II
Hilda Derrington shot past her husband as they went down the Red Run towards the end of the afternoon. She sped over the hanging bridge and skidded to a halt on the slope above the Gentiana, pushed her sticks into the snow and waited for Freddie to catch her up. This was only one of a great many things she did better than h’Well? Has she given in yet?’ she demanded, when he drew level.
‘Has who given in? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Freddie wore goggles to protect his eyes from the sun; Hilda could not see his expression as they faced one another.
‘Oh, you do bore me,’ she sighed. ‘It’s the same wherever we go. Always you get the idea of making a big conquest. But this time you had some help, some threat. I know you managed to frighten Barbara Whittaker.’ She laughed, mockingly. ‘Silly woman. I could tell her it’s just bluster. What happened in Malta? I’m very certain you had no more luck with her then than here.’
‘There’s a painter fellow out there,’ Freddie said, sulkily. ‘She meets him every year.’
‘Ah ha. And her husband knows all about it, so she doesn’t really mind if you do tell him, except that it would be uncivilised if it all came into the open. You’ll never learn, will you?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Freddie muttered.
‘You’re like a little boy, begging for sweets,’ Hilda jeered at him. ‘It amuses me to watch you, but not when you make a fool of me as well as yourself. Locking me into the bathroom was so childish. As if that would give you time enough. Goodness knows you need all night when things are at their best.’
Freddie slid forward on his skis, raising a stick and glowering, but Hilda only laughed at him.
‘That’s right. Get good and angry, if you can,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see you manage something.’ Slowly she glided away from him, starting down the slope towards the hotel, not glancing back. Just as slowly, Freddie followed.
III
Fiona and Penny sat in the sun outside the restaurant at Obergreutz having a hot lemonade before going down for the last time. Already shadows were falling across the slopes below as the light faded; the sun, fiery gold, was low in the sky behind them. Their smooth faces shone with sun-tan oil, and their hair, long and glossy, the auburn and the blonde, was like silk in the bright light.
‘I’m getting out as soon as there’s transport,’ Fiona said. ‘Sorry to let you down and all that, Penny, but I can’t stand seeing him now, and there’s over another week to go. Weird, isn’t it? All of a sudden I hate him.’ She shuddered. ‘It must have been a sort of madness that got into us, starting up again, and then when June had that accident, it was all so easy—’
‘He can’t be very nice, Fiona,’ Penny said. ‘After all, he did marry her. And the way he chucked you with scarcely a word was pretty heartless.’
‘Niceness has nothing to do with it,’ Fiona said, bitterly. She looked at Penny. ‘You think I’m terrible, don’t you?’
‘I think you’re very stupid,’ Penny said, firmly. ‘I just don’t understand what you can see in a person like that. I’ve had some pretty rum customers on my tours before, but he wins the prize for all-out callousness. Fancy bringing June on a skiing honeymoon when she’d never done it before.’
‘Where else can you go in the winter?’
‘Oh, Tenerife. Or get married in the summer.’
‘He couldn’t afford to wait,’ Fiona said, in a harsh voice. ‘Her father settled a lot of money on her. He’s heavily in debt.’
‘And you fell for a man like that?’
‘I told you, niceness has nothing to do with it,’ Fiona snapped. ‘He could just turn me on in a way no one else ever has. But never again. I’m over it.’ She shivered. There was something strange about June’s accident, she knew: Roy should never have taken her up the Schneiderhorn that day; it didn’t make sense. But she also knew he was totally ruthless when anything stood in his way.
‘Well, I’m glad I’m not like you,’ said Penny, standing up. She stretched, and fastened the zip of her jacket. ‘I like my pleasures simple. Come on, time to go back, it’s getting cold.’
IV
Seeing the sunshine, Max abandoned Marlowe.
‘I have merely to check some references,’ he said to Patrick. ‘Let us have a long, healthy day on the mountain, for the pass will surely be cleared today and we shall have to return to the claims of our pupils.’
