by Susan Barrie
“No.” But she was—tired and exquisitely content because they were seated side by side on a fallen tree trunk, and she wished they could remain there forever.
“We needn’t go on to the chalet if you’d rather not.”
“Oh, but I want to!” she exclaimed at once. Don’t, she implored silently, don’t cut short this perfect day that is the one thing that makes life worth living after such despairing days as yesterday and the day before!
Sir John took off his glasses and looked at her. His expression was grave and thoughtful.
“You came this way with Wern?”
“No, we never got as far as this.”
“Then you didn’t reach the chalet?”
“No.”
He picked up a handful of pine needles untouched by snow, and allowed them to slide through his fingers.
“But you have made quite a few expeditions with Wern?”
“We’ve never been really out of sight of the hotel. He has merely done his best to help me improve my skiing, and as an instructor he’s wonderfully patient.”
“As a surgeon we know he’s superb. What do you think of him as a man?”
“I think he’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met,” Lucy answered with a sudden little burst of warmth that escaped her in spite of herself.
Sir John looked at her sideways. Then he frowned slightly.
“I’m afraid I haven’t treated you very well these past two days, nurse,” he said.
Lucy allowed her voice to take on a note of frigidity that was unlike her.
“I think you rather formed the impression that I have been neglecting my duties,” she observed.
“Which of course you haven’t!” It might have been sarcasm in his voice, but it could have been apology. “The Nurse Nolans of this world don’t do that sort of thing, do they? That’s why Dr. Wern admires you so much. You make duty a kind of fetish and he probably does the same. It’s only people like myself—unsatisfactory fathers—who place their own interests before the interests of everybody else!” He got to his feet and held out a hand to assist her to rise from the tree trunk. “If we’re ever going to reach that chalet we’d better be getting on our way.”
Lucy, still retaining the support of his hand, looked up into his eyes that seemed to her all at once to be brooding and stormy, like stormy gray seas. She also felt strongly that there was an acute hurt somewhere at the back of them.
“You’ve been a very good father to Miranda,” she told him softly. “You’ve done all that you could do for her, and you’ve made it possible for her to walk again.”
“Wern did that,” he said brusquely. “And it was you who insisted that I got in touch with Wern, so the whole thing revolves around the pair of you once more!”
“Surely it doesn’t matter who it revolves around?” she asked, as he knelt to make the strap of one of her skis more secure. “The important thing is that Miranda is well again—almost completely well! And you’ve never even stopped to consider the cost of anything—you’ve lavished all you could lavish on Miranda! If you’d been a poor man—”
“Wern would probably have taken her into his clinic and done the job for nothing!” He stood up again, and they started to move forward through the pinewood. Lucy could feel that resentment was hammering at him and it was making him want to lash out at someone. “Have you ever really believed that being loaded with riches is better than being loaded with someone’s real affection? Because I can assure you that it isn’t! Miranda, for instance, would probably never notice it if once I went from here I never appeared on her horizon again! She would simply turn to these new friends of hers and, confident that they have everything she needs, forget all about her unsatisfactory past life! Even Abbott and Fiske—she’d probably forget them, too, because they’re linked with that life.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucy said quietly, soberly. This was something she had sensed vaguely would arise sometime, but now that it had arisen she felt powerless to deal with it. “Miranda is not really fickle. But she’s young and impressionable and she rather craves affection. She does need affection—”
“She’ll get it from her new friends.”
“But from you, too.”
He glanced at her sideways, a slightly mocking twist to his lips.
“She wouldn’t even expect affection from me!”
They were toiling up a particularly steep slope, and the chalet had at last appeared in sight, crowning the ridge above them. He paused to catch her by the arm as she all but stumbled into a deep drift, and she looked at him with faintly pleading eyes while the color in her cheeks was a wildrose color that held his look enchained.
“Perhaps ... perhaps when you marry again,” she suggested, “things will be different—”
“When I marry again?” he inquired, his dark brows suddenly meeting above the high bridge of his nose. “But there is no likelihood whatsoever of my marrying again! What made you think there was?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Perhaps it was her utter astonishment, and the feeling of disbelief that accompanied it, that made Lucy suddenly really careless about where she placed her feet; anyhow, all at once she was down, despite his touch on her arm, and lying with one ski under her in the snow.
He bent at once to lift her, but she winced as he placed strong hands beneath both her armpits and drew her up against him, supporting her with his muscular strength. His dark face was a picture of concern, for she was biting her lower lip hard, and he could see it, and also some of that fresh pink color had faded from her cheeks and she was looking rather white.
“I’m afraid I gave my ankle a wrench,” she admitted. “If you could unbuckle my ski....”
