III

Rosemary went to Monte Carlo nearly as sulkily as it was possible for her to be. She rode up the hill to an old movie studio in process of reconstruction, and stood by the entrance waiting for an answer to the message on her card. After ten minutes a young man hurried down to the gate.

“Come in, Miss Hoyt. Mr. Brady’s very anxious to see you. I’m sorry you were kept waiting, but you know some of these French women are trying to get themselves in—”

The studio manager opened a small door in the wall of stage building and Rosemary followed him. Presently, he said, “Hey, Earl—Miss Hoyt.”

They were meeting for the first time. As Brady took her hand she saw him look her over from head to foot.

“I thought you’d be here any day now,” Brady said, in a voice with a cockney accent. “Have a good trip?”

“Yes, but we’re glad to be going home.”

“No-o-o!” he protested. “Stay awhile—I want to talk to you. Let me tell you that was some picture of yours—that Daddy’s Girl. I saw it in Paris. I wired the coast right away to see if you were signed. What’re your plans?”

“Mother thought I needed a rest. When I get back we’ll probably either sign up with First National or keep on with Famous.”

“Who’s we?”

“My mother. She decides business matters. I couldn’t do without her.”

Again he looked her over completely, and, as he did, something in Rosemary went out to him. It was not liking, not at all the admiration she had felt for the man on the beach this morning. It was a click. He desired her and she did not mind surrendering. Yet she knew she would forget him half an hour after she left him—like an actor kissed in a picture.

“Where are you staying?” Brady asked. “Oh, yes, at Gausse’s. Well, my plans are made for this year, too, but my offer still stands. Wait till after this shot and I’ll show you around.”

Walking onto the set he began to talk to a French actor in a low, quiet voice.

Five minutes passed—Brady talked on. Suddenly, he broke off, calling something to the lights and the shooting began. She did not want to see Brady in the mood he was in and she left the studio quietly and made her way for the train.

Feeling good after lunch, Nicole Diver went out into her lovely garden. Her face was hard, almost stern. Her once fair hair had darkened, but she was lovelier now at twenty-four than she had been at eighteen.

She went up the stairs and into the vegetable garden; she walked rather quickly—she liked to be active, though at times she was very quiet. This was because she did not believe in words. She reached a low wall and looked down seven hundred feet to the Mediterranean Sea.

She stood in the ancient hill village of Tarmes. The villa and its grounds were made out of a row of peasant houses on the cliff—five small houses had been combined to make their house and four were destroyed to make the garden.

Presently Dick came up to her.

“Nicole,” he said, “I forgot to tell you that I invited Mrs. Abrams, the woman with the white hair.”

“I suspected it. It’s a shame.”

“I’m going to invite some more people too.”

“All right,” she agreed.

He went back into the house and Nicole saw that one of his most characteristic moods was upon him, the excitement that swept everyone up into it. To be included in Dick Diver’s world for a while was a remarkable experience: people believed he made an exception for them, recognizing their uniqueness. He won everyone quickly but at the first doubt in him he evaporated before their eyes.

At eight-thirty that evening he came out to meet his first guests. Greeting Rosemary and her mother he waited for them to speak first, as if to allow them the reassurance of their own voices in new surroundings. She and her mother were fascinated by the Villa Diana.

“What a beautiful garden!” Mrs. Speers exclaimed.

“Nicole’s garden,” said Dick. “She won’t let it alone—she worries about plant diseases all the time.”

He turned them from the garden to the terrace, where he poured a cocktail. Earl Brady arrived, discovering Rosemary with surprise. His manner was softer than at the studio, and Rosemary, comparing him instantly with Dick Diver, turned toward the latter. In comparison Earl Brady seemed ill-bred; once more, though, she felt an electric response to his person.

He spoke to the children who were getting up from their outdoor supper.

“Hello, Lanier, how about a song? Will you and Topsy sing me a song?”

Brother and sister stood side by side without self-consciousness and sang, their voices sweet in the evening air.

After the singing stopped the children stood smiling calmly at their success. Rosemary was thinking that the Villa Diana was the centre of the world. At the moment the rest of the guests arrived in a body—the McKiscos, Mrs. Abrams, Mr. Dumphry, and Mr. Campion came up to the terrace.

Rosemary had a sharp feeling of disappointment—she looked quickly at Dick, as though to ask an explanation of this unhappy choice of guests. But there was nothing unusual in his expression. He greeted his new guests warmly.

“I’ve met you in Paris,” McKisco said to Abe North, who with his wife had arrived on their heels, “in fact I’ve met you twice.”

“Yes, I remember,” Abe said.

Rosemary stood beside Tommy Barban—he was in a particularly bad mood. He was leaving in the morning.

