devil.”
“I’m afraid baccarat—in fact any kind of gambling—bores me,” said Lucy with a delicate yawn.
“I say, I
am
sorry. Are you staying in Monte for a while?”
“We are leaving tomorrow,” said MacGregor. “It seems as though the rain will never stop.”
“And then where do you plan to go?”
“To London eventually. My daughter is coming out next Season.”
“By George! I’m glad I met her first,” said Mr. Brent enthusiastically. “All the chaps will be at your feet, Miss Balfour-MacGregor. They’ll be lying outside your house in droves.”
Lucy smiled at his nonsense, liking his square tanned face.
“I shall be staying
with
a friend of mine in Stanhope Gate—Lady Hester Blendish? Perhaps you are acquainted with her. Friend of my mother.”
“I know her slightly,” said MacGregor who had once had the honor of serving Lady Hester tea.
“If I remember rightly, she detests foreigners.”
Jeremy Brent raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Then you do indeed know her better than most. That is a dislike which she is slightly ashamed of and only imparts to her closest friends. I say, it is jolly meeting you like this. May I leave my card with you when you are in London?”
“I am not quite sure where we shall be staying—” began MacGregor but Lucy interrupted with, “Oh, we shall let you know our address when we find a place.”
She ignored a glare from MacGregor. Lucy had taken a liking to this large, pleasant young man, especially since he had dropped the touchy subject of gambling.
A weak ray of watery sunlight crept into the dingy café and MacGregor almost leapt to his feet. “Come along, Lucy, we’ll be late for our next appointment.”
“Perhaps I may escort you—” began Mr. Brent but his offer was almost rudely brushed aside by MacGregor. “No, no,” he fussed. “No need for that.”
Lucy turned at the entrance to the café and bestowed her warmest smile on her new admirer. “Thank you for the champagne, Mr. Brent. I shall certainly look forward to seeing you in London.”
“Forward! You’re the one that’s forward!” muttered MacGregor a few minutes later. “You should not encourage any young man so boldly.”
“I thought he was rather nice,” said Lucy as they walked slowly along the rain-washed promenade.
“He reminded me a bit too much of myself,” said MacGregor obscurely, and would say no more.
“Why did you say we would leave tomorrow?” persisted Lucy, who was just beginning to enjoy the novelty of wearing a pretty dress and looking like herself.
“Well, well. I thought we might travel on. The weathers going to turn bad and we don’t want to be trapped here. There’s a small place in Germany that’s just become fashionable. Let me see … what’s it called? Ah, Herrenbad! That’s it! We’ll go to Herrenbad.”
They walked slowly off to look for a fiacre, their figures silhouetted against a primrose-yellow sunset.
Jeremy Brent eased himself out from his hiding place behind a clump of palms.
“I might just travel to Herrenbad myself,” he murmured, and stood watching the two retreating figures until they were out of sight.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lucy looked around the table at the players and prayed she was not going to faint.
The casino rooms were stifling, a hell of red Turkey carpets, red plush, and green baize. She wanted more than anything to leave. She seemed to have won an incredible sum of money but there was no sound of MacGregor’s cough from behind her—the signal to leave. The masklike faces of the other gamblers at the table had not betrayed, by so much as a flicker, their surprise at her extraordinary luck. But the atmosphere was heavy with suppressed excitement. Her wig was making her head ache and the pillows down her dress were making her sweat in a very unladylike way.
Gradually—as is the mysterious way in casinos— the news of her phenomenal luck began to spread through the rooms and soon a silent, avaricious
“I’m afraid baccarat—in fact any kind of gambling—bores me,” said Lucy with a delicate yawn.
“I say, I
am
sorry. Are you staying in Monte for a while?”
“We are leaving tomorrow,” said MacGregor. “It seems as though the rain will never stop.”
“And then where do you plan to go?”
“To London eventually. My daughter is coming out next Season.”
“By George! I’m glad I met her first,” said Mr. Brent enthusiastically. “All the chaps will be at your feet, Miss Balfour-MacGregor. They’ll be lying outside your house in droves.”
Lucy smiled at his nonsense, liking his square tanned face.
“I shall be staying
with
a friend of mine in Stanhope Gate—Lady Hester Blendish? Perhaps you are acquainted with her. Friend of my mother.”
“I know her slightly,” said MacGregor who had once had the honor of serving Lady Hester tea.
“If I remember rightly, she detests foreigners.”
Jeremy Brent raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Then you do indeed know her better than most. That is a dislike which she is slightly ashamed of and only imparts to her closest friends. I say, it is jolly meeting you like this. May I leave my card with you when you are in London?”
“I am not quite sure where we shall be staying—” began MacGregor but Lucy interrupted with, “Oh, we shall let you know our address when we find a place.”
She ignored a glare from MacGregor. Lucy had taken a liking to this large, pleasant young man, especially since he had dropped the touchy subject of gambling.
A weak ray of watery sunlight crept into the dingy café and MacGregor almost leapt to his feet. “Come along, Lucy, we’ll be late for our next appointment.”
“Perhaps I may escort you—” began Mr. Brent but his offer was almost rudely brushed aside by MacGregor. “No, no,” he fussed. “No need for that.”
Lucy turned at the entrance to the café and bestowed her warmest smile on her new admirer. “Thank you for the champagne, Mr. Brent. I shall certainly look forward to seeing you in London.”
“Forward! You’re the one that’s forward!” muttered MacGregor a few minutes later. “You should not encourage any young man so boldly.”
“I thought he was rather nice,” said Lucy as they walked slowly along the rain-washed promenade.
“He reminded me a bit too much of myself,” said MacGregor obscurely, and would say no more.
“Why did you say we would leave tomorrow?” persisted Lucy, who was just beginning to enjoy the novelty of wearing a pretty dress and looking like herself.
“Well, well. I thought we might travel on. The weathers going to turn bad and we don’t want to be trapped here. There’s a small place in Germany that’s just become fashionable. Let me see … what’s it called? Ah, Herrenbad! That’s it! We’ll go to Herrenbad.”
They walked slowly off to look for a fiacre, their figures silhouetted against a primrose-yellow sunset.
Jeremy Brent eased himself out from his hiding place behind a clump of palms.
“I might just travel to Herrenbad myself,” he murmured, and stood watching the two retreating figures until they were out of sight.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lucy looked around the table at the players and prayed she was not going to faint.
The casino rooms were stifling, a hell of red Turkey carpets, red plush, and green baize. She wanted more than anything to leave. She seemed to have won an incredible sum of money but there was no sound of MacGregor’s cough from behind her—the signal to leave. The masklike faces of the other gamblers at the table had not betrayed, by so much as a flicker, their surprise at her extraordinary luck. But the atmosphere was heavy with suppressed excitement. Her wig was making her head ache and the pillows down her dress were making her sweat in a very unladylike way.
Gradually—as is the mysterious way in casinos— the news of her phenomenal luck began to spread through the rooms and soon a silent, avaricious
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