Джон Фаулз – The French Lieutenant's Woman / Любовница французского лейтенанта (страница 6)

It opened out very pleasantly, like a tiny alpine meadow. Charles stood in the sunlight. Then he moved forward to the edge of the plateau.

And there, below him, he saw a figure.

For one terrible moment he thought he had come upon a corpse. But it was a woman asleep. Charles's immediate instinct had been to draw back out of the woman's view. He did not see who she was. He stood at a loss, looking at but not seeing the fine landscape the place offered. He hesitated, he was about to leave; but then his curiosity drew him forward again.

The girl lay in deep sleep, on her back. Her coat had fallen open over her blue dress with a small white collar at the throat. The sleeper's face was turned away from him, her right arm thrown back, bent in a childlike way. There was something very tender and yet sexual in the way she lay; it awakened Charles's memory of a moment from his time in Paris. Another girl, whose name now he could not even remember, perhaps had never known, seen sleeping so, one dawn, in a bedroom overlooking the Seine.

He moved round the plateau, to where he could see the sleeper's face better, and it was only then that he realized whom he had come upon. It was the French Lieutenant's Woman. Part of her hair had become loose and half covered her cheek. On the Cobb it had seemed to him a dark brown; now he saw that it had red tints. The skin below seemed very brown in that light, as if the girl cared more for health than a fashionably pale complexion. A strong nose, heavy eyebrows, the mouth he could not see.

He stood unable to do anything but stare down, tranced by this unexpected meeting, and overcome by an equally strange feeling – not sexual, but fraternal, perhaps paternal, a certainty of the innocence of this creature, of her being unfairly outcast. He could not imagine what could drive her to this wild place.

He came at last to the very edge of the rampart above her, directly over her face, and there he saw that all the sadness was gone; in sleep the face was gentle, it might even have had a smile. It was precisely then that she awoke.

She looked up at once. He was detected, and he was too much a gentleman to deny it. So when Sarah rose to her feet, gathering her coat about her, and stared back up at him, he raised his hat and bowed. She said nothing, but fixed him with a look of shock and confusion. She had fine dark eyes.

They stood thus for several seconds. She seemed so small to him, standing there below, as if, should he take a step towards her, she would turn and rush out of his sight.

“A thousand apologies. I came upon you by chance.” And then he turned and walked away. He did not look back, but went down to the path he had left, and waited half a minute to see if she was following him. She did not appear. Very soon he marched firmly away up the steeper path.

11

At about the same time Ernestina got from her bed and took her diary from her dressing table. In the morning she wrote: “Did not see dearest Charles. Did not go out, tho' it is very fine. Did not feel happy.”

Aunt Tranter's house was small, and she had heard Sam knock on the front door downstairs when he brought flowers; she had heard Mary open it – a murmur of voices and then a suppressed laughter from the maid, a slammed door. The suspicion crossed her mind that Charles had been down there, flirting; and this was one of her deepest fears about him.

She knew he had lived in Paris, in Lisbon, and traveled much; she knew he was eleven years older than herself; she knew he was attractive to women. His answers to her playful questions about his past conquests were always playful in return; and that was the rub[80]. She felt jealous. But the matter of whether he had slept with other women didn't worry her much. It was really Charles's heart of which she was jealous. That, she could not bear to think of having to share.

When the front door closed, Ernestina tried to control herself, then she rang the bell and soon afterwards, there were footsteps, a knock, and the door opened to let in Mary bearing a vase with a fountain of spring flowers. The girl came and stood by the bed, smiling.

Of the three young women who pass through these pages Mary was, in my opinion, by far the prettiest. She had pink complexion, corn-colored hair and wide gray-blue eyes. Not even the dull Victorian clothes could hide the seductive plump figure.

Mary's great-great-granddaughter, who is twenty-two years old this month I write in, much resembles her ancestor; and her face is known over the entire world, for she is one of the more celebrated younger English film actresses.

Mrs. Tranter liked pretty girls; and pretty, laughing girls even better. Of course, Ernestina was her niece, and she worried for her more; but Ernestina she saw only once or twice a year, and Mary she saw every day. The girl had a warm heart; she returned the warmth that was given.

Mary was not faultless; and one of her faults was a certain envy of Ernestina, who became the favorite of the household when she arrived from London; but the young lady from London came also with trunkfuls of the latest London and Paris fashions, while she had only three dresses. She also thought Charles was a beautiful man for a husband; too good for a pale creature like Ernestina. This was why Charles had the benefit of those gray-and-blue eyes when she opened the door to him or passed him in the street. Each time he raised his hat to her in the street she mentally cocked her nose at Ernestina[81].

Mary placed the flowers on the bedside commode.

“From Mr. Charles, Miss Tina. With 'er complimums.” Mary spoke in a dialect known for its contempt of pronouns and suffixes[82].

“Place them on my dressing table. I do not like them so close.”

Mary obediently put them there.

“Did he bring them himself?”

“No, miss.”

“Where is Mr. Charles?”

“Doan know, miss. I didn' ask'un.” But her mouth was pressed too tightly together, as if she wanted to giggle.

“But I heard you speak with the man.”

“Yes, miss.”

“What about?”

“'Twas just the time o' day[83], miss.”

“Is that what made you laugh?”

“Yes, miss. 'Tis the way 'e speaks, miss.”

Ernestina gave her a look very much like Mrs. Poulteney's.

“You will kindly remember that he comes from London.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Mr. Smithson has already spoken to me of him. The man fancies himself a Don Juan[84].”

“What's that then, Miss Tina?[85]”

“Never mind now[86]. But if he makes advances[87] I wish to be told at once.”

In London the beginnings of a social stratification had, by the mid-century, begun. Nothing of course took the place of good blood[88]; but it had become generally accepted that good money and good brains could help achieve high social standing[89]. Ernestina's grandfather had been a draper when he was young; but he died a very rich draper since he had moved commercially into central London, founded one of the West End's great stores and extended his business into many departments besides drapery. Her father had given her the best education that money could buy. In all except his origins he was a gentleman; and he had married a daughter of one of the City's most successful solicitors, who had good ancestors.

Charles had first met her the preceding November, at the house of a lady who had her eye on him for one of her daughters. To both young people it had promised to be just one more dull evening; and both, when they returned to their homes, found that it had not been so.

They saw in each other a superiority of intelligence. Ernestina let it be known that she had found Mr. Smithson an agreeable change from the dull crop of partners presented for her examination that season. Her mother made discreet inquiries; and consulted her husband, who made more. Charles passed his secret exam with flying colors[90].

When he began to attend her mother's parties he had the unusual experience of finding that there was no sign of the usual matrimonial trap; no sly hints from the mother of how much the sweet darling loved children; or less sly ones from the father on the size of the fortune “my dearest girl” would bring to her husband. The latter were, in any case, unnecessary; the Hyde Park house was fit for a duke to live in, and the absence of brothers and sisters said more than a thousand bank statements[91].

Ernestina played her hand well. She always invited other attractive young men; and did not do him any particular favour. She was, on principle, never serious with him: she gave him the impression that she liked him because he was fun – but of course she knew he would never marry. Then came an evening in January when she decided to plant the fatal seed[92].

She saw Charles standing alone; and on the opposite side of the room she saw an aged widow. She went up to him.

“Shall you not go converse with Lady Fairwether?”

“I should rather converse with you.”

“I will present you.”

So they began to cross the room together; but halfway to the lady, she stopped, laid her hand a moment on his arm, and looked him in the eyes.

“If you are determined to be an old bachelor, Mr. Smithson, you must practice for your part[93].”