And if I hadn't been wondering who had reported on the "hourly" improvement of my French.
The entry of Seddon with the cocktail tray interrupted us. I looked inquiringly at Madame de Valmy, and Philippe made as if to get to his feet.
But before she could dismiss us Florimond said comfortably: "Don't drive the child away, Héloïse. Now he's said his catechism perhaps you'll deliver him over to me."
She smiled, raising her delicate brows. "What do you want with him, Carlo?"
He had finally put down The Tale of Genji on the extreme edge of a fragile-looking coffee-table, and was fishing in one untidy pocket with a large hand. He grinned at Philippe, who was watching him with that guarded look I hated to see, and I saw the child's face relax a little in reply. "Last time I saw you, my lad," said Florimond, "I was trying to initiate you into the only civilised pastime for men of sense. Ah, here we are…" As he spoke he fished a small folded board out of one pocket. It was a traveller's chess-set, complete with tiny men in red and white.
Madame de Valmy laughed. "The ruling passion," she said, her cool voice almost indulgent. "Very well, Carlo, but he must go upstairs at a quarter past, no later. Berthe will be waiting for him."
That this was not true she knew quite well, and so did I. Though the conversation was now in French, I saw her give me a quick glance, and kept my face non-committal. It was interesting that I wasn't the only one who schemed to keep Philippe out of his uncle's way.
Philippe had dragged his stool eagerly enough across to Florimond's chair and the two of them were already poring over the board.
"Now," said Florimond cheerfully, "let's see if you can remember any of the rules, mon gars. I seem to recollect some erratic movements last time you and I were engaged, but there's a sort of wild freshness about your conception of the game which has its own surprising results. Your move."
"I moved," said Philippe demurely, "while you were talking."
"Did you, pardieu? Ah, the king's pawn. A classic gambit, monsieur… and I, this pawn. So."
Philippe bent over the board, his brows fiercely knitted, his whole small being concentrated on the game, while above him Florimond, leaning back vast in his chair, with cigar-ash spilling down his beautifully-cut jacket, watched him indulgently, never ceasing for a moment the gentle, aimless flow of words, of which it was very obvious that Philippe, if indeed he was listening at all, would understand only one in three.
I sat quietly and watched them, feeling a warm, almost affectionate glow towards this large and distinguished Parisian who, among all his other preoccupations, could bother to make a lonely small boy feel he was wanted. From the couturier's talk you would suppose that he had had nothing to do for the past year but look forward to another game with Philippe.
I noticed then that Madame de Valmy wasn't sewing. Her hands lay idle in the tumble of embroidery in her lap. I thought that she was interested in the game until I saw that she wasn't watching the board. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Philippe's down-bent head. She must have been deep in some faraway thoughts, because when Philippe made a sudden exclamation she jumped visibly.
He gave a little whoop of glee and pounced on the board. "Your queen! Your queen! Monsieur, I've got your queen!"
"So I see," said Florimond, unperturbed. "But will you kindly tell me, Capablanca, by what new law you were able to move your piece straight down the board to do so?"
"There was nothing in the way," explained Philippe kindly.
"No. But the piece you moved, mon vieux, was a bishop. I'm sorry to be petty about it, but there is a rule which restricts the bishop to a diagonal line. Nugatory, you will say; trifling… but there it is. Medes and Persians, Philippe."
"A bishop?" said Philippe, seizing on the one word that made sense.
"The ones with the pointed hats," said Florimond tranquilly, "are the bishops."
"Oh," said Philippe. He looked up at his opponent and grinned, not in the least abashed. "I forgot. You can have your queen back then."
"I am grateful. Thank you. Now, it's still your move and I should suggest that you observe again the relative positions of your bishop and my queen."
Philippe concentrated. "There is nothing between them," he said, uncertainly.
"Exactly."
"Well-oh!” The small hand hastily scooped the lawless bishop out of the queen's path. "There. I move him there."
Florimond chuckled. "Very wise," he said. "Very wise." From the way he leaned forward to scan the board through a thoughtful cloud of tobacco-smoke you would have thought he was matched with a master instead of a small boy who didn't even know the rules.
I glanced at the clock. Sixteen minutes past six. I looked in surprise at Madame de Valmy, whom I had suspected of a clock-watching nervousness almost equal to my own. She had dropped her hands in her lap again and was staring at the fire. She was a hundred miles away. I wondered where… no pleasant place, I thought.
I said: "Madame."
She started, and picked up her embroidery so quickly that she pricked her finger. I said: "I'm sorry, madame, I startled you. I think it's time I took Philippe upstairs, isn't it?"
I had my back to the door so I neither saw nor heard it open. It was the quick turn of Philippe's head and the widening of the black eyes that told me. Léon de Valmy's beautiful voice said:
"Ah, Philippe. No, don't move. Carlo, how delightful! Why don't we see you more often?”
The wheel-chair glided silently forward as he spoke. For such a quiet entrance the effect was remarkable enough. Philippe jumped off his footstool and stood staring at his uncle like a mesmerised bird, Monsieur Florimond hoisted himself again to his feet, Héloïse de Valmy dropped her embroidery and turned quickly towards her husband, while I slid out of my place as his chair passed me and retired towards my usual distant window- seat.
I didn't think Léon de Valmy had noticed me, but Philippe had. He, too, made a movement as if to escape, but was netted, so to speak, with a word.
"No, indeed, Philippe. It's all too rarely that I get a chance to see you. We must thank Monsieur Florimond for bringing me in early. Sit down."
The child obeyed. The wheel-chair slid up beside the sofa and stopped. Léon de Valmy touched his wife's hand. "Your devotion to duty touches me, Héloïse. It does really."
Only an ear that was tuned to it could have detected the taunt in the smooth voice. I saw their eyes meet, and Héloïse de Valmy smiled, and for the second time that evening I felt the scald of a little spurt of anger. Did they find even half-an-hour out of the day intolerably much to give to Philippe? And did they have to make it plain? This time Philippe didn't miss it. I saw the swift upward slant of his lashes at his uncle, and the too-familiar sullenness settle on the pale little face, and thought: why don't you pick someone your own weight, damn
you…?
The next second the incident might have been illusion. Léon de Valmy, obviously in the best of spirits, was welcoming Monsieur Florimond almost gaily. "It's very nice of you to look us up, Carlo. What brought you to Geneva?”
Florimond lowered himself once more into his chair. "I came on the track of a material." He made another of his large gestures, this time towards The Tale of Genji, which promptly fell onto the floor. "Take a look at those pictures some timer Héloïse, and tell me if you ever saw anything to touch that elegance, that courteous silverpoint grace just on the hither side of decadence…Ah, thank you, mon lapin.” This to Philippe, who had quietly picked up the book and was handing it to him. "Give it to your aunt, p'tit. C'est formidable, hein?"