Had Cara not been so intensely absorbed in her own amusing reflections, she might have marvelled at the unusual silence of her two companions. Scarcely a word was exchanged, as the boat raced across the moon-flooded lake in the direction of their distant destination.
CHAPTER XXXI
TWO days before the fête, Mrs. Hesketh had made the unwelcome discovery, that Mrs. and Miss Plassy were again her fellow guests. Many years had elapsed since they met at the Californie, Cannes; but her memory was only too retentive. There was no forgetting the tall, faded woman with a stoop, and the agreeable, gushing daughter. From her shady seat in the grounds, she had witnessed their arrival; and as one after the other, the ladies descended from the hotel bus, she was sensible of a distinct, and disagreeable shock. Supposing the Plassys were to meet and recognise Letty?—Letty, so little changed!
Undoubtedly Mrs. Plassy was a conscientious student of the daily press; would she proclaim to all and sundry that here in seclusion and sheep’s clothing was the notorious divorcée, who had kidnapped her child? And if so, what then?
As regarded herself, she would infinitely prefer to ignore these birds of Passage and of Prey; but for her friend’s sake, it behoved her to walk warily, conceal their arrival from her, and at all hazards keep them in ignorance of Letty’s vicinity.
As might be expected, Mrs. Plassy’s first duty on arriving at an hotel, was to scrutinise the list of guests. As her eye travelled over an open page in the Visitors’ Book of the Paradis, her attention was arrested by the name of ‘Hesketh.’ ‘Mrs. Carlton Hesketh and maid. England.’ Yes, it must be the same; a hateful, supercilious woman, whom it had been impossible to placate; a woman who declined to approach when a vacant seat near Mrs. Plassy was patted invitingly, and when endowed with a card, and address, made no appropriate return. Such a creature was altogether insupportable, and she decided to ignore her existence. However, this amiable intention was frustrated by Mrs. Hesketh coming up to her in the lounge, and claiming her acquaintance. She was actually quite gracious and friendly, and made flattering enquiries respecting her health, and her plans. (It was good news to the hypocritical widow, that the Plassys were moving on to Lucerne in a day or two; they were merely stopping at the Paradis awaiting the arrival of a friend.)
Thirteen years had passed over the heads of this roving couple, and had treated them with callous cruelty. Time had not brought a suitor to the feet of Miss Lydia, and on the other hand he had robbed her of her lively spirits, and a certain amount of colour and hair. Lydia was a discontented, embittered woman who had missed her way in life, and was nearing the lamentable frontier of forty. She had a good figure, an acid tongue (but could make herself agreeable), and a positive genius for dress. Lydia and her mother were sincerely devoted to one another. Proud, poor, ambitious, they contrived to make a brave show on an income that would seem incredibly small in proportion to their pretensions, and manner of living. Their appearance and dress were ultra-fashionable, they proclaimed to envious listeners, that they had discovered a secret treasure of a ‘little’ dressmaker—but the truth was, their smart gowns were second, and even third hand—and as a rule, their choice of hotels and acquaintances were fastidious and select. Lydia announced that they were obliged to live abroad on account of her mother’s health; whilst the supposed invalid exerted her failing strength in order to get her dear girl settled. She frequented Alpine resorts, famous for winter sports, popular cures, or the Riviera, and, in short, any hunting-ground favoured by the eligible British bachelor.
In order to effect these costly adventures, the Plassys were at times obliged to exercise the most rigid economies. They haunted cheap pensions, where they shared a room for eight francs a day—food and light, tout compris. Here they made their own tea with an Etna, here they washed their handkerchiefs and stockings, here they wore out their old clothes, and, so to speak, girded themselves for their next encounter with Fortune.
The ladies had come to the too-expensive Paradis, in pursuit of a very distant connection, a valetudinarian old bachelor of enormous wealth and many whims and fancies—in the hope, that Lydia might prove to be one of them!