Heaven Around the Corner

by Betty Neels

  It was an interminable time before she got there and in her haste she fell down twice and getting on to her feet again took all her patience and strength, but once there, she stood, fetching her breath, scanning the scene before her. The mountains stretched for miles, snow-covered, terrifying in their grandeur, but far more terrifying was the great bank of cloud, yellow at the edges, devouring the blue sky, and the first hint of the bitter wind hurrying it along at a furious pace. But it wouldn’t help to study the sky. She lifted her goggles and surveyed the slopes ahead of her. It took her a minute to spot Claudia, who had skied down the reverse side of the slope and was just beginning to work her way up on the farther side. She was following the route she and Lars had taken together, Louisa guessed. There was a narrow valley which would take her back towards the fjord. Louisa trembled at the thought of the journey ahead of her; she had never ventured farther than the spot she was on at that moment and she was frankly scared. But the longer she stood there, the more terrified she would be. She let out a ringing shout in the hope that Claudia would hear her and for a moment the distant figure paused, but then went on again. Louisa put her goggles back on, took one despairing look at the clouds racing towards her, and set off.

  Surprisingly it wasn’t as bad as she had expected. The slope was longer than the one she had practised on but no steeper. She reached the bottom, still scared to death but rather pleased with herself, too, and started the laborious climb up the other side. Claudia had disappeared over the ridge and heaven knew what nightmares waited on the other side. A few paper-dry snowflakes began to fall and Louisa, by a great effort, kept her pace deliberate. Hurrying would mean another spill and she hadn’t the time to waste. By the time she reached the top the snow was falling in earnest and it was getting ominously dark. She stood at the top, gasping for breath, and looked around her. There wasn’t much to see now, for there was a thick curtain of snow and the wind had gathered a ferocious strength. She gazed around helplessly. Claudia’s ski tracks had already been covered by the snow, and there was no way of knowing which way she had gone. She wiped her goggles, turned her back to the wind and shouted with all her might.

  There was an answering shout, very faint; impossible to tell from where it came. She couldn’t see the lower slopes ahead of her. Suppose she skied to the bottom, passed Claudia and had to come back? She would lose her way and make matters worse. She said out loud: ‘Oh, God, please give a hand,’ and just for a few seconds the wind dropped and the snow thinned, and away to her left, half way down, she saw a small dark object.

  ‘Oh, thanks very much,’ said Louisa fervently, and plunged downwards at an angle, going very carefully. She hadn’t learned to turn on skis yet and she hoped she had got the direction right.

  She had, she was on top of Claudia before she could stop herself, and they both fell in a mêlée of arms and legs and skis. Claudia was up first and pulled Louisa to her feet. She said bitterly: ‘I’ve been all kinds of a fool—I’m sorry, Louisa,’ which was the first time she had ever apologised to her. And probably the last, thought Louisa, busy brushing snow off herself.

  ‘We’ll have to make some sort of shelter,’ she shouted above the wind. ‘I asked Elsa to ring Simon, they’ll be out looking for us by now, but we’ll freeze if we stay here.’

  Claudia clutched at her arm. ‘There’s a hut somewhere close—we passed it when we came this way, Lars and I. It’s somewhere to the left, on an outcrop of rock, it’s got a turf roof.’

  Louisa remembered the string in her rucksack. ‘Let’s find it,’ she shouted back, ‘but we’d better tie ourselves together.’ She turned her back. ‘In the rucksack.’

  It was a botched-up job, what with thick mitts they dared not take off and granny knots which didn’t stay done up, but in the end they achieved a double line of string fastening them together. It would certainly snap if one of them fell, but it was better than noth ing at all. The snow was falling so thickly now that they couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them; but through the gloom it was still possible to make out the outline of the mountains whenever the wind dropped and the snow stopped swirling around them. Claudia remembered that the hut was on the lower slope of a mountain with a peak which towered above the rest. They had to wait a little while before she could locate it and even when they did they weren’t sure that they weren’t skiing in circles. When they at last saw the hut in front of their noses after several false starts they were ready to cry with fright and relief and tiredness—indeed, Claudia did burst into tears, and Louisa, on the verge of snivelling herself, told her sharply to stop at once. ‘Unless you want to die of cold,’ she said. ‘Get inside, do— I’ve got coffee with me and some bread and chocolate and we’ll do exercises to keep warm.’

  ‘No one will ever find us,’ wailed Claudia.

  ‘Simon will,’ declared Louisa stoutly. ‘I’m going to shine my torch presently.’ She had pushed Claudia into the tiny place and turned to look round at their surroundings. It was a very small hut but stoutly built, with no windows and an open small door, but at least it was shelter. She took off her rucksack, opened the coffee and gave some to Claudia, had some herself and then shared the food, and when they had devoured the last crumb she made Claudia jump up and down and wave her arms. It was difficult, the two of them in the tiny place, floundering about, bumping into each other, but she kept Claudia at it until they were both exhausted even though they were less frozen. Claudia sat down on the rucksack and declared that she had to rest even if she froze solid, and Louisa let her, for the time being at least.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know—I suppose I was disappointed and upset, and I don’t take kindly to not getting my own way, and I’ve always made a point of doing the opposite of whatever Simon has told me to do.’ Claudia gave a choked laugh. ‘If we ever get out of this I’ll be a reformed character!’ She glanced at Louisa. ‘Why did you come after me?’

