Doctor's Orders (7 page)

It was very cool in the dim shade of the woods, and this was as well, for Anthea found the constant climb both wearying and warming. She was not used to walking any distance, and very soon her legs ached, she was out of breath, and repeatedly had to stop and rest. There was no view, for the tall trees, their trunks straight and dark, their tops moving only slightly in the breeze, obscured everything. It was eerie and rather depressing, she thought, for she was a child of the town and the bright lights, and had rarely been quite alone in as isolated a position as this one. Backwards and forwards she went, with the zigzagging of the path, getting very tired and quite breathless, and even beginning to wonder if it was worth it, simply on the chance of seeing Hans.

She came out, quite suddenly, to a sunlit clearing, and there he was, loading logs on to a long sled. He was wearing a bright blue shirt, long trousers and heavy boots; and his dark hair was tousled and wind-blown.

“Grass Gott, Fraulein,” he called. “You have walked a long way.”

She made her way towards him, walking carefully over the rough ground.

“Oh yes, and I am so tired,” she said.

He straightened himself and looked at her, and a smile curved his mouth and crinkled his eyes.

“Sit and rest,” he advised. “You walk hardly at all, and then suddenly you walk a very long way. That is not good. See, I will make a comfortable place for you.” He took up a branch of fir, with the needles still green upon it, and swept a place clear of small branches and twigs; then arranged some of the flatly-spreading green sprays into a cushion, which he covered with his jacket. “So,” he said, “you will find that soft and comfortable.”

Anthea sank down on to it gratefully and gracefully.

“Lovely,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

He smiled down, and their eyes met. She made no attempt to withdraw her glance, but allowed it to rest in admiration on him. He realized, with a slight shock, that this was something more than the politeness attendant on a casual encounter, and he straightened himself and looked away.

“I must get on with my work,” he said.

“Of course,” said Anthea, "and I will sit and watch you.”

Some of the logs he carried were long and must have been very heavy, but he made light work of them. He was arranging them on the long sled, and he explained to Anthea that they must be extremely firm and secure, or they would not remain in position on the journey to the hotel. When the pile was as large as he could safely manage, he began to rope it on tightly, dealing quickly and efficiently with the load. Then he turned to Anthea, smiling.

“Now,” he said, “I make the descent.”

“Come and have a cigarette first,” she suggested, and he crossed to her side, sat down near her and accepted a cigarette from her elegant gold case. She offered her lighter; and Hans saw that this, too, as well as the bracelets dangling from her arm, was of gold. He said to himself: She is bored and is looking for a little amusement. He said aloud: “This is wasting my time.”

“Surely you can take a few minutes of your own time, or must you always work so hard?”

“Everybody in the mountains works hard. It is a hard life.”

“It seems to me you lead a very good life.”

“You haven’t seen enough to know, Fraulein. But yes, I lead a very good life, but a hard one. I would not change it for any other.”

“You would not like to live in a city?”

“I could not live in a city. I would have to get out of it, or I would die of suffocation.”

“Do you often go down to the valley?”

“Yes, I must go on business, quite often. Tomorrow, I have business even farther away,” and he mentioned the town in which Dr. Frederic lived.

“No, really?” exclaimed Anthea. “We are also going there tomorrow. I have an appointment in the afternoon. Will you be there in the afternoon? I was
thinkin
g how nice it would be if you would show us the town.”

He smiled and told her she was impulsive, but he agreed that he would meet Miss Pevrill and herself, and show them the worthwhile things in the town. Then he said he must work, and showed Anthea how he must negotiate his heavy load down the steep path of the mountainside. “It would be better if I had a boy to hold a rope at the back, and act as a brake,” he said, “or Katrina would do it for me, if she were here. But as it is, I must manage alone.”

He did not think that Anthea could help, and she did not think to offer to. They began the difficult descent, Hans in front of the long sled, using his body as a brake, digging in the heels of his strong boots, using every suitable place in the banking and every curve of the zig zag to advantage in slowing up the heavy load. He was absorbed in getting his wood down safely, and had no time for Anthea, but Anthea had plenty of time to study and admire him, and found herself looking forward to meeting him next day in the town.

She had no intention of allowing Diana to be with her, and when Diana declared her intention of finding a particular music shop in her search for a special book of folk-songs, Anthea said immediately:

“Oh, it bores me to spend so long shopping. Let us separate, and I will explore a little while you look for your music. We can meet at Dr. Frederic’s, when we are due for our appointment.”

