Free The Portuguese Escape by Ann Bridge Page B

quite right.’
    Some of this was rather too difficult for Hetta’s command of English—she seized on Dr. Salazar.
    â€˜He dictates this country, no?’
    â€˜NO, and no twenty times!’ Richard exploded. ‘He guides it.’ He went on for some time about Dr. Salazar, for whom he had a well-founded admiration.
    â€˜You must forgive me—I am still learning,’ Hetta said. She turned away from the window to the room. ‘But where is Miss Probeen? She does not come?’
    â€˜Yes, she’s coming all right; she’s only late, as usual. Come and have a drink. Townsend tells me you like sherry better than cocktails.’
    â€˜He remembers this? How
nice
he is,’ Hetta said warmly.
    Atherley, having given her a glass of sherry, was busy with the cocktail-shaker. ‘Oh yes, Townsend is nice,’ he said, without much enthusiasm—why should young Hetta think Townsend so very nice? ‘Tell me,’ he said, as he filled his own glass, ‘did the Monsignor say that you might go out alone to lunch with young men? Did you ask him?’
    â€˜Yes, I did—and he said yes, certainly. He explained many things,’ said Hetta; a certain lack of enthusiasm was evident in her tones.
    â€˜Don’t you like him?’ the young man asked, slightly surprised.
    â€˜No—I do not. He—’
    The door was opened by the befrilled maid to usher in Julia and Major Torrens. There were greetings, one introduction, drinks—then they went down to the little dining-room on the ground floor.
    It was a pleasant meal. The other three bestirred themselves to draw Hetta out, and in this congenial company they found little difficulty in doing so. The food, which as always in Atherley’s house was delicious, caused her to volunteer her most spontaneous observations: she ate carefully, consideringly, Atherley noticed with approval, and occasionally commented on a dish.
    â€˜There is something—yes, it is
fenouille
—how do you say that in English?—in this sauce,’ she said at one point. ‘
So
good.’
    â€˜We
call fenouille
fennel,’ said Atherley—‘but how smart of you to spot it. I always tell Josquina to put very little of any flavouring in things, so that people shall wonder why they taste good, but not know why.’
    â€˜This is so
right
—and she does it beautifully. I should not have known if I were not a cook myself.’
    â€˜You a cook!’ Torrens exclaimed. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜I have been a cook for six years in Hungary,’ Hetta replied airily—‘to a priest. A nun whom I was with was supposed to be his cook, but she was
so
bad, therefore I did it. I love cooking.’
    â€˜Do you really?’ the Major asked, fixing her with a startled eye.
    â€˜Oh yes—also I love food,’ the girl said frankly. ‘And is it not a form of blasphemy to abuse the gifts of God by bringing them badly cooked, and therefore
horrible
, to the table?’
    â€˜Amen to that,’ Richard said, while the others laughed.
    There was only one rough patch, and it was Hetta’s fault. Inevitably the subject of the royal wedding came up, and Julia mentioned in all innocence the extreme desire of a certain highly-placed official’s wife to attend it— through the Ericeiras she was
au courant
with all the social and political gossip of Lisbon.
    â€˜Well, if Madame de X. wants to see Princess Maxine married, X. will have to stop his opposition to the new ferry scheme,’ Richard said, equally innocently. ‘He’s been making a perfect nuisance of himself to the Government about that.’
    â€˜Oh, he will—I understand that he went round to the Ministry this morning in a plain van, carrying a smallladder to climb down by,’ Julia said gaily, causing everyone to laugh. Except Hetta, who leant across the table, gazing at the young Englishwoman with what