They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [135]
Balint stood up. He thought for a few moments and then put out his hand to Ganyi. ‘Thank you for such excellent advice. I’ll write to Zutor today.’
‘Your Lordship should put nothing on paper. It’d be better not to write, for one never knows into what hands a letter may fall. Send for him and do it verbally; that would be better, far better!’
They went out, the secretary politely escorting his employer as far as the veranda steps. Then with a modest smile that pulled apart the line of his little black moustache, Ganyi added, ‘Perhaps your Lordship would like to entrust this matter to me? With your permission I could explain everything to Zutor personally. I have had some experience in similar cases, and it might be better than if your Lordship … it would give me great pleasure.’
When Balint questioned his mother, Countess Abady merely said that she had been sleeping badly which was why she had decided to stay in bed that morning. She seemed in very good spirits and talked animatedly to Aron Kosma. She had put on the silk dress she kept for special occasions, perhaps because it was Sunday or perhaps it was because young Kosma was there, for his father had been a childhood playmate of hers, though she had not seen him for more than forty years. On this day she was at her most vivacious and, though her manner always held something of condescension in it, it was with all her old charm that she talked of horses and their breeding and of the hunts of long ago. Balint felt reassured.
After lunch he sent a telegram to Winkler at the forestry headquarters on the Beles, telling him to send Zutor to Denestornya. Then, leaving Ganyi behind, he and Kozma got into his car and were driven away. That Zutor would find only his secretary there he did not mention. It was better that way.
As Balint got into his car Countess Roza came out on the balcony and continued to wave goodbye until the motor glided out of sight through the massive gateway in the castle’s outer court.
Later Balint often thought of this moment and always in later years this was how he remembered her best, a diminutive figure standing very straight behind the carved stone balustrade, waving goodbye with her chubby little hand …
Chapter Two
THE TOUR OF THE CO-OPERATIVE CENTRES in the south-eastern counties that Balint took with Aron Kozma lasted ten days. Their last stop was at Kis-Kukullo in a small village called Kis-Fuzes a mile or two from Dicso-Szentmarton.
All through the meeting, during the reading of reports and the checking of the books – and even more so during the voting which then followed – Balint and Kosma both noticed that everyone seemed to be in a great hurry to bring the meeting to a close. They whispered among themselves and glanced repeatedly at the clock on the wall. When asked the question that everywhere else had loosed a flood of suggestions and endless discussion – ‘Are there any complaints or special requests?’ – everyone at once had said ‘No, nothing! … Everything’s fine! … Nothing at all! … no, nothing!’ and looked eagerly towards the door.
Neither Abady nor Kozma could make out what could be going on. They were both sure that there was no dark secret about the book-keeping that had to be kept from them, so they assumed that the village people were merely anxious to go somewhere else and were afraid that any prolongation of the Co-operative meeting might mean their missing the fun.
The general air of gloom and dismay that had seemed to mark the meeting vanished immediately when, about midday, Balint brought the discussion to an end and headed for his car. Then it was as if a heavy load had been lifted from everyone’s shoulders and, wreathed in smiles and merrily shaking hands with the visitors, they escorted Balint and Kozma to their motor, happily closed the car doors upon them and waved goodbye with such enthusiasm it was as if they were calling out with one voice, ‘Now it’s time to