The Numbered Account (28 page)

‘There's another of your anti-fairy trees,' he said. ‘I shall always know that smell from now on. It
is
strong.'

‘It seems to smell stronger out here than at home,' Julia said.

‘Practically all flowers smell stronger and are more intense in colour in mountains,' he observed. ‘Odd, with their very short blooming season. Or perhaps that is the reason—
carpe diem
, if you know what that means.'

‘Gather ye roses while ye may,' Julia replied readily.

‘Quite so,' He paused—when he spoke again it was hesitantly. ‘I have an idea that there are roses you and I might gather—together. But I don't know how you feel about it.'

‘I'm very fond of roses; they're one of my favourite flowers,' Julia said lightly—but a slight breathlessness in her voice belied the flippancy of her words. He turned, and put an arm round her.

‘I really do like you very much,' he said. ‘Do you like me at all?'

‘Yes.'

‘Enough for a kiss?'

‘Well for a litttle one, anyhow.'

He put his free hand on her farther shoulder and drew her round towards him, saying—‘A little kiss? A butterfly kiss?' He brushed her cheek with his eye-lashes, as children do. ‘A shower of kisses, I think, if they are to be so very little.'

He gave the shower of little kisses in a rather absurd way, all over her face—cheeks, temples, eyelids, even the tip of her nose; but it was done so lightly and gently that
Julia was somehow reassured, to the point that presently she twisted her head round and gave him a kiss in return.

‘Oh sweetheart, that
is
nice of you. Are you all right? Happy?'

Julia was very much all right, and very happy indeed, but she was irresistibly reminded by his words of a sentence in Harriette Wilson's
Memoirs
, and gave her slow laugh. ‘“
Amy, Amy,
does it feel nice?”' she quoted.

Antrobus gave her a little shake.

‘What a monster you are! Am I so like poor Lord Berwick?'

‘Well not to the point of being a peer, unless Antrobus is just an alias! You certainly aren't the Duke of Alba, because for one thing he's dead, and for another I knew him in Spain, and you aren't really like him at all.'

He laughed gently, then settled himself more comfortably on the seat, and drew her head down to his shoulder. ‘Really, how very pleasant it is to be able to be together like this, at ease and safe, instead of on guard and suspicious the whole time. Don't you agree?'

‘Completely. And all totally unnecessary if the Secret Service weren't so inept. How idiotic of them to send Colin out here without either letting you know about him, or telling him about you.'

‘Oh don't bind, darling! I told you we're in different branches. Anyhow it's all right now—for goodness' sake forget it, and look at the Blümlisalp.'

They did this very satisfactorily for some time, talking a little, happily, with an occasional kiss as punctuation— Julia found his lightness of touch and his percipience extraordinarily delightful. But presently through the cool still air the little six-note tune of the Post-Auto came up to them.

‘Goodness, that must be the last bus going down!' she exclaimed. ‘John dear, we must race back.'

‘Why?'

‘To ring up the Pastor about fetching June tomorrow. They go to bed early at La Cure.'

‘Why?' he asked again.

‘Because Jean-Pierre starts saying his prayers in the Church so early; breakfast is at 6.30 or that, to let Marcel catch his train to school at Lausanne. And it will be ten by the time we get down.'

‘I wish you weren't so conscientious!' Antrobus said. ‘No, I don't really; I see that, however surprisingly, conscientiousness is part of you. Well, one last one, darling.'

But the last one wasn't a little kiss at all, and it left Julia rather shaken. When he let her go she hurried ahead of him, with her light graceful step, along the Parallel-Weg, and practically ran down the narrow stony path between its silvery wooden railings that led past the cowstable.

‘That cat's still there,' he called to her.

‘Oh, so it is. It's a sweet wussker.' In the hotel garden she paused.

‘We'd better say good-night now—when I've finished with the Pastor I must tuck Mrs. H. up, and I can't leave her too late.'

‘Goodbye, stern daughter of the Voice of God,' Antrobus said, taking her hand and kissing it. ‘Though why a woman with a face like yours should trouble to be
good
as well, I can't think.'

