The Golden Peaks (17 page)

She managed to see Dorothy only once in eight days, and then Geoffrey drove her there to save time. Dorothy was slowly improving again, and was allowed to sit in a big armchair for an hour or so in the afternoon, as a change from her bed. Geoffrey had been several times to see her, and provided her with books and sweets, and was teaching her to make small model chalets out of old matches. “And generally,” said Irmgard, smiling on him, “being an angel in di
s
guise.”

After eight days of mist and rain, Celia woke once more to a morning of brilliant sunshine, and the normal summer life of the hotel was resumed. The whole staff breathed relief.

At luncheon time, Anneliese stopped Celia in the corridor.

“We have a party of four arriving rather late for lunch,” she said. “Will you wait back and serve them?”

Celia said she would, although she had hoped to be able to walk a little in the returned sunshine. She waited in the hall, where it was cool, and which was otherwise empty.

At last, a long and elegant car swept into the courtyard to the shrill accompaniment of long
blasts on the horn. Celia straightened herself, and was about to return to the di
ni
ng room, when
she stiffened in amazement. Anneliese,
going through the hall to welcome them, said to Celia
dryly:

“Somebody does not mean to arrive unannounced.
”

“No,” thought Celia. “That somebody wouldn’t.” She waited, conscious of her black dress with its collar and cuffs of hand-made Swiss lace, and the small white apron. Four people, the elegance of their clothes matching the elegance of the car, had stepped out on to the courtyard, and were studying the front of the
Rotihorn
. And at last, Anneliese ushered them into the hall.

At first, they did not see Celia, or, if they did, they gave her as much attention as they would have given a piece of the furniture. Then one of the women caught sight of her fully, and started.

“Celia,” she said.

“Hello, Hilda,” said Celia, dryly.

“Whatever are you doing, dressed up like that?”

“This,” said Celia, “is my job.”

“
Good heavens. How unnecessary.”

They gathered round her.

“
Hello, Bernard,” she said, “and Carol. Hello, Tony.” Bernard and Carol shook hands with her. Tony put an arm round her shoulders and kissed her.

“You bad girl,” he said. “Until you wrote to Hilda, we had no idea where you were.”

Celia moved away from him.

“
C
an we have lunch right now?” asked Carol. “I’m just dying of hunger.”

“Certainly,” said Celia. “I’m to serve it to you. Come this way.”

Only then did she realize that Kurt also was in the hall; and that he and Anneliese were watching the group.

“Please excuse me,” she said to Kurt, quite at a loss how she should behave in this new disastrous happening, “Mrs. Lawrence is my sister-in-law. Is it all right for me to take them in to luncheon?”

“Allow me,” said Kurt, impeccably polite, leading the way. He settled them round a table, his manners perfect Celia saw that Hilda looked him over covetously, and thought that Hilda would definitely not come into his category of things important
.
She thought how fat and unattractive Tony had become, and how she disliked his familiar manner. She put the clean napkin carefully over her arm, and advanced smilingly to their table.

CHAPTER NINE

Hilda and
her friends sat in the courtyard in the summer
sunshine
,
and Celia stood beside them, on the grass surrounding the fountain, and listened to their conversation.

“It’s not such a bad place,” said Tony. “I wouldn’t mind staying here a few days.”

“It’s so quiet,” said Carol. “I think it will be dull. I’d much rather go on to the Mirabella—when Hilda has settled about the little girl.”

“When are you going to see Dorothy, Hilda?” asked her husband, Bernard.

“Well, I shan’t go today. I’m much too tired after that long, long drive. Tomorrow afternoon, I think.
”

“Then we could go on the day after tomorrow. How would that be?”

Tony, thinking of Celia said:

“Or the day after that
.
Hilda hasn’t seen the child for a long time.”

“Well, goodness, I’ll be seeing her tomorrow,
”
said
Hilda.
“There’s no reason to stay longer than the next day.”

“Did you bring her a present?” asked Celia.

Hilda turned to look at Celia.

“No,” she sa
i
d
.
“I forgot. I daresay I can pick something up before tomorrow afternoon.”

“I should,” said Celia.

“I can’t understand,” said Hilda, "why they should want to keep her here so long. It all seems so unnecessary
to me.”

“It isn’t at all unnecessary.
”

“I’m sure if she had been really
ill
, the school doctor would have found it out. Naturally, if you bring her to one of these expensive sanatoria, they will keep her as long as they can. It pays them.”

“They have too many people trying to get in, to keep t
hem a
day longer than is necessary. If you speak to Dr.
Sturm, he will tell you that Dorothy would not have lived long if she had been left where she was.”

Hilda looked uncomfortable, but she shook it off with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Oh, they can say things like that. So much more their credit when they effect a cure.”

“Well, you’d better talk it over with Dr. Sturm. If you still feel it’s un
n
ecessary to keep her here after that, well— it’s up to you, of course. But if you agree that it is necessary, then you must pay her expenses there.”

Bernard interrupted then.

“We’ve no objection to paying for her—none at all. If we feel it
is
necessary.”

“No, I suppose you can feel you've discharged your responsibilities then,” said Celia, feeling bitterly that they cared nothing at all for Dorothy herself.

“She isn’t my responsibility,” he said shortly. “She is your brother’s child.”

“
And your wife’s,” Celia retorted.