“Well, if you would prefer that
...”

“Much. That will give you nearly two hours.” So they separated, and Anthea met Hans at the appointed place, and explained airily that Miss Pevrill had wanted to hunt down some special music, and that they would see the town without her. Hans looked down at her from his great height, thoughtfully. Then he suddenly smiled, showing those strong, white teeth of his. After all, he thought, if she is doing this for her amusement, why should not I amuse myself too? He made her a brief but polite bow, and declared that that would be delightful.

Diana found her music more easily than she expected, and, having time in hand, sat at one of the larger cafes of the town, at one of the pavement tables, drinking tea and watching the life of the town going on before her. She enjoyed this very much, and wished she had arranged to meet Anthea a little earlier, so that Anthea could be with her. She was probably wandering, bored and lonely, through the streets, thought Diana, quite unable to see the real picture of Anthea at that moment, an Anthea sparkling and gay, tossing her fine hair about her shoulders, laughing and talking in an animated fashion that Diana had rarely witnessed.

At the appointed time, Diana presented herself at Dr. Frederic’s house. The maid told her that Miss Wellis had not yet arrived, and showed her into the usual waiting room. The secretary arrived smiling and courteous as always, and said that Dr. Frederic would not be a moment. He had a patient with him, but would be free almost at once.

“Miss Wellis has not yet arrived,” said Diana. “I arranged to meet her here.”

She hoped that Anthea would not be late and keep the doctor waiting, but the doctor was free before she arrived and came himself to greet Diana.

“I am so sorry Anthea is not here yet,” said Diana. “We separated to do our shopping, and arranged to meet here.”

“We will forgive her,” said the doctor, “knowing how tempting the shops in this town can be. In any case, she is my last appointment here for this afternoon.”

They waited, and as the minutes passed, Diana began to be uneasy, and to be a little annoyed with Anthea for being so careless. She explained to Dr. Frederic that she had been so anxious to buy the book of songs, and Anthea would not have been interested, so they had separated. “But really,” she added, “it would have been safer to stay with her all the time.”

"What songs were you looking for?” he asked her, and she brought out the book and showed him.

“Unfortunately, nearly all are in dialect,” she said, “but I shall understand some of it. Now I am anxious to get to a piano and try them.”

“You can do that here,” he said. “On my piano.”

She hastily disclaimed that she was as anxious as that.

“But why not here?” he said, and rose to his feet. “My secretary will tell us as soon as Anthea gets here. In the meantime, you can amuse yourself; and I sha
ll
listen to you.”

He led her to a satisfyingly beautiful drawing room, with a grand piano against one wall. Everything about it was so exactly right that Diana thought she had never been in so perfect a room. It was gracious and elegant, yet comfortable and welcoming. They crossed to the piano, and Diana, instead of opening it, began to turn over the music that was already on the top of it.

“Is this your music?” she asked him.

“Yes.”

“You play all this?”

“But yes.”

“Then you are much too good for me, and I should be embarrassed at playing in front of you
...
You like Bach?” For most of the music she had seen was Bach’s music.

“Yes,” he said. “I like Bach. Or shall I say I am a passionate admirer of Bach.”

She looked at him hesitantly.

“As we have to wait for Anthea,” she said, “would you like to play—just a little?”

“Certainly,” he said, “if you are too shy yourself.
I find my refreshment in Bach. The harmonies, the counterpoint, the intricate and amazing convolutions
...
but perhaps you play them yourself?”

“No, I am not good enough. I try sometimes, and am impatient with my fumbling. But I like to listen.”

So he sat down and played, and apparently forgot all about Diana, because he did not refer to her or ask her what she liked but went on and on, drawing his own refreshment, and giving her a tremendous amount of pleasure. She even forgot to wonder where on earth Anthea had got to, and when he paused at last, she said:

“Do please play the twenty-first prelude.”

“Alla Toccata?” he asked, and the minute of brilliance flashed past her and was gone. Then he closed the piano and stood up.

“What has happened to our young friend?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry
...
” Diana began.

“I know,” he said, and he suddenly smiled. “You do a good deal of apologizing on behalf of that young woman, do you not? Why did you agree to spend the summer in this way?”

Diana smiled back, agreeably surprised at his friendliness.

“I owe her father a great deal,” she said. “He has been very good to me. It is a small thing for me to do.”

