The Claw Part 11

Unfortunately, the meal was not in keeping with our brilliant toilettes.

The soup had a terrible flavour of tin, and was followed by floppy-looking shoulder of mutton which had the appearance of having been but recently slain. I remembered that I had seen Mafoota, the cook, leading a forlorn, predestined-looking goat by its horn that morning, and I could not but connect the two facts. The eyes of the potatoes, huge and black, glared at us dully from their dish, and a boiled ladybird reclined upon the infinitesimal helping of cabbage that was apportioned to me. No fish, no entrees, no wines; mountains of pumpkin. Every one except Anna Cleeve and I took a whiskey and soda, and that may have been some help. For dessert some woolly pudding, made of pale blue rice, with American canned peaches. I had eaten some lovely peaches at the Cape, but it takes American enterprise to penetrate into the wilds of Africa. Judy spake the thing that was when she said she had no genius for entertaining. I made no bones about bantering her on the subject.

"It is easy to see there is no man about the house, Judy. Such a dazzling banquet could only be served at a hen-party."

"Nonsense," said she, smiling idly. "I have trained d.i.c.k to live the simple life too. He doesn't care a sc.r.a.p what he gets now. What is the use of worrying about the menu? There is nothing to be got here in any case except tinned things and goat."

"Yes, but they needn't taste of the tin. And goat should be disguised.

As it is I recognise this one. Hardly a decent interval has elapsed since I met it walking with Mafoota."

They all laughed. There was something to be said for life in Mashonaland. It certainly induced a sort of gay tolerance for general discomfort. Mrs Skeffington-Smythe began to brag about a lovely goat curry she had had for lunch the day before, that no one had been able to tell from curried prawns.

"I daresay," said Judy; "but you and Anna have Mrs Brand's Adriana to cook for you. I have no one but the boys, and you know what they are.

I've told them dozens of times about taking the eyes out of the potatoes, but there you are--just look at them."

"They're looking at us," I objected.

"Why not have them roasted whole in their jackets?" suggested Mrs Valetta. "They're much nicer that way, and it would obviate the peeling difficulty."

"I never thought of it," said Judy, looking surprised. "As for supper to-night, I haven't the faintest notion of what people are going to eat.

Let us hope they won't be hungry."

I reflected that if they had all dined as badly as we had they would be ravenous, and for the honour of the house I said so with such delicacy as I could command. But delicacy was wasted on my sister-in-law.

"It is no use their bringing sybaritic appet.i.tes here," she said.

"Cheese sandwiches and a whiskey and soda is the best I can do, and it ought to be good enough for any one--unless you will undertake the menu and serve something better, Deirdre."

"Will you let me?"

"Certainly, I give you _carte blanche_. Do anything you like, dear, and begin on the coffee. Did any one ever taste such stuff as these boys make?"

So I went out into the kitchen, which was really a back verandah closed in with native matting, and was full of smoke and jabbering boys. The utensils were all very inferior. The spout of the kettle was off, and the water had to be boiled in a large iron pot, while the boys crowded round me, staring solemnly and falling over each other and getting in the way. But the quality of the coffee was good, and when at last the water boiled I achieved. It took a long time, though, and while I was busy I could hear the knocks at the front door and the laughter of new arrivals. When I took in my coffee-pot the room was full of the smoke of cigarettes, and everybody wanted to taste my brew. Afterwards they raved about it, and complained bitterly that there was not enough to go round. So I went back to make more, but this time I brewed it in a big enamel jug. Just as I was dropping in a tiny pinch of salt to flavour it and make all the grounds settle at the bottom, a shadow fell across my hands, and looking up I found Anthony Kinsella leaning in the doorway and observing me with the deepest interest.

"I think that is what you have done to me," he observed solemnly.

"What?" said I in astonishment.

"Put a pinch of salt on me."

Our eyes met, and we both burst into laughter.

"I don't think you are very tame," I said.

"Tame! This is the first _soiree_ I've been to in this country.

They're quite out of my line."

"I know what brought you to-night," I said.

"So do I," he answered swiftly, with that glance of his eyes that made my lids fall.

My heart experienced an extraordinary contracted feeling, as though some one had taken hold of it and was holding it tightly. Then I remembered all the enigmatical sayings I had heard about this man, and his dangerous attraction for women, and in a moment I recovered myself and answered with a mocking smile:

"You have heard rumours of the great spread I am going to put before my sister-in-law's guests to-night. It has got about what an excellent cook I am."

