by Susan Barrie
When she returned from the luncheon party she looked at Melanie oddly.
“Why weren’t you invited too?” she demanded. She was wearing a gay dirndl skirt and an embroidered muslin blouse which became her very well indeed, and her eyes were blue and challenging and vaguely anxious as well. “Melanie! It’s that beastly Sylvia, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Melanie asked quietly, looking surprised.
“Oh, you know what I mean!” Noel threw herself into a chair on the balcony and scowled up at her constant companion of so many weeks. “She’s planning to marry Uncle Richard, isn’t she? And I’ve got a horrid feeling right down inside me that she’s going to pull it off, too, this time! She’s softer, more coaxing—less demanding! I don’t think she’ll leave here until he announces their engagement.”
Melanie was engaged on a piece of very fine needlework, and as this involved looking into the stitches very closely there was some excuse for her not looking up.
“Well, Noel, my dear, there’s nothing you can do about it,” she said, as if she was not even particularly interested. “And you may get on with her very well once she’s married to your uncle.”
“But I wanted him to marry you,” Noel almost wailed. “And he’s been so nice and kind of attentive to you lately that I was really beginning to hope—especially when I thought he was jealous of Dr. Muller!” She studied Melanie in silence for a moment. “Didn’t you think he was a little bit rude to Dr. Muller that first night when he called in to see us here, and Uncle stayed to dinner? And especially after you climbed the mountain with Dr. Muller!” She smiled faintly, reminiscently. “He looked daggers at you both when you rolled up that afternoon, you with your arms full of flowers, and after you’d obviously had a nice day...”
“That was because he thought I was neglecting my duty,” Melanie said quite quietly.
But Noel shook her head.
“It wasn’t. He was positively furious. And he looked angry when he arrived and found that you weren’t here to give him an official welcome. He wasn’t a bit interested in me and my progress.”
Melanie, however, was not to be drawn.
Noel persisted.
“You do like him a little bit, don’t you, Melanie?”
Melanie once more appeared surprised.
“Of course I like him—he’s my employer.”
Noel endeavored not to allow her exasperation to get a hold of her.
“But even if he wasn’t your employer—as a man—as Richard Trenchard, playwright, novelist—whatever he is.” Melanie had to re-thread her needle, and despite herself her fingers shook a little. Noel rose quickly and went over to her and sat on the arm of her chair, sliding a coaxing slim brown arm about her neck.
“Oh, Melanie, darling, I did so want to have you for an aunt, and I know Mrs. Abbie wanted you for a mistress at the Wold House. We’re both going to be so deadly disappointed if he marries Sylvia—”
But Melanie had suddenly had more than enough, and she rose and thrust her needlework into her work-basket and the work-basket into a drawer. Her face, bending over the closing of the drawer, was pale and set, and she actually seemed to be breathing a little unevenly, as if she was coping unsuccessfully with some strong feeling of emotion that refused to be bottled up, and her hands were shaking so much that the drawer refused to shut. “Melanie!” Noel exclaimed.
But Melanie darted away into her room and closed and locked the door, and Noel stood gazing after her in a kind of stupefaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WHEN Dr. Muller returned, Noel was received into his clinic as a patient under observation for a short while. She was not at all pleased when she first heard that she was to enter the clinic, but Melanie managed to convince her that it was not because there was any doubt about her progress, but because Dr. Muller wished to have her under his eyes for a while in order to decide what was best for her in the future. After that she ceased grumbling and became reconciled to the idea.
Her uncle drove her to the clinic, and Melanie accompanied them on the back seat of the car together with Noel’s light luggage. Sylvia—who disliked the atmosphere of any hospital—had sent her a bright and breezy note through Richard, and a bed-jacket of pale pink lace lined with satin and edged with swansdown. She had also bestowed upon her a bottle of perfume in a gilt casket, and Richard had added a small mountain of books and an outsize box of chocolates.
When they reached the clinic Melanie saw her settled in her room, which was quite cheerful, although simply furnished, and then had tea with Dr. Muller and Richard in Dr. Muller’s own private office. After that Richard drove her back to the chalet, and he seemed to linger unnecessarily before taking his departure.
“You’ll be all right with Trudi?” he asked, looking at her almost uncertainly. “You won’t be too lonely?”
She assured him that she would be perfectly all right, and she did so with so much composure and quietness that she seemed to puzzle him a little, and he postponed his leave-taking for another full quarter of an hour.
“Of course, I could book you a room at the hotel—”
“Oh, no, thank you,” she said hastily, at that. “I would much prefer to be here.”
He regarded her with faintly upraised eyebrows, and a quizzical look in the eyes themselves.
“You are perhaps one of those people who enjoy your own society more than the society of others?—with a few carefully chosen exceptions, of course!” rather drily. “But in case you should be lonely, or for some reason require advice or assistance, I shall be at the hotel until the day after tomorrow. I am returning to London on Friday.”
“I see,” she said quietly, and she thought: Then this is almost certainly our goodbye! He will not come here again to see me before he leaves!
