“Garçon! The bill,” said Julia.
She hurriedly paid and hailed a passing taxi, and her steadying hand helped a now slightly nonchalant and reckless Mitsi into a place of safety.
They completed their purchases with a certain amount of difficulty. Julia had not bargained for the extraordinary effect two or three glasses of Sauterne could have on her charge.
Never again! she decided. Never again unless I’ve got someone with me. She’s lovely when she’s tight, but completely hopeless. It’ll be absurdly difficult for her if she can’t get used to it. Dear, dear, Larry’s got a job on his hands!
“I shall be most successful if I can drink this Sauterne everywhere before my performances,” declared Mitsi. “I shall perform well then! Julia, thank you for my lovely mood. I am so happy, so very, very happy. I wish Larry were with us. I must give him this Sauterne sometimes too! Can you buy it in London?”
“Yes, anywhere my dear. But I think Larry would much prefer a bottle of whisky any time!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. You see, he’s a newspaper man and they always prefer Scotch.”
“And does Scotch make him happy, too?”
“It helps, so I’m told.”
“Good, good! Then I must give Larry some Scotch…you know Julia I am particularly fond of my stockings which we bought yesterday. I think they are very becoming. They have an effect on my legs which my own do not—do you not agree, Julia?”
They were being ceremoniously bowed out of a shoe shop. Oblivious of the instantaneous effect upon the male passers-by Mitsi proceeded to display her legs for Julia’s inspection. Even to her critical eye they were very lovely. Long and slim in their sheer silk. Not unnaturally every passing man stopped to admire this delectable vision. Julia foresaw their immediate arrest for obstruction. She made a sudden grab at Mitsi, quickly bundled her into a taxi, and directed the driver to her apartment with all speed.
“Here we are. Don’t forget the parcels.” Julia tumbled out and conveyed the various packages into the hall.
Mitsi followed her dreamily, clutching one small parcel tightly to her. Julia took it from her, and she wandered into the studio. There Leo was working feverishly to catch the last of the evening light. He did not look up.
She stood quietly in the doorway suddenly sobered by seeing him, who had first given the beauty that was now hers colour and form. She gazed round the studio.
Already it had grown familiar to her. Not by time but by happy associations. The small daïs on which she had posed for Leo. The painted screen in the corner. The long, low, fireplace. The well-lived-in atmosphere of the quiet attractively shabby room. On the hearth stood a large vase of yellow flowers. By Leo’s easel was a low table on which stood a big earthenware saucer. It was filled with tobacco ash and ringed round with a variety of his pipes of all shapes, sizes and kinds. Now he was smoking a calabash, busy sending fat clouds of smoke towards the ceiling. The mellow afternoon glow streamed through the windows.
Mitsi sighed deeply.
For a long time to come she would look back upon this intimate, homely security, enjoyed so briefly. Suddenly she was filled with panic and distress. She was to leave all this. To go to something about which she knew nothing. In this room she felt safe—but away from it…?
“Leo,” she said urgently, and moved towards him.
“Don’t disturb me, my dear,” he said.
“No, I just want to stand here.”
She saw he was putting some finishing touches to her picture. Fascinated, she stood close to him. Breathed in the foul smoke from his pipe as if it were incense. This was real. She was safe here with Leo and Julia.
The rest was tomorrow and other tomorrows.
Leo turned to her, putting down his palate and brushes. He gazed hard at the picture and muttered: “Can’t do any more today—light going.”
“It’s wonderful, Leo. You have made me so beautiful.”
“No more beautiful than you are now,” he said gruffly. “I am only sorry they are making you into a damned cabaret moaner!”
She stared at him a little frightened for a moment. He noticed her expression and patted her kindly.
“You see, they’ll spoil you Mitsi, and it’s a pity. But then there’s no room for people like you in the world today. You’re too old-fashioned.”
“I do not feel old-fashioned any more. These beautiful clothes Julia has bought for me to make me feel so different. I feel very chic—that is the word? I do not feel the same person. I am like a picture in one of those fashion books.”
She pirouetted before him.
“Don’t you like me? Aren’t I like the Mitsi Linden you painted?”
Leo eyed her frowningly.
“Hum… I’m not so sure I didn’t like you better as you were before.”
She paused and faced him.
“But I am the same really. It is only the outside of me that is different.”
“Well, let’s hope it’ll always be that way.”
“But of course.” She took his hand with a strange little childish earnestness. “You see… I shall be glamorous only to those who do not know me. To those who do I am an ordinary little girl from Zurich.”
“All right then. Come on, let’s find some tea.”
Leo led her as if she were a child towards the sitting-room. At the door Mitsi turned to him laughing.
“Julia says you must teach me to drink!”
Leo looked at her. “Drink?”
“Yes, yes… Sauterne! It makes things seem so far away, so much happier.”
Leo growled inaudibly and they went out of the studio to find Julia unpacking parcels and strewing their exciting contents about the room.
CHAPTER 7
After dinner that evening Mitsi left Julia and Leo arguing together.
Leo had some theory of painting in coloured clays. He was expounding at great length, trying to convince his sister clay could be a more interesting medium than oils. The conversation had been clean over Mitsi’s head and she crept unobtrusively away while Leo bellowed his ideas across the table at Julia.
Mitsi stood quietly for a moment in the darkened studio.
Then crossed quickly and snapped on the one standard lamp that stood in the corner by the piano. She began to play softly.
The music was quiet and mellow as the room in which she sat. She was not an experienced pianist but there was a certain quality about her playing that was attractive. Presently she began to sing softly. To sing softly to herself snatches of little French songs.
From the other room Leo’s voice still raised in argument came faintly. It was the voice of the present mingling with the voices of the past.
Again her thoughts drifted. Her fingers wandered down the keyboard, and soon she was picking out the melody of “J’attendrai.”
A little later the door opened and Julia stole in noiselessly. She stood listening for a moment as Mitsi, unconscious of her presence, sang in her quaint, husky voice. Then she turned and saw her. She broke off, smiling shyly rather like a little girl caught playing some forbidden game.
“Go on my dear, that’s lovely!”
Mitsi smiled delightedly.
“But