  ‘I’m still in Simon’s employ.’ The thought of him made her want to cry. She said matter-of-factly: ‘I’m going to have a try with the torch. What’s the time?’

  ‘Just after two o’clock.’

  It seemed a lot longer than the two hours since she had started out from the house. Surely a search party would be out looking for them by now? She put her head cautiously round the edge of the door and saw that for the moment the snow had lessened, although the wind was still blowing hard. The thought of the journey back, if ever they were lucky enough to make it, made her feel sick.

  It was a pity that she never could remember SOS in Morse, but surely any kind of light in such a desolate spot would attract attention—if only it could be seen. And she had lost her sense of direction, too, which meant sending a beam to all points of the compass. Nothing happened; she repeated her flashes several times and then went to crouch inside again. Claudia had gone to sleep and Louisa wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. She decided not to wake her for half an hour and got down beside her on the iron hard floor, holding her close so that they might share each other’s warmth.

  The half hour went slowly. At the end of it she got up again, wakened an unwilling Claudia and after five minutes waving their arms and stamping their feet, she poked her head out once more. It seemed to her that the appalling weather wasn’t quite so appalling as it had been. She had no idea how long such storms lasted and as the daylight hours had already passed, it was too dark to see any possible landmarks, but she was sure that the snow was lessening. She flashed her torch and peered hopefully for a reply, and when there wasn’t one, flashed it again. Nothing happened. She would wait ten minutes and then try again. She took one last look and turned round to scan the gloom behind her—and saw a light.

  The torch was still in her hand; excitement made her drop it. She searched for it frantically, quite forgetting to shout. She had to have the torch; whoever it was might miss them and they would die of cold and hunger. She was still grovelling round, sniffing and sobbin
g under her breath, when someone swished to a halt within inches of her, plucked her off the ground and wrapped her so close that she had no breath.

  ‘So there you are,’ said Simon, and kissed her cold face hard and still with one arm round her, turned the torch slung round his neck so that it shone behind him. ‘The others will be here in a minute. Where’s Claudia?’

  ‘Inside.’

  He pushed her back into the hut and followed. He spoke gently to Claudia, who was in floods of tears, and only grunted when she paused long enough to say: ‘You took long enough—I could have died, and I won’t go back until the snow stops.’

  Simon had coffee with him. He shared it between them and they had barely finished it when men began crowding into the small place, cheerful men who declared that the weather was improving, offering more coffee, handing out sandwiches, making much of them. Arne, who had crouched beside Louisa, said kindly: ‘You see that now you are a good skier—you will no longer be afraid.’

  She smiled back at him. ‘Oh, but I shall! I’m a complete coward, and I’m so sorry that we—we got lost; that you all had to come and look for us, and in this appalling weather.’

  She didn’t know that Simon was behind her. She spilt her coffee when he said quietly: ‘You have no need to apologise, Louisa, it was very brave of you to follow Claudia, who should have known better. My God, what a trouble that woman has been to me, and how glad I am that Lars is fool enough to take her on for the rest of his life.’

  ‘They’ll be very happy,’ Louisa mumbled.

  They had two sledges with them. Claudia was wrapped up and strapped into one of them, but Louisa absolutely refused to travel on the other. ‘I’ll manage very well,’ she declared firmly. ‘It’s the last chance I’ll have of skiing before I leave and I don’t want to miss it.’

  They travelled in two files and Simon stayed with her the whole way, and when she fell over, which she did several times, he picked her up, dusted her down, and urged her on again, almost without speaking. She had never been so happy in her life before. The snow and wind were suddenly wonderful, the mountains not terrifying at all; she could ski and Mr Savage had turned into Simon at last. She closed her eyes, remembering his kiss, and fell over once more. They were almost home by then. Heaven, she felt sure, was just round the corner.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BUT HEAVEN WAS rather further away than Louisa had thought. There was a good deal of bustle and confusion once they were back at home. Claudia demanded a great deal of attention, declaring that she felt faint, that she must have a hot bath at once, that she needed food, that she must telephone Lars immediately. She had thanked the men perfunctorily before she had gone upstairs, and it was left to Louisa and Elsa to hand round coffee and pastries and thank them more warmly. And Simon, when she looked for him, had disappeared. She shook hands with their rescuers and when the last of them had gone, went slowly upstairs to Claudia, who was calling for her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked impatiently. ‘I want you to rub in that cream for me—my skin will be ruined. Lord, I’m tired!’

  ‘And so am I,’ observed Louisa shortly, making quick work of the creaming and bustling Claudia into bed without giving her a chance to think of anything else she wanted done. ‘Elsa’s staying late, she’ll bring you up your supper presently. I’m going to have a bath.’

