been some quotation that he had once written on it and then rubbed out.
A shadow fell on her and she looked up, startled. Mr. Aristides was standing there between her and the sun. His eyes were not on her. He was looking across over the gardens below towards the silhouette of hills in the distance. She heard him sigh and then he turned abruptly towards the dining room and as he did so, the sleeve of his coat caught the glass on her table and sent it flying to the terrace where it broke. He wheeled round quickly and politely.
'Ah. Mille pardons, Madame.'
Hilary assured him smilingly in French that it did not matter in the least. With the swift flick of a finger he summoned a waiter. The waiter as usual came running. He ordered a replacement of Madame's drink and then, once more apologising, he made his way into the restaurant.
The young Frenchman, still humming, came up the steps again. He lingered noticeably as he passed Hilary, but as she gave no sign, he went on into lunch with a slight philosophic shrug of the shoulders. A French family passed across the terrace, the parents calling to their young.
'Mais viens, donc, Bobo. Qu'est ce que tu fais? Depкches toi!'
'Laisse ta balle, cherie, on va dejeuner.'
They passed up the steps and into the restaurant, a happy contented little nucleus of family life. Hilary felt suddenly alone and frightened.
The waiter brought her drink. She asked him if M. Aristides was all alone here?
'Oh, Madame, naturally, anyone so rich as M. Aristides would never travel alone. He has here his valet and two secretaries and a chauffeur.'
The waiter was quite shocked at the idea of M. Aristides travelling unaccompanied.
Hilary noted however, when she at last went into the dining room that the old man sat at a table by himself as he had done on the previous evening. At a table nearby sat two young men whom she thought were probably the secretaries since she noticed that one or the other of them was always on the alert and looked constantly towards the table where M. Aristides, shrivelled and monkey-like, ate his lunch and did not seem to notice their existence. Evidently to M. Aristides, secretaries were not human!
The afternoon passed in a vague dreamlike manner. Hilary strolled through the gardens, descending from terrace to terrace. The peace and the beauty seemed quite astounding. There was the splash of water, the gleam of the golden oranges, and innumerable scents and fragrances. It was the Oriental atmosphere of seclusion about it that Hilary found so satisfying. As a garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse… This was what a garden was meant to be, a place shut away from the world – full of green and gold -
If I could stay here, thought Hilary. If I could stay here always…
It was not the actual garden of the Palais Jamail that was in her thoughts, it was the state of mind it typified. When she no longer looked for peace, she had found it. And peace of mind had come to her at a moment when she was committed to adventure and danger.
But perhaps there was no danger and no adventure… Perhaps she could stay here awhile and nothing would happen… and then…
And then – what?
A little cold breeze sprang up and Hilary gave a quick shiver. You strayed into the garden of peaceful living, but in the end you would be betrayed from within. The turmoil of the world, the harshness of living, the regrets and despairs, all these she carried within her.
And it was late afternoon, and the sun had lost its power. Hilary went up the various terraces and into the hotel.
In the gloom of the Oriental Lounge, something voluble and cheerful resolved itself, as Hilary's eyes got attuned to the dimness, into Mrs. Calvin Baker, her hair newly blued, and her appearance immaculate as ever.
'I've just got here by air,' she explained. 'I simply can't stand these trains – the time they take! And the people in them, as often as not, quite unsanitary! They've no idea at all of hygiene in these countries. My dear, you should see the meat in the souks – all smothered in flies. They just seem to think it's natural to have flies settling on everything.'
'I suppose it is really,' said Hilary.
Mrs. Calvin Baker was not going to allow such a heretical statement to pass.
'I'm a great believer in the Clean Food movement. At home everything perishable is wrapped in cellophane – but even in London your bread and cakes just stand about unwrapped. Now tell me, have you been getting around? You've been doing the old city today, I expect?'
'I'm afraid I haven't 'done' anything,' said Hilary, smiling. 'I've just been sitting about in the sun.'
'Ah, of course – you're just out of hospital. I forgot.' Clearly only recent illness was accepted by Mrs. Calvin Baker as an excuse for failure to sight-see. 'How could I be so stupid? Why, it's perfectly true, after concussion you ought to lie down and rest in a dark room most of the day. By and by we can make some expeditions together. I'm one of those people who likes a real packed day – everything planned and arranged. Every minute filled.'
In Hilary's present mood, this sounded like a foretaste of hell, but she congratulated Mrs. Calvin Baker on her energy.
'Well, I will say that for a woman of my age I get around pretty well. I hardly ever feel fatigue. Do you remember Miss Hetherington at Casablanca? An English-woman with a long face. She'll be arriving this evening. She prefers train to flying. Who's staying in the hotel? Mostly French, I suppose. And honeymoon couples. I must run along now and see about my room. I didn't like the one they gave me and they promised to change it.'
A miniature whirlwind of energy, Mrs. Calvin Baker departed.
When Hilary entered the dining room that evening, the first thing she saw was Miss Hetherington at a small table against the wall eating her dinner with a Penguin book propped up in front of her.
The three ladies had coffee together after dinner and Miss Hetherington displayed a pleasurable excitement over the Swedish magnate and the blonde film star.
'Not married, I understand,' she breathed, disguising her pleasure with a correct disapproval. 'One sees so much of that sort of thing abroad. That seemed a nice French family at the table by the window. The children seemed so fond of their papa. Of course, French children are allowed to sit up far too late. Ten o'clock sometimes before they go to bed, and they go through every course on the menu instead of just having milk and biscuits as children should.'
'They seem to look quite healthy on it,' said Hilary, laughing.
Miss Hetherington shook her head and uttered a cluck of disapproval.
'They'll pay for it later,' she said with grim foreboding. 'Their parents even let them drink wine.'
Horror could go no further.
Mrs. Calvin Baker began making plans for the next day.
'I don't think I shall go to the old city,' she said. 'I did that very thoroughly last time. Most interesting and quite a labyrinth, if you know what I mean. So quaint and old world. If I hadn't had the guide with me, I don't think I should have found my way back to the hotel. You just kind of lose your sense of direction. But the guide was a very nice man and told me quite a lot of interesting things. He has a brother in the States – in Chicago, I think he said. Then when we'd finished with the town, he took me up to a kind of eating house or tea room, right up on the hillsides looking down over the old city – a marvellous view. I had to drink that dreadful mint tea, of course, which is really very nasty. And they wanted me to buy various things, some quite nice, but some just rubbish. One has to be very firm, I find.'
'Yes, indeed,' said Miss Hetherington.
She added rather wistfully, 'And, of course, one can't really spare the money for souvenirs. These money restrictions are so worrying.'
Chapter 7
I
