Stefan opened the door and admitted the newcomer, and Lisa, turning, beheld a wiry and very handsome man of around thirty-five years of age.
‘Stefan, my old bean,’ cried he, ‘and Magda my young bean—but I hope I am not late. Or early! How are you both? I have brought you a cake.’ He handed a large flat box to Magda, and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Now that is very nice,’ said Magda, ‘we are just wanting cake here, for the coffee must be ready. Have you had lunch, Rudi? There is plenty here left over. But forgive me, Lisa. Let me introduce Rudi Jánosi, who has just come to Sydney to live, though we don’t yet know precisely where. Rudi, this is my colleague Lisa Miles.’
‘How do you do,’ said Rudi politely.
‘Sit down here and eat if you wish,’ said Magda.
‘No, I have had a snack,’ said Rudi.
‘Then we will be comfortable over here,’ said Magda. ‘If you have finished with the pineapple, Lisa, let us sit on the sofa and have our coffee and some cake. Sit, sit, everyone, ouf! I must have a cigarette above all.’
She opened a silver box and took a cigarette from it; Stefan, having entered with the coffee pot and some cups on a tray, set it down and lit Magda’s cigarette.
‘So Rudi,’ he said, ‘we have been discussing Jane Austen. Tell us what you think of her.’
‘My opinion has yet to be formed,’ said Rudi. ‘I have read not one word.’
‘Ah, a philistine,’ said Stefan. ‘I have always wanted to meet one.’
‘No, the truth is,’ said Rudi, ‘I am rather infatuated with Charles Dickens. Such horror! Such humour! You see, he is so much better in English than in Hungarian, so I am reading all over again what I read before so long ago. It is very amusing.’
‘Dickens in Serbo-Croat I never read,’ said Magda. ‘I suppose there is such a thing. In English, however, his books remain at any rate stupendously long. I have not the time.’
‘Magda prefers Vogue,’ said Stefan.
‘And Agatha Christie too,’ Magda added. ‘Tell us, Rudi, whether you have found a flat, or not?’
‘I have looked at several, but the chief problem is to decide between this side of the Harbour or the other. It is difficult when I don’t know where my girlfriend lives.’
‘Which girlfriend is this?’ asked Magda.
‘Well, as you see, I have not yet met her,’ said Rudi, ‘but I very soon shall, and I would rather not live on the opposite side of the Harbour. That would be stupid, a waste of time. So you see the difficulty.’
‘In that case the sooner you meet her the better,’ said Stefan. ‘You cannot stay chez Benedek indefinitely.’
‘Perhaps we should have a party,’ said Magda. ‘New Year’s Eve. I have toyed with the idea. What do you think, Stefan?’
‘Oh certainly,’ said Stefan, ‘anything to accommodate Rudi with a girlfriend, therefore a flat—let us have a party.’
‘Not that we know so many girls,’ said Magda. ‘I will have to rack my brains. Lisa here is of course not only too young but too clever and too nice for you. But I hope she will come to the party nevertheless, if she is permitted.’
Lisa looked eager. ‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she said.
‘Do you like parties?’ asked Rudi. ‘I hope you will dance once at least with me, even if I am too old, too stupid and not nice enough.’
Lisa laughed and agreed. Oh, she thought, this was real life!
‘We have forgotten the cake!’ cried Magda. ‘Let us eat it, now.’
‘Give me your opinion of the cake, anyway,’ said Rudi to Lisa. ‘I must say that in Melbourne, where I have been living so miserably, there are at least many better cakeshops than here.’
‘In Melbourne they have more need of cake,’ said Stefan, ‘having more or less nothing else.’
‘This is true,’ said Rudi. ‘It is a sad town, not by the way a city as they choose to pretend, not that they can know the difference. Sydney at any rate is undoubtedly a city, whereas Melbourne—well, there are of course some serious paintings in the Gallery, but nothing whatsoever more which pertains to a city; except of course for the cake.’
‘Meanwhile here not only is the cake inferior,’ said Stefan, ‘but the Art Gallery is a joke.’
‘Yes, but a joke in the most exquisite taste,’ said Rudi. ‘Do you not agree, Lisa?’
‘I’ve never been there,’ she replied.
‘You see my point,’ said Rudi to Stefan. ‘You might come there with me one day,’ said Rudi, ‘if you will do me the honour. It is certainly worth at least one visit.’
Magda now decided that Lisa’s head had been sufficiently turned by Rudi’s facile gallantries and jumped to her feet.
‘Come, Lisa,’ she said, ‘let us leave these two to talk Hungarian together, poor things, and we will go for a walk which is advisable after all this cake, and then I must not keep you so long from your mother. We will first tidy ourselves a little. Come.’
And she led the way into the bedroom.
She sat down at a large old-fashioned-looking dressing table with a triple mirror, and Lisa stood uncertainly behind her.
