Chapter Five
A WEEK LATER, to mark the end of the season, the Lubianskys gave an evening party in the garden of their villa.
This was carefully planned: firstly, so that no one could say that the Lubianskys did not return hospitality — for they and their family were always invited everywhere — and secondly, because it would not then cost so much in champagne and food as many people would have already left for the country not waiting for the last of the races. Everyone was invited, as they should be, whether known to be still in Budapest or not, but the cost to the host and hostess would be far less than if they had given their party earlier in the season.
Countess Beredy, contrary to her usual custom, arrived early and alone. Tonight she had left her usual court behind; indeed, she had ordered them not to attend, telling them that there was no reason for them to come as it would be too utterly boring. She had to go for manners’ sake, but said she wouldn’t be staying long, and so all of them, since they knew how to behave and were far too well bred not to take a hint when one was offered them, kept away. Not one of them therefore — not old Szelepcsenyi, nor Devereux, nor d’Orly, and especially not her pet poet Gyorgy Solimar, who hated parties anyway — offered to escort her. Fanny, as she had planned, came by herself.
She had a special reason.
That afternoon a telegram had arrived from Simonvasar from Warday announcing that he had asked Klara to marry him and that she had accepted. Fanny had suggested this to him when, five days before, she had brought their affair to an end.
Fanny had given Warday his marching orders in the kindest and most elegant fashion.
They had been in the young man’s bachelor apartment in Dobrentey Street. Fanny had just got dressed and, hat in hand, was almost ready to leave when she turned to Warday. He was smoking a cigarette on the rumpled bed, a silk dressing-gown partly covering his naked body as he lay on the silk cushions enjoying a well-earned rest.
‘Why don’t you marry Klara Kollonich?’ she asked suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
‘I? Marry Klara?’ said the young man, taken aback.
‘Yes, why not? It would be rather a clever move. She’s a very good catch, and she likes you. You seem to like her too, so why not?’
‘But, darling Fanny, I love you, really I do, and I don’t even think of anyone else!’
‘Not now, I know, but you didn’t think this thing between us would last for ever, did you, my sweet?’
Imre sat up.
‘But, darling Fanny …’
She walked over to him and lightly stroked his face until her fingers reached his chin and she gave him a little pinch as one does a child.
‘You’re very sweet and it’s been very good between us, but you see,’ and, she added, smiling down at him, ‘the rule is to stop eating when you’re still hungry. And as for young Klara, the right moment has come.’
Fanny’s wide-set eyes, as knowing and wise as a cat’s, narrowed until they seemed even longer than usual. She was thinking of the previous day when the always well-informed Devereux had told her that Laszlo’s affair with Klara had evidently come to an end, for Laszlo had been going round the town for days with a dark scowl on his face while the Kollonichs had left for the country unexpectedly early.
She did not know any more, but this was enough. If Gyeroffy’s love for Klara had met with a definite reverse, then that was the time for her to get rid of Warday. So, after a few moments, she started again: ‘If I were you I’d get out my car and drive over to Simonvasar tomorrow. It won’t look suspicious as it’s only slightly out of your way to Baranya. Arrive about midday and stay to lunch. Then you’ll see how the land lies.’
‘But, Fanny, I don’t know that … Of course she’s a nice girl and I like her all right, but does she like me?’
Fanny shrugged her shoulders and she rarely looked as beautiful as she did at that moment.
‘Men are such fools in these matters! Let me tell you. Do it now, c’est le moment psychologique‚’ and she went on in the same vein as she put on her hat, looked at her reflection in the mirror, and pulled on her gloves. Then, standing erect in the middle of the room, she offered him her beautiful mouth with its arched lips:
‘Kiss me,’ she said, ‘and we’ll remain good friends!’
Warday did exactly what she had suggested. The afternoon his telegram arrived Fanny realized at once that the Kollonichs would certainly have wired the news to the Lubianskys, as they were neighbours and intimate friends, and also, of course to Countess Szent-Gyorgyi who would be at the Lubianskys party that night with her daughter Magda. With so many people in the know it would soon become general knowledge, and Fanny wanted to be on the spot when Gyeroffy heard the news. Oh, yes, it was essential that she should be there. He was such a strange one, so hot-headed and unpredictable that … well, she certainly must be there.
This was why Fanny Beredy turned up at such an unusual hour at that evening’s garden party.
The Lubiansky villa was a substantial modern house in a newly fashionable quarter of Budapest. The front door was reached by mounting a shallow flight of steps which led directly from the street entrance and opened into the large entrance hall. Here Fanny took off her wraps. The hall ran right through the house and was dimly lit, perhaps so as to enhance the effect of the brilliant lanterns in the garden beyond.
As soon as Fanny greeted her host and hostess, they asked if she had heard of the engagement and at once began to discuss the affair in detail with her — not out of maliciousness, however, for Countess Beredy had always been so discreet, and had never shown herself in public with her lovers, that she had never been the victim of general gossip. The fact that Warday had been a regular guest at her Wednesday dinners had passed unnoticed and so had provoked no spiteful rumours. Fanny listened calmly, showing little interest in the news that the others found so engrossing.
‘It’s so unexpected, my dear; so surprising! No one noticed that he was paying any attention to her! And it isn’t as if Klara’s doing very well for herself, for her fiancé has only a very modest fortune and doesn’t come from a grand family at all. We all thought she’d marry Montorio, or someone like that from Vienna. It must be a love-match, it must be! There’s no other reason for Klara — who’s so pretty, rich and well born — to throw herself away on such a second-rate and dull young man!’
Fanny listened to these effusions with an air of mild boredom. She carefully refrained from uttering a word in defence of her former lover. Instead she nodded, smiled, agreed with everything that was said, ate ice-cream and fanned herself; but out of the corner of her eye she kept watch on the wide steps down which more and more guests were entering the brilliantly-lit gardens. Time went by and just as Fanny was beginning to worry that Gyeroffy might not be coming, he suddenly appeared at the door.
The moment she saw him she was sure that he had already heard the news. There was a strange light in his wide-set eyes and his mouth was drawn and set as if he were clenching his teeth. With his head held high and standing very straight in his impeccably-cut evening clothes, he walked slowly and somewhat mechanically towards the circle surrounding his hostess and, bowing ceremoniously, kissed the ladies’ hands in greeting.
One of the guests immediately said: ‘Have you heard about Klara’s engagement?’