  She was still in it daydreaming about Simon when he came back into the house. He didn’t stay long; Elsa told him that his stepsister was in bed and she thought Louisa was going to bed too. He thanked her quietly and went to the hotel and had a meal there—which was a pity, because presently Louisa went downstairs, looking a little wan, but nicely made up and wearing one of her Norwegian sweaters and a thick skirt, all ready to have her supper with Simon. But the table, she saw at once, was laid for one and when she asked, Elsa told her that Mr Savage had only called in for a moment to see if they were all right before going to the hotel.

  And although she was tired and remarkably sleepy by now, Louisa waited patiently until Elsa had gone home and the clock struck the hour of ten. But Simon didn’t come. If he had wanted to he would have been back by now—and what a good thing, she told herself, for she would have made a fool of herself if he had. It was time she learnt that kisses could mean nothing. She had no doubt that when they met in the morning he would be Mr Savage once more.

  She was right. She went down to breakfast alone, because Claudia was certain that she was going to have a cold, and found him already at table eating the heavenly porridge Elsa made so beautifully. He wished her good morning, barely glancing at her and enquiring after Claudia.

  ‘She thinks she’s caught a cold,’ said Louisa.

  ‘Impossible. The one thing you can’t get in these parts is the common cold.’ He spoke coldly, very sure of himself, and she gave his bowed head a loving look, suddenly conscious of the fact that tomorrow she would be having breakfast with him for the last time. She put down her spoon, quite unable to eat, and he said at once: ‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you well?’

  He sounded so impatient that she picked up her spoon again and made herself finish the bowlful. ‘I’ve never felt better,’ she told him. ‘I’m getting excited about going home.’

  He put down the paper he was studying. ‘I find that hard to believe,’ he observed evenly. ‘You don’t like your home—besides, you kissed me very thoroughly yesterday.’

  She went very red but met his eyes frankly. ‘I was very glad to see you—I thought we were going to die. I—I got carried away.’

  ‘Ah, you kissed me in fact under great provocation.’

  ‘I—well, yes, that’s about it. I’m sorry, I expect people do silly things when they’re a bit upset.’

  Simon lowered his eyes to the paper. ‘And not only when they’re upset,’ he observed.

  And that was the sum total of their conversation. Louisa did have a try just once. She began: ‘I do want to thank you…’

  His laconic ‘Don’t’ stopped her more effectively than anything else could have done.

  The storm had blown itself out. There was a great deal more snow, and the waters of the fjord carried small chunks of ice on its steely grey surface, but the sky was clear. There would be more storms, of course, but planes and helicopters were flying again, Lars would be coming to fetch his Claudia back to Bergen and Louisa would leave as had been arranged. No one had given her a ticket yet, although Simon had mentioned casually that he had it. She took Claudia’s breakfast upstairs, finished the last of her packing, and put on her outdoor things. There was nothing more for her to do until she left in the morning and her room, shorn of her small possessions, looked uninviting. The sky was clear and the brief day wasn’t far off. The little huddle of houses, painted in their cheerful blues and pinks and greens, gleamed in the street lamps’ bright beams and the snow reflected them, so that one hardly noticed the darkness. The shop was full and she went inside to say goodbye and then on to the quay to speak to Arne and several of the other men who had become her friends.

  She stayed talking for a few minutes and then struggled through the snow to the curve of the fjord to get a last look at the bridge. It was finished, they had told her, and was to be opened very shortly. Men were busy there now, packing up the scaffolding and piling it tidily at either end. When spring came, it would be taken away and the little wooden huts where they had worked during the winter months would go too. It was a beautiful bridge, curving gracefully across the grey water. Louisa turned away wanting to cry, then made her way back to the hotel, where she had coffee and a long talk with the owner.

  The afternoon dragged. There was no sign of Simon and Claudia had elected to stay in bed, exclaiming crossly that of course she had a cold and what did Simon know about it anyway. Louisa sat by the stove and tried to make up her mind what she would do. She had plenty of friends, but she had no intention of wishing herself upon them at no notice at all. And she couldn’t face her stepmother—she didn’t give Frank a thoug
ht. Somehow he had slid away into a past which wasn’t important any more.

  She had a solitary tea and went on sitting there, sad and forlorn and quite unable to be anything else. Elsa went presently and she took Claudia up the supper she had asked for and then laid the table for two.

  Simon didn’t come. Louisa ate her meal with a book propped up before her, staring at the same page without reading it, and presently went to bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did, to wake heavy-eyed when her alarm went at seven o’clock. She was almost glad that she would be going within an hour or so; to get it over quickly was all she wanted. She showered and dressed and packed her overnight bag, then went downstairs.

  Simon was at the kitchen table eating his breakfast and she sat down opposite him and began on the porridge Elsa put before her. He had said nothing beyond ‘Good morning’, but there was an envelope beside her plate. She looked at it and then at him and he said shortly: ‘Your salary, Louisa,’ and added after a tiny pause: ‘Thank you for all the care and attention you’ve given Claudia. It must have been tiresome for you. I hope you’ll find something—someone more congenial for your next patient.’