Ciccio rose to his feet, and looked at Alvina: as he would have looked at Gigi, had Gigi been there. His eyes said unspeakable things about Madame. Alvina flashed a laugh, suddenly. And a good-humoured, half-mocking smile came over his face too.
They turned to follow Madame into the house. And as Alvina went before him, she felt his fingers stroke the nape of her neck, and pass in a soft touch right down her back. She started as if some unseen creature had stroked her with its paw, and she glanced swiftly round, to see the face of Ciccio mischievous behind her shoulder.
“Now I think,” said Madame, “that today we all take the same train. We go by the Great Central as far as the junction, together. Then you, Allaye, go on to Knarborough, and we leave you until tomorrow. And now there is not much time.”
“I am going to Woodhouse,” said Ciccio in French.
“You also! By the train, or the bicycle?”
“Train,” said Ciccio.
“Waste so much money?”
Ciccio raised his shoulders slightly.
When breakfast was over, and Alvina had gone to her room, Geoffrey went out into the back yard, where the bicycles stood.
“Cic’,” he said. “I should like to go with thee to Woodhouse. Come on bicycle with me.”
Ciccio shook his head.
“I’m going in train with her,” he said.
Geoffrey darkened with his heavy anger.
“I would like to see how it is, there, chez elle,” he said.
“Ask her,” said Ciccio.
Geoffrey watched him suddenly.
“Thou forsakest me,” he said. “I would like to see it, there.”
“Ask her,” repeated Ciccio. “Then come on bicycle.”
“You’re content to leave me,” muttered Geoffrey.
Ciccio touched his friend on his broad cheek, and smiled at him with affection.
“I don’t leave thee, Gigi. I asked thy advice. You said, Go. But come. Go and ask her, and then come. Come on bicycle, eh? Ask her! Go on! Go and ask her.”
Alvina was surprised to hear a tap at her door, and Gigi’s voice, in his strong foreign accent:
“Mees Houghton, I carry your bag.”
She opened her door in surprise. She was all ready.
“There it is,” she said, smiling at him.
But he confronted her like a powerful ox, full of dangerous force. Her smile had reassured him.
“Na, Allaye,” he said, “tell me something.”
“What?” laughed Alvina.
“Can I come to Woodhouse?”
“When?”
“Today. Can I come on bicycle, to tea, eh? At your house with you and Ciccio? Eh?”
He was smiling with a thick, doubtful, half sullen smile.
“Do!” said Alvina.
He looked at her with his large, dark-blue eyes.
“Really, eh?” he said, holding out his large hand.
She shook hands with him warmly.
“Yes, really!” she said. “I wish you would.”
“Good,” he said, a broad smile on his thick mouth. And all the time he watched her curiously, from his large eyes.
“Ciccio—a good chap, eh?” he said.
“Is he?” laughed Alvina.
“Ha‑a—!” Gigi shook his head solemnly. “The best!” He made such solemn eyes, Alvina laughed. He laughed too, and picked up her bag as if it were a bubble.
“Na Cic’—” he said, as he saw Ciccio in the street. “Sommes d’accord.”
“Ben!” said Ciccio, holding out his hand for the bag. “Donne.”
“Ne-ne,” said Gigi, shrugging.
Alvina found herself on the new and busy station that Sunday morning, one of the little theatrical company. It was an odd experience. They were so obviously a theatrical company—people apart from the world. Madame was darting her black eyes here and there, behind her spotted veil, and standing with the ostensible self-possession of her profession. Max was circling round with large strides, round a big black box on which the red words “Natcha-Kee-Tawara” showed mystic, and round the small bunch of stage fittings at the end of the platform. Louis was waiting to get the tickets, Gigi and Ciccio were bringing up the bicycles. They were a whole train of departure in themselves, busy, bustling, cheerful—and curiously apart, vagrants.
Alvina strolled away towards the half-open bookstall. Geoffrey was standing monumental between her and the company. She returned to him.
“What time shall we expect you?” she said.
He smiled at her in his broad, friendly fashion.
“Expect me to be there? Why—” he rolled his eyes and proceeded to calculate. “At four o’clock.”
“Just about the time when we get there,” she said.
He looked at her sagely, and nodded.
They were a good-humoured company in the railway carriage. The men smoked cigarettes and tapped off the ash on the heels of their boots, Madame watched every traveller with professional curiosity. Max scrutinized the newspaper, Lloyds, and pointed out items to Louis, who read them over Max’s shoulder, Ciccio suddenly smacked Geoffrey on the thigh, and looked laughing into his face. So till they arrived at the junction. And then there was a kissing and a taking of farewells, as if the company were separating forever. Louis darted into the refreshment bar and returned with little pies and oranges, which he deposited in the carriage, Madame presented Alvina with a packet of chocolate. And it was “Goodbye, goodbye, Allaye! Goodbye, Ciccio! Bon voyage. Have a good time, both.”
So Alvina sped on in the fast train to Knarborough with Ciccio.
“I do like them all,” she said.
He opened his mouth slightly and lifted his head up and down. She saw in the movement how affectionate he was, and in his own way, how emotional. He loved them all. She put her hand to his. He gave her hand one sudden squeeze, of physical understanding, then left it as if nothing had happened. There were other people in the carriage with them. She could not help feeling how sudden and lovely that moment’s grasp of his hand was: so warm, so whole.
And thus they watched the Sunday morning landscape slip by, as they ran into Knarborough. They went out to a little restaurant to eat. It was one o’clock.
“Isn’t it strange, that we are travelling together like this?” she said, as she sat opposite him.
He smiled, looking into her eyes.
“You think it’s strange?” he said, showing his teeth slightly.
“Don’t you?” she cried.
He gave a
