LordPeter List Literary Contest

My friend and I were sitting in the lounge of the hotel, which was redolent with the strong odor of sweet coffee, the pungent scent of the liqueurs, and the perfume of the ladies seated at the small tables around us. All the ladies were dressed as though to emulate another time, with ostrich feathers waving and fans coyly masking their faces. Our attention was drawn to a young woman, not in the first bloom of youth and wearing a plain costume, who entered the lounge and took a seat not far away. "What a bore this place this!" said my friend, lighting another cigarette. "Ah, but now, here is someone to give us a new subject of conversation."

"She is not very attractive," I murmured. "That is beside the point. It matters little whether a woman is ugly or beautiful; it is whether she thinks herself ugly or beautiful that is important."

"And which does this woman think herself?"

"She does not care!" exulted my friend. "That is what is so extraordinary."

I turned my eyes away from the woman at the table and returned my gaze to the dancing couple at the center of the floor. They were obviously professional dancers, and moved with a languid and easy grace that quite took my breath away. The man was slender, tall, with high cheekbones and a wide, passionate mouth; the woman was possessed of lustrous brown hair, a slim figure, and a charming pout, and was wearing an elaborate gown of an extraordinary colour of pink, reminiscent of petunias.

My friend chuckled. "My dear fellow," he said wickedly, raising his eyebrows, "You are quite taken with her, are you not? Or do you prefer the peacock to the flamingo -- perhaps you covet them both? What ordinary tastes you have, to be sure. I know him well -- very well, in fact -- and he quite reeks of boredom. He is never gay, but always low in his spirits, and can talk of nothing but his relatives. She, on the other hand, cares for nothing but money. Money and relations: even when they go hand in hand, they are the dullest subjects on earth."

"Nevertheless, I might ask her to dance this evening," I said. "Oh, do, please do, my dear friend! There is no doubt that she will be smitten by your charms. Especially if a gratuity is included." He sat back in his chair and raised his hand in summons to the waiter, stifling my protest, then ordered another drink for each of us. Raising his glass as if in toast, he saw the expression on my face and lowered his hand. "No insult taken, I hope? You know I would not hurt you for the world."

"No insult taken."

"Ah, then, you see, don't you? None of this is real; it is all a game, a beautiful game. They are the players; all of them," he gestured at the surrounding tables, "all of these wasted old hags and fat gentlemen, and the modern young ladies with the thick waists, who look as though they belong on a tennis court, and you, if you care to play -- even I, should I wish to partake in this farce -- all of us, except --" his gaze returned to the dark-haired woman alone at her table, "except that one woman. Extraordinary." His fingers curled around the liqueur glass, green liquid showing between, and he drew on his cigarette. "She has quite undone me. I should very much like to meet her; there is some mystery about that woman."

-- the glass-blower's cat

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