To Journey Together (7 page)

Not wishing to waste a moment of this glorious, exhilarating mood, Elinor ran out of her room and along the passage. As she turned the corner she cannoned into Kenneth.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"That's all right. I was just coming to look for you." He had some papers in his hand, and he glanced at these, apparently completely oblivious of the fact that, for once, she was (intriguingly and dangerously) pretty. "This is an urgent job. We'll need "

"Oh, can't it wait?" Elinor cried.

Never before, in the whole of her official career, had she reacted thus towards urgent work. But this was her Moment! The moment which she felt she should seize.

Kenneth hesitated, perhaps impressed by her manner, even though he probably took no special count of moments, with or without a capital "M".

"I—I was going skating," Elinor explained eagerly. "With the von Eibergs."

"With whom?"

"The von Eibergs."

"Oh." She could not have said why, but that one syllable somehow conveyed amused disparagement to a degree which infuriated her.

"They are good friends of mine," she reminded him, in a tone that shook slightly with both anger and disappointment.

"Quite," Kenneth said. But she had the extraordinary impression that in that moment he finally made up his mind against concession. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you will have to put them off this time."

It was perfectly justifiable, of course, that he should commandeer her for official work. This was, even, the sole purpose for which she was here. But the circumstances were such that Elinor could hardly hide her resentment.

"Well, then, I'll go down and tell them I can't come," she said, and she tried—not very successfully —to sound less cold and angry than she felt.

"If you would. I'll be in the sitting-room," Kenneth told her.

Not trusting herself to say more, Elinor brushed past him with something less than her usual gentle air and went downstairs to make her excuses.

"But surely the work can wait?" Rudi said when he heard the explanations. "Work is always there, while ideal skating conditions can change within the hour at this time of year."

"I'm afraid not." Elinor bravely concealed the fact that this was also rather the way she felt about the incident! "I did come here to work, you know."

"Nonsense. Like a sensible girl, you also came expecting to enjoy yourself," Rudi retorted with his perfectly charming smile. "But I know there are some things with which one cannot argue. Kenneth Brownlow is one of them, I have no doubt."

Elinor was not entirely pleased to have Kenneth referred to as a "thing", and at another time she might have protested. But, if he were really purposely keeping her away from the von Eibergs (as

she suspected) then he deserved to be called anything.

She went upstairs again into the private sitting-room of the Conneltons' suite. Kenneth was alone there, sitting at the improvised desk, frowning over some papers.

"Where is Sir Daniel?"

She really had not intended to sound suspicious or abrupt, but Kenneth glanced up with raised eyebrows.

"He's out, I suppose."

"I thought—I thought that since the work was so urgent it would be for him too," Elinor said, faintly confused.

"No."

"I see."

Again the tone was most unlike her usual pleasant, obliging one, and, pushing back his papers, Kenneth regarded her with a glance that disconcerted her.

"My dear girl," he said, "there's no need to sulk the very first time you have to work instead of going out to enjoy yourself."

This was most unfair, of course, particularly as the first few days had involved much work and no play at all.

"I am not sulking," Elinor replied composedly, and immediately felt a great and quite unfamiliar desire to do so.

"Very well." Kenneth looked very slightly ashamed of himself, as well he might, and then began to dictate at a rather more rapid pace than was usual with him.

Fortunately, however, Elinor was equal to the demand and she even felt something like a perverse pleasure in making her pen skim over the pages in response to Kenneth's spate of words. No one observing them would have supposed that they were two very angry people. But, under the conventional surface of this official scene, Elinor was disturbedly aware of unexpected currents of feeling flowing.

He was finished at last. And then he said in his most formal manner, "Three copies, please. One for my uncle, one for myself, and one for the London office. Shall I fetch your typewriter for you?"

Elinor usually did her official typing in the sitting-room because there were reference books and files there.

"No, thank you. I can fetch it myself."

"Don't be silly," Kenneth retorted unexpectedly. And, without more ado, he went and carried in the typewriter for her.

She thanked him without looking at him and set to work with such purpose that no conversation was possible. And presently Kenneth got up and, without saying any more, went off on some affairs of his own.

Elinor went on typing doggedly. She was still doing so when the Conneltons came in nearly an hour later.

"What, still working!" Her employer glanced at her kindly. "You must remember to take some time to enjoy yourself too, you know."

"But as this work was needed at once, Sir Daniel," Elinor explained—with dangerous demureness, had he but known it—"I thought I had better stay in and finish it."

"What work is that?" Sir Daniel came and looked over her shoulder. "Hm—yes—very useful for future consideration. But not vitally urgent. Another time, you had better ask me and make sure."

"I will, Sir Daniel," Elinor assured him. And, in that moment—contrary to all her usual gentle and conciliatory ways—she determined to have this thing out with Kenneth.

The opportunity came after lunch, at which she

had not addressed any word to him that was not

strictly necessary. As they strolled out of the dining-room in the wake of the Conneltons, she said softly

to him, and with more composure than she felt, "I

found out about the lie you told me this morning."

"Lie, my dear girl?" He looked both astonished

and amused, but not in the least guilty or ashamed. "What lie was that?"

"You know perfectly well!" She bent upon him a glance of much more serious displeasure than she knew. "You told me that work was urgent, and it was nothing of the sort. Sir Daniel said not."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Certainly not. He volunteered the information himself, when he came in and asked why I was still working."

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

"I'm afraid it is."