“Of course,” he said, and set her down gently again in the snow. He had both skis off in the minimum amount of time, and then he lifted her bodily into his arms and started to carry her forward up the snow-filled track to the chalet. Fortunately it was very near, looking like something out of Hans Andersen with its steep roof and little balcony and wooden steps. Sir John managed to get the door open and Lucy deposited on a couch covered in gay cretonne, and then he knelt down and examined her ankle and discovered that it was only a wrench, but there was a certain amount of swelling. He opened the knapsack and produced the flask of coffee and poured her out some, and then when the color was creeping back into her cheeks he gave a little sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness it isn’t any worse! But I doubt whether you’ll be able to ski back to the hotel.”
Lucy looked at him aghast.
“Then what will I do?”
Sir John smiled at her with extraordinary gentleness— the sort of gentleness she had once seen on his face when he had smiled at Lynette Harling. Only this time the transformation of his harsh, dark face was even more complete, and his eyes were miracles of compassion and understanding.
“Whatever happens, my dear, you won’t be left alone! I promise you that,” he told her. “At least, not unless we are on the verge of starvation and no help arrives. But Wern knows where we are, and if we don’t return he’s bound to send assistance because he’ll realize that something is seriously wrong.”
Lucy began to look relieved, and Sir John hunted around the chalet and discovered that there was wood piled up near the stove, and he got a fire going. Then he produced their picnic lunch and Lucy discovered that in spite of the slight pain in her ankle she was hungry, and the lunch Lise had put up for them in the knapsack was the kind that stimulated appetite.
After their meal was over she lay with her injured ankle resting in front of her on the couch, although already the swelling was subsiding, and if the worst came to the worst she would be able to ski back to the hotel, she thought, as she fingered it gingerly. Sir John, who was seated on the end of the couch with his hands clasped between his knees, watching her gravely, smiled slightly as he realized what she was thinking.
“No good!” he said. “It would never stand the weight of a ski.�
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Then he leaned a little toward her, and all at once the importance of what he had said to her outside in the snow just before she stumbled, came welling over her, and she wondered whether, after all, he had really said it, or whether perhaps she had imagined it.
“There is no likelihood whatsoever of my marrying again....
“No likelihood!”
Then what...? Why were they all so wrong? Mrs. Abbott, Fiske—Miranda! And had he not even hinted at it himself once, before Miss Harling came to Ketterings? And what about Lynette Harling? What about that magnificent engagement ring?
As all these bewildered thoughts flocked through her mind she did not realize that she was staring at Sir John rather strangely, and that there was a most curious expression in her own large eyes. If only she could be convinced— if only he would say it again! Those words that could put an end to so many nightmare imaginings, so many secret fears for Miranda! Even though it could make no real difference to herself—the fact that he was not going to marry again— that no other woman would have him....
“What is it?” he asked quietly, bringing a flood of color to her cheeks. “What is it, Lucy?”
Lucy felt utterly dumb and confused.
“Nothing,” she said, “nothing!”
“Are you sure?”
“Y-yes.”
He bent forward and possessed himself of one of her hands, inspecting the well-kept, delicate pink nails.
“Somehow I don’t think you’re being strictly truthful,” he said. Then, much more abruptly, looking directly at her, “Why did you say outside that things might be better for Miranda when I married again, Lucy—and whom am I to marry?”
“I ... I thought you were going to marry Miss Harling,” she replied in an embarrassed whisper.
His dark eyebrows arched themselves.
“Indeed! And what gave you that impression?”
“You ... you more or less said so at one time ... I mean, you hinted that there were going to be changes.... And then Miss Harling herself...! I thought you admired her tremendously.”
“I do,” he told her, with quiet emphasis. “As a dancer I think she is superb, and any man would recognize the fact that she is lovely! Ever since I’ve known her I’ve been immensely interested in her and predicted a spectacular career for her. I’ve also helped her in certain ways, but we are no more than friends. We never shall be anything more than friends!”
He heard Lucy give a kind of hurriedly caught-back little gasp, and try as she would, she could not prevent a certain light like sunshine on snow stealing into her eyes. He gripped the hand he held hard and suddenly he caught and gripped her other one just as hard. He could feel her trembling slightly.
“Lucy,” he said, “Lucy! Tell me one thing! Are you and Wern going to marry?”
Lucy shook her head.
“No.”
“Has he asked you?”
“He won’t ever ask me ... because he knows it wouldn’t be any use!”
Sir John’s eyes darkened, and his face seemed to pale a little. Lucy knew that she was clinging to his fingers, and although he was rigidly refraining from drawing her toward him, she was swaying up against him. He released her hands and caught her by her shoulders and looked right down into her eyes.
“Lucy,” he said, in a strange, repressed voice, “do you want me to marry again?”
Lucy’s blue eyes were swimming with a mixture of love and pleading.
“Please!” she gasped, and felt his arms close around her, and he held so tightly that she could hardly breathe.
When at last they drew apart Lucy’s eyes were rapturous, and it was Sir John who was shaking a little. Lucy’s lips were scarlet and burning from the first kiss she had ever received in her life that had opened the doorway to a completely new existence, and Sir John’s firm mouth was exquisitely tender.
“Oh, Lucy!” he murmured, “if I’d only known...!”