“Going home?”

“Home? I have no home. I am going to a war.”

“What war?”

“What war? Any war. I suppose there’s a war—there always is.”

“Don’t you care what you fight for?”

“Not at all—so long as I’m well treated. When I’m not at war I come to see the Divers, because then I know that in a few weeks I’ll want to go to war.”

“You like the Divers?” she asked him.

“Of course—especially her—but they make me want to go to war.”

“You’re half American,” she said, as if that should solve the problem.

“Also I’m half French, and I was educated in England and since I was eighteen I’ve worn the uniforms of eight countries. But I am fond of the Divers—especially of Nicole.”

She felt far from him.

For a moment now she was beside Dick Diver on the path. For a year she had had money and a certain celebrity and contact with the celebrated. Rosemary was a romantic but her mother, with the idea of a career for Rosemary, would not tolerate any silly affair. So when she had seen approval of Dick Diver in her mother’s face it meant that he was “the real thing”; it meant permission to go as far as she could.

“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,” she said quietly. He pretended not to have heard, as if the compliment were purely formal.

They had been at table half an hour and a change had set in—now they were only their best selves and the Divers’ guests were friendly and interested. Rosemary liked everyone—except McKisco. After he tried breaking into others’ dialogues, he devoted his attention entirely to the champagne.

Looking at Nicole Rosemary found her one of the most beautiful people she had ever known. Her face was the face of a saint, a viking Madonna. She was talking to Abe North. Rosemary knew from Brady that he was a musician who after a brilliant start had composed nothing for seven years.

Just for a moment the Divers seemed to speak to every one at the table assuring them of their friendliness, their affection. The faces turned toward them like the faces of poor children at a Christmas tree.

Nicole disappeared and presently Rosemary noticed that Dick was no longer there; the guests went to the garden or the terrace.

Rosemary felt that this was her time to talk to Dick Diver when he re-appeared, so she stood, listening to McKisco quarrel with Barban.

“Why do you want to fight the Soviets?” McKisco said. “The greatest experiment ever made by humanity? It seems to me it would be more heroic to fight on the just side.”

“How do you find out which it is?” asked Barban dryly.

“Why—usually everybody intelligent knows.”

“Are you a Communist?”

“I’m a Socialist,” said McKisco, “I sympathize with Russia.”

“Well, I’m a soldier,” Barban answered pleasantly. “My business is to kill people. I have fought the Communists because they want to take my property from me.”

McKisco jumped at the conclusion that Barban was the end product of the old world, and as such, worthless.

Feeling ashamed for McKisco, Rosemary waited for Dick Diver’s return. Mrs McKisco came hurrying down from the house. She was excited.

“My dear—” she said and then addressed Rosemary, “my dear—it’s nothing. I really can’t say a word.”

“You’re among friends,” said Abe.

“Well, upstairs I came upon a scene, my dears—”

Tommy arose and addressed her politely but sharply:

“You shouldn’t comment on what goes on in this house.”

Violet breathed loud and hard but did not say anything.

Dick came finally and separated Barban and the McKiscos and discussed literature with McKisco—thus giving the latter the moment of superiority which he required.

Now—she was thinking—I must have some time alone with him.

Rosemary was right—presently he led her from the company on the terrace to the garden toward the seaside wall. They looked out over the Mediterranean.

“I was talking to your mother, she told me that how long you both stayed in France depended on you,” he said.

On YOU, Rosemary all but said aloud.

“Since things are over here—”

“Over?” she asked.

“Well, this part of the summer is over. Last week Nicole’s sister left, tomorrow Tommy Barban leaves, Monday Abe and Mary North are leaving. Maybe we’ll have more fun this summer but this particular fun is over. That’s why I gave this party. Nicole and I are going up to Paris to see Abe North off for America—I wonder if you’d like to go with us.”

“What did Mother say?”

“She seemed to think it would be fine. She doesn’t want to go herself. She wants you to go alone.”

“I haven’t seen Paris since I’ve been grown,” said Rosemary. “I’d love to see it with you.”

“That’s nice of you.” Did she imagine that his voice was suddenly metallic? “Of course we’ve been excited about you from the moment you came on the beach.”

“I wanted to know all of you too—especially you. I told you I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”

He tried now to make her want to go back to the house and it was difficult, and he did not quite want to lose her. “You don’t know what you want. You go and ask your mother what you want.”

“I think you’re the most wonderful person I ever met—except my mother.”

“You have romantic eyes,” he laughed.

The guests got into cars, as the Divers stood side by side in the gate. To Rosemary it seemed very hard to drive away and leave them in their house. Again she wondered what Mrs. McKisco had seen in the bathroom.