Elinor gasped.

"But don't you think it was extraordinarily mean of you to—to do me out of m y morning's pleasure?' "I didn't look at it that way, exactly."

"Do you mind," she said, in her coolest tone, "telling me in what way you did look at it?"

They had reached the small, deserted lounge by now and, while the Conneltons went on up to their own rooms, Kenneth and Elinor paused.

"Really, I'd much rather not, you know." He smiled down at her, quite unrepentant. "You won't like what I'm going to say. But, if you insist—the fact is that I don't have the same high opinion of the von Eibergs that you have."

"You don't need to," Elinor retorted. "They are my friends, and you don't have to like them."

"I don't want to make heavy weather of this," Kenneth said. "But my uncle and aunt are in a sense responsible for you and "

"You are not," she put in quickly. "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, in any case, and I resent being treated like a child. Besides, what have you against my two friends?. What makes you think they are a couple of criminals?"

"Oh, not criminals, Elinor!" He laughed protestingly. "Good heavens! I suppose there's no real harm in them, in the strict sense of the word. But

—they're a type, my dear, that you can't possibly know and probably don't know how to handle. They're a sort of left-over from a world that no longer exists. It's their misfortune, I daresay, rather than their fault. But, quite frankly, I think they live on their wits. They probably thought you were the daughter of my uncle and aunt "

He stopped, because Elinor had made a slight involuntary movement. However, she said quite firmly, "They knew almost immediately that I was not."

"But they thought so in the beginning? Before they arrived here?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But I don't see why that "

"Well, never mind. We've talked about them much more than I ever intended. And the fact is that it doesn't really matter which of us is right, because they're leaving the day after tomorrow, aren't they?"

"Leaving!" She could not hide her disappointment.

"Yes. I heard them saying something about it at the desk just before lunch."

"-oh." For a moment Elinor was too nonplussed and put out to say more. Then she rallied and said with some spirit, "Then you needn't concern yourself with my affairs quite so deeply, need you? In future please don't try to control my friendships. After all, you wouldn't like it if I suddenly started interfering over you and Rosemary, would you?"

"Rosemary?" He looked startled. "What do you mean by that, exactly? What do you know about Rosemary and me?"

"Hardly anything," Elinor told him lightly. "About the same as you know of the von Eibergs and me."

And, laughing in a provoking little way that would have astonished her family, she went off, while Kenneth stood looking after her with a rather complicated expression.

Emboldened by the success of her exit line, Elinor sought out Ilsa and asked her if it were true that they were leaving so soon.

"Unfortunately, yes." Ilsa smiled, but she looked genuinely regretful. "We are off to Vienna the day after tomorrow."

"I thought you were staying much longer," Elinor could not help saying.

"So did I." Ilsa still looked smilingly regretful. "But sometimes plans do change quite suddenly, don't they?"

Elinor hardly knew what to say to that. It was not her experience that plans changed with quite so much speed and abruptness. But of course that was the business of the von Eibergs themselves.

"I'll miss you," she said with a sort of shy candour.

"Oh, you nice girl!" For a moment Ilsa's hand rested on Elinor's arm with a gesture of such sincere good feeling that Elinor found herself wishing Kenneth could have seen it. "We shall miss you too. If only " She stopped, sighed and then gave a little laugh, as though at herself. "Well, that's the way life is. Perhaps you will come to Vienna later, and then we shall meet again?"

The prospect sounded entrancing, Elinor could not help thinking, but she smiled and slightly shook her head.

"I don't think we are going there. I wish we were. It sounds such a romantic city. I've always wanted to see it."

"It has a charm all its own. My grandmother used to say that no one who had not known Imperial Vienna in the early days of the century could imagine how charming and elegant it could be. But it still retains a little of its elusive beauty."

"You make it sound—sad, somehow."

"Well, it is sad," Ilsa said. "At least, it has that touch of melancholy which clings to all things that represent a lost and lovely age."

Elinor said nothing. For suddenly she thought that described the von Eibergs too. That was partly

why they appealed so much to her warm and affectionate heart. Kenneth would have laughed at her for it, but the feeling was strong upon her.

The next morning Elinor slept unexpectedly late. Her employer had told her the previous evening that he would not require her, and, with a mind free from responsibility, she slept dreamlessly and long. To complete the indulgence, she had her breakfast in her room—or, rather, on the sunny balcony looking over the snowclad scene to the Zugspitze.

When she finally sought out Lady Connelton, it was to be greeted with, "Ken asked me to say goodbye to you. He left about half an hour ago to catch the train to Garmisch."

"He has left? Already?" She was far more dismayed than she wanted to be. "I thought he was going by the later train."

"He changed his mind," Lady Connelton said equably.

Elinor told herself it did not really matter. If they had parted on strained terms, that was his fault, not hers. But it depressed her not to have "made it up", as she phrased it to herself.

There seemed little the Conneltons required of her that day, and in the afternoon Rudi took her for the promised skating lesson. Ilsa was packing, so they tramped off together through the village, their footsteps crunching through the crisp, glittering snow, their breath clouding in the still, clear air, and their eyes bright with laughter and mutual interest.

The atmosphere was exhilarating to a degree and, by the time they reached the frozen meadow which did excellent duty for an outdoor rink, Elinor had, astonishingly, become convinced that she could skate. She had never felt so gay and confident in her life before, and the feeling undoubtedly had something to do with the way her companion's handsome eyes surveyed her.