“I can’t think why you didn’t,” she answered, burying her face on his shoulder. “I always thought it was so obvious— that every time I looked at you I gave myself away!”
“And I thought you disapproved of me very strongly, although you tried to be nice to me sometimes for Miranda’s sake! I even thought you despised me!” He put his fingers under her chin and lifted it. “Instead of which you do ... love me a little, don’t you, darling?”
She shook her head.
“I love you so much that it’s been like a fire consuming me! I sometimes thought I’d die if you wouldn’t love me in return!”
His eyes glowed.
“My dearest!” he exclaimed. “Is that true?”
For an answer she again gave him her lips, and when at last he lifted his head he told her with so much sincerity in his voice that he was unable to keep it perfectly steady, “I don’t merely love you, Lucy—I can’t honestly imagine how I could have faced the future without you! To have had to stand by and watch you marry someone like Wern—even though he’s probably much more worthy of you than I am—would have been more than I could have borne, I think. You see,” he explained, gently stroking her cheek, “when you came into my life I was schooled into a way of existence that seemed to suit me at the time, but it was an existence that contained none of the softening influences. I expect I was pretty hard at that time, because although I can make money easily, I’ve never had very much happiness. My wife died when Miranda was still only a baby, and although I never loved her violently I was fond of her. Miranda—for whom I had plans although I kept them to myself—had that serious accident that looked like it would keep her an invalid for life, and I felt that was another deliberate blow. And then you suddenly arrived at Ketterings!”
“I thought you were cold and hard,” she told him, gazing at him adoringly. “I never dreamed I could make any impression on you.”
“You haven’t merely made an impression. You’ve made a slave of me for life!”
“I can’t believe it!” she whispered.
“You will, because I’ll prove it!” A passionate quiver crossed his face. “How soon will you marry me, Lucy, beloved?”
“As soon as you want me to do so,” she answered.
There was silence between them for several minutes, and then he said, “Do you think Miranda will forgive me for all my past neglect when I present you to her as a stepmother?”
Lucy’s face became suffused with the most radiant color. It was the first time she had been able to think of herself in that capacity, and she could hardly believe all this was true. Perhaps before long she would wake up and discover it was a dream!
There was a sudden, most curious rumbling noise outside the chalet and they lifted their heads to listen to it. To Lucy it sounded very like distant thunder, and yet it was thunder that grew louder moment by moment and was accompanied by a vague, rushing sound. The earth beneath them seemed to tremble as whatever it was that was gaining momentum outside came roaring down the mountainside like a miniature Niagara Falls and charged—or so it seemed—straight at the chalet.
Sir John did not move, but he held Lucy very tightly against him. She looked up at him wonderingly.
“What is it?” she asked.
He thrust her head down into his shoulder, and although she felt not the slightest fear, she shut her eyes as the roaring swept close beside the chalet, slicing past it like a knife, and then went on down into the valley, where, following another noise like a kind of muffled explosion, it settled down into silence.
Sir John’s eyes wore a kind of screen when Lucy looked up into them again. She could feel his heart thundering rather heavily against her.
“What was it?” she repeated.
“An avalanche,” he answered. “It wasn’t as close as it seemed, but it was close enough, and it’s probably blotted out our homeward path. Not much hope of our getting back on skis!”
But Lucy thought to herself, an avalanche! But it had passed them by! Like all the shadows in her life it had gone onward and left h
er secure at last with the man she loved.
This, then, was no dream!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The following evening, in the lounge of the Hotel Arlberg, Lucy sat enthroned in the most comfortable deep leather chair, while around her all the members of the Wern family looked at her with varying degrees of regret in their hearts, but with smiling goodwill lifted their glasses and toasted her future as Lady Ash.
Lady Ash!
She lifted her eyes quickly and met those of Sir John, who was standing just behind her chair, and his eyes seemed to kindle and come alive as he gazed back at her. Otherwise he was standing very still in his regulation evening clothes, a spare, dark figure with sleek head inclined slightly toward her, and one hand resting on the back of her chair.
A little glow filled her heart as the thought passed through her mind that if she wanted to put out her own hand and touch him she could. He was hers now! One day, soon, she would be his wife.
Miranda had only just allowed herself to be put to bed— not by Lucy, because her ankle was still swollen, and Dr. Wern was insistent that she rest it—and the events of that day had filled her with so much excitement that she was not likely to fall asleep very easily. For on top of the excitements of the day had been the anxiety of the night before—or rather, the anxiety had come first, but, fortunately, that was now stilled. But Miranda had been shaken by it. First the information about the avalanche that might have carried away the chalet, and then the possibility of getting through with a sleigh until so many hours had passed and daylight dawned again. Dr. Wern, she had known, had been consumed with anxiety, and she had hated his being anxious. But most of all she had been full of fears for Lucy—her one and only Lucy—and even her father’s uncertain fate had made her wish that she had been somewhat kinder to him while she had had the chance.