The waiter had already cleared away but they sat on there in the now almost deserted garden through the long sunny afternoon. She told him of her life in Italy and later of when she was married to the Baron, and he told her of some of the intriguing jobs he had done for Sir Pellinore before the war. But again and again they came back to their own affaire with the words 'Do you remember…' Later they ordered Cafe Viennoise, which was served iced in tall glasses with thick cream, straws and long thin spoons. By the time they got up to go their minds were as well attuned as if they had never parted, and as they strolled slowly across to the car park they were holding hands.
It was nearly six o'clock when she dropped him near the Vadaszkürt, as they had already agreed that it would be better that she should not be seen picking him up from it with his luggage. She had no fear now that he might run out on her and disappear underground, and he had no intention of doing so; because now that she had consented to his staying on in Budapest he felt confident that he could complete his business without the risk he would have had to run had he let her down.
After asking at the desk for his bill, he went upstairs to his room and put through a telephone call. He knew that the Committee would already have met at Count Szegenyhaz's house, but as the meeting had been called for half past five he thought it unlikely that they would have yet reached their final decision, and in that he proved correct. Count Laszlo, to whom he spoke, could only tell him that the proceedings had opened well. He then explained to the Count in guarded language that he had become involved with the Baroness and was no longer a free agent. He added that he would be staying at her house for the night, but hoped to get away some time during it and, if he could, would come to Laszlo's house; then he arranged that should he fail to do so the Count would call at Sabine's the following morning at nine o'clock, and insist on seeing him on a private matter.
Having insured in this way that he would get the vital information, even if Sabine did lock him up for the night, he quickly packed his things, paid his bill and took a carriage to her house.
He found her small 'palace' to be similarly constructed to the Zapolya's much larger one. There was a lodge for the gatekeeper at one side of a big semicircular arch, and beyond the arch a square courtyard. Along its sides were garages, stables, laundry, brew houses, etc., with accommodation for the servants above them. At its far end a glass roofed vestibule led to the main hall which was evidently also used as a sitting room; for, although August was not yet out, wood fires were burning in big fireplaces on either side of it, and in front of both of these were a settee, easy chairs and occasional tables. In the centre of the hall a broad shallow staircase led up to a balustraded gallery at either end of which were suits of Turkish armour, then corridors leading to the first floor rooms and to narrower staircases running up to a second storey. The rooms were all low for their size; so the vaulted ceiling of the doubletier hall was not too high for comfort, and the upper surfaces of its cream stone walls being broken up with tapestries of the chase prevented it from being cold in appearance.
After Gregory had waited there for a few minutes Sabine came down the staircase. She had changed out of her day things into a housecoat of crimson velvet. The colour threw up both her pale magnolia skin and the dark beauty of her eyes and hair. As she came smiling towards him, he caught his breath; for, seen against this background, she might well have been a princess who had stepped straight out of a Ruritanian romance.
He told her so, and she raised a well arched eyebrow.
'Thanks for the charming thought; but perhaps it's as well that I'm not. No doubt they looked lovely enough, but they had nothing under their clothes but solid pink ice cream. I imagine you would be quite peeved if I sent you back to England with no more exciting memory of me than a half dead rose thrust into your hand at parting.'
'I certainly should,' he laughed, and took a quick step towards her. But she put up her hand with a swift glance of warning. A butler had just come through a side door carrying a bottle in an ice bucket and a tray with glasses. Opening the wine, he poured it and brought two glasses over to them. As Sabine took hers, she said:
I thought you would prefer champagne to a cocktail.'
Raising his glass he replied, 'Any time, anywhere; but never more so than here with you.'
Sitting down they began to discuss how they should spend the evening. In gay Budapest, both in peace and war, it was not unusual for couples to dine at one place then put in an hour or two at each of three or four others afterwards, and there were several of their old haunts that they would have liked to revisit; but Gregory knew that he had now burnt his boats and, without any mention being made of the matter, it was common ground that from after dinner onwards they could provide better entertainment for one another than any nightclub had to offer; so their choice had to be restricted to one place in which to dine.
Eventually they decided on the Arizona, which was strictly speaking a nightclub; but its floorshows were" the most original in Budapest, and a first performance was given for people who dined there, so the choice would enable them to kill two birds with one stone.
When they had finished their wine Sabine said, 'I'd better show you to your room, so that you can bathe and change.' I've had my bath already so if half an hour is enough for you I'll be down again by then.'
At the head of the staircase she turned left along the gallery, threw open a door at the far end of the corridor, and said, 'This is my room. Do you like it?'
Gregory followed her inside. The room was spacious but low ceilinged, furnished in excellent taste, and there hung about it the subtle perfume which, even had Sabine not been there, conjured up’ the image of a lovely and fastidious woman. At its far end there was a wide semicircular window and, walking over to it, she drew aside two of the curtains. Dark had fallen but it was still light enough to see the graceful Swing Bridge two hundred feet below them, the Danube and beyond it the spires of Pest merging into the coming night.
For a full moment they stood side by side in silence. Suddenly her hand clutched his and she turned towards him. Next moment she was in his arms. His mouth came down on her eagerly parted lips in a long rich kiss. They broke it only to gasp for breath, then their mouths locked again in another.
Her arms tightened round his neck and he could feel her small breasts crushed against his chest. The muscles of her body grew rigid and she began to quiver as though shaken by a fit of ague. Throwing back her head she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper:
'Darling! Oh, darling; I want you so badly. I can hardly wait.'
Although they were alone his voice too came in a whisper, as he strained her to him and replied, 'Wait! My sweet; why should we wait?'
'No!' With sudden resolution she jerked her arms from across his shoulders, put her hands against them and forced him away. 'No! Not yet! It would spoil things for us… later.'
Reluctantly he released her and muttered, 'I suppose you're right. But with you in my arms time has no meaning any more.'
'It hasn't for me either. But we've all night before us, and the moon will not be up for two hours yet. I want you first to love me in the moonlight, just as you did on our first night together. Do you remember?'
'God alive! As though I could ever forget!' He grasped her arm and gave her a slight shake. 'You had better show me my room now, though; otherwise you won't get your wish.'