Claire Ambler (1928, Doubleday)/Part 2/Chapter 4
HER indignation was not lessened as days continued to pass and Mr. Charles Orbison still did nothing about it. Their first words and even their first glance remained yet to be exchanged, and under this strange provocation, Claire's imagination began to be seriously affected. At night she dreamed of him; by day she found herself thinking of him almost unremittently; and presently she realized that she had never before been so continually conscious of any man. She had fantastic thoughts about him; but she had no fear that she was fantastic in her conviction that he, on his part, was still continually observant of her.
Yet this perfectly sound conviction itself increased her fantasies: "Why don't you let me alone?" she said to him, during one of the imaginary conversations she frequently had with him. "I could have a much better time in all this gorgeousness of Raona if you'd just let me alone. The trouble is I can't quit thinking about you until you quit thinking about me! Don't you see the thing is going too far?" And, indeed, by this time, she suspected that if the Englishman sat upon the bench with her and Arturo Liana looked on from a distance, she might be, for almost the first time in her life, more interested in the man at her side.
In her musings upon his unexampled behaviour, she sometimes murmured her thoughts, or even spoke them aloud; and thus, one afternoon, as she sat with her mother in the ancient cell that had been made into a small salon for them, she said dreamily, "Why doesn't he have Mr. Rennie ask us?"
Mrs. Ambler looked up from her embroidery in surprise. "Why doesn't who have Mr. Rennie ask us what?"
"That Englishman—Mr. Orbison. Why doesn't he have Mr. Rennie ask us to his villa to dine, or for tea, sometime when he's going there himself. I should think he would, since he's so anxious to meet us."
"Claire! What gives you the idea the poor man wants to know us?"
"Poor man?" Claire said sharply. "Why do you call him that?"
"Good gracious! He's a hopeless invalid, isn't he? He's the most tragically shattered"
"What!" the daughter cried. "Haven't you any eyes? He's the most magnificent-looking human creature I've ever seen!"
"What an idea! Why, he's a walking wreck, child—not that one doesn't feel awfully sorry for him. He just manages to get along with two canes, and he's thin as a shadow. Our valet de chambre says there's something the matter with his spine."
"Yes, there is." The colour had heightened in Claire's cheeks, and her eyes shone. "Do you know why? That's from a hand grenade in Flanders. I asked Mr. Rennie and he told me."
Mrs. Ambler nodded sympathetically. "Of course that does help to make him look magnificent, as you say; especially since anyone can see he's probably suffered terribly—and still does, I'm afraid. Yet he seems very much alive—that is, his head does. He has a kind of haggard eagerness very appealing; it's as if he knew he couldn't get much out of life, but did hope to get that little. I didn't realize you were interested in him; it's rather surprising in a girl of your age, especially with such a remarkable young man as Don Arturo hovering about."
"What's my age got to do with it, Mother? Arturo's wonderful, but I've seen others like him."
"Where? Indeed you haven't! He's the most charming young man I ever knew; and I've known more than you have, my dear! Mr. Rennie says he's the finest young man in Italy. His mother is lovely too."
"Yes," Claire said thoughtfully. "But I think she manœuvres a little."
"To make you like him? Well, that's natural, and a great compliment to you too. I think she's far from being mercenary; and her son hasn't a bit of that. No one could look at him for a moment and believe such a thing."
"No," Claire admitted. "It's true. He isn't that sort in the least, and I think he's splendid of course. I only meant I've seen others more like him than I have like Mr. Orbison. I've never seen anybody at all like Mr. Orbison. He's older, too, and that's rather fascinating—particularly when a girl's seen so terribly many fledglings of about her own age."
Mrs. Ambler sighed. "Oh, dear! What makes you think the poor man wants to meet—us? I haven't seen him show the slightest symptom."
"He had his table changed to the one next to ours, didn't he?"
"It's nearer the door and he doesn't have to hobble so far with his two sticks."
"Mother!" Claire exclaimed, and she uttered a sound of pity. "He doesn't mind! He goes on fairly long walks with that dowdy sister of his, in spite of his two sticks. I've about made up my mind to ask Mr. Rennie to"
"You mustn't," her mother interrupted in alarm. "Claire, please! We don't know Mr. Rennie well enough, and I'm sure he'd understand what you're up to."
"'Up to'?" the girl repeated, with an almost perfect air of wondering incredulity. "Mr. Rennie would understand what I'm 'up to'? What in the world are you talking about?"
"Oh, dear! Whenever you begin to be hypocritical with me, I know there's no chance of doing anything with you."
"Why, yes, there is," Claire said surprisingly. "I won't ask Mr. Rennie; I've just decided not to."
"Then it's because you've decided on something worse. What that poor man and his sister desire is rest and seclusion, and heaven knows he needs it! I think you ought to let him alone."
"Good heavens!" Claire cried, and she laughed a little excitedly. "What on earth do you think I intend to do, Mother?"
Mrs. Ambler's reply was almost too frank. "I think you've just decided on a more picturesque way of meeting poor Mr. Orbison than by asking Mr. Rennie."
"What nonsense!" the daughter exclaimed, as she rose from her chair by a window overlooking the garden. "All I've decided to do is to go up to the Salone for the afternoon tea dance. Arturo hates the place and made a fuss about my going there; but it's perfectly all right. Giuseppe Bastoni will be waiting to take me by the time I get my hat on; the baron's going to meet us there, and they both do dance beautifully. Don't worry about my disturbing poor Mr. Orbison!"
"I might as well not, I suppose," her mother sighed. "Especially since I know now what you've decided to do at the first opportunity—and that you'll probably make the opportunity, yourself!"
Claire was already in the adjoining room, engaged before a mirror. "You wicked person!" she called through the open doorway. "You mean I'll make the opportunity to meet Mr. Orbison in a more picturesque way, don't you? I should think you'd be afraid to put such ideas into my head, especially in the most picturesque place in the world, where one really ought to do picturesque things! Of course you understand that if I did anything like that now, after your suggesting it, the whole affair would be absolutely all your fault." And a few moments later, as her mother remained persistently silent, Claire added gayly, speaking loudly in order to be sure that her impudence was understood: "Did you hear what I said? I said 'the whole affair,' Mother. Once you put such things into my head, you never can tell where they'll end!"