“Just as you wish,” he said. “I will have it put on the bill.”
“Do that.”
Well, that meant San Sebastian all shot to hell. I suppose, vaguely, I had expected something of the sort. I saw the concierge standing in the doorway.
“Bring me a telegram form, please.”
He brought it and I took out my fountain-pen and printed:
LADY ASHLEY HOTEL MONTANA MADRID
ARRIVING SUD EXPRESS TOMORROW
LOVE JAKE.
That seemed to handle it. That was it. Send a girl off with one man. Introduce her to another to go off with him. Now go and bring her back. And sign the wire with love. That was it all right. I went in to lunch.
I did not sleep much that night on the Sud Express. In the morning I had breakfast in the dining-car and watched the rock and pine country between Avila and Escorial. I saw the Escorial out of the window, gray and long and cold in the sun, and did not give a damn about it. I saw Madrid come up over the plain, a compact white skyline on the top of a little cliff away off across the sun-hardened country.
The Norte station in Madrid is the end of the line. All trains finish there. They don’t go on anywhere. Outside were cabs and taxis and a line of hotel runners. It was like a country town. I took a taxi and we climbed up through the gardens, by the empty palace and the unfinished church on the edge of the cliff, and on up until we were in the high, hot, modern town. The taxi coasted down a smooth street to the Puerta del Sol, and then through the traffic and out into the Carrera San Jeronimo. All the shops had their awnings down against the heat. The windows on the sunny side of the street were shuttered. The taxi stopped at the curb. I saw the sign HOTEL MONTANA on the second floor. The taxi-driver carried the bags in and left them by the elevator. I could not make the elevator work, so I walked up. On the second floor up was a cut brass sign: HOTEL MONTANA. I rang and no one came to the door. I rang again and a maid with a sullen face opened the door.
“Is Lady Ashley here?” I asked.
She looked at me dully.
“Is an Englishwoman here?”
She turned and called some one inside. A very fat woman came to the door. Her hair was gray and stiffly oiled in scallops around her face. She was short and commanding.
“Muy buenos,” I said. “Is there an Englishwoman here? I would like to see this English lady.”
“Muy buenos. Yes, there is a female English. Certainly you can see her if she wishes to see you.”
“She wishes to see me.”
“The chica will ask her.”
“It is very hot.”
“It is very hot in the summer in Madrid.”
“And how cold in winter.”
“Yes, it is very cold in winter.”
Did I want to stay myself in person in the Hotel Montana?
Of that as yet I was undecided, but it would give me pleasure if my bags were brought up from the ground floor in order that they might not be stolen. Nothing was ever stolen in the Hotel Montana. In other fondas, yes. Not here. No. The personages of this establishment were rigidly selectioned. I was happy to hear it. Nevertheless I would welcome the upbringal of my bags.
The maid came in and said that the female English wanted to see the male English now, at once.
“Good,” I said. “You see. It is as I said.”
“Clearly.”
I followed the maid’s back down a long, dark corridor. At the end she knocked on a door.
“Hello,” said Brett. “Is it you, jake?”
“It’s me.”
“Come in. Come in.”
I opened the door. The maid closed it after me. Brett was in bed. She had just been brushing her hair and held the brush in her hand. The room was in that disorder produced only by those who have always had servants.
“Darling!” Brett said.
I went over to the bed and put my arms around her. She kissed me, and while she kissed me I could feel she was thinking of something else. She was trembling in my arms. She felt very small.
“Darling! I’ve had such a hell of a time.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Nothing to tell. He only left yesterday. I made him go.”
“Why didn’t you keep him?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t the sort of thing one does. I don’t think I hurt him any.”
“You were probably damn good for him.”
“He shouldn’t be living with any one. I realized that right away.”
“No.”
“Oh, hell!” she said, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s never talk about it.”
“All right.”
“It was rather a knock his being ashamed of me. He was ashamed of me for a while, you know.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes. They ragged him about me at the cafė, I guess. He wanted me to grow my hair out. Me, with long hair. I’d look so like hell.”
“It’s funny.”
“He said it would make me more womanly. I’d look a fright.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, he got over that. He wasn’t ashamed of me long.”
“What was it about being in trouble?”
“I didn’t know whether I could make him go, and I didn’t have a sou to go away and leave him. He tried to give me a lot of money, you know. I told him I had scads of it. He knew that was a lie. I couldn’t take his money, you know.”
“No.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about it. There were some funny things, though. Do give me a cigarette.”
I lit the cigarette.
“He learned his English as a waiter in Gib.”
“Yes.”
“He wanted to marry me, finally.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I can’t even marry Mike.”
“Maybe he thought that would make him Lord Ashley.”
“No. It wasn’t that. He really wanted to marry me. So I couldn’t go away from him, he said. He wanted to make it sure I could never go away from him. After I’d gotten more womanly, of course.”
“You ought to feel set up.”
“I do. I’m all right again. He’s wiped out that damned Cohn.”
“Good.”
“You know I’d have lived with him if I hadn’t seen it was bad for him. We got along damned well.”
“Outside of your personal appearance.”
“Oh, he’d have gotten used to that.”
She put out the cigarette.
“I’m thirty-four, you know. I’m not going to be one of these bitches that ruins children.”
“No.”
