Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie [36]
‘Life is lived very much the same everywhere,’ he said rather wearily. ‘It wears different clothes–that’s all.’
Franklin Rudge stared.
‘I don’t get you.’
‘No,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘That’s because you’ve got a long way to travel yet. But I apologize. No elderly man should permit himself to get into the habit of preaching.’
‘Oh! that’s all right.’ Rudge laughed, displaying the beautiful teeth of all his countrymen. ‘I don’t say, mind you, that I’m not disappointed in the Casino. I thought the gambling would be different–something much more feverish. It seems just rather dull and sordid to me.’
‘Gambling is life and death to the gambler, but it has no great spectacular value,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘It is more exciting to read about than to see.’
The young man nodded his agreement.
‘You’re by way of being rather a big bug socially, aren’t you?’ he asked with a diffident candour that made it impossible to take offence. ‘I mean, you know all the Duchesses and Earls and Countesses and things.’
‘A good many of them,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘And also the Jews and the Portuguese and the Greeks and the Argentines.’
‘Eh?’ said Mr Rudge.
‘I was just explaining,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, ‘that I move in English society.’
Franklin Rudge meditated for a moment or two.
‘You know the Countess Czarnova, don’t you?’ he said at length.
‘Slightly,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, making the same answer he had made to Elizabeth.
‘Now there’s a woman whom it’s been very interesting to meet. One’s inclined to think that the aristocracy of Europe is played out and effete. That may be true of the men, but the women are different. Isn’t it a pleasure to meet an exquisite creature like the Countess? Witty, charming, intelligent, generations of civilization behind her, an aristocrat to her finger-tips!’
‘Is she?’ asked Mr Satterthwaite.
‘Well, isn’t she? You know what her family are?’
‘No,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘I’m afraid I know very little about her.’
‘She was a Radzynski,’ explained Franklin Rudge. ‘One of the oldest families in Hungary. She’s had the most extraordinary life. You know that great rope of pearls she wears?’
Mr Satterthwaite nodded.
‘That was given her by the King of Bosnia. She smuggled some secret papers out of the kingdom for him.’
‘I heard,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, ‘that the pearls had been given her by the King of Bosnia.’
The fact was indeed a matter of common gossip, it being reported that the lady had been a chère amie of His Majesty’s in days gone by.
‘Now I’ll tell you something more.’
Mr Satterthwaite listened, and the more he listened the more he admired the fertile imagination of the Countess Czarnova. No vulgar ‘siren stuff’ (as Elizabeth Martin had put it) for her. The young man was shrewd enough in that way, clean living and idealistic. No, the Countess moved austerely through a labyrinth of diplomatic intrigues. She had enemies, detractors–naturally! It was a glimpse, so the young American was made to feel, into the life of the old régime with the Countess as the central figure, aloof, aristocratic, the friend of counsellors and princes, a figure to inspire romantic devotion.
‘And she’s had any amount to contend against,’ ended the young man warmly. ‘It’s an extraordinary thing but she’s never found a woman who would be a real friend to her. Women have been against her all her life.’
‘Probably,’ said Mr Satterthwaite.
‘Don’t you call it a scandalous thing?’ demanded Rudge hotly.
‘N–no,’ said Mr Satterthwaite thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know that I do. Women have got their own standards, you know. It’s no good our mixing ourselves up in their affairs. They must run their own show.’
‘I don’t agree with you,’ said Rudge earnestly. ‘It’s one of the worst things in the world today, the unkindness of woman to woman. You know Elizabeth Martin? Now she agrees with me in theory absolutely. We’ve often discussed it together. She’s only a kid, but her ideas are all right. But the moment it comes to a practical test–why, she’s as bad as any of them. Got a real down on the Countess