Laszlo felt this keenly as soon as he was seated near the spinster cousins. For him this contrast represented the triumph of a pleasure-seeking society, symbolized by the fact that mankind should be brilliantly lit while around was outer darkness. He shivered as he took his place, his face to the world but his back to a murky shadow that held who knew what untold terrors. The guests were served in total silence and the servants were all but invisible. A dish would appear at Laszlo’s side, only to disappear again as if unheld by human hand. In front was everything that was good and beautiful. There was pleasure for every sense, for the eyes, the taste, the nose; every object was perfect in itself; the flowers a triumph of nature; the crystal and silver the work of dedicated masters; the virginal whiteness of the starched linen cloth and above all the pale pink roses, heavy with scent and denuded of their leaves, seemed to blush in maidenly shame to find themselves set down among the chefs d’æuvre of man’s art. Opposite him in even more provocative nudity, the bare flesh of Fanny’s arms, her neck and shoulders and the faint swelling of her breasts from which at any moment the silk of her dress might fall to reveal the voluptuous promise beneath. And yet, thought Laszlo, behind all this lay the uncertainty of real life; bleak, cold, cruel, unrelenting and evil. In front was every pleasure that man could invent: food to be savoured with knowledge, wine to drive one to ecstasy, beauty, colour, light and the rosy temptation of woman’s flesh to make one forget everything, especially the merciless advance of death which lurked in the shadows behind them. The feast had been prepared so knowingly that it seemed to Laszlo that everyone present ate and drank more voraciously than usual and chatted with more hectic vivacity, as if they were driven to enjoy themselves while there was still time.
When dinner was over they moved back to the gallery where coffee had been laid out with several different kinds of brandy and liqueur, Turkish and Russian cigarettes and boxes of Havana cigars. The lively conversation which had not flagged throughout the dinner still continued, if anything even livelier now after the stimulus of the feast. After a while it was no longer even inhibited by the presence of the host, for as soon as Count Beredy had finished his cigar he stood up, took his wife’s hand ceremoniously, brushing it with his strange frog-like mouth, and walked silently out of the room with a wave of farewell to his guests. This was an established part of the evening’s programme; Fanny’s husband never remained with the party after dinner. No one asked where he went, indeed no one cared, least of all Fanny. Everyone became slightly merrier as soon as he had gone, and later d’Orly played some Grieg. He played extremely well but Fanny did not sing.
The time passed swiftly. When the clock above the fireplace struck twelve, Warday got up, checked the time with his own watch and stepped over to Fanny.
‘I really must go now, Countess,’ he said rather awkwardly as he bent over her hand. She nodded to him and he left the room after brief farewells to the others.
Laszlo too rose to his feet. He took Warday’s departure for a sign that it was now time to leave, even though none of the others had moved. Countess Fanny held him back for a moment.‚ saying: ‘I hope we’ll see you again next Wednesday?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Laszlo hesitantly, thinking that he might be able to see Klara that day and not wanting to tie himself down. ‘I can’t promise …’
‘You don’t have to. Come if you can and we’ll be pleased to see you, but if not it doesn’t matter. There’s no formality in this house. But do come if you’re free.’ At this point she gave him her hand, and her fine fingers held his for a fraction longer than was necessary. Then she turned abruptly to her neighbour, Szelepcsenyi, and went on: ‘What were you telling me, Carlo, about that new painter? The Italian? Segantini, did you say he was called? Is he really very good?’
Laszlo put on his coat quickly at the top of the stairs. He wanted to catch up with Warday so that they could walk down together as far as the Land Bridge, but when he reached the door there was no sign of him either outside the house or in the street, though he could see down its full length. There was no one about. It was as if the earth had swallowed him up. He must have walked very quickly, thought Laszlo since he had not heard the sound of a carriage.
So Laszlo walked alone down from the old fortress quarter of Buda and when he reached the Disz Square he was passed by several carriages probably taking home the other guests from Count Beredy’s house …
Laszlo now went to Fanny’s every Wednesday. Not only were the parties relaxed and amusing but also he found himself accepted by the others on equal terms. He was able to go regularly because on that day the Kollonichs did not receive and did not accept other engagements. It was their day for staying at home. Sometimes at Fanny’s he would play the piano. He would sit down at the instrument and play when he felt like it because the atmosphere was so free of protocol and so friendly that he realized that this was what was expected of guests in the Beredy house. Old Szelepcsenyi made all sorts of flattering remarks about his compositions, even when he played the most modern and daring of them, and this added to his ease and pleasure. It was wonderful to feel that he belonged to a group where he was so appreciated.
March and April went by for Laszlo in a sort of dream. He saw Klara almost every day but always in company as they were never allowed to be alone together. Even when he went to the Kollonich Palais for a family meal, Peter and Niki were always present and so, usually, was Magda Szent-Gyorgyi or some other friend or relative; and the princess’ watchful eye saw to it that they had no chance of talking in private. They had to be always on their guard, watching what they said and where they went. Despite the restrictions imposed on them, both Klara and Laszlo found a certain delight in all the obstacles they were forced to overcome. After all, they were together most of the time, whether sitting in one of the drawing-rooms, walking with the others around the shops or, as spring came, playing tennis. Laszlo was always at her side, making harmless conversation with an expressionless face, and sometimes, when no one could hear, slipping in an allusion to their love that both would treasure for days. These allusions were made in a sort of code, which only they could understand, and to anyone else the phrases would seem ordinary and without any special meaning, as one day when the whole group stopped to gaze into a shop window and Klara said, apparently quite innocently: ‘I still think chintz-covers are the prettiest. I have them in my room at home!’ and Laszlo knew that she was thinking of the first and only time they kissed. It was for both of them a wonderful time, filled with magic and expectation. It did not matter if they had to wait for the fulfilment of their love, because that was certain, not perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, but one day soon.