Chapter TWENTY

Heidler said: ‘Well, are your things packed?’ He walked across to the window and flung it wider open. ‘Much too hot in here.’

‘I’m not going,’ said Marya stubbornly. She was lying huddled on the bed and he sat on a chair near her and took her hand in his.

‘How cold you are.’

His eyes were very cautious. He was thinking that it wouldn’t do to leave the girl trailing round Montparnasse looking as ill as all that. She was lying huddled. As if there were a spring broken somewhere. He felt at once flattered, impatient and pitiful.

He said, speaking very gently, that he had arranged everything. The train next day at twelve, the night at Lyons. ‘And you’ll be in Cannes the following morning.’

‘I’m not going,’ repeated Marya.

‘You’ll like Cannes,’ said Heidler persuasively. ‘Sure to. Everybody likes Cannes. Well, I mean everybody wants to be there. And you can stay some days at Cannes and look round for somewhere else.’

‘I won’t go,’ Marya said in a high voice. ‘I won’t go. Leave me alone.’

She jumped up. Her felt hat was lying on the floor and she gave it a violent kick.

‘Leave me alone!’

Heidler looked at her sharply, then picked the hat up, smoothed it and put it on the table. He said:

‘Don’t worry about your things. I’ll tell the maid here to pack for you. She’ll do it all right. Come out and have something to eat. We’ll ring for her before we go.’

He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. When he touched her, she flushed scarlet and her mouth twitched.

‘There, there, there!’ said Heidler soothingly. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. Come along. Put your hat on....’