly’s bound to win hands down!’
Laszlo’s heart missed a beat.
Fanny noticed that a cloud passed over Laszlo’s face at this last remark and she turned towards him, concerned. ‘Did you bet a lot?’
‘Oh, no! Only a trifle! Just my life!’ And he said it so lightly, with a soft laugh, that they all took it for a joke and laughed. But Fanny looked sharply at him, paused, and then asked him to give her a chair to stand on so that she could have a clear view of the race. Szelepcsenyi handed Fanny his race-glasses.
There was a sudden hush of excitement as the starting bell rang. Through the glasses Fanny could see the race clearly until the horses reached the first turn and were hidden by other spectators. After a few seconds there was a sudden surge of shouting from the public stands, a thundering roar as the crowd took up the name of the leader. Closer and closer it came, the noise ever louder, though all that could be distinguished was ‘Pa-a-a-, Pa-a-a-’, only that. All at once, in tearing speed, the horses were past Fanny’s little group and the race was over. In front, several lengths ahead of the field, the wonder filly Patience, her jockey carrying the golden Festetic colours, flew effortlessly past the finish.
‘Trouble?’ whispered Fanny as Laszlo reached up to help her descend from her chair.
‘No! No! I only risked ten crowns. It’s nothing but a farce really.’ Though he smiled as he spoke, Fanny did not entirely believe him and pressed his hand a little longer than was necessary out of sympathy.
In the grandstand everyone now stood up to look for some refreshment. The princess, who had returned to her place just before the race began, moved down beside Klara.
‘Look there!’ she said, her face rigid with disapproval, and as she pointed to where Countess Beredy was surrounded by her little court. Laszlo was helping Fanny get down from her chair, and this was the moment when Klara’s lover was looking up into Fanny’s lovely smiling face.
In Klara’s heart something tightened and all her doubts flooded back, just as her stepmother had intended. In an instant the girl had chased her fears away, but the radiant sense of joy which had until then filled her whole being had fled, never to return.
On the evening of the King’s Cup Race a grand ball was always given at the Park Club, and as this was the pinnacle of the spring season everyone felt it their duty to be there. As well as those families with debutante daughters and the young men who attended every dance as religiously as if they were going to work, the King’s Cup ball was also graced by the younger married couples, by leading political figures, by the principal owners of racing stables, by members of the court, ladies-in-waiting and equerries, and all those elderly country aristocrats who contributed to the organization of the ‘Gentlemen’s Ball’, as this event had come to be called. This year the Archduke and Archduchess were also to be present with two of their daughters, and they had brought two royal princes from Germany as their guests. There were so many people that every room at the club was filled with people. The invitations bore the magic legend ‘Decorations’, indicating that royalty would be present, and so all the married women wore tiaras and every man who was able to wore dress uniform just as if he had received an invitation to court. The great oval ballroom had all the air of a reception at Schönbrunn or the Hofburg.