by Susan Barrie
Kurt, who sat a little behind her, could see the outline of her head against the vague sky, and the pale, delicate blur of her profile. Not even a hair of her head stirred, for there was no wind at that hour, and the slight hands locked together about her knees were as motionless as if they had been carved out of stone.
And then it happened! The widening of that line of light about the summit of the mountain, as if the slow-burning wick of a lamp was being suddenly turned up to its fullest extent. As on another occasion Melanie felt the breath catch in her throat, and she leaned forward eagerly over her knees while the arc of light widened still further and there was nothing between her and the promise of a radiant new world which was actually the promise of a radiant new day.
The snow on the mountain peak shimmered like an opal, and a sea of unbelievably tender blue began to spread tranquilly above it. A rush of lemon light poured in from the east, and then a rush of rose and amber which turned the snows to crimson fire. One star remained caught up in all that turbulence, and it glittered and hung suspended as if by an invisible thread.
“The gates of dawn!” Kurt murmured. “They’ll be wide open in a moment, and then the sun will rise!”
When it rose Melanie felt as if the first warm touch of it on her face was something miraculous. That decided chill of the early summer night which had caused her to feel thankful for the cosy comfort of her thick windcheater and stout tweed skirt was gone now—banished by the golden light which would soon flood the valleys—and she stretched forth her hands as if to seize it in her grasp and hold it up against her, and watching her Kurt saw that her whole face was irradiated by the brilliance which poured over her, and her eyes alight with wonder.
Another few minutes after that and the mountains stood forth clearly, the green slopes, and even the flower-filled meadows trailing like flowering skirts wrapped around their feet. There was the tiny church down there amongst the waist-high blossoms; the toy-like cows which were now left out all night to graze in the lower pastures, the blossom-wreathed wall of a farmhouse. The air had the sweetness of new wine, and a light breeze sprang up to temper the sudden warmth, Melanie felt it fan out the ends of her hair, and exhilaration shot through her as she turned to Kurt to thank him for this opportunity to see something she might never otherwise have seen.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she exclaimed excitedly, “wonderful!”
Kurt Muller smiled at her.
“Good!” he said softly.
For the first time since they had met she was sparkling and natural and completely youthful. Gone was that faint suggestion of something which might, or might not, have been unhappiness—he had not yet been able to make up his mind—that persistent little shadow which lurked in her eyes, and so often set him wondering. For a girl of her age who was completely heartwhole would not, he felt sure, look exactly as she looked sometimes, particularly when she was unconscious of anyone observing her. And yet on the other hand she was so practical, so full of what he considered sound common sense, that it seemed a little strange.
But the most level-headed fall in love! And with those wide fawn-like eyes she would not, he was sure, love lightly, when the time came.
It was something in the nature of a reward, therefore, to find her suddenly “coming alive,” as it were, and sparkling with enthusiasm, because on the mountain-top she had temporarily forgotten her cares, if she had any. At least at this moment she was anything but unhappy, and decidedly grateful to him for a most unlooked-for treat. With the idea of further bolstering up her sense of well-being and contentment he opened his knapsack and produced the coffee flask and the sandwiches.
“And now to breakfast!” he said.
They did not hurry back down the mountain, because for one thing this was one of the days when Dr. Muller did not report for duty at the clinic until evening, and Noel was quite safe in the charge of Trudi, who would look after her more than adequately. And it was so blissfully warm and inviting up there on the green slopes above the valley that Melanie was well content to linger.
And when they finally arrived back at the spot where they had left Kurt’s car he suggested having lunch at the little hotel, and because she did not like to refuse him Melanie agreed. Over lunch they discussed all sorts of things, including Noel and the progress she was making—he thought it essential that she should remain where she was for some considerable while longer if a permanent cure was to be ensured—and his work at the clinic among similar cases, and even Richard Trenchard, whom he had not so far met.
“Do you think he will be willing to allow you both to remain on at the chalet more or less indefinitely?” he asked. “He does realize the need—the vital need of doing all that is possible for his niece at this rather difficult stage of her trouble? She must not be allowed any set-backs, and you are so obviously excellent for her that it would be unwise to place her in the care of anyone else.”
Melanie looked uncertain.
“But even if I cannot remain she must—”
“And why cannot you remain?” he asked her bluntly.
She did not quite know how to answer this.
“Well, for one thing Mr. Trenchard may want to visit his chalet himself, and it is quite small—” She was thinking of Sylvia Gaythorpe and the amount of accommodation she would require if she decided to visit Zindenbourg—“And then I may have to return to England.”
He looked at her keenly.
“Is there any urgent reason why you must return to England?”
“No,” she answered, and shook her head. “No-o...” rather more doubtfully.
“Then Herr Trenchard must find accommodation at the hotel here, and you will remain at the chalet,” he said decidedly.
She smiled, and once again it was a faintly wistful smile, for there were reasons why she sometimes longed to return to England.
“We must put it to him,” she said. “I can say nothing about his plans. But perhaps it would be better if you wrote to Dr. Crofts.”
“Ah, that is it!” he exclaimed. “I will write to him tonight.”
She smiled this time a little teasingly.
