The Love-Story of Aliette Brunton 38 – Frankau · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The Love-Story of Aliette Brunton 38Part 9 · Chapter 1
18
Literature · Romance
The Love-Story of Aliette Brunton 38
Part 9 · Chapter 1
FrankauEnglish
To a certain type of mind, the woman who goes to a man's rooms is already labeled. It seems therefore necessary to explain that Aliette--when she suggested going to Ronnie's--acted on no passionate impulse, but as the result of a whole afternoon's deliberation. It was, she felt, vital that they should have speech together; and equally vital that their speech should not be disturbed. Wherefore--fastidiousness revolting alike from a clandestine appointment in Hyde Park or at her husband's house--she chose the courageous alternative.
Now, however, as she strolled quietly down Bond Street at half-past four of a sunlit Monday afternoon, Aliette did not altogether succeed in bridling the fears with which both sex and training strove to stampede her mentality.
She had to say to herself: "How absurd I am! These are the nineteen-twenties; not the eighteen-sixties. Even discovered, I run no risk of scandal." Yet scandal, she knew subconsciously, was the least of the risks she ran in going to Ronnie.
Nevertheless, go she must: even if--worst risk of all--he had misunderstood her motive. The issue between them could not be shirked any longer. Rather a desperate issue it seemed as, at the corner of Conduit Street, Aliette ran into Hector's father!
Rear-Admiral Billy, having arrived at his club two hours since, was taking his first "cruise round." The old man looked the complete Victorian in his white spats, his "Ascot" tie, his braided morning-coat and weekday topper. But his "sponge-bag" trousers were Georgian enough.
"Well met, my dear." he greeted her. "Your old father-in-law's dying for a pretty woman to pour out his tea."
She let him rumble on; accepted his compliments about her hat, her lace frock, her parasol; but refused his offer of a taxi to Ranelagh.
"I'm so sorry, Billy. But I'm going--I'm going to tea with some one else."
"That be blowed for a tale," laughed the admiral. "You're coming with me. If Ranelagh's too far, we'll make it Rumpelmayer's."
He took her arm; and she began to panic. Billy, in his "on the spree" mood, could be very persistent. A few yards on, however, they met Hermione Ellerson. She too, declared the sailor, "must have a dish of tea with an old man."
Aliette seized on the opportunity with a quick:
"Be a dear, Hermione. Take Billy to Rumpelmayer's for me."
"You'll give me strawberries and cream--whatever they cost?" pouted the ex-plaintiff in Ellerson v. Ellerson.
"Give you anything you want," rumbled Rear-Admiral Billy. "Alie's going to meet her best boy; so we'll leave her out of the party."
Aliette, on the pretext of shopping, managed an immediate riddance of the pair. Watching them walk off together, she felt rather guilty. Yet the guilt held a certain spice of pleasure, of pride. She was on a dangerous errand, taking risks. She was going--in risk's despite--to Ronnie.
Her heart began to throb in anticipation of Ronnie. Passing a mirrored window, she glanced at her reflection, and saw herself well turned-out, en beauté. The sight gave her keenest satisfaction. She walked on, no longer fearful but excited--violently, tremulously excited--till she came to Piccadilly; and turned right-handed toward St. James's Street. But the clock of St. James's Palace told her that it still lacked more than a quarter of an hour to their rendezvous.
She turned back again; stood a full minute in admiration of Rowland Ward's trophies; debated with herself whether she should drop into Fortnum & Mason's or dawdle at the book-counter in Hatchard's; decided against both schemes; lingered to examine the Harrison Fisher drawings in the display-window of "Nash's Magazine"; examined the diamond watch at her wrist; and nearly bolted down the Little Arcade into the narrow Londonishness of Jermyn Street.
Here again she felt the need for courage; felt as though the whole place--the church under the tree, and the public-house at the corner, the shops and the restaurants--held spies. The street, after broad Piccadilly, seemed furtive, sunless, a street of danger. She wanted to avert her head from the passers-by.
