The Painted Veil / Узорный покров

© Загородняя И. Б., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2017

© ООО «Издательство «Антология», 2017

I

She gave a startled cry.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

In the darkness of the room he saw terror on her face.

“Someone just tried to open the door.”

“Well, perhaps it was the amah[1], or one of the boys.”

“They never come at this time. They know I always sleep after lunch.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Walter,” she whispered. Her lips were trembling.

She pointed to his shoes and gave him a shoe horn. Then she slipped into a kimono and in her bare feet went over to her dressing-table. She had a short haircut and with a comb she had repaired its disorder before he had laced his second shoe. She handed him his coat.

“How will I get out?”

“You’d better wait a bit. I’ll look out and see that it’s all right.”

“It can’t be Walter. He doesn’t leave the laboratory till five.”

“Who is it then?”

They spoke in whispers now. Suddenly they saw the white china knob of the handle slowly turn. They had heard no one walk along the verandah. It was terrifying to see that silent motion. A minute passed and there was no sound. Then, in the same noiseless and horrifying manner, they saw the white china knob of the handle at the other window turn also. It was so frightening that Kitty opened her mouth to scream; but, seeing what she was going to do, he quickly put his hand over it.

Silence. She leaned against him, her knees were shaking, and he was afraid she would faint. Frowning, he carried her to the bed and sat her down upon it. She was as white as the sheet and in spite of his tan his cheeks were pale too. He stood by her side looking with fascinated gaze at the china knob. They did not speak. Then he saw that she was crying.

“For God’s sake don’t do that,” he said irritably. “If we’re in for it we’re in for it[2]. We’ll just have to look confident and not ashamed.”

She gave him the shadow of a smile. His voice reassured her and she took his hand and affectionately pressed it. He gave her a moment to collect herself.

“Where’s your hat?” she asked suddenly.

“I left it downstairs.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Look here, we can’t stay here for ever,” he said then. “Can you go out on the verandah and have a look?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Have you got any brandy in here?”

She shook her head. He was growing impatient; he did not quite know what to do. Suddenly she clutched his hand more tightly.

“Suppose he’s waiting there?”

He forced his lips to smile.

“That’s not very likely. Have a little courage, Kitty. How can it be your husband? Only a Chinese would turn a handle in that way.”

She felt better now.

“It’s not very pleasant even if it was only the amah.”

“If necessary, I’ll make her fear. There are not many advantages in being a government official, but you may get something out of it.”

He must be right. She stood up and turning to him stretched out her arms: he took her in his and kissed her on the lips. She adored him. He released her and she went to the window. There was not a soul. She slipped on to the verandah, looked into her husband’s dressing-room and then into her own sitting-room. Both were empty. She went back to the bedroom and said to him,

“Nobody.”

“I believe the whole thing was an optical delusion[3].”

“Don’t laugh. I was terrified. Go into my sitting-room and sit down. I’ll put on my stockings and shoes.”

II

He did as she said and in five minutes she joined him. He was smoking a cigarette.

“Could I have a brandy and soda, Kitty?”

“Yes, I’ll ring.”

They waited in silence for the boy to answer. She gave the order.

“Ring up the laboratory and ask if Walter is there,” she said then. “They don’t know your voice.”

He took up the receiver and asked for the number. He inquired whether Dr. Fane was in. He put down the receiver.

“He hasn’t been in since lunch,” he told her. “Ask the boy whether he has been here.”

“I daren’t. It’ll look so funny if he has been here and I didn’t see him.”

The boy brought the drinks and Townsend helped himself. When he offered her some she shook her head.

“What should we do if it was Walter?” she asked.

“Perhaps he wouldn’t care.”

“Walter?”

Her tone was incredulous.

“He is rather shy. Some men can’t bear scenes, you know. He’s got sense enough to know that he can’t gain anything by making a scandal. I don’t believe for a minute it was Walter, but even if it was, my impression is that he’ll do nothing. I think he’ll ignore it.”

She reflected for a moment.

“He’s awfully in love with me.”