Accordingly they set off, leaving the breakfast for Helga to wash up, for after a telephone call to Kramms the professor seemed confident she would return during the day. They spent the morning on the summit of the Schneiderhorn, using the twin anchor drag from Obergreutz and the interlacing runs that connected with it. It was glorious up there in the thin, clear air; Patrick could feel it cold in his lungs. Round them ranged the mighty peaks of the mountains, jagged against the blue, and marked starkly by the dark lines of ravines and other surfaces too sheer to hold the snow.
‘Everyone should be compelled to spend at least a day a year in these regions,’ Patrick said. ‘For the good of his soul.’
‘It does bring home our littleness,’ Max said. ‘You find the mountains uplifting?’
‘Spiritually and physically,’ Patrick said.
They lunched at Obergreutz, sitting out on the terrace in the sunshine. It was crowded; everyone seemed to be there, people of all nationalities, many of whom Patrick had never seen before in his peregrinations around the village.
‘One would not think that Greutz could hold so many people,’ he observed, when he and Max had managed to find somewhere to sit with their bowls of stew.
‘They don’t all come from Greutz. Some are from Kramms, and the little villages at the other side,’ said the professor. ‘We’ll go down to Kramms after lunch. It’s a pleasant run, and the trip back by cable-car will be very agreeable on a day like this.’
‘Right,’ Patrick agreed. ‘Is it difficult?’
‘Not as hard as the Red Run back to Greutz. It gets icy sometimes under the trees, but today it will be beginner’s stuff,’ said Max, twinkling at Patrick through his spectacles.
Patrick saw Liz across the terrace; she made no sign of having noticed him, and he knew she did not want to talk to him. He did not think he needed her help to fit together the final pieces of the puzzle. Everyone else whom he had met in the village was up there, too; he saw Sue and Jan among a class of about sixteen others, mostly, girls, who were being chivvied along by a bronzed lehrer who punctuated his instructions with flattering quips as they stem-christied inexpertly over the wide plateau below the restaurant. Hilda and Freddie Derrington lunched with Penny and Fiona; then they took the anchor drag up higher, leaving the two girls alone. Francis Whittaker and Sam Irwin were skiing together; Patrick and the professor had met them on the summit; at lunch, they were joined by Barbara and Frau Hiller, who had come up on the chair to enjoy the superb panorama spread out around them and seemed content now to sit in the sun indefinitely, watching the skiers. Roy appeared, apparently alone; he sat on the steps, for want of a free seat, eating the packed lunch he had brought up from the Gentiana and with a big tankard of beer; he was hidden from Fiona and Penny by the side of the restaurant building. It was a colourful scene, with the whiteness of the snow splashed with the bright colours of the skiers’ clothing, the gay flags flying on the restaurant, and the clumps of skis, blue, yellow, red and black, standing upright in the snow.
‘Let’s see if Whittaker and Irwin will come down to Kramms with us,’ Patrick suggested, when he and Max were ready to go. The professor was very willing, and the other two men thought the plan excellent. Francis was familiar with the run, but Sam, like Patrick, modestly wondered if he could manage it.
‘If I can, you can,’ Patrick assured him.
They all had another beer together before setting off.
‘It’s amazing how much you can drink with no effects at all when you’re skiing all day,’ Sam remarked.
‘The altitude is convenien
tly dehydrating in its effect,’ the professor agreed. He finished his drink, stood up, and began to put on his skis, knocking the packed snow from the bottom of his boots with his sticks. He led the way down to Kramms, and Francis, as the next best skier, came at the end. It was indeed a lovely run, starting off with a gently undulating slope above the tree-line and eventually dropping to a narrow piste that wound through the forest, crossed to a stream, and presently emerged into the open fields leading into Kramms. They debated having another beer in the village before going up again, but decided not to put the drying effects of the thin air to the test so strongly until later. It was only a short walk from the end of the piste to the cable-car, and a cabin was waiting when they reached the station; soon, whining and whirring, it began the ascent back to Obergreutz. The valley fell away rapidly as they were swept up the mountain and they were able to pick out various landmarks below.