“You will be on duty tonight at the clinic.”
“Then tomorrow morning! I will write first thing in the morning.”
“But please,” she insisted, “do make it clear to him—and insist that he makes it clear to Mr. Trenchard—that if he would prefer me to return to England I can now do so, for Noel is now so much improved that you could even take her as a patient at the clinic and she would not be upset by the strangeness. And I do not wish Mr. Trenchard to be at the expense of retaining me unnecessarily.”
“Believe me,” he assured her, “there is nothing unnecessary about your retention by Mr. Trenchard as a companion for Miss Noel. Without you she might slip backwards alarmingly, and in any case we are quite full up at the clinic,” decidedly.
Melanie sighed inwardly. Zindenbourg was wonderful, she loved being with Noel, and Trudi’s cooking was a dream ... But her heart was at Murchester, in the neighborhood of the Wold House, and if she could not actually be near Richard she could work once more for his sister.
... And he might come there sometimes!
But as it happened there was no necessity for Dr. Muller to write the next morning to Dr. Crofts, and for Dr. Crofts to get in touch with Mr. Trenchard. After a leisurely lunch and a further equally leisurely drive amongst some of the beauties of the countryside Melanie was deposited outside the door of the chalet just at the hour when Trudi began to think about getting English afternoon tea for her and Noel. And as she waved goodbye to the doctor, backing away down the road, a voice addressed her from the open doorway behind her and caused her to become transfixed for a moment.
“So you’ve returned, Miss Brooks!” said Richard Trenchard, the drip of ice in his voice.
Melanie managed to propel herself round to face him at last. She was clutching an armful of wildflowers, and her hair was in considerable disorder, after being blown abo
ut by all the winds of heaven since the dawn, and she looked tanned, and flushed-cheeked, and rather brilliant-eyed, in her clear blue linen shirt, which somehow seemed to emphasize the brilliance. But she could only stare in a kind of fascinated way at her employer.
“Well?” he demanded, in that crushingly cold tone. “I hope you’ve had a good day?”
“Yes, very,” she found herself answering meekly.
He stood aside for her to pass up the steps and join him on the balcony in front of the chalet, and Noel emerged from the living-room-dining-room and looked with dancing eyes at Melanie.
“You look as if you’ve had a marvellous day,” she observed, and relieved her of the flowers, inhaling their perfume with relish. “And all these from the top of the mountain? Uncle Richard must go with you one day and watch the sunrise!”
“I hope I’ve more sense than to waste my time doing anything so fruitless,” Richard responded at once tartly. “But no doubt Miss Brooks enjoyed the companionship of Dr. Muller, who is probably an excellent guide, philosopher and friend, and that of course makes a difference. How much of Zindenbourg have you explored in the company of Dr. Muller, Miss Brooks? And have you any plans for tomorrow?”
Melanie realized that although he was being sarcastic he was really icily angry with her. His face had a bleak look which actually almost frightened her a little, and the expression in his eyes was withering. She wanted to escape from that look in his eyes, but at the same time something like rebellion began to stir in her, and a dull sensation of anger made her decide that here and now she must stand up to him, or ever afterwards be a kind of slave to his dictatorial temperament. It was no concern of his what she did with her leisure hours—and surely she was entitled to leisure hours?—and her friends were no concern of his, either. In particular she resented his slighting reference to Dr. Muller, who had already done so much for Noel.
“I have no plans for tomorrow,” she answered him, in a tone which for sheer brittle unfriendliness matched his own, “and I should not have been absent today had I been aware of your coming. But you have only to look at your niece to feel quite satisfied that she has not been neglected, and in any case it is not my practice to make daily excursions in the district. Neither I nor Dr. Muller are in the habit of behaving like tourists—for one thing he would never be able to find the time!”
She was standing with her slender blue-dad back against a dark oak dresser on which were willow-pattern plates, and the peach-like color in her cheeks was higher than ever. Her little white chin was suddenly high in the air, and her brown eyes were no longer wistful and fawn-like but resentful and unmistakably sparkling.
“If only you had warned us of your intention of arriving like this I would have been here to receive you,” she added. “But you do not normally let us know when to expect you, do you?” with the recollection of his habit of taking them unawares—no doubt in the vague hope of being able to pounce and find fault!
“Is there any reason why I should?” he asked, his eyebrows going upwards a little, and obviously mildly surprised by her attitude, which was rather like that of a cornered stag unexpectedly turning at bay.
“No reason at all,” very clearly and coldly. “But it would be a little more considerate, wouldn’t it?”
“My dear child,” with a sudden, amused gleam in his eyes, “have you ever known me to reveal symptoms of overwhelming consideration for anyone?”
“No,” she answered truthfully, “I don’t think I have.”
“Well, that at least is perfect candor on your part!” He took out his cigarette-case and selected and lighted a cigarette without offering the case to her. Then he studied her thoughtfully through the haze of tobacco smoke. “You’re looking well,” he remarked. “Zindenbourg obviously suits you. And Noel is looking remarkably well.”
“Then I’m rather amazed to find you so critical,” she told him, through stiff lips.