He held out his hand to her.
“Dr. Muller has promised to send me a full report on Noel at the end of the week, and what we shall do with her after that will depend entirely on the opinion he forms of her while she is with him. It may be that he will suggest school for her—a school he can recommend out here, or possibly in Switzerland—if he thinks her fit enough, but if he decides that she is better where she is for the time being, can I depend upon you to remain with her?”
Melanie did not answer immediately, but at last she said,
“Yes; you can depend upon me.”
“Good!” he exclaimed.
Trudi appeared in the doorway to inquire whether he would be remaining for the evening meal, but he shook his head hastily and stood up, as if he had only suddenly realized that he was wasting valuable time and was due back at the hotel.
“No, Trudi, thank you—although there’s nothing I enjoy more than your famous savory omelette.” He patted her on her plump shoulder and she beamed at him regretfully. “Look after Miss Brooks for me, Trudi, and see that she doesn’t wander too far afield. We can’t have her climbing mountains, or anything of that sort, while there’s only you around.”
He shook hands again with Melanie, and this time he seemed to retain her slim fingers in his cool clasp for a slightly longer period than was strictly necessary.
“Au revoir, Miss Brooks. We shall meet again before very long!”
“Goodbye,” she got out, rather stiffly, and he smiled a little one-sidedly.
“I said Au revoir,” he reminded her, and then went running down the steps to his car.
That evening seemed the longest Melanie had passed for a long time. She missed Noel’s bright chatter, and she felt, although she tried not to do so, acutely lonely as she sat turning over the pages of magazines in the living-room after dinner. When she went up to bed at last she stood for a long while on the balcony of her room staring upwards at the far-away stars, and thinking that they seemed as isolated and remote from every human contact as she was herself.
In the morning she told Trudi at breakfast that she was going for a picnic by herself, and although Trudi cautioned her not to go too far away she willingly
packed up her luncheon and placed it in a neat satchel which Melanie could wear slung across her shoulder. Then Melanie dressed herself in shorts and a cool blouse which she wore open at the neck, and tucking a cardigan into the satchel set off through the lilac haze of a perfect morning—which promised great heat as the day advanced—on what she felt was something of an adventure, for this was the first time she had gone walking alone in Austria.
Trudi stood in the doorway of the chalet and waved to her for so long as her slim figure remained in sight, and then the house-proud one returned to her duties, singing blithely as she began them.
Melanie had formed her intention of spending the day out of doors as a result of the sheer splendor of the morning, and after she had been walking for about half an hour her spirits felt so uplifted by the exercise that she was glad she had taken that decision. Already the smiling pageant of summer was moving towards a close that would be triumphant in Zindenbourg, where the golden glory of the autumn gave place to the white wonder of winter, and if the peak of exquisite freshness and loveliness was passed—like the dawn on the mountain-top—the full maturity of high summer, when hues must suddenly begin to fade and the eagerness of young growing things which had achieved their goal abate their enthusiasm, had a soul-satisfying charm of its own.
Melanie looked around her at the deep green of pasture-land where the sun beat down so fiercely that the lushness of the coarse grass was becoming tinged with a kind of rusty gold. And the flowers although brilliant were not so plentiful, and the cattle browsed as if half awake in the sunshine. Only the cool, sparkling freshness of the snows, so far above her head, had a link with the gentler days that were passed.
Without any set plan or intention Melanie decided that it would be pleasanter to climb, if she was to escape the heat of the valley. The last time she had passed this way had been in a car with Dr. Muller, when they set out to conquer a mountain peak before the sun rose over the land, and on that occasion they had left the car after only a very short distance, and had started on the upward path. Melanie realized now that already she had covered that same short car journey on foot, and had reached the point at which they had begun to fight their way upwards.
It was not such a very steep climb after all, and after a summer in the mountains she had become very lithe and fit and vigorous, and she felt certain she could do it alone, and with ease. After all, Dr. Muller had merely assisted her with an occasional hand beneath her elbow, and that had been when she was still comparatively new to a rarefied atmosphere, and when she had lacked the elasticity in her bronzed limbs which she now possessed. And she had the whole long day before her, and no desire to return home before evening.
She looked upwards at the snows, which still soared several thousands of feet above the spot from which she had watched the sunrise, and the ledge she wished to reach struck her as being no more than a little outcrop of rock overhanging the road winding on into the mountains.
Seating herself to enjoy a rest before attempting the ascent, she refreshed herself with a nibble at a sandwich and an apple, and then slaked her thirst with a draught of ice-cold water from a nearby rivulet. After which she hitched up her shorts, opened the neck of her blouse still wider so that her creamy-gold skin was fanned by what little breeze there was, and then started to climb.
When she reached her objective and threw herself down on the cool, sweet grass she realized that it had not been an easy climb. She was panting a little from her exertions, and her brow was wet. But the view spread out for her was so well worth the effort that she simply lay there gazing at it and marvelling afresh at the extraordinary clarity of the atmosphere which caused objects moving in the fields so far below her to retain so vivid and sharp an outline that it was a simple matter to identify them.
