Read Online The Ways of the World by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Goddard
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sanity? How he can have put himself in such a situation is beyond me.’
‘
La femme fatale
. I believe it’s an old story.’
‘Well, it’s not a story we can allow Mother to hear.’
‘I agree.’
‘Then act as if you agree. And apply your mind to the problem of what we’re going to tell her.’
‘I will.’
‘Good. Because we don’t have long to think of something.’
They assuredly did not. Max claimed, accurately enough, that a walk would help clear his mind on the subject. He left Ashley at the door of the Mazarin with a tentative agreement to dine together later. Ashley had telegrams to send, to the undertaker in Epsom their family used and to their mother, alerting her to the imminence of their return. There was plenty to keep him busy.
There was plenty to occupy Max too, though it was not exactly what he had led his brother to suppose. As soon as he was out of sight of the Mazarin, he headed for the river. He was going back to Montparnasse.
William Fradgley would not have been pleased to know this. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he believed Sir Ashley Maxted had his brother’s inquisitiveness well under control. He was in the process of telling Appleby so even as Max was striding across the Pont de l’Alma.
‘They’ll be gone tomorrow, Appleby, and the problem of Sir Henry with them.’
‘You think so?’ Appleby’s rumbling voice was turned into a growl by the crackly telephone line from the Majestic.
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘The younger brother. James. He worries me.’
‘You worry too much.’
‘That’s my job, Fradgley. To worry. The last thing we want during the conference is a scandal.’
‘It’s also the last thing Sir Henry’s family wants.’
‘But there’s more than one kind of scandal. And Sir Henry tupping a young widow is far from the worst.’
‘What a coarse turn of phrase you people do have.’
‘It must arise from the sort of fixes we have to get
you
people out of.’
‘I don’t know what—’
‘Have you heard anything from
le Deuxième Bureau
?’
‘No. Should I have?’
‘They may have been keeping an eye on Madame Dombreux.’
‘Surely whatever her husband was up to was buried with him in Russia.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Certainty’s hard to come by in my line of business.’
Fradgley sighed. ‘I’ll put the Maxted brothers on the train tomorrow, Appleby. Along with their late father. As far as I’m concerned, my involvement in this matter ends there.’
‘I wish I could believe mine will too.’
‘Well, I must get on.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sure there are memos you need to write. Good afternoon to you.’
Max had set himself a brisk pace and was at the Gare Montparnasse within half an hour. He had no way of knowing whether Madame Dombreux would be on duty, but was happy to take his chances. If she had already gone, he would simply have to press on to 8 Rue du Verger.
He could not see the cashiers clearly behind their grilled windows, but, after annoying several people by dodging from one queue to another, he found the one he was looking for.
The cashier was a young woman, dressed in an unflattering grey uniform. But, as Max drew closer, it became ever more obvious that she was really quite beautiful.
Her dark hair was gathered beneath her uniform cap. Her face was pale and heart-shaped and only a cast of weariness in her looks disguised her attractiveness. She kept her cool green eyes trained on the tickets and the money in front of her. Her expression was grave, her exchanges with passengers minimally polite. Max would have guessed, even without knowing, that she was someone only misfortune and adverse circumstances had reduced to issuing train tickets for a living. She had been bred for better.
He reached the head of the queue and drew her gaze by the simple means of saying nothing.
‘
Oui, monsieur?
’ she prompted, her voice soft and serious.
‘Madame Dombreux?’
She frowned and looked at him more
‘
La femme fatale
. I believe it’s an old story.’
‘Well, it’s not a story we can allow Mother to hear.’
‘I agree.’
‘Then act as if you agree. And apply your mind to the problem of what we’re going to tell her.’
‘I will.’
‘Good. Because we don’t have long to think of something.’
They assuredly did not. Max claimed, accurately enough, that a walk would help clear his mind on the subject. He left Ashley at the door of the Mazarin with a tentative agreement to dine together later. Ashley had telegrams to send, to the undertaker in Epsom their family used and to their mother, alerting her to the imminence of their return. There was plenty to keep him busy.
There was plenty to occupy Max too, though it was not exactly what he had led his brother to suppose. As soon as he was out of sight of the Mazarin, he headed for the river. He was going back to Montparnasse.
William Fradgley would not have been pleased to know this. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he believed Sir Ashley Maxted had his brother’s inquisitiveness well under control. He was in the process of telling Appleby so even as Max was striding across the Pont de l’Alma.
‘They’ll be gone tomorrow, Appleby, and the problem of Sir Henry with them.’
‘You think so?’ Appleby’s rumbling voice was turned into a growl by the crackly telephone line from the Majestic.
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘The younger brother. James. He worries me.’
‘You worry too much.’
‘That’s my job, Fradgley. To worry. The last thing we want during the conference is a scandal.’
‘It’s also the last thing Sir Henry’s family wants.’
‘But there’s more than one kind of scandal. And Sir Henry tupping a young widow is far from the worst.’
‘What a coarse turn of phrase you people do have.’
‘It must arise from the sort of fixes we have to get
you
people out of.’
‘I don’t know what—’
‘Have you heard anything from
le Deuxième Bureau
?’
‘No. Should I have?’
‘They may have been keeping an eye on Madame Dombreux.’
‘Surely whatever her husband was up to was buried with him in Russia.’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Certainty’s hard to come by in my line of business.’
Fradgley sighed. ‘I’ll put the Maxted brothers on the train tomorrow, Appleby. Along with their late father. As far as I’m concerned, my involvement in this matter ends there.’
‘I wish I could believe mine will too.’
‘Well, I must get on.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sure there are memos you need to write. Good afternoon to you.’
Max had set himself a brisk pace and was at the Gare Montparnasse within half an hour. He had no way of knowing whether Madame Dombreux would be on duty, but was happy to take his chances. If she had already gone, he would simply have to press on to 8 Rue du Verger.
He could not see the cashiers clearly behind their grilled windows, but, after annoying several people by dodging from one queue to another, he found the one he was looking for.
The cashier was a young woman, dressed in an unflattering grey uniform. But, as Max drew closer, it became ever more obvious that she was really quite beautiful.
Her dark hair was gathered beneath her uniform cap. Her face was pale and heart-shaped and only a cast of weariness in her looks disguised her attractiveness. She kept her cool green eyes trained on the tickets and the money in front of her. Her expression was grave, her exchanges with passengers minimally polite. Max would have guessed, even without knowing, that she was someone only misfortune and adverse circumstances had reduced to issuing train tickets for a living. She had been bred for better.
He reached the head of the queue and drew her gaze by the simple means of saying nothing.
‘
Oui, monsieur?
’ she prompted, her voice soft and serious.
‘Madame Dombreux?’
She frowned and looked at him more
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