Read Online The Balkan Trilogy by Olivia Manning - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Manning
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applauded with less vigour than before, departed and the orchestra strummed on.
Harriet yawned. Imagining she was accepting the situation indulgently, she watched Sophie and wondered: ‘Is Guy really taken in by this feminine silliness? If I made all those grimaces and gestures as I talked, and interrupted and insisted on attention would he find it all attractive?’ Almost in spite of herself, she said ‘I think we should go now.’
Shocked by the suggestion, Guy said: ‘I’m sure no one wants to go yet.’
‘No, no,’ Sophie joined with him at once. ‘We do not go so soon.’
Harriet said: ‘I’m tired.’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Sophie, ‘you have all day to sleep.’
Inchcape stubbed his cigarette. ‘I would like an early night. I did not sleep much on the train.’
‘Well, let me finish this.’ Holding up his glass, which was full, Guy spoke in the tone of a child that begs to sit up ten minutes more.
Refilling his own glass, Yakimov said: ‘It’s still very early, dear girl.’
They sat another half-an-hour, Guy eking out his drink and trying to regain the rhythm of talk, but something was lost. An end-of-the-evening lameness was in the air. When, at last, they were agreed to go, there was still the business of finding the waiter.
Inchcape threw down a thousand- lei note and said: ‘That ought to cover me.’ Guy settled the rest.
They picked up a taxi in the Chaussée and started back. Sophie, whose flat was in the centre of the town, was dropped first. Guy descended with her and took her to her door where she talked at him urgently, holding to his arm. Leaving her, he called back to her: ‘We’ll meet tomorrow.’
Next Yakimov was taken to the Athénée Palace. Outside the hotel, he said: ‘Dear me, I’d almost forgotten. I’m bidden to a party in Princess Teodorescu’s suite.’
‘Rather a late party,’ murmured Inchcape.
‘An all-night party,’ Yakimov said.
Guy said: ‘When we find a flat, you must come to dinner with us.’
‘Delighted, dear boy,’ said Yakimov, who, as he struggled out of the taxi, was almost sitting on the step. Somehow he got down to the pavement and crossed it unsteadily. Pressing against the revolving doors, he waved back baby-fashion.
‘I shall be interested,’ said Inchcape dryly, ‘to see what return you get for all this hospitality.’
Reprovingly, Dobson spoke from his corner: ‘Yaki used to be famous for his parties.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Inchcape, ‘we’ll see. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be dropped next.’
The Pringles reached their room in silence, Harriet fearing complaint that she had broken up the party. A justifiedcomplaint. It was true she could sleep all day – and what did an hour or two matter in the face of eternity?
While she got into bed, Guy studied his face in the glass. He broke the silence to ask her: ‘Do you think I look like Oscar Wilde?’
‘You do, a little.’
He remained in front of the glass, distorting his face into the likeness of one famous film-star and another.
Harriet wondered if this was the moment to ask him about Sophie, and decided it was not. She said, instead:
‘You’re an incurable adolescent. Come to bed.’
As he turned from the glass, he said with inebriated satisfaction: ‘Old Pringle’s all right. Old Pringle’s not a bad chap. Old Pringle’s not a bad chap at all.’
4
Yakimov found his dress clothes sponged, pressed and laid ready for him on his bed. When he changed, he put on one black shoe and one brown.
At the party someone would be sure to mention the fact that he was wearing odd shoes. He would then gaze down at his feet in surprise and say: ‘And do you know, dear boy, I have another pair at home exactly like these.’
He believed this to be his most subtle party prank. He had not played it since dear old Dollie died, reserving it for those times when he was in the highest spirits. Now, so changed were his fortunes, he was ready for
Harriet yawned. Imagining she was accepting the situation indulgently, she watched Sophie and wondered: ‘Is Guy really taken in by this feminine silliness? If I made all those grimaces and gestures as I talked, and interrupted and insisted on attention would he find it all attractive?’ Almost in spite of herself, she said ‘I think we should go now.’
Shocked by the suggestion, Guy said: ‘I’m sure no one wants to go yet.’
‘No, no,’ Sophie joined with him at once. ‘We do not go so soon.’
Harriet said: ‘I’m tired.’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Sophie, ‘you have all day to sleep.’
Inchcape stubbed his cigarette. ‘I would like an early night. I did not sleep much on the train.’
‘Well, let me finish this.’ Holding up his glass, which was full, Guy spoke in the tone of a child that begs to sit up ten minutes more.
Refilling his own glass, Yakimov said: ‘It’s still very early, dear girl.’
They sat another half-an-hour, Guy eking out his drink and trying to regain the rhythm of talk, but something was lost. An end-of-the-evening lameness was in the air. When, at last, they were agreed to go, there was still the business of finding the waiter.
Inchcape threw down a thousand- lei note and said: ‘That ought to cover me.’ Guy settled the rest.
They picked up a taxi in the Chaussée and started back. Sophie, whose flat was in the centre of the town, was dropped first. Guy descended with her and took her to her door where she talked at him urgently, holding to his arm. Leaving her, he called back to her: ‘We’ll meet tomorrow.’
Next Yakimov was taken to the Athénée Palace. Outside the hotel, he said: ‘Dear me, I’d almost forgotten. I’m bidden to a party in Princess Teodorescu’s suite.’
‘Rather a late party,’ murmured Inchcape.
‘An all-night party,’ Yakimov said.
Guy said: ‘When we find a flat, you must come to dinner with us.’
‘Delighted, dear boy,’ said Yakimov, who, as he struggled out of the taxi, was almost sitting on the step. Somehow he got down to the pavement and crossed it unsteadily. Pressing against the revolving doors, he waved back baby-fashion.
‘I shall be interested,’ said Inchcape dryly, ‘to see what return you get for all this hospitality.’
Reprovingly, Dobson spoke from his corner: ‘Yaki used to be famous for his parties.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Inchcape, ‘we’ll see. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be dropped next.’
The Pringles reached their room in silence, Harriet fearing complaint that she had broken up the party. A justifiedcomplaint. It was true she could sleep all day – and what did an hour or two matter in the face of eternity?
While she got into bed, Guy studied his face in the glass. He broke the silence to ask her: ‘Do you think I look like Oscar Wilde?’
‘You do, a little.’
He remained in front of the glass, distorting his face into the likeness of one famous film-star and another.
Harriet wondered if this was the moment to ask him about Sophie, and decided it was not. She said, instead:
‘You’re an incurable adolescent. Come to bed.’
As he turned from the glass, he said with inebriated satisfaction: ‘Old Pringle’s all right. Old Pringle’s not a bad chap. Old Pringle’s not a bad chap at all.’
4
Yakimov found his dress clothes sponged, pressed and laid ready for him on his bed. When he changed, he put on one black shoe and one brown.
At the party someone would be sure to mention the fact that he was wearing odd shoes. He would then gaze down at his feet in surprise and say: ‘And do you know, dear boy, I have another pair at home exactly like these.’
He believed this to be his most subtle party prank. He had not played it since dear old Dollie died, reserving it for those times when he was in the highest spirits. Now, so changed were his fortunes, he was ready for
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