第10章
I lay awake thinking and my mind jumping around. Then I couldn't keep away from it, and I started to think about Brett and all the rest of it went away. I was thinking about Brett and my mind stopped jumping around and started to go in sort of smooth waves. Then all of a sudden I started to cry. Then after a while it was better and I lay in bed and listened to the heavy trams go by and way down the street, and then I went to sleep.
I woke up. There was a row going on outside. I listened and I thought I recognized a voice. I put on a dressing-gown and went to the door. The concierge was talking down-stairs. She was very angry. I heard my name and called down the stairs.
"Is that you, Monsieur Barnes?" the concierge called.
"Yes. It's me."
"There's a species of woman here who's waked the whole street up. What kind of a dirty business at this time of night! She says she must see you. I've told her you're asleep."
Then I heard Brett's voice. Half asleep I had been sure it was Georgette. I don't know why. She could not have known my address.
"Will you send her up, please?"
Brett came up the stairs. I saw she was quite drunk. "Silly thing to do," she said. "Make an awful row. I say, you weren't asleep, were you?"
"What did you think I was doing?"
"Don't know. What time is it?"
I looked at the clock. It was half-past four. "Had no idea what hour it was," Brett said. "I say, can a chap sit down? Don't be cross, darling. Just left the count. He brought me here."
"What's he like?" I was getting brandy and soda and glasses.
"Just a little," said Brett. "Don't try and make me drunk. The count? Oh, rather. He's quite one of us."
"Is he a count?"
"Here's how. I rather think so, you know. Deserves to be, anyhow. Knows hell's own amount about people. Don't know where he got it all. Owns a chain of sweetshops in the States."
She sipped at her glass.
"Think he called it a chain. Something like that. Linked them all up. Told me a little about it. Damned interesting. He's one of us, though. Oh, quite. No doubt. One can always tell."
She took another drink.
"How do I buck on about all this? You don't mind, do you? He's putting up for Zizi, you know."
"Is Zizi really a duke, too?"
"I shouldn't wonder. Greek, you know. Rotten painter. I rather liked the count."
"Where did you go with him?"
"Oh, everywhere. He just brought me here now. Offered me ten thousand dollars to go to Biarritz with him. How much is that in pounds?"
"Around two thousand."
"Lot of money. I told him I couldn't do it. He was awfully nice about it. Told him I knew too many people in Biarritz."
Brett laughed.
"I say, you are slow on the up-take," she said. I had only sipped my brandy and soda. I took a long drink.
"That's better. Very funny," Brett said. "Then he wanted me to go to Cannes with him. Told him I knew too many people in Cannes. Monte Carlo. Told him I knew too many people in Monte Carlo. Told him I knew too many people everywhere. Quite true, too. So I asked him to bring me here."
She looked at me, her hand on the table, her glass raised. "Don't look like that," she said. "Told him I was in love with you. True, too. Don't look like that. He was damn nice about it. Wants to drive us out to dinner to-morrow night. Like to go?"
"Why not?"
"I'd better go now."
"Why?"
"Just wanted to see you. Damned silly idea. Want to get dressed and come down? He's got the car just up the street."
"The count?"
"Himself. And a chauffeur in livery. Going to drive me around and have breakfast in the Bois. Hampers. Got it all at Zelli's. Dozen bottles of Mumms. Tempt you?"
"I have to work in the morning," I said. "I'm too far behind you now to catch up and be any fun."
"Don't be an ass."
"Can't do it."
"Right. Send him a tender message?"
"Anything. Absolutely."
"Good night, darling."
"Don't be sentimental."
"You make me ill."
We kissed good night and Brett shivered. "I'd better go," she said. "Good night, darling."
"You don't have to go."
"Yes."
We kissed again on the stairs and as I called for the cordon the concierge muttered something behind her door. I went back up-stairs and from the open window watched Brett walking up the street to the big limousine drawn up to the curb under the arc-light. She got in and it started off. I turned around. On the table was an empty glass and a glass half-full of brandy and soda. I took them both out to the kitchen and poured the half-full glass down the sink. I turned off the gas in the dining-room, kicked off my slippers sitting on the bed, and got into bed. This was Brett, that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.