Mair Hamilton - The Proposal 汉译

It never does for a young girl, no matter how young, attractive and desirable, no matter how skilled in beguiling ways, no matter how well laid are her plans, to underestimate the power of her mother.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

“Daphne, my dear, I must talk to you,” said her mother, looking flushed and happy.

 

With an impatient gesture Daphne stubbed out a cigarette and checked her watch by the clock tower over the barman’s head.

Seven o’ clock. Bruce was 20 minutes late already.

“Another whisky, please.” Hardly the thing to anticipate one’s host perhaps, but you couldn’t be expected to wait reciting nursery rhymes.

If there was one thing which irritated Daphne above all others it was to be kept waiting by a man. And tonight of all nights.

She had chosen this little restaurant in the mountains above the lake with particular care. Not to mention a dash out earlier in the day to make sure of a secluded table and suitable music.

Would it work? A vulgar, commonplace little plot perhaps. But – one simply had to be a realist.

Poverty saw to that alright. Ready – made clothes, back bedrooms in hotels, cheap travel and a holiday at the end of the season. Add a widowed, and still attractive, mother – an endurance test of loyalty – who merged chameleon – like into the background of her holiday. And what was the answer? Bruce?

He had come into the hotel lounge a few days after their arrival, wearing that look of unobtrusive elegance more usually associated with the race track or expensive resorts than the smaller holiday spots. Backed up, too, by expensive luggage and a smart sports car.

From the beginning he had been attracted to her. In the nicest possible way, of course. Mother first and so on. That’ s what had raised her hopes.

Anyhow they needed raising. Having just escaped from love, practically on the dole, with a young, much – decorated but impecunious airman, this looked good.

Bruce was at that comfortable stage of maturity when men react towards youth. Tennis, swimming, sailing, dancing. They’d done everything together in the intervals of paying numerous diplomatic attentions to mother. And now – the last day, with an expensive apartment and villa in the balance.

Daphne glanced round, her thin, nervous face hardening with anxiety. The place was filling up.

She crossed to the dining room. Their table was no longer secluded. A party of holiday – makers jostled in the environs of the table. And Bruce must be here any moment.

“Waiter!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Change my table for one on the terrace. My companion will be a little late...”

“I am so sorry. It’s far too hot in here.” How could she get down to things with that crowd battening on the proceedings.

“So sorry. We are very full tonight – as you see for yourself...”

Fool of a man. Such a little money would wipe that covert grin off his face. Well, it added another incentive – if one were needed. Infuriated she turned away.

“Well! Wha – d’ yer know, as our friends the Americans say!” A familiar voice, with its cool insolent tone which had once sent ripples of weakness through her.

“Bill! What on earth are you doing here?”

“Holidaying, my sweet, same as you.”

“Oh? Why the uniform?”

“I flew a service aircraft down on a job. I’m only here on a 24 hours leave. Let’s have a drink to celebrate.”

“What, for instance?” She hoped her tone was sufficiently chilling.

“Meeting again, of course.”

“I’m dining with someone.”

“Oho! Hasn’t taken you long.” That side – long glance had more than a touch of insult.

“Don’t be cheap, Bill.”

“Funny word for you to use.”

“Bill!”

“Keep your hair on, sweetheart. I only meant that you’ re rather on the expensive side. If only I’ d had enough cash!” His laugh rang like a false coin.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she replied quickly, “we had a pretty good time while it lasted, didn’t we?” She must get rid of him. So frightfully tasteless to be caught like this by Bruce.

“While it lasted!” So he had taken it a bit hard. Well, there wasn’t time to be sympathetic.  Unproductive, anyway.

“You know perfectly well it couldn’t last. You’re not the type to settle down in a cottage,” she replied.

“H’ m. I might have done – with you. Sure there’s nothing left?”

“I’m sorry, Bill – I’m grateful for...”

“Oh, don’ t come that conventional stuff with me.”

His voice sharpened for a moment then slipped back to its usual lightness. “Well, pray allow me to wish you luck.”

“And you, Bill. Good – bye.”

“I must say you seem strangely anxious to meet your mother. So long!”

Mother? What on earth?

For a moment his tall, broad figure blocked the view. Only for a moment.

“Mother!” As if Bill wasn’t enough for one evening.

“Daphne, my dear. Come and sit down a minute. I must talk to you.” She’d never seen her mother look so flushed and happy.

“What’s up?”

“Bruce has told me.”

“Oh, mother.” So it was all right. He’d only been getting permission. Dear, conventional Bruce. So dependable.

“Yes, dear, isn’t it wonderful? I’d no idea. It came as a complete surprise.”

“But we’ve been going about together for the last three weeks.”

“Oh, I know, dear. Bruce explained; he was most anxious to gain your confidence first. He felt it would be so much easier for me if you got on well together.”

“Got on well together? I don’t... ”

“Well, you see, he’ s never had children and if – in a sort of wa – he is to be your father, naturally...”