Countess Roza looked at Balint, her eyes shining with emotion and pride. Then she read on:
… this is the tradition of our family. Your father abided by it and was faithful to it, as was my father. My wish is that you should be too and so should my son.
All three young men were deeply moved listening to Countess Abady as she read them the last instructions of her long dead husband. Laszlo bent down and kissed the old lady’s hand. Then she got up and said: ‘I think tea will be ready now, and the stewed fruit!’
They all returned to the drawing-room.
‘I’m sorry I got so cross,’ said Balint to Laszlo when he said goodnight at the door of his room.
‘And I am sorry I was so churlish!’ said Laszlo. ‘I am afraid that I offended you.’ Then, as he slipped into his room, he added softly: ‘But you see I am really very unhappy.’
A few moments later, as he was undressing, Laszlo heard someone tap at his door. He called out for whoever it was to come in. The door was opened by the hairy little lawyer, Azbej. Bowing very low and excusing him himself, Azbej immediately started off in his usual obsequious manner. ‘It’s just that I heard that your Lordship … that Count Stanislo Gyeroffy … that your Lordship was unable to convince the noble Count Stanislo … well, if your Lordship would honour me with his confidence, perhaps I could do something to make his Lordship see reason. If I were to explain what is involved …’ and he quoted from the law books and from judgments in similar cases, going on, ‘then naturally his Lordship would have to withdraw his objections. I must explain to your Lordship that though I am a lawyer I do not practise generally. I merely look after the interests of the noble Countess. I do not work for anyone else. My life is dedicated to her Ladyship’s interests. But I thought that as your Lordship is a relation of her Ladyship … perhaps I could be of assistance … as a favour naturally … nothing else.’
Gyeroffy was thrilled and delighted by the little lawyer, despite his plethora of lordships and ladyships, and readily signed the paper that Azbej put in front of him authorizing the lawyer to take complete charge of Laszlo’s affairs. The authority had no limits and gave Azbej full power of attorney, but this signified nothing to Laszlo.
† Equivalent to over eleven thousand English acres. — Trans.
Chapter Seven
Dear AB,
I want to ask a favour of you which I can’t ask of anyone else. Would you please buy me a little Browning revolver, you know the sort you can put in your pocket. I seem to remember that I’ve seen them in Emil Schuster’s shop in Kolozsvar; also a box or two of ammunition. Can you get it to me here at Almasko, but secretly so that no one knows. Will you do it? I want to surprise Pali Uzdy!!!
Yours sincerely Ad.
P.S. Could you get it to me within the next two or three weeks?
THE WORDS ‘secretly’ and ‘surprise’ were underlined twice. This note arrived at the end of August.
Balint sat at the window of his room reading Addy’s letter and thinking that it was a strange request. It was odd that she would want to buy a present for her husband and even odder that she should want him to do it for her; and he found himself feeling somewhat resentful. He wondered about the matter. What could have happened between husband and wife that she suddenly wanted to surprise him with a present? It had always been his impression that neither of them was much concerned to give the other pleasure by such little attentions as surprise gifts. What could have happened between them? Was it possible that something had changed in their relationship, that things were different and that at last they had become friends as well as man and wife? After five years, had they just discovered each other so that now Adrienne no longer dreaded the physical realities of married life?
Balint’s heart missed a beat at this last thought and he jumped up from his seat. Of course it was possible! It always had been possible. If it were so then it would be best for all of them, and for him it would mean freedom at last from that ever-present longing for her that he had found so destructive to his peace of mind. If she were reconciled to her husband it would be easy for him to break the invisible chains that bound him to this senseless, profitless adventure. He decided that he would comply with her strange demand and buy the Browning. Then he would take it himself to Almasko so as to make sure that Adrienne knew that he had understood what the purchase of this gift symbolized. As long as he did that she would not dare to mock his love for her, even if she had become a real wife to her husband, and he searched in his mind for the right ambiguous phrases with which to address her when they next met. Try as he would, however, instead of the lofty, disinterested, ironic words for which he sought, all that he could think of sounded bitter and vengeful, as if nothing could suppress the hurt in his soul. Later on he could think of nothing at all to say, even when one Sunday morning in early September he was already seated in the train with the little automatic in his bag and, later, when the Uzdy carriage brought him from Banffy-Hunyad to Almasko his mind was as blank as ever.
When they reached Nagy-Almas the coachman turned to Balint and asked if his Lordship would mind if they stopped to pick up the priest?
An elderly white-haired monk in a Franciscan habit was waiting for them in the town square. He got into the carriage and sat next to Balint. From their conversation Balint learned that every Sunday his companion went to say mass in the castle chapel.
‘But I thought the Uzdys were Protestant?’ remarked Balint.
‘Count Pali is, and the young Countess too, but Countess Clémence is a Catholic and so are some of the servants,’ said the monk, but he did not pursue the subject and soon fell silent.
Balint had hardly descended from the carriage when Adrienne walked out across the forecourt to meet him. The old butler Maier at once led the priest away and Adrienne and Balint were alone.
‘Did you bring it?’ Adrienne asked softly and then, rather more loudly than usual, she said: ‘Let’s go into the garden! I hate it indoors at this time of year!’
They sat down on the same bench where they had talked on the first day of Balint’s last visit, and once again he was impressed by how gloomy the landscape seemed. Some of the beeches were already turning gold but the great oaks were still as dark as before, some of them almost black. Only in the distance the divided walls of the ruined fortress shone white in the noonday sun. Somehow conversation did not come easily to either of them; for both of them were thinking of other things. From behind one of the ground-floor windows there was the sound of a bell, and the voice of the priest could be heard intoning: ‘Dominus vobiscum …’
Below where Adrienne and Balint sat Pali Uzdy’s tall figure appeared from the right walking along one of the lower paths in the garden. His mother was on his arm, and they walked slowly towards the beech copse and the orchard beyond.
‘Doesn’t the old Countess go to mass?’ asked Balint, turning towards Adrienne. The sight of her face surprised him, for it seemed as if she were irradiated by some inner glow that shone through her delicate skin. Her head was held high and her big, amber-coloured eyes were wide open. It was the face of Medusa, thought Balint, beautiful and at the same time frightening. A malicious smile hovered on her full lips as she watched the pair below her, and she did not speak until they had disappeared among the trees.