Patrick pointed to a chalet visible among the trees near the river bank.
‘Isn’t that the Chalet Edelweiss?’ he asked. ‘A widow, Frau Weber, runs it as a guest house, doesn’t she, Max?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ replied the professor. ‘It is sometimes used by travel agents sending out parties to study wild flowers. Many English people come there in the summer.’
‘You know Frau Weber, don’t you, Whittaker?’ Patrick went on.
Francis looked somewhat taken aback. Then he answered, calmly enough.
‘Yes. Her family hid me for several months during the war. I always call to see her when I come to Greutz.’
‘What happened to her husband?’ Patrick inquired.
‘He was at the Russian front during the war, but he survived,’ Max said. ‘He was killed in a climbing accident some years ago. Frau Weber has a son, a fine boy, a great comfort to his mother. He has just qualified as an architect. I am correct, am I not?’ he asked Francis.
‘Perfectly correct,’ Francis agreed.
‘I supplied a reference as to the young man’s character some years ago,’ the professor continued.
‘Did you? I never knew that,’ said Francis.
‘It was before the boy went to the university,’ the professor said. ‘I had just taken up my appointment at Innsbruck. Previously I was attached to Salzburg.’ He looked at Francis thoughtfully. ‘A fine young man,’ he repeated, slowly. ‘Very much like his father in appearance. A son to be proud of.’
Patrick had hitherto considered himself immune to surprise, but this conversation astounded him. He knew that Max had held his present post for eight years; the boy would have been seventeen or eighteen when he went to university, so that he must have been born in 1944 or thereabouts, after Francis had finally escaped. No doubt Herr Weber was not the only returning warrior who had to face such a situation. He saw that Francis meant to answer the professor, and decided to divert Sam, who was very astute.
‘You’ve enjoyed today’s skiing ?’ he asked him.
‘Very much,’ Sam said. ‘It’s amazing how quickly one forgets all that bad weather. Two or three days like this make the whole thing worthwhile. It was a great extravagance for me coming on this holiday, but I was ill before Christmas and I wanted to be at my best for this new production next month. I missed a great chance once before through ill-health. I did quite a lot of skiing when I was a student and always enjoyed it.’
‘You went to drama school?’
‘No. I read history. I started acting with the university dramatic society,’ Sam said. ‘I was a schoolmaster for a long time; then I decided to take the plunge.’
‘Brave of you,’ said Patrick.
‘Well, there was only myself to consider. I had no family dependent on me,’ Sam said.
The cable car arrived, swaying, at its platform on the mountain side, and when they disembarked from the scarlet cabin they found Barbara and Frau Hiller waiting to greet them.
‘We thought you must be having another beer in Kramms,’ said Barbara. ‘We wondered whether to come down to find you, but we decided you’d be on the way up as we went down.’
‘We came straight back, darling,’ Francis told her. ‘Not a drop passed our lips.’
Patrick marvelled anew at the nature of marriage; what an odd bargain these two had clearly struck: her summer trips to Malta; his winter visits to Greutz following the death of the man who had acted as a father to his son. No doubt in Dorset their double-harness worked efficiently; Francis looked after Barbara’s property, and she took care of his daughter. At least he had not washed his hands of Frau Weber after he moved out of her life. By contrast, how much more restful was the existence of a bachelor, free from emotional entanglements. Occasionally Patrick wondered if he were missing something valuable, but situations such as this one made him thankful not to be at risk.
They walked back towards the restaurant and the chair-lift, the men with their skis over their shoulders, and the two women unencumbered except for the shoulder-bags each carried.
‘We’d better go straight down and have tea in the village,’ Barbara said. ‘It’s getting cold.’
‘Yes, the sun is setting,’ Frau Hiller said.
‘We’ll see you later, then,’ Barbara said to the men. ‘Shall we meet at the Silvretta?’