“Well, that’s all to the good.”

He gave her that charming smile of his which she had always found so irresistible. It was a slow smile which started in his clear blue eyes and travelled slowly to his attractive mouth. It was a very sensual smile and it made her heart melt in her body.

“I don’t very much care,” she said. “It was worth it.”

“It was my fault.”

“Why did you come? I was amazed to see you.”

“I couldn’t resist it.”

“You dear.”

She leaned a little towards him. Her dark and shining eyes were gazing passionately into his, her mouth was a little open with desire, and he put his arms round her.

“You know you can always count on me,” he said.

“I’m so happy with you. I wish I could make you as happy as you make me.”

“You’re not frightened any more?”

“I hate Walter,” she answered.

He did not quite know what to say to this, so he kissed her. But he took her wrist on which was a little gold watch and looked at the time.

“Do you know what I must do now?”

“Go?” she smiled.

He nodded. For one instant she clung to him more closely, but she felt his desire to go, and she pushed him away.

“You seem in a hurry to get rid of me,” he said lightly.

“You know that I hate to let you go.”

Her answer was low and deep and serious. He gave a flattered laugh.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about our mysterious visitor. I’m quite sure it was the amah. And if there’s any trouble I guarantee to get you out of it.”

“Have you had a lot of experience?”

His smile was amused and content.

“No, but I flatter myself that I’ve got a head on my shoulders.”

III

She went out on to the verandah and watched him leave the house. He waved his hand to her. It gave her a little thrill as she looked at him; he was forty-one, but he had the flexible figure and the springing step of a boy.

She could think only of her lover.

Of course it was stupid to behave as they had done that afternoon, but if he wanted her how could she be prudent? He had come two or three times after lunch, and not even the boys had seen him come and go. It was very difficult at Hong Kong. She hated the Chinese city and it made her nervous to go into the filthy little in which they regularly met. It was a curio dealer’s[4]; and the Chinese who were sitting about stared at her unpleasantly. The old man took her to the back of the shop and then up a dark flight of stairs. The room into which he led her was dirty and the large wooden bed against the wall made her shudder.

“This is disgusting, isn’t it?” she said to Charlie the first time she met him there.

“It was till you came in,” he answered.

Of course the moment he took her in his arms she forgot everything.

Oh, how hateful it was that she wasn’t free, that they both weren’t free! She didn’t like his wife, Dorothy Townsend. She was thirty-eight at least. But Charlie never spoke of her. Of course he didn’t care for her; she bored him to death. But he was a gentleman. Kitty smiled with affectionate irony: it was just like him, silly old thing; he might be unfaithful to her, but he would never allow a bad word of her to cross his lips. She was a tallish woman, taller than Kitty, neither stout nor thin, with light brown hair; her features were good enough but not remarkable, and her blue eyes were cold. And she dressed like – well, like what she was, the wife of the Assistant Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong. Kitty smiled and gave her shoulders a faint shrug.

Of course no one could deny that Dorothy Townsend had a pleasant voice. She was a wonderful mother, Charlie always said that of her, and she was what Kitty’s mother called a gentlewoman. But Kitty did not like her. The fact was, Kitty supposed, that she cared for nothing but her children: there were two boys at school in England, and another boy of six whom she was going to take home next year. Her face was a mask. She smiled and in her pleasant, well-mannered way said the things that were expected of her; but she held you at a distance. She had a few intimate friends in the Colony and they greatly admired her. Her father had been a Colonial Governor and of course it was very grand while it lasted – every one stood up when you entered a room and men took off their hats to you as you passed in your car – but what could be more insignificant than a Colonial Governor when he had retired? Dorothy Townsend’s father lived on a pension in a small house at Earl’s Court. Kitty’s mother would think it a dreadful bore if she asked her to call. Kitty’s father, Bernard Garstin, was а К. C.[5] and it was more prestigious. Anyhow they lived in South Kensington.