Julia brushed that aside—she knew all about her face.

‘What time shall I tell him to come?' she asked. ‘We never settled that. When can you have B. and K. dragged round to the police-station?'

‘What time would suit you?'

‘Oh, late morning. It's a long run from Bellardon, as I told you.'

‘Have them there at 11.45, and not released till 12.30?'

‘Perfect. Goodbye. Thank you for the
Waldmeister
—I must say it makes a lovely drink.' She ran up the steps into the hotel.

The
Kleine Saal
was fortunately now empty, and she rang up the Pastor at once. ‘
Jean-Pierre? Ici Julie
. English now, please. It's for tomorrow.'

He made no fuss or protest, merely asked—‘At what time?'

‘Twenty past twelve—very exactly. Can you manage that? I made it as late as I could.'

‘Yes, certainly. Where?'

Julia hadn't thought where. After an instant's hesitation she gave the address of Dr. Hertz's Clinic; it was in a side street, in a quiet part of the town, where the presence of a limping young lady would arouse the least comment. ‘Wait outside, would you? I shall be bringing her and her gear in a taxi.'

‘Plaît-il
, “gear?”
Qu'est-ce que c'est?'

‘Luggage.'

‘Has she much “gear”?'

‘Mountains! Tell Germaine to give her the room with the biggest cupboards of all.'

His rich laugh came ringing over the line.

‘Ma chère
, your criminal friends are very eccentric, or else very unpractical! I thought burglars always travelled light.'

‘Not this one,' Julia said, laughing too. ‘Bless you for this. See you tomorrow.'

‘You will not come with her? We should like that so much—and it might be a help.'

‘No, I can't come now. I will later on; I'd love to.'

She gave this answer quite instinctively; after they had rung off she wondered why. Because she didn't want to leave the neighbourhood of Interlaken while Antrobus was there?—or simply because she wanted to see his and Colin's job through? With all the honesty she could muster —and Julia was rather honest—she realised that it had simply never occurred to her to leave before the papers were recovered, quite apart from Mrs. Hathaway and her needs. She went and tucked that good lady up, and then tapped on Colin's door.

Colin seemed to have recovered his temper.

‘Nice walk?' he asked, with a puckish grin.

‘Very nice,' Julia said, grinning back—then she told him of the plan to evacuate June next day.

‘Why you fuss so about that really rather unworthy little creature I can't imagine,' Colin said—‘nor why
Antrobus gives in to you about it. Well yes, I can imagine that! But honestly, Julia, in this job it's much better to leave sentiment and emotion out of it altogether.'

‘Oh really? Like Mata Hari, I suppose?' she responded blithely, at which the young man gave an unwilling laugh.

‘That was passion—a very authentic and useful tool. But I can't believe that you have any passion for this June girl—whatever you may feel about Antrobus.'

‘Blast you!' Julia said, but without heat. ‘Anyhow, though both you men seem to forget it, there is such a thing as charity—which is quite independent of sentiment, or emotion, or even passion. Witness Jean-Pierre having her to stay. Good-night.' She gave him a cool affectionate kiss, and went out.

Colin left on an early bus to make his contact with Antrobus in the English Garden. Soon afterwards June again rang up Julia.

‘I've got something to tell you, something I overheard. I think you'd like to know it, and I'd like to do something for you.'

‘Splendid. But don't tell me over the telephone. I'm coming down to see you this morning, so you can tell me then.'

‘Oh, how lovely! Oh'—there was a drop in the voice, and a pause. ‘You'd better not come when they're here. They're out just now.'

‘They won't be there when I come,' Julia said. She wondered if she should give a hint about getting packed, but decided against it. ‘Is the foot better?' she asked.

‘Oh yes, a lot. Thank you ever so.'

‘I'm so glad. Be seeing you, soon after half past eleven.' She rang off before June could reply.