“Are you?” For an instant she thought his expression softened a little, and the faintly whimsical look crossed his face. Then he frowned. “What is this fellow Muller like? And why didn’t he give me an opportunity to meet him? I shall want to have his report on Noel.”
“I don’t see that he could very well give you an opportunity to meet him when he didn’t even know you were here,” Melanie pointed out reasonably. “And as for his report on Noel, he was going to send it off to you tomorrow morning, with certain recommendations for her continued treatment.”
“The retention of your services here at the chalet figuring largely in the recommendations?” her employer suggested, flicking the ash from his cigarette into a blue-and-white pottery bowl on the table, and then looking at her almost challengingly. “I don’t suppose you can deny that, can you, Miss Brooks?”
To her annoyance she felt herself blushing almost guiltily. “So far as I am concerned,” she said defensively, “I am quite willing to return to England tomorrow if you wish, and allow myself to be replaced by someone else.”
“But Dr. Muller wouldn’t agree to that, would he?” with deceptive gentleness. “And as a matter of fact I don’t think I would agree to it, either!”
He turned to his niece, who was standing almost at his elbow with the white and blue and gold flowers hugged up in her brown arms, and suddenly tweaked an end of her flaxen hair, which had at last been shorn and was hanging in an attractive page-boy bob to her shoulders.
“You’re really beginning to look quite glamorous, Noel, my child,” he told her. “I shudder to think of my responsibilities in a few years from now, when the hordes of determined suitors start getting into their stride.”
Noel turned a delightful shade of pink, but looked pleased by the compliment. She was also secretly much amused by this open display of hostilities between Melanie and her uncle—perhaps because, as a looker-on, she saw rather more of the game than they two did themselves, and she was pleased to see Melanie standing up for herself.
“If you’re a very good girl,” her uncle told her, “I’ll take you out to dinner tonight—and Miss Brooks as well, if she’ll refrain from biting me between courses. Do you promise to hold your fire for one evening at least, Miss Brooks? You shall have other opportunities to rend me with your criticisms.”
“I have no desire to criticize you in any way whatsoever,” she assured him, unable to recover as quickly as he did from the direct attack.
He smiled at her whimsically.
“Well, both of you dress yourselves up so that I can feel proud of you and I’ll book a table for three—unless you’d like me to invite Dr. Muller as well?” with a satirical thrust at Melanie. “I shall be staying at the hotel for the next few days since there is no room for me here at the chalet, and I’ll collect you two young things about eight o’clock. Is that all right?”
They both answered that it was perfectly all right—the younger girl with enthusiasm, the older with marked restraint.
Richard Trenchard rose from the table on which he had been seated and favored them with an impartial smile.
“Well, see that you don’t keep me waiting—either of you! I never allow a woman to keep me waiting.”
“Not even Sylvia Gaythorpe?” Melanie wondered inwardly, and was sure that there had been many occasions when he had waited with justifiable impatience for Sylvia. And it was probably only a matter of hours before Sylvia herself appeared on the scene!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BUT as she dressed that night with far more than her usual attention to detail for dinner at the hotel, Melanie was conscious of a feeling like excitement which had suddenly taken possession of her because Richard was to be her host.
That morning she had watched the dawn break over the mountains with a feeling of intense loneliness in her heart because there was no one near enough to her in spirit to share the sheer wonder of those moments. Dr. Muller did not count. He was charming and friendly, and she was grateful to him for cutting short his period of slumber in order to make it possible for her to
witness such a display. But it was only the startling splendor of the sunrise which had caused her temporarily to forget that loneliness—and allow Dr. Muller to see how much she had been stirred by it. By the time they had returned home in the afternoon the exhilaration had passed, and a feeling of flatness—of anti-climax—had supervened.
And the sudden discovery that Richard was there waiting for her in the chalet, that for some reason he was almost hostile to her, had had at first almost a demoralizing effect. She had felt both guilty and afraid. And then courage had returned to her and she had faced him boldly. He had succeeded in arousing her anger. And then anger had evaporated in bewilderment, because he had asked her out to dinner.
Would she, she wondered, ever understand Richard? Did any woman understand him? Did Sylvia Gaythorpe understand him?
He bullied, he was rude, he coerced quite shamefully, he sometimes appeared to be utterly self-centred ... And then all at once he smiled, the typically Richard kind of smile, and her heart turned over...
Did other women’s hearts turn over like that when Richard smiled at them?
When he called for her and Noel at eight o’clock that night they were both ready and waiting. He had a car outside—his own familiar long grey one—but before he led them out to it he inspected the appearance of each quite gravely.
Noel was in white—the gauzy white dress she had worn at Christmas, with her childish row of corals round her slender throat. Melanie had made up the pale peach broderie anglaise she had bought recently, and it looked completely charming. There were narrow black velvet ribbons looped like a flower above the wide skirt, and a black velvet ribbon encircled her neck. Her hair looked silken and brown in the lamplight.
“Very nice,” Richard murmured approvingly, and he was looking at Melanie as he uttered the words.
Throughout dinner he was at his politest and most charming. He teased Noel occasionally, but towards Melanie his manner was entirely correct. He did not even mention Dr. Muller.