IV

Kitty, coming to Hong Kong on her marriage, had found that her social position was determined by her husband’s occupation. Of course every one had been very kind and for two or three months they had gone out to parties almost every night; but she had understood quickly that as the wife of the Government bacteriologist she was of no particular importance. It made her angry.

“It’s too absurd,” she told her husband. “Why, there’s hardly any one here that could be invited by Mother to dine at our house.”

“You mustn’t let it worry you,” he answered. “It doesn’t really matter, you know.”

“Of course it doesn’t matter; it only shows how stupid they are.”

“From a social point of view the man of science does not exist,” he smiled.

She knew that now, but she had not known it when she married him.

Perhaps he felt the reproach behind her words, for he took her hand and shyly pressed it.

“I’m awfully sorry, Kitty dear, but don’t let it annoy you.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let it do that.”

V

No, it had not been Walter that afternoon. Probably it had been one of the servants and after all they didn’t matter. Chinese servants knew everything anyway. But they held their tongues.

She turned away from the verandah and went back into her sitting-room. She threw herself down on the sofa and stretched out her hand to get a cigarette. Suddenly she saw a note lying on the top of a book. She opened it. It was written in pencil.

Dear Kitty,

Here is the book you wanted. I was just going to send it when I met Dr. Fane and he said he’d bring it himself as he was passing the house.

She rang the bell and when the boy came asked him who had brought the book and when.

“Master brought it after lunch,” he answered.

Then it had been Walter. She rang up the Colonial Secretary’s office at once and asked for Charlie. She told him what she had just learned. There was a pause before he answered.

“What shall I do?” she asked.

“I’m in the middle of an important consultation. I’m afraid I can’t talk to you now. My advice to you is to sit tight[6].”

She put down the receiver. She understood that he was not alone.

She sat down again, at a desk, and decided to think over the situation. Of course Walter probably thought she was sleeping: there was no reason why she should not lock herself in. She tried to remember if they had been talking. Certainly they had not been talking loud. And there was the hat. But it was no use blaming Charlie for that, it was natural enough, and there was nothing to tell that Walter had noticed it. He was probably in a hurry and had just left the book and note on his way to some appointment. The strange thing was that he had tried the door and then the two windows. If he thought she was asleep it was unlike him to disturb her. What a fool she had been!

Charlie had said that he would stand by her, and if the worse came to the worse, well… Let Walter kick up a row[7] if he chose. She had Charlie; what did she care? Perhaps it would be the best thing for Walter to know. She had never cared for Walter and she had loved Charlie Townsend. After all, she might tell her husband the truth.

VI

Within three months of her marriage she knew that she had made a mistake; but it had been her mother’s fault even more than hers.

There was a photograph of her mother, Mrs. Garstin, in the room and Kitty’s eyes fell on it. She did not know why she kept it there, for she was not very fond of her mother; there was one of her father too, but that was downstairs on the grand piano. He was a little man, with tired eyes, a long upper lip, and a thin mouth; a witty photographer had told him to look pleasant, but he had succeeded only in looking severe. Mother’s photograph showed her in the dress in which she had gone to Court when her husband was made a King’s Counsel. She was very impressive in the velvet gown, with feathers in her hair and flowers in her hand. She held herself straight. She was a woman of fifty, thin, with flat chest, prominent cheek-bones and a large, well-shaped nose. She had a great quantity of very smooth black hair, and Kitty had always suspected that it was dyed. Her fine black eyes were never still and this was the most noticeable thing about her. They moved from one part of you to another, to other persons in the room, and then back to you; you felt that she was criticizing you, watchful meanwhile of all that went on around her, and that the words she spoke had no connection with her thoughts.

VII

Mrs. Garstin was a hard, cruel, managing, ambitious, parsimonious, and stupid woman. She was the daughter, one of five, of a solicitor in Liverpool, and Bernard Garstin had met her when he was on the circuit[8]. He had seemed then a young promising man and her father said he would go far. He hadn’t. He was scrupulous, industrious, and capable, but he had not the will to advance himself. Mrs. Garstin despised him. But she recognized, though with bitterness, that she could only achieve success through him. She nagged him without mercy. She discovered that if she wanted him to do something which his sensitiveness revolted against she had only to give him no peace and eventually, exhausted, he would give up. She cultivated the people who might be useful. She flattered the solicitors who would send her husband briefs[9] and was familiar with their wives. She made much of promising politicians.

