domination in the financial world was just that. His secret was that he kept his secret. Mr Robinson's mouth showed its smile again. The large teeth gleamed.
'If you know a thing,' he said, 'it is always a great temptation to show that you know it; to talk about it, to put it in words. It is not that you want to give information, it is not that you have been offered payment to give information. It is that you want to show how important you are.
'It's just as simple as that. In fact,' said Mr Robinson, and he half closed his eyes, 'everything in this world is so very, very simple. That's what people don't understand.'
The Countess got to her feet and Stafford Nye followed her example.
'I hope you will sleep well and be comfortable,' said Mr Robinson. This house is, I think, moderately comfortable.'
Stafford Nye murmured that he was quite sure of that, and on that point he was shortly to be proved to have been quite right. He laid his head on the pillow and went to sleep immediately.
Book II — JOURNEY TO SIEGFRIED
Chapter 10
THE WOMAN IN THE SCHLOSS
They came out of the Festival Youth Theatre to the refreshing night air. Below them in a sweep of the ground, was a lighted restaurant. On the side of the hill was another, smaller one. The restaurants varied slightly in price though neither of them was inexpensive. Renata was in evening dress of black velvet. Sir Stafford Nye was in white tie and full evening dress.
'A very distinguished audience,' murmured Stafford Nye to his companion. 'Plenty of money there. A young audience on the whole. You wouldn't think they could afford it.'
'Oh! that can be seen to — it is seen to.'
'A subsidy for the élite of youth? That kind of thing?'
'Yes.'
They walked towards the restaurant on the high side of the hill.
'They give you an hour for the meal. Is that right?'
'Technically an hour. Actually an hour and a quarter.'
'That audience,' said Sir Stafford Nye, 'most of them, nearly all of them, I should say, are real lovers of music,'
'Most of them, yes. It's important, you know.'
'What do you mean — important?'
'That the enthusiasm should be genuine. At both ends of the scale,' she added.
'What did you mean, exactly, by that?'
'Those who practise and organize violence must love violence, must want it, must yearn for it. The seal of ecstasy in every movement, of slashing, hurting, destroying. And the same thing with the music. The ears must appreciate every moment of the harmonies and beauties. There can be no pretending in this game.'
'Can you double the roles — do you mean you can combine violence and a love of music or a love of art?'
'It is not always easy, I think, but yes. There are many who can. It is safer really, if they don't have to combine rфles.'
'It's better to keep it simple, as our fat friend Mr Robinson would say? Let the lovers of music love music, let the violent practitioners love violence. Is that what you mean?'
'I think so.'
'I am enjoying this very much. The two days that we have stayed here, the two nights of music that we have enjoyed. I have not enjoyed all the music because I am not perhaps sufficiently modern in my taste. I find the clothes very interesting.'
'Are you talking of the stage production?'
'No, no, I was talking of the audience, really. You and I, the squares, the old-fashioned. You, Countess, in your society gown, I in my white tie and tails. Not a comfortable getup, it never has been. And then the others, the silks and the velvets, the ruffled shirts of the men, real lace, I noticed, several times — and the plush and the hair and the luxury of avant garde, the luxury of the eighteen-hundreds or you might almost say of the Elizabethan age or of Van Dyck pictures.'
'Yes, you are right.'
'I'm no nearer, though, to what it all means. I haven't learnt anything. I haven't found out anything.'
'You mustn't be impatient. This is a rich show, supported, asked for, demanded perhaps by youth and provided by –'
'By whom?'
'We don't know yet. We shall know.'
'I'm so glad you are sure of it.'
They went into the restaurant and sat down. The food was good though not in any way ornate or luxurious. Once or twice they were spoken to by an acquaintance or a friend. Two people who recognized Sir Stafford Nye expressed pleasure and surprise at seeing him. Renata had a bigger circle of acquaintances since she knew more foreigners — well-dressed women, a man or two, mostly German or Austrian, Stafford Nye thought, one or two Americans. Just a few desultory words. Where people had come from or were going to. Criticism or appreciation of the musical fare. Nobody wasted much time since the interval for eating had not been very long.
They returned to their seats for the two final musical offerings. A Symphonic Poem, 'Disintegration in Joy', by at new young composer, Solukonov, and then the solemn grandeur of the March of the Meistersingers.
They came out again into the night. The car which was at their disposal every day was waiting there to take them back to the small but exclusive hotel in the village street.
Stafford Nye said good-night to Renata. She spoke to him in a lowered voice.
'Four a.m.,' she said. 'Be ready.'
She went straight into her room and shut the door and he went to his.
The faint scrape of fingers on his door came precisely at three minutes to four the next morning. He opened the door and stood ready.
'The car is waiting,' she said. 'Come.'
They lunched at a small mountain inn. The weather was good, the mountains beautiful. Occasionally Stafford Nye wondered what on earth he was doing here. He understood less and less of his travelling companion. She spoke little. He found himself watching her profile. Where was she taking him? What was her real reason? At last, as the sun was almost setting, he said:
'Where are we going? Can I ask?'
'You can ask, yes.'
'But you do not reply?'
'I could reply. I could tell you things, but would they mean anything? It seems to me that if you come to where we are going without my preparing you with explanations (which cannot in the nature of things mean anything), your first impressions will have more force and significance.'
He looked at her again thoughtfully. She was wearing a tweed coat trimmed with fur, smart travelling clothes, foreign in make and cut.
'Mary Ann,' he said thoughtfully.
There was a faint question in it.
'No,' she said, 'not at the moment.'
