An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (89 page)

‘There, I have won again,’ Emilie remarked with satisfaction. ‘I always win in the end. Do you realise that, Mistral? I always win in the end.’

Emilie gave a little chuckle. It was a strange sound, and because she so seldom laughed, Mistral felt as if there was something almost sinister about the sound coming from between her lips.

Hastily she took her Aunt’s cloak. The Ladies’ Cloakroom was at the far end of the passage from the Main Entrance and to reach it she passed several other rooms. As she hurried along past the Card Room, a man came out. She drew a little to one side to let him pass, but found him barring the way.

‘
Mademoiselle Fântóme!
’ he exclaimed. This is indeed fortunate for I wish to speak with you.’

Mistral recognised the Rajah of Jehangar. She knew him by sight and she had noticed during dinner that he was continually looking in their direction. Aunt Emilie had noticed it too.

‘That is the Rajah of Jehangar staring at us so impertinently,’ she snorted. ‘A poisonous little man but fantastically rich. He spends seven months of the year in Europe, then goes back to India to collect more money to squander.’

‘I think the lady with him is very pretty,’ Mistral said.

‘Lady!’ Aunt Emilie had ejaculated in a scornful, sarcastic manner.

Mistral had not understood either her remark or the tone in which it was made, but she had not liked to ask Aunt Emilie for an explanation.

Now, looking at the Rajah’s dark secretive face in which his teeth seemed strangely white, she thought her aunt’s description of him might well be justified. Hastily she moved as if to pass him, saying,

‘You will excuse me, Your Highness, but I have been sent on an errand for my aunt.’

‘It can wait for a few moments,’ the Rajah answered. ‘What I have to say to you is of vast importance to you personally.’

‘To me?’ Mistral said in surprise. ‘What is it?’

‘Come with me,’ the Rajah said authoritatively. ‘We cannot talk here.’

He led the way into the deserted Concert Room. The high windows were open on to the terrace and the Rajah followed by Mistral passed through one of them so that they stood outside, the light from the moon illuminating the stone balustrade and the great stone urns planted with cascading geraniums and blue heliotrope.

‘My aunt will be waiting for my return,’ Mistral said nervously, holding Aunt Emilie’s velvet and fur-trimmed cloak in front of her as if it were a shield. There was something about the Rajah which revolted her. She had often wondered why the pretty, fair haired woman who invariably accompanied him to the Casino could not find a more attractive escort.

‘I will not keep you many minutes,’ the Rajah said.

‘What do you wish to speak to me about?’ Mistral enquired.

‘You are very direct, you come straight to the point,’ the Rajah answered, and Mistral thought that she disliked his face more when he smiled than when he was serious.

‘I cannot linger here, Your Highness, or my aunt will be displeased with me.’

‘And no one must ever be displeased with anyone as lovely as you,
Mademoiselle
,’ the Rajah replied.

Mistral’s chin went up as if she resented his compliment and he added quickly,

‘But I must speak bluntly in European fashion. In my country we are not so crude. Very well, I would talk to you about your pearls.’

‘My pearls!’

‘Yes, I see you wear them again tonight. They are very beautiful, but perhaps too sombre, a little dull for someone so young and gay like yourself. If you will permit me, I will exchange them for diamonds or for any other precious stones that you admire.’

‘Exchange them?’

For a moment Mistral was completely bewildered as she echoed his words, then an explanation of what he was saying came to her.

‘You mean that you wish to own my pearls, to buy them from me?’

‘Exactly! How lucky that we can express ourselves in so friendly a fashion! Yes,
Mademoiselle
, I would buy your pearls from you for any sum that you wish to name, any reasonable sum, of course, or, as I have said, if you prefer it, I will replace them with a necklace of diamonds, sapphires or rubies. Most women seem to prefer diamonds.’

Mistral drew herself up proudly.

‘I am afraid Your Highness must have been misinformed. The pearls that I wear are not for sale or for exchange.’

‘Now,
Mademoiselle
, do not make such a hasty decision.’ The Rajah took a step forward.

‘Your pearls, as I have already said, fine though they are, are not entirely a suitable ornament for anyone so young and so beautiful as you. But however rich one is, money is always useful. You may never have another offer like this in the whole of your life. I have set my heart on obtaining the pearls, therefore you can blackmail me a trifle. Does the idea not amuse you?’