In twenty-five years Mrs. Garstin never invited any one to dine at her house because she liked him. She gave large dinner parties at regular intervals. But parsimony was as strong in her as ambition. She hated to spend money. She could never persuade herself that people when they were eating and talking knew what they drank. She wrapped cheap sparkling wine in a napkin and thought her guests took it for champagne.

Bernard Garstin had a fair though not a large practice. Mrs. Garstin made him stand for parliament. The expense of the election was covered by the party, but she could not make herself spend enough money to nurse the voters. So Bernard Garstin was beaten. Though Mrs. Garstin wanted to be a member’s wife she bore her disappointment with courage. She had made contact with a number of prominent persons and she appreciated the addition to her social importance.

But he was still a junior and many younger men than he had already taken silk[10]. It was necessary that he should too, because it insulted her to go in to dinner after women ten years younger than herself. But here she encountered in her husband a stubbornness which she had not for years been accustomed to. He was afraid that as а К. C. he would get no work. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush[11], he told her, to which she replied that a proverb was the last refuge of the weak-minded. He said that his income would be halved. She would not listen. She gave him no peace and at last, as always, he gave up. He applied for silk and it was promptly awarded him.

His doubts were justified. He made no carrier and his briefs were few. But he concealed any disappointment, and if he reproached his wife it was in his heart. He grew perhaps a little more silent, but he had always been silent at home, and no one in his family noticed a change in him. His daughters had never looked upon him as anything but a source of income; and now, understanding that through his fault money was less plentiful, the indifference they had felt for him was mixed with contempt. It never occurred to them to ask themselves what were the feelings of the little man who went out early in the morning and came home at night. He was a stranger to them, but because he was their father they took it for granted that he should love and cherish them.

VIII

But there was a quality of courage in Mrs. Garstin which was admirable. She let no one in her immediate circle, which to her was the world, see how embarrassed she was by the failure of her hopes. She made no change in her style of living. By careful management she was able to give as showy dinners as she had done before, and she met her friends with the same bright cheerfulness which she had so long cultivated. She was a useful guest among persons to whom small talk[12] did not come easily, for she was never at a loss with a new topic and could be trusted immediately to break an awkward silence with a suitable observation.

It was unlikely now that Bernard Garstin would ever become a judge of the High Court, but he might still hope for a County Court judgeship or at the worst an appointment in the Colonies. Meanwhile she had the satisfaction of seeing him appointed Recorder[13] of a Welsh town.

Then Mrs. Garstin set her hopes on her daughters. By arranging good marriages for them she expected to compensate all the disappointments of her career. There were two, Kitty and Doris. Doris gave no sign of good looks, her nose was too long and her figure was lumpy. But Kitty was a beauty. When she was still a child she had large, dark eyes, brown, curling hair, exquisite teeth and a lovely skin. Her features would never be very good, for her chin was too square and her nose, though not so long as Doris’s, too big. Her beauty depended a lot on her youth, and Mrs. Garstin realized that she must marry in the first flush of her maidenhood. Kitty had a charming cheerfulness and the desire to please. Mrs. Garstin gave her all the affection, a competent, calculating affection, of which she was capable; she dreamed ambitious dreams; it was not a good marriage she aimed at for her daughter, but a brilliant one.

Kitty had been brought up with the knowledge that she was going to be a beautiful woman and she suspected her mother’s ambition. It accorded with her own desires. She was launched upon the world and she was a success. Very soon she had a dozen men in love with her. But none was suitable. Kitty was prepared to flirt with them, but when they proposed to her, she refused them with tact but decision.

