Chapter 29

Pleased with the thought of the probable effect of this purchase on his further activities in London, Cowperwood decided to pay a propitiatory call upon Aileen. He had not heard from Tollifer and was seriously wondering what further steps he could take in that direction without committing himself.

Approaching Aileen’s suite, which adjoined his own, he heard her laugh, and, entering, found her standing before a long mirror, surrounded by a group of saleswomen and fitters from one of the London shops. She was surveying her reflection while her maid adjusted the gown. The room was littered with paper, boxes, tags, and dresses, and he noted that the gown she wore was quite magnificent and in better taste than was customary with her. Two fitters, pins in their mouths, were on their knees making rapid adjustments, while a most attractive and smartly dressed woman was giving them instructions.

“Well, well, ” remarked Cowperwood as he entered, “this makes me feel a little superfluous, although I wouldn’t mind playing audience if there’s no objection.”

“Come in, Frank! ” called Aileen. “I’m just trying on an evening gown. We won’t be much longer. This is my husband, ” she added, addressing the assembled group, who bowed respectfully.

“Well, I must say that pale gray is most becoming, ” said Cowperwood. “It emphasizes your hair. Few women could wear it as well as you do, my dear. But what I really stopped in for was to say that it looks as though we would be in London for some time.”

“Really? ” asked Aileen, turning her head slightly to look at him.

“I’ve just completed some of that business I was telling you about. It’s all settled except for some minor details. I thought you’d like to know.”

“Oh, Frank, isn’t that wonderful! ” She was delighted.

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. I have so many things to do.”

“By the way, ” said Aileen, who sensed his desire to escape and wished to put him at ease in regard to herself. “Mr. Tollifer just phoned. He’s back, and is coming to dinner. I explained to him that your business might prevent you from dining with us. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“It’s a little difficult, ” said Cowperwood, “but I’ll do my best to get there”—which remark Aileen took for exactly what it was worth: nothing at all.

“All right, Frank, ” she said, as he waved good-by and left the room.

She knew that she would not see him again before the morrow, if then, but one thing caused her to feel this routine indifference of his less keenly. In his telephone conversation with her, Tollifer had apologized for his seeming neglect and had inquired anxiously if she were not coming to France. Aileen was puzzled as to the basis of her attraction for so cavalier a personality. For what reason, exactly, was he so much interested in her? Money, no doubt. Yet how attractive he was! Regardless of motive, his attention was most gratifying.

Yet the main reason why Tollifer wished Aileen to come to France—though it happened to coincide with Cowperwood’s desire to have her out of London—was the fact that he, himself, was one of the most hopeless victims of the charms of Paris. At that time, before the automobile had come into general use, Paris, even more than at a later time, was the holiday center for wealthy Americans, English, Brazilians, Russians, Greeks, and Italians—people from every country in the world—who came to enjoy themselves, and who made possible the brilliant shops, the charming flower stands, the numerous cafes with their summery outdoor chairs and tables, the gaudy cabarets, the glittering parade in the Bois, the races at Auteil, the gambling, the opera, the theatres, and the underworld.

The international hotel, in the form of the Ritz, had arrived. Also the restaurants of the gourmet: the Café de la Paix, Voisin’s, Marguery’s, Giroux’s, and a half-dozen others. And for the poet or artist or romancer without a dime, there was the Quartier Latin. Rains, snows, spring days, autumn days, brilliant sunshine, or gray skies were alike in achieving effects dear to every responsive and creative temperament. Paris sang. And with it sang youth, reminiscent age, ambition, wealth, even defeat and despair.

It must not be forgotten that, for the first time in his life, Mr. Tollifer was in funds, and with a glittering playboy program before him. It was so delightful to be able to dress well, have the proper address—which for the moment was the Ritz—to hurry to the smartest places, glancing over the lobbies, pausing at the bars, greeting friends and acquaintances.

And in the Bois one Sunday afternoon Tollifer had run into a former flame of his: the onetime Marigold Shoemaker, of Philadelphia, now Mrs. Sidney Brainerd, of the Bar Harbor and Long Island Brainerds. At one time she had been infatuated with him, but because of his poverty had cast him aside for Brainerd, whose money seemed to be inexhaustible. She had a yacht lying off Nice. The sight of Tollifer, dressed immaculately and with the mood of adventure dominating him, was sufficient to recall her exciting and romantic dé butante days. She hailed him cordially, introduced him to her escort, and gave him her Paris address. Through her, as through others, he saw visions of the opening of at least some of the doors which for so long had been closed against him.

There was, however, this business of Aileen. And that was something else again. It was going to require the utmost skill to entertain her while promoting his own interests. He must look about for lesser fry who might be made to appear part and parcel of a better stratum. At once he consulted the various hotel registers for names of actresses, musicians, singers, dancers, whom he knew. Offering assurances of entertainment, he was met with acceptances, and, being thus certain of some immediate diversion for Aileen if she came to Paris, he wound up his labors with a personal canvass of the leading dressmakers, as he considered her present manner of dress far from satisfactory, and believed that with diplomatic advice this could be remedied and at the same time lighten his burden in the matter of presenting her to his friends.