‘I am sorry, Your Highness, but I would never consent to part with my pearls. And now if you will excuse me – ’

Mistral turned towards the window, but the Rajah was in front of her. Now he was standing on the step so that she must look up at him.

‘How can I convince you that I always get what I want?’ he asked. ‘It would be much wiser of you,
Mademoiselle
, to agree to let me have the pearls now and at your own price.’

There was no mistaking the threat in his tones. Mistral was suddenly angry at his impertinence.

‘Kindly stand aside,’ she said frigidly. ‘Your Highness has no right to keep me here. I have answered your question and refused your offer. There is no more to be said.’

‘On the contrary, I have a great deal more to say,’ the Rajah replied. ‘You are very young,
Mademoiselle
, and the young are usually both impetuous and intolerant. I shall obtain the pearls, but it would have been so much more pleasant if we could do it amicably – you and I.’

Mistral was suddenly aware that his voice had taken on an almost hypnotic quality. His eyes were looking down deep, deep into hers, and she felt as if some dark mist were rising within her. Even as she sensed this, she saw that the Rajah’s hand had gone out towards her neck and she knew that he meant to touch the pearls.

With an exclamation which was almost a cry she forced her eyes away from his, and with a sudden unexpected movement pushed her way past him and into the lighted Concert Room. She was so quick that the Rajah, reaching out to stop her, was too late. She was free, and before he could do anything was running as quickly as she could down the corridor and through the door which led to the Ladies’ Cloakroom.

There was another passage between the outer and inner doors of the Cloakroom, and as Mistral reached the second door, still running blindly and with a terror which lent wings to her feet, she collided with another woman who was coming out.

‘Lor – I’m sorry!’ the woman exclaimed in English.

Mistral looked up to see that it was the pretty, fair haired woman whom she had often noticed in company with the Rajah. For a moment she could only stare at Stella, her breath coming unevenly from between her parted lips, then she realised that in the collision the tulle which trimmed the bodice of her grey satin dress had become entangled in one of the jewelled butterflies with which Stella’s dress was ornamented. They were joined together, and after a second’s stupefaction from the force of the impact Mistral reached up to try to disengage the butterfly.

‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘It was my fault for entering so quickly.’

‘That’s all right,’ Stella replied. ‘You did seem to be in a bit of a hustle. Thought you must be off to catch a train or something.’

Mistral tried to smile.

‘No, it was not a train which made me run.’

Stella looked at her.

‘You’re awfully pale,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Something must have upset you. Never mind about that stupid butterfly, give it a good tug. Let me try.’

‘No, pray do not move,’ Mistral begged.

With skilful fingers she disentangled the tulle from the tiny metal claws framing each of the colourful pieces of glass of which the butterfly was constructed.

‘Thanks,’ Stella said when she was free.

‘Unfortunately the butterfly is hanging by only a thread,’ Mistral replied.

‘I expect the attendant can mend it,’ Stella remarked, but she did not move, and Mistral realised that she was waiting for her to lead the way. With a shy little smile she went into the Cloakroom and handed Aunt Emilie’s cloak to the woman in charge. Then she turned to see Stella had come in behind her and was looking down at her sleeve.

Her dress was astonishing now that Mistral could see it in the gaslight. Of bright green satin, it was covered all over with butterflies embroidered with tiny jewels. They glittered and sparkled as she walked so that while in some ways it was pretty and attractive it was also incredibly gaudy.

Her hair, too, dressed in a profusion of curls, was ornamented with a wreath of butterflies, while her cheeks were vivid with rouge and her lips as crimson as the bouquet she carried of tiny roses. But Mistral saw, too, the friendliness of her wide smile, the pleasant gentleness of the expression in her blue eyes.

Stella looked at her reflection in the mirror then put up her hand and gave the butterfly a little pull. The last thread broke and it came away in her hands.

‘There, it’s come right off,’ she exclaimed.

‘It must be sewn on again,’ Mistral said, ‘because I am afraid the satin is torn a little underneath. I do apologise most sincerely for my clumsiness.’