Her first season passed without the perfect suitor presenting himself, and the second also; but she was young and could afford to wait. Mrs. Garstin told her friends that she thought it a pity for a girl to marry till she was twenty-one. But a third year passed and then a fourth. Kitty still danced a great deal; but still no one whose position and income were satisfactory asked her to marry him. Mrs. Garstin began to grow uneasy. She noticed that Kitty was beginning to attract men of forty and over. She reminded her that she would not be any longer so pretty in a year or two and that young girls were coming out all the time. Mrs Garstin warned her daughter that she would miss her market. Kitty shrugged her shoulders. She thought herself as pretty as ever, prettier perhaps, for she had learnt how to dress in the last four years, and she had plenty of time. If she wanted to marry just to be married there were a dozen boys who would jump at the chance. Surely the right man would come along sooner or later. But Mrs. Garstin judged the situation more shrewdly: with anger in her heart for the beautiful daughter who had missed her chances she set her standard a little lower. She looked about for a young lawyer or a business man whose future inspired her with confidence.

Kitty reached the age of twenty-five and was still unmarried. Mrs. Garstin was maddened. She asked her how much longer she expected her father to support her. She put down Kitty’s failure to stupidity. Then Doris came out. She had a long nose still, and a poor figure, and she danced badly. In her first season she became engaged to Geoffrey Dennison. He was the only son of a prosperous surgeon who had been given a baronetcy during the war. Geoffrey would inherit a title – it is not very grand to be a medical baronet, but a title, thank God, is still a title – and a very comfortable fortune.

Kitty in a panic married Walter Fane.

IX

She had known him but a little while. She had no idea when or where they had first met till after their engagement he told her that it was at a dance to which some friends had brought him. She certainly paid no attention to him then and if she danced with him it was because she was good-natured and was glad to dance with any one who asked her. She didn’t recognize him when a day or two later at another dance he came up and spoke to her. Then she remarked that he was at every dance she went to.

“You know, I’ve danced with you at least a dozen times now and you must tell me your name,” she said to him at last in her laughing way.

He was obviously taken aback.

“Do you mean to say you don’t know it? I was introduced to you.”

“Oh, but people always mumble. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you hadn’t an idea what my name was.”

He smiled at her. His face was serious, but his smile was very sweet.

“Of course I know it.” He was silent for a moment or two. “Have you no curiosity?” he asked then.

“As much as most women.”

“It didn’t occur to you to ask somebody or other what my name was?”

“Well, what is it?”

“Walter Fane.”

She did not know why he came to dances, he did not dance very well, and he seemed to know few people. He certainly did not behave like any of the other youths who had been in love with her. Most of them told her so frankly and wanted to kiss her: a good many did. But Walter Fane never talked of her and very little of himself. He was rather silent; she did not mind that because she had plenty to say and it pleased her to see him laugh when she made a funny remark; but when he talked it was not stupidly. He was evidently shy. It appeared that he lived in the East and was home on leave.

One Sunday afternoon he appeared at their house in South Kensington. There were a dozen people there, and he sat for some time, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and then went away. Her mother asked her later who he was.

“I haven’t an idea. Did you ask him to come here?”

“Yes, I met him at the Baddeleys. He said he’d seen you at various dances. I said I was always at home on Sundays.”

“His name is Fane and he’s got some sort of job in the East.”

“Yes, he’s a doctor. Is he in love with you?”

“I really don’t know!”

“I thought you knew by now when a young man was in love with you.”

“I wouldn’t marry him if he were,” said Kitty lightly. Mrs. Garstin did not answer. Her silence was heavy with displeasure. Kitty flushed: she knew that her mother did not care now whom she married so long as somehow she got her off her hands.

X

During the next week she met him at three dances and now he was a bit more communicative. He was a doctor, certainly, but he did not practise; he was a bacteriologist (Kitty had only a very vague idea what that meant) and he had a job at Hong Kong. He was going back in the autumn. He talked a lot about China. She knew how to look interested in whatever people talked to her of, but indeed the life in Hong Kong sounded quite exciting; there were clubs and tennis and racing and polo and golf.