Balint ate his breakfast with zest. He was obviously in a good humour, and his mother sat in pleased silence looking at him fondly. Then she said: ‘I’m glad you’ve such a hearty appetite. It’s good to see you make a good breakfast!’
‘Uhmmm…’ Balint could not reply properly because he had just taken a large mouthful of bread and butter and honey. So it was not until he had managed to get it down that he was able to say: ‘I’ve been for a long walk!’ And he took another bite.
‘Really?’ said his mother, still pretending to know nothing. ‘Already? Where did you go so early? When did you start?’
‘At dawn. I went as far as the Aranyos. I had only thought of going to the avenue but everything was so beautiful that I just went on until I reached the river.’
‘Where? At Fox Meadow, or where we find the mushrooms?’
‘Neither. First I went to visit the old poplar in the clearing, and from there I went on to the old ford.’
‘They tell me it’s been washed away in the spring floods. Such a pity, it used to be rather convenient if I had to send Azbej or somebody to Lelbanya,’ said Countess Roza. ‘You know, it’s much shorter than going all the way by the Hadrev bridge. For you, too, if you want to visit your constituency in summer — not by carriage, of course, but on horseback.’ she added shrewdly.
‘Of course. I suppose it wouldn’t be more than twenty or twenty-five kilometres that way,’ Balint agreed. But he didn’t mention Maros-Szilvas as his mother had hoped he would.
Countess Roza tried another tack.
‘I’ve had three new horses brought on for you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, they’ve been well trained so you can go where you like with them. One of them is Fenyes, who you may remember from last year. The other two are Borostyan and Perdits. You won’t know them as they only came into training a few months ago, but they’ve all been well schooled and are ready for you.’
‘That’s wonderful! I’ll try them out tomorrow.’
‘All three could do with rather more work than the usual morning exercise. A few long rides in the country — they need muscling.’ She started to explain what sort of training she had in mind and what would be the effect of slow work at a walk and a trot and what would be gained by a sustained canter over measured distances, and how these two types of training should be employed alternatively. This was a subject she always liked to discuss, and today it gave her a double pleasure, firstly because she really knew what she was talking about, and secondly because she felt that if she went into such detail her son would not notice what she was in fact urging him to do.
She was still discussing her ideas about the breeding and schooling of horses when they walked together to the paddocks which were now bathed in warm resplendent sunshine.
Chapter Two
A FEW DAYS WENT BY, quiet days during which Balint would go out riding at dawn, breakfast with his mother before accompanying her on her morning walk, take a short nap before lunch, sit with her chatting after the midday meal and, later, either go to look at distant parts of the Denestornya park and estate, or drive to visit the stud farm’s summer pastures or inspect the cattle sheds. Countess Roza wanted to discuss her ideas for improving the gardens: flower beds here, shrubs or red-flowering chestnuts there, perhaps something yellow just there against that dark green and, if the gardeners could have enough of them ready in the spring, there were those new canna lilies. They were all little things they talked about but, small though they were, they were important to her; and so Balint listened, gave his ideas, and gradually became more interested himself. Yet, though these days were quiet and devoted to such simple matters as where to plant next year’s annuals, Balint was not at peace with himself.
His caution and his desire for Adrienne continued to wage a civil war inside him; and for the moment it was the caution which had the upper hand. No! He would not go to Almasko. Yes! He would go to Maros-Szilvas; he would spend the night there and go on to Lelbanya and, on the way back, he would again stop at Dinora’s place. On the outward journey they would come to an understanding; and on his return they would consummate it! It was all so simple. The matter was settled and that would bring an end to this endless agitation.
When he told his mother of his plans — though not everything they involved — she was overjoyed and agreed to all his suggestions, especially that he should take her dear horses with him to Lelbanya. The only stipulation she made was that they were not be stalled at some dirty inn, but rather that Balint should put them up at some friend’s stables, or even his cowsheds, which were sure to be clean and free of infection.
After an ample mid-morning snack he rode off with one of the stable-lads in attendance. He went over the bridge, across the Big Wood, crossed the river by the newly repaired ford, rode slowly across the great meadow on the other side of the Aranyos which was part of the Denestornya estate and which was so often flooded in spring, and along the acacia avenue towards the railway embankment. The going was good, for the ground had dried out, but it was still soft and elastic and had not yet hardened as it would in the course of the summer.
From the Aranyos they cantered gently across the fields until they reached the railroad. Riding on the sandy verge of the main road, they reached Maros-Szilvas in just over an hour.
A few hundred yards across cornfields still brightly green with the unripe harvest Balint could see the hedge that marked the limits of the Abonyi gardens. There on the right at the corner of the field was the old lime tree to which Balint had so often tethered his horse when he rode over stealthily in the late evenings. From there he had crept through the garden to find the way to Dinora’s bedroom window, that window which had been unusually high off the ground that he had had to leap up, catch hold of the sill, and pull himself up against the limewashed wall of the building. Only then was it possible to crawl through the window and each time, he remembered with a smile, his clothes had been smeared with white powder. Despite the intensity of his young love, the memory today evoked only a faint smile of self-mockery.
The closer he found himself to their house the less he felt like visiting the Abonyis. It was far too early, he told himself. They had made good time and the horses were still so fresh — why, it was barely past midday! It would be far better to press on. If they stopped now there would be lunch, and then coffee, and then they’d ask him to stay on and chat and it would be dark before he got to Lelbanya, too late to accomplish anything of what he was going there for! Then he would have to find stabling for the horses and make sure of good fodder and clean bedding, and all this would take time. Far better do the journey in one go and, later, on the way home perhaps, well, then he could stay as long as he liked.
Spurring his horse to a trot he reached the village in a few moments. On the left were the peasants’ houses and on the right the long high wall that surrounded the Abonyi manor-house. On the top, just where the wall took such a bend there was a vine-covered summer-house. How many times he had sat there with Dinora, covering her face with his kisses!
He was not sure, but looking up it seemed as if maybe there was the white gleam of a woman’s dress to be seen through the arbour’s thick veil of foliage. Perhaps Dinora was sitting there now? Quickening the pace of his horse Balint trotted swiftly through the village, looking neither to right nor left and hoping that he had not been spotted. He slowed down only when the village had been left far behind.
