Doctor's Orders (14 page)

It was difficult to tell how far it had progressed, since Anthea would not talk about it; but her mood of content was sufficiently remarkable to arouse suspicion. Every evening, soon after dinner, she rose, gave the assembled guests a charming goodnight and retired. Whether they thought she went to bed or not, Diana did not know; but
she
knew that Anthea then went out to meet Hans.

One day, she talked lightly of their return to London.

“It will not be so long,” she said, “before the six mo
nt
hs have passed. You will be glad to get back to all your friends.”

“Will I?” asked Anthea, her eyes innocent, but her voice faintly challenging.

“Well, won’t you?” countered Diana.

“I don’t know. I enjoy myself here. I like it here. And if it has done me so much good, I suppose it will go on doing me good.”

“You are so much better now that you could probably move to another place with a little more life.”

“I find plenty of life here,” said Anthea. “Plenty.”

“Of a different kind,” said Diana.

“A better kind,” supplemented Anthea.

“In other circumstances I would agree; but in these, no, I can’t agree. You are not doing any good to anybody.”

“Oh, that wasn’t the point, Diana. I was simply saying that I find life here. And, if it comes to that, I am doing a great deal of good to myself—physically and otherwise.”

“A selfish point of view, when others suffer.”

“Others suffer? Not Hans, certainly. I think he enjoys himself as much as I do.”

“And Katrina?”

“Oh, bother Katrina. Why doesn’t she
do
something if she suffers so? And after all, not everybody who loves can be loved in return. You’ll have a heartache about half the people in the world, if you’re going to start worrying about that.”

“But don’t you see, the trouble is that, when you’ve gone, Hans and Katrina are both left here
—
with everything between them spoiled.”

“
When
I’ve gone,” said Anthea softly.

“And that will be comparatively soon,” said Diana.

“Will it? Why should it be? If this climate is good for me, why shouldn’t I spend the winter here?”

“What here, at the Morgenberg? But they shut it up.”

“I didn’t mean here; but in the valley. In a hotel, or even in a small flat. After all, my father has plenty of money. If I wanted to live here permanently, he could easily afford it. There’s no real reason why I should go back to London at the end of six months, is there?”

Diana was afraid to ask Anthea her intentions outright, fearing to precipitate a crisis; but she felt that she would no longer carry this burden alone. Anthea’s words had made her wonder if she even contemplated marrying Hans, which would be a great disaster. They had nothing really in common, not one taste or habit. Their backgrounds were as different as could well be imagined, and their training and education had been directed to different ends. It was time that she asked Mr. Wellis for his advice.

So she sat down and wrote to him, putting down as concisely as possible all that had happened so far; telling him that she might possibly be exaggerating its importance, but that she felt he should know about it. The result was that too letters arrived at the Morgenberg from Mr. Wellis, one for his daughter and one for Diana.

“Oh,” said Anthea, looking across the breakfast table at Diana. “Father is coming over to see us. He says he has a few days’ holiday, and as he can combine some visits to clients in Zurich with it, he will come to Switzerland.”

“How nice for you,” said Diana warmly.

“Yes, how nice for me,” said Anthea dryly. She was wondering how this visit would affect the too-little time she was able to spend with Hans. “He will want to take us everywhere, I expect. He says a few days.” That gave her renewed hope. If her father stayed for a few days only, she could endure the temporary separation from Hans. She went away after breakfast, hoping to find Hans about somewhere, so that she could tell him of this impending disaster.

Diana felt a great relief. Her letter had thanked her for putting Mr. Wellis wise to the trend of events, and had announced that he would come over to Switzerland, where he could use the legitimate excuse of clients to call upon. She went at once to see about a room for him, and the Steuri family learned first of his intended arrival in this way. Hans said later to Anthea:

“He is coming because he knows about us and is angry.”

Anthea laughed.

“Don’t be silly, darling. How could he possibly know about us? He is coming because he wants to meet clients in Zurich—and really, between you and me, Hans, he misses me more than he thought he would. I’m rather surprised that he hasn’t been over before.”

“But I won’t be able to see you in the same way
—
not while he is here.”

“No. But he will only stay a few days, Hans.”

“It will seem like a few years.”

“Yes, to me, too.”

“You will miss me, Anthea, Liebling?”

“Of course—you know I will.”

“What shall we do, when you have to go away for good?”

“More and more, I think that I won’t go away. I think I will spend the winter here in Switzerland. You could come to see me.”

“Getting down the mountain isn’t so easy in the winter; we don’t go very often to the valley.”

“We can
think
of something. Would you like me to stay?”

Hans was silent for long seconds.

“No,” he said at last.

“Hans! But why not? You can’t bear to wait for a day to be with me, and then you say you don’t want me to stay.”

“Because,” he said desperately, “we know it has to end some time; and every week that goes by will make it harder.”

So they were back at their usual stamping ground for discussion that never got them anywhere.

When Mr. Wellis arrived, he brought with him a breath of the outside world, of events not heard of in this mountain retreat, an atmosphere of capital cities like London and Paris. The hotel staff, seeing in him an important and wealthy man, sprang everywhere to do his bidding. He had hired a car and chauffeur for the duration of his visit, and intended to call upon several old friends, taking his daughter and Diana with him.

At the first opportunity, he had a private talk with Diana.

“She looks very well indeed,” he said with gratification.

“Yes. She has behaved very well about her health.”

“And she looks happier than I have ever seen her.”

“And that is what worries me. If she were so happy about a suitable person, nobody would be more glad; but I don’t think you will look upon Hans as suitable.”

“Tell me about him.”

