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Authors: Olivia Manning
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physical than a mental discomfort. Mr Jewel introduced Frau Wagner, who pursed up her mouth to smile and nodded her head in a grand way. ‘How do you do?’ she said. A very refined English accent – almost, Felix thought, a joke accent, a ‘plum-in-the-mouth’ accent – lay over her Austrian accent like jam spread on butter. Mr Jewel sat grinning at Felix, but at the same time, somehow, he looked guilty and unhappy. Felix also felt guilty and unhappy because he felt bound to disapprove as much as Miss Bohun did of Mr Jewel’s bringing in Frau Wagner. That made it impossible for him to appear as friendly as politeness demanded.
Mr Jewel, usually silent, had suddenly become talkative and joking.
‘You ought to sit next to the lady,’ he said when Felix took the chair opposite her.
Felix blushed miserably, but stayed where he was.
‘He’s shy,’ said Mr Jewel.
Frau Wagner smiled.
‘He is so nice a boy,’ she said, ‘I like such fair hair.’
Frau Wagner sat stiffly upright and seemed very high above the table. She wore a dark green velvet frock trimmed with gold. The sleeves were wide and fell back when she raised her hands to show her gaunt pink arms. She had large aquiline features covered with a skin so thin it had the high mauve-pink tint of an albino. Felix could see she had tried to hide it beneath a coating of white powder. She was quite old, of course – fifty or more, but her long-bob hair, lint-white, made her look ancient.
Mr Jewel rubbed his hands together and said: ‘Do you think we could light the fire, eh? Do you think we dare?’ Felix, who could hear the dry, old skin crackling with cold, got up and switched on the fire.
‘You’re a brave boy!’ said Mr Jewel.
‘Ah, Alfred, it is not kind. Perhaps the boy will be blamed.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Felix, his voice high with embarrassment. ‘I can put the fire on if I like.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Jewel, ‘the boy pays enough for what he gets.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Felix miserably.
Frau Wagner, smiling, her manners more elegant than before, cut across something Mr Jewel was about to say and asked: ‘And how do you like Jerusalem, Felix?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Felix, staring over to one side of the room.
‘Not much fun here, eh? No English boys, no football, no cricket. What do you do all day?’
‘Nothing much. I’m studying for matric’.’
‘Perhaps soon they will send you home?’
‘There’s a long waiting list.’
‘They should send such a boy home first, I think.’
‘Oh, no. First there are ladies with babies, and troops.’
Mr Jewel and Frau Wagner laughed together as though Felix had said something funny. They stopped abruptly. The door from the courtyard opened, then they gave another laugh when it was only Nikky who entered. He carried in the soup when it was too heavy for his mother. Now, holding the battered metal tureen in his hands, he kicked the door closed behind him and trailed across the room in his black coat with the astrakhan collar. Frau Wagner fixed on him and followed him with eyes of brilliant, inhuman blue. When he had put down the tureen, he glanced round the table with a look of insolent amusement and went.
‘But what a handsome butler!’
‘That’s Nikky,’ said Felix.
‘So? I have seen him, of course, at the King David and the Innsbrück Café. They tell me he is a Polish Count.’
Felix was rather puzzled. ‘He is Polish,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he can be a Count. His father was
Herr
Leszno.’ But Felix’s doubts were lost to the world because as he spoke them the door opened again and Miss Bohun entered. She had on her lamb-skin coat, a scarf bound in a turban round her head. ‘So sorry,’ she said. ‘One of my flock needed advice. I hope you’re not waiting for me.’
‘But of course,’ cried Frau Wagner. ‘We must await our hostess.’
Miss Bohun hung up her coat and hurriedly unwound the scarf from her head so that
Mr Jewel, usually silent, had suddenly become talkative and joking.
‘You ought to sit next to the lady,’ he said when Felix took the chair opposite her.
Felix blushed miserably, but stayed where he was.
‘He’s shy,’ said Mr Jewel.
Frau Wagner smiled.
‘He is so nice a boy,’ she said, ‘I like such fair hair.’
Frau Wagner sat stiffly upright and seemed very high above the table. She wore a dark green velvet frock trimmed with gold. The sleeves were wide and fell back when she raised her hands to show her gaunt pink arms. She had large aquiline features covered with a skin so thin it had the high mauve-pink tint of an albino. Felix could see she had tried to hide it beneath a coating of white powder. She was quite old, of course – fifty or more, but her long-bob hair, lint-white, made her look ancient.
Mr Jewel rubbed his hands together and said: ‘Do you think we could light the fire, eh? Do you think we dare?’ Felix, who could hear the dry, old skin crackling with cold, got up and switched on the fire.
‘You’re a brave boy!’ said Mr Jewel.
‘Ah, Alfred, it is not kind. Perhaps the boy will be blamed.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Felix, his voice high with embarrassment. ‘I can put the fire on if I like.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Jewel, ‘the boy pays enough for what he gets.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Felix miserably.
Frau Wagner, smiling, her manners more elegant than before, cut across something Mr Jewel was about to say and asked: ‘And how do you like Jerusalem, Felix?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Felix, staring over to one side of the room.
‘Not much fun here, eh? No English boys, no football, no cricket. What do you do all day?’
‘Nothing much. I’m studying for matric’.’
‘Perhaps soon they will send you home?’
‘There’s a long waiting list.’
‘They should send such a boy home first, I think.’
‘Oh, no. First there are ladies with babies, and troops.’
Mr Jewel and Frau Wagner laughed together as though Felix had said something funny. They stopped abruptly. The door from the courtyard opened, then they gave another laugh when it was only Nikky who entered. He carried in the soup when it was too heavy for his mother. Now, holding the battered metal tureen in his hands, he kicked the door closed behind him and trailed across the room in his black coat with the astrakhan collar. Frau Wagner fixed on him and followed him with eyes of brilliant, inhuman blue. When he had put down the tureen, he glanced round the table with a look of insolent amusement and went.
‘But what a handsome butler!’
‘That’s Nikky,’ said Felix.
‘So? I have seen him, of course, at the King David and the Innsbrück Café. They tell me he is a Polish Count.’
Felix was rather puzzled. ‘He is Polish,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he can be a Count. His father was
Herr
Leszno.’ But Felix’s doubts were lost to the world because as he spoke them the door opened again and Miss Bohun entered. She had on her lamb-skin coat, a scarf bound in a turban round her head. ‘So sorry,’ she said. ‘One of my flock needed advice. I hope you’re not waiting for me.’
‘But of course,’ cried Frau Wagner. ‘We must await our hostess.’
Miss Bohun hung up her coat and hurriedly unwound the scarf from her head so that
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