CHAPTER XXVIII.
GUDRUN IN THE POMPADOUR
Christmas drew near, all four prepared for flight. Birkin and Ursula
were busy packing their few personal things, making them ready to be
sent off, to whatever country and whatever place they might choose at
last. Gudrun was very much excited. She loved to be on the wing.
She and Gerald, being ready first, set off via London and Paris to
Innsbruck, where they would meet Ursula and Birkin. In London they
stayed one night. They went to the music-hall, and afterwards to the
Pompadour Cafe.
Gudrun hated the Cafe, yet she always went back to it, as did most of
the artists of her acquaintance. She loathed its atmosphere of petty
vice and petty jealousy and petty art. Yet she always called in again, when she was in town. It was as if she HAD to return to this small, slow, central whirlpool of disintegration and dissolution: just give it a look.
She sat with Gerald drinking some sweetish liqueur, and staring with
black, sullen looks at the various groups of people at the tables. She
would greet nobody, but young men nodded to her frequently, with a kind
of sneering familiarity. She cut them all. And it gave her pleasure to
sit there, cheeks flushed, eyes black and sullen, seeing them all
objectively, as put away from her, like creatures in some menagerie of
apish degraded souls. God, what a foul crew they were! Her blood beat
black and thick in her veins with rage and loathing. Yet she must sit
and watch, watch. One or two people came to speak to her. From every
side of the Cafe, eyes turned half furtively, half jeeringly at her, men looking over their shoulders, women under their hats.
The old crowd was there, Carlyon in his corner with his pupils and his
girl, Halliday and Libidnikov and the Pussum--they were all there. Gudrun watched Gerald. She watched his eyes linger a moment on Halliday, on Halliday's party. These last were on the look-out--they nodded to him, he nodded again. They giggled and whispered among themselves. Gerald watched them with the steady twinkle in his eyes. They were urging the Pussum to something.
She at last rose. She was wearing a curious dress of dark silk splashed
and spattered with different colours, a curious motley effect. She was
thinner, her eyes were perhaps hotter, more disintegrated. Otherwise
she was just the same. Gerald watched her with the same steady twinkle
in his eyes as she came across. She held out her thin brown hand to
him.
'How are you?' she said.
He shook hands with her, but remained seated, and let her stand near
him, against the table. She nodded blackly to Gudrun, whom she did not
know to speak to, but well enough by sight and reputation.
'I am very well,' said Gerald. 'And you?'
'Oh I'm all wight. What about Wupert?'
'Rupert? He's very well, too.'
'Yes, I don't mean that. What about him being married?'
'Oh--yes, he is married.'
The Pussum's eyes had a hot flash.
'Oh, he's weally bwought it off then, has he? When was he married?'
'A week or two ago.'
'Weally! He's never written.'
'No.'
'No. Don't you think it's too bad?'
This last was in a tone of challenge. The Pussum let it be known by her
tone, that she was aware of Gudrun's listening.
'I suppose he didn't feel like it,' replied Gerald.
'But why didn't he?' pursued the Pussum.
This was received in silence. There was an ugly, mocking persistence in
the small, beautiful figure of the short-haired girl, as she stood near
Gerald.
'Are you staying in town long?' she asked.
'Tonight only.'
'Oh, only tonight. Are you coming over to speak to Julius?'
'Not tonight.'
'Oh very well. I'll tell him then.' Then came her touch of diablerie. 'You're looking awf'lly fit.'
'Yes--I feel it.' Gerald was quite calm and easy, a spark of satiric
amusement in his eye.
'Are you having a good time?'
This was a direct blow for Gudrun, spoken in a level, toneless voice of
callous ease.
'Yes,' he replied, quite colourlessly.
'I'm awf'lly sorry you aren't coming round to the flat. You aren't very
faithful to your fwiends.'
'Not very,' he said.
She nodded them both 'Good-night', and went back slowly to her own set. Gudrun watched her curious walk, stiff and jerking at the loins. They heard her level, toneless voice distinctly.