It was agreed. Frau Hiller and Barbara went off to take the chair down, and the men put on their skis. They decided to take the Red Run. This time Francis took the lead; Sam went next; and Patrick followed. There were a lot of people going down for the last run of the day, and it was necessary to keep a good look-out to avoid collisions in the narrow parts of the piste. As he started off, Patrick glanced back to see if Max were following; he had finished adjusting his skis and was putting on his gloves ready to start. Once or twice during the trip down he looked back again, but he could not see Max behind him; however, he was the strongest skier and the least likely to come to grief, in spite of his extra years. Francis crossed the hanging bridge and stopped some way below it, above the Gentiana; Sam joined him, triumphant because he had skied well and held the pace; then Patrick reached them. They waited.
‘Where’s the professor?’ Sam asked at last. ‘He’s taking an awful long time.’
They went on waiting. There was no sign of Max.
‘Let’s ask someone if they’ve seen him,’ Francis said. He stopped the next man down and spoke to him, but he had seen no bearded man in any trouble on the run.
‘Perhaps he didn’t hear which way we were coming and has taken another route?’ Sam suggested. ‘He may be in the Silvretta.’
‘Let’s go and see,’ said Patrick.
Max was not in the Silvretta, and neither were Barbara and Frau Hiller. Jan and Sue, who were, had seen none of them.
‘He must be at the top still. I’ll go up,’ said Patrick.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Francis said.
‘Don’t bother, unless you want another run.’
‘Of course I’ll come. Anyway, another run down would round off the day nicely.’
‘If you’ll excuse me, I won’t chance it,’ Sam said. ‘I feel a bit stiff. Besides, I’m not as good as you two, and I might get in the way.’
‘Right. Perhaps you’d wait for Barbara and tell her what’s happened,’ said Francis.
Sam agreed and sat down with Sue and Jan. Patrick and Francis went back to the chair-lift terminus. When they reached it they found Barbara standing there, looking anxious.
‘Frau Hiller hasn’t come down,’ she said. ‘She wanted me to go ahead of her, and when I looked back she wasn’t on the next chair. I thought perhaps she’d simply missed it, but there was a big gap before the next person. I was wondering whether to go up again and look for her. Maybe she’s been taken ill.’
‘We’ll look for her,’ said Patrick. ‘We’re going up again.’
Francis cast a swift glance at him. He had not mentioned Max.
‘Sam’s waiting for you in the Silvretta, darling,’ Francis said. ‘You join him. We’ll see what’s happened. Maybe she felt giddy or
something.’
‘I hope she’s all right. She was very quiet all afternoon, but she seemed quite well. I suggested coming down earlier, before you all got back from Kramms, but she wanted to stay on the top.’
‘Well, don’t worry. If she’s feeling groggy, we’ll see she gets down safely,’ Francis said.
‘All right,’ said Barbara, but she still looked doubtful.
‘We’d better get straight up,’ said Francis to Patrick, moving out to the platform.
‘Yes.’ Patrick followed him.
‘Off you go, darling,’ Francis called to Barbara. He looked at Patrick. ‘I know there’s something going on, but I’m not sure what,’ he said. ‘Explanations later.’
‘That’s right,’ Patrick said.
It was impossible to communicate throughout the journey to Obergreutz, and Patrick sat fuming with impatience in his chair. Francis, in front, seemed to be admiring the scenery. There were only a few descending passengers; Patrick scrutinised them intently in case Frau Hiller or the professor were among them. When they reached the top there was no one about; the sun had sunk low and it was very cold.
‘Not a sign of them,’ Francis said. He lifted his skis on to his shoulder. ‘We’d better try the restaurant. If she isn’t feeling well, that’s where Frau Hiller will be.’
He pushed open the door of the restaurant and they went in. There were just a handful of skiers and a group of lehrers waiting till the last tourists had gone down, before they made their own descents to see that the runs were clear. Frau Hiller and the professor were nowhere to be seen.
‘Max is well known here. If we ask the lehrers, they’ll know who we’re looking for,’ said Patrick.
Silent Witness (Dr. Patrick Grant) Page 15