“For one thing, it is generally known that he will marry a girl who lives here on the mountain called Katrina. She is pretty, but she is shy and timid, and cannot compete with Anthea. She is a hard worker, has always had to work hard, and would make the right kind of wife for Hans. He is the son of the house, as I told you; but there are four in the family to take their s
h
are of the profits. He also runs the farm; so that he is regarded around here as quite a man of property. But you, looking at the farm, will see what hard work it is, what a hard life. He has had the education and upbringing of a prosperous peasant.”

“Anthea can’t be serious about him.”

“That’s what I don’t know. She talks of spending the winter here. Not in this hotel, but in the valley.”

“I must have a look at this man. Have you had any ideas about a solution?”

“Two things occur to me. One is that you take Anthea back to London sooner than intended. She is so much better. But I’m afraid she might react rather unfavorably, and undo all the good work we have done here, for her health. The other thing is that we move from here to a different part of Switzerland—the Engadine, for instance; too far away for her to keep in touch with Hans. Dr. Frederic perhaps could suggest it; or it could come from you; but certainly not from me. I have had too many words with Anthea over this subject.”

“She has been a great worry to you.”

“Oh no. We have got on very well. Just at first, at the Splendide, I
was
worried, because it was obvious that she would never get well there; but here,
at the Morgenberg, everything has gone well—and that, I’m afraid, we owe to Hans.”

“I must have a look at him. You don’t think that, if Anthea is serious, it is a possible match at all?”

Diana looked at him in surprise.

“But he is to marry Katrina,” she said.

“But if they love each other
...
”

“I think Hans has his feet too solidly on the ground ever to have thought for one moment of marriage with Anthea. But he is a mountain farmer
—
he has told me that he will never leave the mountains. He would be a fish out of water in London
—
as much as Anthea would be a fish out of water living permanently up here.”

“Yes, I can see that,” admitted Mr. Wellis, remembering the essential appointments with hairdressers, beauty parlors, dressmakers. “But I suppose—if we imagine for one moment that they are serious about each other—he could be fixed up with a farm in the Home Counties
...
”

Diana was still more surprised.

“Mr. Wellis, I suppose, if you have always given Anthea everything
she
wants, you will even try to give her Hans, if she thinks she wants him. You must wait and see things for yourself. But personally, I think of Katrina
...
”

“Yes, you are far more unselfish than my daughter or me.”

“Well, think of Katrina for a moment. Hans is her idol, and they were to be married—everybody took it for granted. It was a wonderful match for her. If you take away Hans, you take everything she can hope for. She has nothing left. But Anthea. If you took Anthea back to London today, she would have a wide choice of young men at her feet tomorrow, and would probably have forgotten Hans the day after. She has swept Hans off his feet, but only, I think, temporarily; only, I think, because he knows it cannot last.”

“I see. Well, thank you for telling me all this. I will see things for myself. Now, I have arranged with Dr. Frederic that we will all have dinner together tomorrow night, down at the Bristol. The four of us. Anthea knows, so if you will remember
—
tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, I’ll remember,” said Diana, thinking she would find it hard to forget.

Mr. Wellis wandered round the hotel, and over the mountain plateau, through the farm buildings, and up through the fir woods, keeping his eyes open all the time. He engaged Hans in conversation, speaking as man to man, interested in the business of running a mountain farm and a mountain hotel. There was not the slightest hint of patronage in the older man’s bearing, or of obsequiousness in the younger man’s. Hans talked naturally of his future plans for the farm, and Mr. Wellis saw that it had never occurred to him to leave it. This was his soil, and in it he had his roots. They left each other with mutual respect, and Mr. Wellis, watching Hans’ tall, broad figure as he moved with accustomed ease over the rough mountain path, thought that there was some excuse for Anthea’s losing her head.

Diana and Anthea regarded their much-neglected evening dresses, and both felt a certain thrill at being able to dress up again in all their finery.

“Dinner-dancing again,” said Anthea. “That will be nice; we haven’t done it for ages.”

“Which will you wear?”

“This, I think; clouds of tulle, and diamante embroidery. And you? Oh you must wear the deep cream; it’s quite your nicest dress, and the skirt swirls in such a thrilling way; it will be lovely for dancing.”

Lovely for dancing, thought Diana. Mr. Wellis and Dr. Frederic. Dr. Frederic
...
she had been obliged to miss a visit to the clinic because of Mr. Wellis’s arrival. Now it could be compensated by this dinner and dancing—amply compensated.

Dr. Frederic was to meet them at the Bristol. They went down in their resplendent hired car behind the polite chauffeur, their billowing skirts tucked carefully in around them. Mr. Wellis handed them out gallantly, and they went into the hotel; Anthea with a blue mink stole over her dress, Diana with a less expensive one of material that matched her dress. The doctor came to meet them, bowing over the hands of Anthea and Diana, turning with much pleasure to greet his old friend. Then they were settled at their table, the business of ordering their meal and wine was accomplished, and they sat back in their chairs to renew acquaintances. Acquaintances of several different orders. For Mr. Wellis and the doctor it was a renewal of a long acquaintance, indeed a friendship, that had started on committees and gone deeper into intimacy. For Anthea, it was an acquaintance with the glitte
rin
g life of luxurious hotels that she now renewed, looking about her with definite pleasure, taking delight in the beautiful dresses, the many lights, the sparkling chandeliers, the silent waiters, the deferential service. Yes, it was good to be back in it again. Good to feel as polished and attractive as anybody there, good to be escorted by two men as distinguished as her father and the doctor. She smiled gaily at Diana as the music started up, and several couples rose to dance.