They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [107]
The doctor’s prognosis turned out to be correct. The old lady recovered the use of her hand, but even though she was soon able to write with it after a fashion, it was never quite the same as before.
During these days together Balint felt himself closer to his mother than he ever had been. It was as if a certain hardness in her was now dissolving. It may have been that in a hotel that regal arrogance was not so marked as at home at Denestornya where it never left her. There was nothing that Balint could put his finger on, nothing obvious, especially in the old lady’s attitude to her son, but there was something gentler and softer about her, almost as if the trouble with her arm had given rise to a foreboding that had caused her, for the first time, to look into herself. Somehow Balint was aware of this. It was not just a suspicion, he knew it; and as a result he tried himself to be just that much warmer with her than before, only a little, just enough to please her, but not too much as he knew how much his mother detested anything that smacked of sentiment or effusiveness.
In the middle of May they started for home; and Balint, who thought that it must be about then that Adrienne would be returning from Lausanne, sent a telegram to tell her their plans.
The day they arrived in Budapest – though Balint had argued against it because such fashionable places were sure to be crowded at that time of year – they went to have tea at Gerbeaud’s. Countess Roza insisted; Balint had noticed at Abbazia that his mother had recently shown a liking for being surrounded by people. It was an unexpected change in the old lady who had always avoided crowds, rarely went out to other people’s houses and never went to restaurants or tea-rooms.
Now, all of a sudden, she seemed to want to be surrounded by people. It was as if the bustle and turmoil of everyday life brought her joy, as if what had happened in that hotel room by the sea had reminded her that her life was passing inexorably.
As they always did now Balint and his mother walked arm in arm.
Of course Gerbeaud’s was very crowded. Every table was occupied and every chair taken, and in front of the long counter customers were standing two or three deep. Finally they found a place just beside the door, Countess Roza with her back to the wall and Balint on her right. They were so close to the doorway that many of the people crowding in at that fashionable hour brushed against their table.
Countess Roza did not mind at all. Smiling with good humour she sat there patiently until at long last her coffee topped with whipped cream was brought her. Then, slowly stirring it, she watched the mob flow to and fro as the throng of society women almost fell over each other as they fought their way in and out. The old lady’s slightly protuberant grey eyes watched it all with amused tolerance, even though some of the customers were only inches from her chair.
It’s amazing, thought Balint, as he bent forward to sip his tea. How she would have loathed all this only a month or so ago!
A tall young woman dressed in rust-coloured linen appeared in the doorway.
It was Adrienne.
She could hardly get through against the rush of those trying to get out, and had to stand by the door to let the crowd go by. She stood there, beside the door, with her back to where Countess Abady was sitting.
She was already standing patiently there when Balint looked up and of course instantly knew who it was.
Joy flooded through him … and then fear of what would happen next. If Adrienne did not see them, even though she was so close, and so did not greet his mother, Countess Roza would assume that it was done on purpose. Also it was unthinkable that, finding themselves so close to each other, they could make do with a formal greeting. A few words, however trivial, would have to be exchanged, or it would be ruder than if they managed not to see each other at all. He knew that Adrienne would do whatever was necessary, but