One of his most promising Paris contacts came about when a Chicago acquaintance of his introduced him to an Argentinian named Victor Leon Sabinal. This young man, of distinguished lineage and wealth in his own country, had arrived in Paris some years before, with money, letters, and connections that had given him immediate entry into the varied social circles of that cosmopolitan city. Nevertheless, owing to a temperament that pushed him in the direction of extravagance and dissipation, he had exhausted the patience of his South American parents, who suddenly refused to furnish more money for his escapades. And hence, as in the case of Tollifer, he had been reduced to borrowings and tricks that finally closed the doors of his earlier and more conservative friends.

But it was not forgotten by any of them that his parents were exceedingly wealthy and entirely likely at some future time to change their minds in regard to the punishment of their son. In other words, he might still come into a fortune, and if so, his friends might not be forgotten. This retained for him a circle of light-hearted and variously gifted satellites: artists, soldiers, roué s of all nationalities, attractive men and women of the fortune-hunting and pleasure-seeking class. In fact, at this very time, by arrangement with the police and politicians of France, he was being permitted to conduct an establishment, attractive, diverting, and convenient, for his many friends, who were actually patrons as well as intimates.

Sabinal was tall, slender, dark, almost sinister in his general bearing, partly due to his long, narrow, sallow face and arrestingly high forehead. One of his dark lustrous eyes appeared to be exceedingly round and open, as though it were made of glass, while the other was smaller and narrow, partially concealed by a drooping eyelid. He had a thin upper lip and a curiously protruding, and yet attractive, lower one. His teeth were even, strong, and gleaming white. His long, thin hands and feet were like his long, thin body: sinuous and taut. But the enemble was one of cunning, grace, and not too disarming fascination. Altogether he seemed to suggest that anyone crossing his path must be prepared to look out for himself.

His place in the Rue Pigalle was never closed. One came to tea and as likely as not remained for breakfast. A part of the extensive third floor, reached by a small elevator, was set off for gambling. A chamber on the second floor contained a small bar, with a most efficient barkeeper from Sabinal’s native land, who, at times, as the necessities compelled, had two, or even three, assistants. The ground floor, in addition to a cloak room, a lounging room, and a kitchen, had a gallery of fine paintings and an interesting library. There was also a well-stocked wine cellar. The chef, who provided luncheons, teas, formal and informal dinners, and even breakfasts—and for no apparent consideration other than minor tips—was another Argentinian.

On meeting Sabinal, Tollifer at once realized that he was in the presence of a personality of his own persuasion, but of far greater powers, and he gladly accepted an invitation to visit his place. There he encountered an assortment of personalities who interested him very much: bankers and legislators of France, Russian grand dukes, South American millionaires, Greek gamblers, and many others. He sensed immediately that here he could contrive for Aileen such contacts as would not fail to impress her with the thought that she was meeting people of worldly importance.

It was this knowledge that made him so gay on his arrival in London. After telephoning to Aileen, he spent the greater part of the day in Bond Street, properly outfitting himself for the summer on the Continent, after which he made his way to Aileen’s hotel. He decided that he would make no pretense of affection at this time. He was to play the role of uncalculating friend, one who liked her for herself and wished to proffer her, without reward, such social opportunities as she could not otherwise achieve.

Following the usual preliminaries of greeting, she began at once with an account of her visit to the estate of Lord Haddonfield.

“Haddonfield... oh, yes. I remember him, ” said Tollifer. “He was in the United States some years ago. I believe it was either at Newport or Southampton that I ran into him. Quite a gay fellow. Likes clever people.”

The truth was that Tollifer had never met Haddonfield, but knew something of him from hearsay. And immediately he launched into an account of his stay in Paris, and added that here in London he had this day lunched with a certain Lady Lessing, of whose social doings Aileen had read that morning in the newspaper.

Delighted by all of this, Tollifer’s interest in her still seemed unaccountable to Aileen. Plainly, it could not be that he expected any social advantage from her. It must be something he might hope to get from Frank. She was puzzled, but also certain that little enough would come from Cowperwood as a reward for dancing attendance upon her. He was not like that. In consequence, and in spite of her natural suspicions, she was compelled, even though she hesitated, to entertain the thought that Tollifer was really attracted to her as a person.

They dined together at Prince’s that evening, and he entertained her with an intriguing account of the gaieties that might be hers for the asking. He raved about Paris.

“Why can’t you—as long as your husband is so busy—run over? ” he suggested. “There are so many interesting things to do, to see, to buy. I’ve never seen Paris more gay.”

“I would like very much to go, ” confessed Aileen, “because I really have some shopping to do. But I don’t know whether my husband will be able to go with me or not.”

Tollifer was a little amused at this last remark, but not cruelly so.

“I should think any busy husband might spare his wife a fortnight for shopping in Paris, ” he said.

Aileen, now eager to test the resources of this newfound friend, exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what I’ll do! I’ll ask Frank tomorrow, and let you know.”

Dinner was followed by a visit to an informal and regular “Tuesday evening” at the flat of Cecilia Grant, an actress playing in a popular revue, and, incidentally, the mistress of Count Etienne le Bar, a Frenchman of great personal charm and popularity in London. Tollifer knew that a knock at Cecilia’s door would produce a welcome for Aileen and himself. And the group they encountered there—including a bizarre countess, the wife of one of the peers of England—seemed to Aileen indubitably important and convinced her that whatever Tollifer’s motives, his connections were far more important than hers, or even Cowperwood’s. And at once, although she did not then say so, she decided to go to Paris.