Well before 11.30 Julia walked into the garden of the Hotel Gemsbock, carrying a parasol tilted over her shoulder in the direction of the Golden Bear, concealing her face from any observers on that side of the square; she ordered coffee, and sat behind that convenient hedge, watching the small sunny Platz. As usual it was almost empty: a workman wheeled a hand-cart full of briquettes
across it from the coal-merchant's establishment opposite the timber-yard, and presently a neatly-dressed man, obviously Swiss, came walking in from the direction of the Bahnhof-Platz. This individual came into the Gemsbock garden and sat down at the table next to hers; he ordered a beer, and then opened a newspaper, but from time to time he too seemed to be looking through the hedge. At precisely 11.35 two figures emerged from the Golden Bear, those of Mr. Borovali and Mr. Wright—they both looked exceedingly out of temper. As they passed the Gemsbock the neatly-dressed man downed the last of his beer, put a couple of coins on the table, and rose and walked out into the sunshine—Julia, peering through the privets, saw that he was casually strolling along behind the pair.

‘A flatty!' she muttered gleefully. And she too paid, walked across to the other hotel and up, past the marmot, into June's room.

‘How
ever
did you know they'd be out just now? They've only just gone,' the little thing said, after giving Julia a warm kiss. ‘They've had to go to see the police about our papers—furious, Mr. B. was. But how did
you
know?' The old ugly suspicion showed signs of reappearing. ‘Are you in with the police?'

‘The Swiss police? No,' Julia said firmly. ‘Does it matter how I knew? Do you want to get out of this show or don't you? You said you did, and so I've come to do it.'

‘Go home?'

‘Yes—quite soon. Not to London today. Yes or no?'

‘Oh,
yes
!'

‘Then there's no time to waste. We must pack your things and get you away before they come back.' As she spoke Julia brought the tartan hat-box to June's chair by the window, and began to collect the hats which were perched here and there round the room—on two hideous vases on a shelf, and on the bedposts, and brought them over. ‘There—now you be packing those while I do the rest.'

This calm assumption of authority quelled June; obediently, though unskilfully, she began to pack her hats.
‘What a mercy you packed all my frocks yesterday! Did you know then?' she asked.

‘No, yesterday I hadn't a clue! I just packed them because you wanted them packed. Which case do your night-things go in?' The work went on; after some minutes June asked—‘Where am I going? To be with you?' This with eager hopefulness.

‘Not just now—my hotel is too near. You're going to stay in the country with some friends of mine, darling people; they'll look after you, and get a doctor to keep an eye on your foot.' As she spoke Julia made a mental note to mention June's ankle to Jean-Pierre.

‘English friends?' June enquired, pausing with a hat in one hand and a ball of crumpled-up tissue paper in the other.

‘No, Swiss; but they both talk English. You'll love being there, and I shall come over as soon as I can.' She noticed the hat June was holding; it was the one with the eye-veil. ‘Don't pack that —you'd better wear it.' She removed the hat and perched it on the ewer. June giggled—but she had another question.

‘Will I be able to get a set there? My hair's frightful, with Mr. B. never letting me go out this last week or more.'

Julia suppressed a laugh. Her brief impression of Bellardon had not led her to suppose that it could supply a set of any sort, let alone a rinse, which June would certainly want; the dark line along the roots of her bogus ash-blonde hair was becoming rather marked.

‘Oh, Germaine will see to all that,' she said easily.

‘Who's Germaine?'

The question brought Julia up with a round turn. Should she say ‘Madame de Ritter'?—and reveal that June was actually going to stay in the house of the man whom Borovali had been impersonating? She had never thought of that aspect when she arranged this hide-out for the girl.

‘Oh, she's his wife—the wife of the gentleman who's coming to drive you over,' she said, falling back on June's own ghastly idiom. ‘Look, which coat shall you wear? And
what case do these shoes go in?' All the time that she coped with these various problems of June's she was packing at high speed. When the job was nearly done, and June was arranging her face and hat, she went downstairs and spoke with Frau Göttinger.

‘The little Fräulein is leaving now. Could the valet bring down her luggage? And a taxi be called?'

Frau Göttinger was startled, put about.

‘Die Herren
leave too?'

‘So far as I know, not; only
das Fräulein
. Her bill I can pay,' Julia said; she had borrowed a supply of Swiss francs for this express purpose from Colin before he left, greatly to his annoyance.