“Ah, yes,” said the doctor abruptly. He walked to the window and came back again. “As we have to wait, you must let me give you some tea.”

“No, please,” said Diana, getting up too. “We cannot waste your time like this. We must forego the appointment.”

“You will have to wait in any case, as you have arranged to meet here. You may as well have tea.”

“But I need not usurp any more of your time.”

“My time, except for Anthea, is my own until six o’clock, when I must be at the clinic for consultation, so you may safely relax.”

“She is a very naughty girl,” said Diana, determining what she would say to Anthea when that young person was available.

The tea was brought in, the secretary came in with some messages before leaving for the day, accepted a cup of tea and departed, and the doctor and Diana talked. He was surprised to learn that she had never been abroad before, and Diana was explaining that her aunt, who brought her up, had nursed the strange idea that all foreigners were heathen, dissipated, wicked and predatory, and was quite convinced that England ought to be more than sufficient for all right-thinking people. They were laughing together over this, in a more friendly fashion than any that had so far existed between them, when the maid announced M
l
le. Nicol, and Antoinette came into the room.

She was supremely sure of herself, and extremely chic. Her slim-fitting dress was of grey tie-silk, her little Paris hat white, as were her gloves. Diana wondered if she always managed to look as if she had just stepped from the pages of the glossy fashion magazines.

“How nice to find you at home, and not desperately busy,” she said, speaking in French. “And how comfortable and domestic you look. May I join you for tea?”

Dr. Frederic was already bringing her a chair, and introducing her to Diana.

“But I remember you,” said Antoinette. “You were with the pretty girl who had the so-nice mink coat. You are English? Perhaps it is nicer we should all talk in English.”

Diana explained that the pretty girl in the so
-
nice mink coat had been very naughty today, and that was why she had wasted the doctor’s time in this fashion.

“Oh, it is good for him,” said Antoinette, smiling at him fondly. “He should have more occasions when somebody wastes his time for him—it relaxes him.”

“You do your best, Antoinette,” he told her.

“Indeed yes, I know that I sometimes take more of your time than you are willing to give. He works much
—much
too hard,” she added to Diana. “If I did not sometimes bully him to take me to frivolous occasions, he would be much too serious. But you must admit, Armand, that you always enjoy such occasions.”

“Who could help enjoying himself in your company, my dear?”

“Pfff!” she exclaimed gaily. “Such a little compliment. But tell me, Miss Pevrill, what part of England do you come from? I know England quite well, and like it always so much
...
” and the conversation was established on normal, polite lines.

When it was time for the doctor to leave for the clinic, Anthea had still not arrived, and Diana was beginning to be anxious. Antoinette asked Dr. Frederic to drop her at her house, and they left together, as handsome and elegant a couple as anyone could wish to see. Dr. Frederic said he would return in about an hour, and then, if Anthea had not arrived, he would make enquiries. If she had, and they had left for their hotel in the mountains, he would write to them about a new appointment.

The maid took away the tea things, and Diana waited in an increasingly anxious and irritable mood. She was anxious lest any accident had befallen Anthea; but she did not really think this had happened. She thought it more likely that Anthea had been led away by some whim which would need explaining, and she was angry because Anthea’s whims so often put them both in a bad light with the doctor. He was used to people who knew how to behave
...
and there she was at the root of the trouble, Antoinette. Who could compete with such elegance? Especially when that elegance seemed to be firmly established in the doctor’s favors. There had been quite an agreeable friendliness in the air that afternoon, in spite of Anthea’s defection; but it had vanished like a puff of smoke when Antoinette arrived, with her affectionate smiles for him, her gentle teasing.

So that when, at last, Anthea did arrive—looking moreover, extremely happy and well and gay, and not nearly as repentant as she should have been
—
Diana felt more angry than ever. Her explanations, also, were far from adequate, and as Diana could not relieve her feelings in the car, with the hired driver in front, she retired into an annoyed silence, which the sight of Anthea’s shining eyes did nothing to decrease.

There was almost a quarrel between them at the hotel.

“But I tell you,” said Anthea, “I happened to meet Hans, from the hotel here. And I had quite a lot of time before meeting you, so when he offered to show me the town, I was delighted. And I forgot all about the time; and when I did remember, I thought it was too late, Dr. Frederic was sure to have skipped us, and so I didn’t hurry.”