‘You needn’t do that,’ Stella smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter to me, I promise you. To tell the truth I don’t like this dress much, but it was so expensive that Chrissie – I mean my sister – thought I’d better have it.’

It seemed to Mistral such an extraordinary reason for buying a dress that she could think of nothing to say. After a moment Stella remarked in a low voice,

‘You ought to be going, you know, you mustn’t stay here talking to me.’

For a moment Mistral did not understand, and then slowly in sheer embarrassment the blood came into her cheeks. She had not thought of the pretty woman who was always with the Rajah as being a bad woman, but now she understood what Stella was trying to explain to her. Even as she understood, she knew, too, that this English girl could not speak French.

One of the reasons why she had not asked the woman to sew on the butterfly was because she had no idea how to give the order.

Mistral’s smile was very sweet.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but first of all I must repair the damage that I have done to your gown. Will you allow me to ask the cloakroom attendant to mend it?’

Stella looked relieved.

‘I’d be glad if you would,’ she said. ‘I can’t speak their jargon. I have enough trouble getting my cloak every night.’ Mistral turned to the attendant.’

‘Please bring a needle and thread,’ she said in French. ‘
Mademoiselle
has damaged her dress and needs it repaired.’

‘Certainement, Mademoiselle, je viens tout de suite,’
the woman replied.

‘That’s awfully kind of you,’ Stella said.

‘It is very little to do after half ruining your gown,’ Mistral replied.

The attendant crossed the floor with a needle and thread. Stella paid little attention to her. She was looking at Mistral and it seemed from the expression on her face that she was struggling in her mind whether she should say something or not. At length the words almost burst from her.

‘Look here, let me give you a tip,’ she said. If anyone wants to buy those pearls of yours, you say no.’

Mistral stared at Stella in astonishment, then it came to mind that it must be for her that the Rajah wished to purchase the pearls.

‘They are not for sale,’ she said quietly, ‘for they belonged to my mother.’

‘I thought it would be something like that when I was looking at you just now,’ Stella said, ‘but just remember what I’ve said. If anyone asks you to part with them – tell them there’s nothing doing.’

‘Thank you for the advice,’ Mistral said slowly. ‘It was very kind of you to give it to me.’

‘Kind?’ Stella made the word a question, then she laughed. ‘It is kind of you to be talking here to the likes of me. If anyone sees us, you’ll get into trouble, you know.’

‘People often have very silly ideas,’ Mistral said, ‘I can see nothing wrong in my talking to you.’

The way she spoke was gentle and friendly and so was the smile on her lips. Stella gave a little sigh.

‘Lots of people would be only too ready to tell you how wrong it is,’ she said. ‘That’s the trouble with this world, you’re never certain if what you’re doing is right or wrong – at least I’m not.’

‘You sound as if you were troubled about something,’ Mistral replied, instinctively sympathetic.

‘It’s funny you should say that,’ Stella exclaimed, ‘and it’s just about the truth, for I am. Funnily enough, what’s troubling me is a real mixture of right and wrong.’

‘Perhaps someone could help you,’ Mistral said. ‘When I have been in doubt over things that really matter, I have always found it comforting to go to someone who knows the answers.’

She did not like to suggest outright that a Priest would solve the problem. She was on the verge of doing so when she remembered that the majority of people in England were not Catholics.

Stella seemed to be cogitating over her words. The woman had finished sewing on the glittering butterfly and with a muttered word of thanks Stella gave her a franc.

‘Merci, Mademoiselle, merci,’
the woman said, returning to her chair by the cloaks.

Mistral knew she should go back to Aunt Emilie. It would be difficult to explain why she should have taken so long to do a simple errand, yet something made her stay. She felt instinctively that Stella wanted to confide in her.

Her expression was worried, her eyes with their heavily mascara-ed eyelashes were almost piteous in their appeal for help. Mistral knew that she must stay a little longer whatever the personal consequences. At last it seemed that Stella had made up her mind to speak.

‘Look here,’ she said, ‘there’s something about you which makes me feel that you could solve my problem for me. It’s this. Supposing you had the chance of giving up something that was wrong and doing something that was right, but in doing it you would hurt someone very much. Really hurt them, I mean – someone you were fond of and who was fond of you. Would you think that right or wrong?’