‘I need some information,’ replied Abady. ‘Perhaps we should go up to the office in the castle.’ And when Azbej enquired what he needed, he explained that he wanted to look at the inventory of his grandfather’s furniture and belongings.
‘But that is here in my study, if your Lordship pleases. I keep all the old documents here. I beg your Lordship to come in.’
And so, though he was loath to do it, Balint found himself obliged to enter the house.
The first room they went through was the former dining-room, once painted pale green and hung with family portraits. Now it was used as a sitting-room and was furnished with red-plush sofas and a lot of little occasional tables in some sort of oriental style, hung with tassels made of tiny little wooden balls stuck together. The walls also were red, painted to resemble brocade up to the height of the doors, and from then up the frieze and ceiling had been done in imitation wood-panelling.
Next they went into Count Peter’s study. This had not suffered the same transformation. Where the Empire bookcases had stood there were now open wooden shelves in the American manner, and Azbej’s modern desk stood in just the same place as had Count Peter’s. But at least there were no such horrors as Balint had seen elsewhere; probably, he thought, because Azbej perhaps only perpetrated his ‘improvements’ to please his wife.
However it was clear that the estate papers were kept in good order and that Azbej knew where everything was to be found. In a few moments he was able to hand the inventory to the younger man.
Balint looked at it carefully, and as he did so Countess Roza’s trusted agent stood beside him, a questioning glint in his prune-shaped eyes.
Balint read through the papers and said, ‘I am finding it rather expensive staying in a hotel whenever I’m in Budapest; so I’m thinking of taking a flat. Also it is tiresome always having to lug my files and other papers about with me; and I really don’t know what to do with all my books. So I think I’ll start making use of some of these pieces again. Please be so good as to have the inventory copied. I don’t yet know what I want but when I do I’ll mark it and let you have it back.’
Azbej’s cherry-red little mouth, which seemed so gentle and small in that forest of bristly black beard, now formed itself into a deferential smile.
‘This is the file concerning all the properties of his late Excellency Count Peter,’ he said, as if he knew exactly what Balint had in mind in coming to see him. ‘Perhaps your Lordship might like to look over that too since I am so honoured to have your Lordship here today,’ and he handed him the papers. ‘I have waited a long time to have an opportunity to account for my stewardship.’
Balint leafed through the papers, among which he soon found the title-deeds to the Jara valley property. ‘Is this let? How much does it bring in?’ he asked, as if it were a casual enquiry made by chance.
The fat little lawyer was not deceived, though his face gave nothing away. ‘Four thousand five hundred crowns a year, your Lordship,’ he said, still speaking with great deference. ‘However the lease falls in very soon, at Michaelmas, and if your Lordship wishes it, the rent could then be considerably increased. Oh yes, considerably increased!’
As Abady got up to go, it was clear that the lawyer still wanted to say something. Somewhat hesitantly Azbej suggested that Balint might like to take away the file of his grandfather’s estate, adding that he did not need the originals as there were copies of everything in the office. ‘All this is your Lordship’s own property,’ he said, and repeated, ‘your Lordship’s personal property,’ with just perceptible emphasis.
Balint took the file, put it under his arm and turned towards the door. Azbej accompanied him as far as the door into the cemetery and stood there bowing, three times in all, until the lock clicked behind his visitor. Then he straightened up and rubbed his little hands together, his eyes glinting with malicious joy as he thought of the use to which he could put Balint’s visit.
As Azbej walked slowly back to the frog-green columns of the former Abady manor-house, he was turning over in his mind how best he could let the Countess Roza know that her son was planning to reclaim what he had inherited from his grandfather.
The first move was made the very next day, when, as usual, he told his two allies, the housekeepers Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo.
They, in their turn and in their usual way, gossiped away in front of their mistress about the wickedness of the world in general and, in particular, though in veiled terms, about what was going on under their very noses; and when one of them had said ‘Master Balint had actually demanded and then taken away the documents’, just that, no more, Countess Roza had been given a good idea of what they had wanted her to know.
The old lady at once sent for Azbej who confirmed the news she had heard, and added that it appeared that the young master was planning to go to live in Budapest. He went on to say, more than once, how surprised he had been by Count Balint’s manner, how he had given his orders in unusually forceful terms and how he had given the agent no opportunity of asking his mistress for instructions. He told his tale with much skill and as always with great deference and never failing to be careful of what he said, for he knew that Countess Abady would never allow anyone to criticize her son in her presence, no matter how angry she might be.
For the poor old lady the news was like a knife-thrust. That her beloved son should start gathering up family papers without a word to her — papers that he was, no doubt, going to use against her — was enough to make her fancy that her whole world was crumbling around her.
She said nothing to him, for there was nothing she could say and nothing she wanted to say. But she hardened her heart, preparing herself for the awful battle she knew was soon to be waged between them.
And so the relations between mother and son became even colder and more distant as the days went by.
A few days later a letter from Adrienne arrived at Denestornya. It gave a brief account of the Saxon doctor’s visit to Almasko and merely said that nothing could be decided at once and that they would still have to wait some weeks, perhaps a month, and then, maybe then, she would be able to tell her husband of her intention to sue for divorce. At present it was still impossible and so they would still have to wait. Wait!
Though she did not say so in so many words, it was clear that Adrienne was deeply depressed. She did not go into any details beyond saying that Dr Kisch had made a good impression at Almasko.
Dr Kisch had planned his arrival carefully and he had furthermore been helped by what appeared to be a happy chance, though it is true that some clever people seem to be able to create their own chances.
One day Pal Uzdy was practising target and clay pigeon shooting on the hollowed-out hillside near the edge of the Almasko park that he had had specially laid out for that purpose. The stands were at the foot of the hill and there stood the rifle-racks and a telescope on a tripod with which to check the accuracy of the shooting. In front was a small meadow and at its farther end a trench had been dug from which the lad who had been trained for the purpose fed the five mechanical disc-throwers. On the other side, in front of the hillside, rows of targets had been set up at exactly 50, 100, 200 and 250 metres’ distance from the rifle stand. The whole area was fenced in by a thick wire mesh above and on both sides of the target. At the right-hand side of the range were the first trees of the surrounding forest.