‘Sit here,’ said Magda, making room on the wide low stool, ‘there is plenty of room for us both. Use this comb, it is quite clean.’
Lisa began to comb her hair.
‘You know,’ said Magda, ‘I wonder how it would look to have the parting here,’ and she took the comb. ‘But take off your glasses, they are a little in my way.’
Lisa sat submissively, her glasses in her hand, while Magda drew a parting much farther to the side of her narrow forehead and combed out her hair.
‘I think that is extremely nice!’ said Magda. ‘Look!’ and Lisa stared into the mirror. ‘Can you see without your glasses?’ asked Magda.
‘Oh yes, I only need them really for reading,’ said Lisa.
‘Then why wear them always?’ asked Magda.
‘I suppose because I am always reading,’ said Lisa.
‘Well, we must find something else for you to do,’ said Magda. ‘In the meantime leave them off, it is a novelty for you. Look now and see how you like yourself.’
Lisa looked. It was a strange but interesting sight; she smiled with embarrassment.
‘A little lipstick I think,’ said Magda, opening a drawer and rummaging, ‘your own has all worn off and you may like a different colour.’
For your own is not a good one, she thought to herself.
‘Here now,’ she said, ‘try this. A nice pink, suitable for a jeune fille. I cannot think what it is doing here, it is not the colour for me.’
Lisa applied the lipstick.
‘Blot it,’ commanded Magda, giving her a tissue.
She threw the tissue into a waste-basket and looked at Lisa’s reflection.
‘We will experiment with the eye make-up another time perhaps,’ she said. ‘Your eyes are nice, an interesting colour.’
Lisa’s eyes could now easily be seen, their irises a greyish shade of blue, the whites nice and clear.
‘Stand back there,’ said Magda, waving her hand towards the bed, ‘and let me see the whole effect. Hmmm.’
Lisa was wearing one of her gathered skirts and a white lawn blouse. Her face certainly now looked both more alert and better defined.
‘You have so slim a figure,’ said Magda. ‘I envy you this so much. You might as well make the most of it and wear always a belt. I have so many—fat as I am—I may have something there you could wear. Have a look inside the door of that wardrobe. Go on, open it, there is no skeleton inside.’
Lisa opened the door and saw hanging from a rail a dozen or so belts. Magda watched her.
‘Try that tan leather,’ she said, ‘it will match your sandals.’
Lisa took the belt and put it on.
‘Tighter,’ said Magda, ‘use the last hole.’
‘I have,’ said Lisa.
‘We will make another then,’ said Magda. ‘Come here.’
She fished around and found a pair of nail scissors, and made another hole.
‘Now then,’ she said.
The belt, which was of course of superior quality, made the whole difference to Lisa’s appearance.
‘Ça va,’ said Magda, ‘très bien. I do not wear this belt often—you might as well keep it. It looks much better on you in any case. How wonderful, to have a twenty-two inch waist. And keep the lipstick also: it is the right colour for you. Throw away the other, nothing is more demoralising than a wrong colour. You look charming; with a bit more experience you will look enchanting; one needs all the weapons at one’s command to deal with the Rudis of this world, I can assure you, and you will have them thick and fast in the coming years.’
Lisa, delighted as she secretly felt at the alteration in her appearance, was in an agony of self-consciousness; she searched wildly in her mind for a new topic of conversation to deflect Magda’s attention from herself.
‘I thought,’ she said diffidently, ‘that you were Hungarian, but you speak about Hungarians as if you were not.’
‘I!’ exclaimed Magda. ‘I am Slovene.’
She enunciated this word with dramatic emphasis, opening her eyes very wide the while. ‘But I suppose you do not know what is Slovene.’ She began to comb her hair.
‘Oh yes,’ said Lisa, ‘I do. Slovenia is part of Yugoslavia.’
‘My God!’ cried Magda, ‘you are indeed a genius, to know this. I have not before met an Australian who has heard of the place.’
‘Oh, but we did the Balkans at school,’ said Lisa; ‘in the causes of the First World War, you know, in Modern History. Lots of us know about Slovenia, lots. There was a question in the exam paper, I did it.’
‘You amaze me utterly,’ said Magda. ‘I was right to give you my belt. So you know of Slovenia. Well, some time I may tell you more of it, but not now. We must have our walk, it is pretty around here, it will please you. We will just show ourselves to the Hungarians as we leave.’
The two women made their adieux and Lisa was gratified by Rudi’s reiterated invitation to her: ‘I will see you at the party which Magda and Stefan have so wisely decided to give in my honour,’ said he, ‘and we shall arrange our visit to the Art Gallery then, shall we not? I look forward to it. It is never too soon to begin to cultivate one’s sense of humour. If I can introduce you to the Art Gallery of New South Wales as it properly deserves, I shall not have lived in vain.’