Читать книгу The Plumed Serpent. Historical Novel - Life and Love after the Mexico Revolution онлайн

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A not very new Fiat stood at the gate, with a chauffeur in a short red-and-black check coat. The chauffeur opened the door. Kate slipped off the cloak as she got in, and handed it back. He stood with it over his arm.

‘Good-bye!’ she said. ‘Thank you ever so much. And we shall see you on Tuesday. Do put your cape on.’

‘On Tuesday, yes. Hotel San Remo. Calle de Peru,’ he added to the chauffeur. Then turning again to Kate: ‘The hotel, no?’

‘Yes,’ she said, and instantly changed. ‘No, take me to Sanborn’s, where I can sit in a corner and drink tea to comfort me.’

‘To comfort you after the bull-fight?’ he said, with another quick smile. ‘To Sanborn’s, Gonzalez.’

He saluted and bowed and closed the door. The car started.

Kate sat back, breathing relief. Relief to get away from that beastly place. Relief even to get away from that nice man. He was awfully nice. But he made her feel she wanted to get away from him too. There was that heavy, black Mexican fatality about him, that put a burden on her. His quietness, and his peculiar assurance, almost aggressive; and at the same time, a nervousness, an uncertainty. His heavy sort of gloom, and yet his quick, naïve, childish smile. Those black eyes, like black jewels, that you couldn’t look into, and which were so watchful; yet which, perhaps, were waiting for some sign of recognition and of warmth! Perhaps!