“Well,” said Carol, “I don’t see the point of getting sore about it. Hilda came here to discuss it
.
She and Bernard are willing to pay if it’s necessary—then wait until they’ve seen this doctor chap and found out if it is. Quite simple.”

“Then,” said Tony, “you can drop this farce of being a waitress, Celia, and come back to England. Perhaps you could come back with us, after our stay at the Mirabella.”

“I shan’t be coming back yet,” said
Celia
.

“Why not? What’s the point in hanging on here?”

“The point,” she said quietly, “is that Dorothy needs somebody to love her, to encourage her, and to give her strength. It seems to be my job.”

“She likes making a martyr of hers
el
f,” said Hilda. “And I expect there are other reasons why she wants to stay.”

Celia
turned her head to look at Hilda.

“I’ve seen him,” said Hilda. “Tall, dark and handsome. Strong as a lion, and eyes that bu
rn
into you. Mind your step,
Celia
—he’s got a temper; you’ll be beaten into submission.”

Celia ignored her completely, thinking that Hilda cheapened everything she touched. Carol laughed.

“Are we going to sit here in this dump all afternoon?” she asked, ignoring the splendid range of mountains, the running fountain, the brilliant sunshine. “Couldn’t we drive into Interlaken and find some tea-dancing?”

They all thought that would be a good idea. Celia refrained from reminding Hilda how tired she was—too tired to drive up to the rest centre to see her daughter. She said:

“Please excuse me. I am on tea duty today.
”

“Can’t you come with us?” asked Tony.

“Not possibly.”

Geoffrey crossed the courtyard at that moment, and
see
ing
the group, came across and halted at Celia’s side.

“Ah, Celia,” he said, “are you going to present me to your friends? I hear Dorothy’s mother is here.”

They all looked at him; and, automatically, their best manners came to the fore. Hilda and Carol produced quite
c
har
ming
smiles. When they heard who he was, they all remembered reading his detective stories, and the two women almost cooed over him. Celia stood aside with a smile.

“I really do see, darling,” said Hilda to Celia, “why you find it so hard to come back to England.”

They talked a little longer, then Celia left them. A little later, Geoffrey also came into the hotel, and found Celia beginning to serve teas in the big hall and the lounge.

“That fat and repulsive fellow with your sister-in-law tells me you are going to marry him,” he said without preamble. “Is that true?”

“Don’t you know?” asked Celia.

“It isn’t true; but tell me so.”

“I have refused him about eight times; but his conceit is so appalling that he doesn’t believe it yet.”

“It was a wonderful day for Dorothy, my dearest Celia, when you took her over. What would she become with a mother like that?”

“I’ve often wondered, since I came, if I did the right thing. After today, I won’t wonder any more.”

Shortly before dinner, Celia was sent for by Kurt. She went into his office, already changed into her evening uniform.

“Ah, Celia, your friends have asked me if you may have the evening free to go out with them. As they do not
intend
to be here long, I think it can be arranged.”

“
Thank you, Mr. St. Pierre, but I don’t want to go.”

“If you are thinking of your work here, that can be arranged, too.”

“I am thinking partly of the work, but chiefly of my own inclination. I would prefer to be on duty. I don’t want to go with them.”

“But they have come from England to see you.”

“
They have come from England to have a holiday,” said Celia, “and to settle the financial matters for Dorothy en route. They don’t want to see me.”

“Not even the man who says you are going to marry him?”

She smiled a contemptuous smile. Kurt said:

“Why should he say so, if it is not true?”

“Perhaps he thinks he can make it true. He has often asked me; but I am not flattered.”

“I see
...
Are they going to provide for Dorothy?”

“I think they will, when Dr. Sturm has talked to them.”

“Ah, yes, I would like to bet that even they will feel small when Sturm has talked to them. You, Celia, have no doubt always found him charming; he will meet charm with charm. But he will meet their kind of smugness and self
-
conceit with a whiplash
...
They are going on to the Mirabella. Did you know?”

“Yes. They don’t know it is yours. They compare the
Rotihorn
most unfavorably with it.”

Kurt laughed.

“Do you see,” he asked, “why I live at the
Rotihorn
?”

“Yes.”

“Then you don’t want your evening free?”

“No, but thank you.”

“Very well. Then you must be on duty, Celia, and I will tell your friends so.”

“Tomorrow evening, too, please, Mr. St. Pierre.”

“Very well. Tomorrow evening, also.”

He was absurdly pleased, thought Celia, at her wanting to stay on duty. Was it because he liked her loya
l
ty to the hotel? Or was it that he liked to discover that she had no
use for Hilda and her friends?

Certainly, in the two days that they stayed, they did
t
h
e
ir
best to turn the hotel upside-down; d
emanding
service at all hours, complaining of the lack of things only found
in
de
luxe hotels such as the Mirabella; sweeping into the courtyard to the accompaniment of that blaring horn,
fill
ing the lounge with their loud voices, laughing loudly over the many drinks they dispatched at dinner.

Celia wa
s ashamed of them, and longed for them to leave. Hilda and Bernard had had their talk with Dr. Sturm on the second day; they had come back to
th
e hotel covering their crestfallen feelings with a bravado that did not deceive Celia. They promised to see to
th
e financial side of Dorothy’s stay for the next year, and then were anxious to get away. It was with the greatest relief that
Celia
saw the last of them, saw the long car sweep out of the courtyard on its way to the Mirabella. She had a dismal feeling that her status in the hotel could only suffer from her connection with these people.