He opened his lips, to make some further saying, but I gave him no time.

"Come and taste my Turkish coffee," I said, and walked out with my jug, colliding with Mrs Valetta, who was evidently coming to look for us.

"You are wanted to play poker, Kim," said she curtly. "Do play with me; you are always so lucky."

"Ah, but I am going to be _unlucky_ at cards in future," he oddly answered as they followed me in.

I got more compliments for my coffee. Every one said it was delicious.

Greedy people asked for second and even third cups. Colonel Blow was heard to state that he had never tasted anything like it since he was in Paris a hundred years ago.

"That is just where I learned to make it," I said gaily. "In my racketty student days in the _Quartier_."

Every one looked amazed and I suppose it was rather an amazing thing to say.

"In your what days?" asked Miss Cleeve faintly.

And Mrs Valetta said in a curious voice: "Can you possibly mean the Latin Quarter of Paris?"

"I can, indeed," quoth I affably. "I once had a studio there for six months, and all the art students used to come in the evening and make coffee and Welsh rarebit, and every delicious imaginable thing."

"My sister-in-law's guardian is an American artist with eccentric ideas about educating girls to see every phase of life," said Judy in the stuffiest, snuffiest kind of voice. "_Of course_, Deirdre had a chaperon."

"Yes, and she was far more racketty than I," said I with malice prepense. Elizabet von Stohl would have fallen down dead if she could have heard herself so traduced! But I was feeling very much annoyed with Judy for speaking in that way about dear Betty and her lovely liberal ideas. The men for some reason or other thought my remark very amusing, but the women all looked frightfully disdainful, except Mrs Brand, who spoke one of her brief, eloquent sentences:

"It must have been rippin'."

There were peals of laughter, and I looked at her in astonishment, and found that she had quite a friendly enthusiastic air.

"And so is this coffee rippin'," said Gerry Deshon. "You'll have to give us all lessons, Miss Saurin, or we'll never dare ask you to supper."

"Oh, that's nothing to what I can do," I bragged. "You should taste my cup--and I'm a frightful dab at rum-punch." I had all the women very cross by now, so I thought they might as well stay so. The men, on the contrary, were as gay as larks at heaven's gate singing. "And I'm going to give a _Quartier Latin_ supper to-night," I told them; "Welsh rarebit, _les apotres sur les bicyclettes_, devilled eggs--"

"There are no materials in the house for all these things," protested Judy crossly.

"Then we must commandeer them," said Major Kinsella. "We'll make up a foraging party at once. Come on and open your _winkel_, Dennison.

Hunloke, buck up."

Tommy Dennison was the cheeky Oxford undergraduate whose father owned about forty thousand acres somewhere in Scotland and one of the smartest yachts to be seen at Cowes; but Tommy was a younger son and a black sheep, so he kept a shop in Fort George with Hunloke, the long-nosed barrister. They were always proclaiming bitterly that no one ever paid their bills and that they should shortly go bust.

A small but select party of buccaneers was formed, including Mrs Skeffington-Smythe, Mrs Brand, and myself. The others had their cards already dealt and their half-crowns staked on the table, so they had to continue the game whether they liked it or not. Anna Cleeve and Mrs Valetta did not appear pleased, and Judy gave me a chaperony sort of look of which I took not the slightest notice. She then remarked with great point and significance that the night air was very dangerous. But the others cried her down saying that it was balmy and healthy, and the only air, in fact, that was any good at all. Mrs Brand said she would chaperon me, but as soon as we got out of doors she went off with Gerry Deshon. Some of the others ran ahead with Mr Hunloke to get the keys of the shop, and I found myself walking alone with Anthony Kinsella.

It was a lovely night, full of a sort of veiled radiance, shed from a deep purple sky embroidered with silver stars. Strange insects in the gra.s.s were calling to each other shrilly, and heavy on the air hung the divine odour of wild clematis of which almost every little house had a drapery over walls or verandah.

Anthony Kinsella plucked a spray from a wall as we pa.s.sed, and put it in my hand without speaking, but our hands touched and I saw his intent eyes for a moment. I fastened the flower into the front of my black gown, and the scent of it will stay with me all my life. I suddenly felt so happy I could have sung aloud. Africa seemed all at once to have turned into a land of fair dreams, in which I was a happy wanderer, travelling towards my heart's desire. I did not a.n.a.lyse my feelings nor ask myself any questions. I only knew that my eyes were unsealed to the beauty and mystery of life.