She recalled now that the thing which struck her most when she had been with Dr. Muller was that this extraordinary sensation of existing in space and having no part or lot with the earth was in no way a dizzy sensation, and that she had no urgent desire to precipitate herself off the ledge into the valley below, which was the way some heights affected her. On the contrary, as she lay there recovering her strength after her climb she felt amazingly at peace with herself and the world—as if the world for her no longer existed, and there was nothing but untroubled blue and green and gold, lapping her in waves of sensuous unreality.
But after a while she sat up and discovered that she was hungry, and finished the rest of her sandwiches and the fruit and the thermos-flask of coffee which Trudi had placed in the satchel for her. After that she felt that she could contemplate yet another climb with equanimity, but was wise enough to think about beginning the descent before the shadows of late afternoon began to fall about her.
It was already much cooler at that height, and she was glad to put on the cardigan she had brought with her. Then she started to make her way downwards, putting each foot forward in the careful manner which Kurt Muller had insisted was highly important if accidents were to be avoided. But even so, when she skirted a somewhat perilous edge, she found it was not quite such a simple matter as climbing up, and she began to realize that she would be glad when she got to the bottom. She missed the support of Kurt Muller’s hand underneath her arm, and the confidence his voice had filled her with.
Pausing after a short distance to have another rest—and possibly to get back her courage for another attempt—she thought of her employer down in the valley, almost certainly at that hour having tea on the terrace of the hotel with Sylvia Gaythorpe pouring it out for him, and looking as glamorous as only she knew how in something created especially for her in London. Or maybe she bought her clothes in Paris, which probably accounted for the fact that she seldom had very much money to do anything else with. But once she was married to Richard she would, have enough money to do most of the things she wanted, and Richard would be able to glory in the possession of a wife who outshone every other woman in their circle of friends for sheer, downright, polished sophistication and beauty adorned as its perfection demanded.
And no doubt that would make Richard tremendously happy, for he had a fastidious dislike for the careless and imperfect, and his work would be inspired by constant contact with one who knew how to charm and allure.
Or would he perhaps find so much charm a little cloying after a time? A little inclined to interfere with his work?
It was just possible. But that was his affair...
Melanie realized that it was rapidly growing cooler, and she would be wise to get on her way. But barely had she once more started the descent when a sudden, sharp pain ran through her ankle, and to her horror she realized that she had twisted it on a loosened piece of boulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE pain was intense, and the ankle was swelling badly. Melanie seated herself beside the track and tried to ease it a little by stretching it out in front of her, but to small avail. She regarded the angry puffing up of the flesh above her neat brogue shoe with eyes that reflected her concern, and wondered how soon it would be before she dared put it to the ground again.
For the first time it was borne in upon her that she had been a little foolish, to say the least, to risk climbing a mountain quite on her own, and even though she had achieved the ascent to the summit so easily she was now being rewarded for stupidity by finding that the descent to the valley was the real test of an experienced climber. And not being an experienced climber she was now in a somewhat awkward predicament.
But the sunlight was still falling goldenly about her, and the sky was still blue overhead, and there was no reason at all, she felt, to panic. After a brief rest, she would risk putting her foot to the ground, and somehow or other she would limp back to Zindenbourg a degree or so wiser than when she set out.
She tied her handkerchief tightly about her ankle to try and reduce the swelling, and then got to one foot and leaned against a conveniently large outcrop of rock behind her, but the instant she placed her other foot within a bare half inch off
the ground the agonising pain shot through it. She gasped, and went white.
What in the world was she going to do ...?
Half an hour later she was still pondering the problem, in increasing anxiety. She had managed to crawl on her hands and knees a few yards down the path, but even that short distance had been accomplished with so much physical suffering that she knew she would have to give it up. Her face and her hands were wet with perspiration, although the keen air on the mountain was so much colder now that the rest of her body was rapidly becoming chilled. She wished that instead of shorts she had worn a skirt or slacks, and that the cardigan she had stuffed into the satchel which also contained her picnic meal had been her comfortable windcheater.
Another half hour passed, and another, and now the sun had lost all its mellow golden warmth and was becoming tinged with a touch of red. Mist was rising up in the valley—not much more than a haze, it was true—but it cloaked it from her sight, and the frozen peaks above her soared in a kind of angry brilliance into a sky that was streaked with flame.
If weather portents meant anything, tomorrow would be a fine day—another day of magnificent, searing warmth and color, but the night that was coming on would have the sting of the cold stars in its breath, and would sting her also to the very core of her being.
But still she refused to panic unreasonably. Somehow—somehow she would manage to get herself off the mountain, or someone would come along and help her. Surely someone would come along! But who? She had met no one at all on her upward climb, and at this wrong end of the day it was even less likely that an unfrequented track such as the one she was on would produce for her benefit someone to succour her. And yet she clung to the thought that it might...
Trudi—Trudi would wonder where she was if she didn’t return soon, and Trudi would so something about it...