Quest for Alexis (15 page)

It was furnished very simply, the walls painted
white, the floor rugs and curtains in strong bright colors
—orange, lime green and yellow. There was a circular
dining table of natural pine and four matching ladder-
back chairs, a deep, soft couch with a scattering of
cushions, which Brett dragged around to face the fire.

He disappeared outside again and returned with the
carton of food we’d bought, the two long French loaves sticking out of the top.

“I think an early lunch is indicated, don’t you, Gail? What do you say to canned soup? I fancy kidney my
self, followed by some of that nice ripe Camembert.
And we’ll break open a bottle of the Chablis.”

With the warmth of the fire beginning to penetrate
my frozen bones, and the prospect of food, I was feeling mellowed, more human. I suddenly realized that I
was devastatingly hungry. I’d scarcely eaten any
breakfast.

I followed Brett through to the kitchen, leaving the
door wide open to take some of the fire’s heat with us.

“I’ll see to it, Brett. That is, if I can manage the oil
stove.”

“It’s not difficult once it knows who’s boss. I’ll show
you. Then I’ll get a bucket of water from the hand
pump, which incidentally doubles as the bathroom.”

“Bathroom? I could just do with ...”

Brett grinned maliciously. “You strip and crouch
under the spout while somebody pumps for you. Bill
and Harriet swear by it. They say it’s most invigorating.
Care to try?”

“Thanks, I’ll do without. Look, Brett, hadn’t you
better phone Dougal before we do anything else?”

“I’ve done it already, from the cafe.”

“When you were supposed to be ringing here and
fixing it with the Shackletons.” On an impulse, I added,
“I’m sorry for being bitchy, Brett. You’re doing your
best to help me, and heaven knows why you should.”

He smiled at me briefly. Or perhaps it was a rueful
smile against himself.

“I was dead lucky and caught Dougal just as he got
back to his hotel in Cannes. He was flaming mad about
his exclusive story going bust, but he’s promised that
he’ll ring us at this number as soon as he hears any
thing more.”

After we had eaten, I heated some water and
washed the dishes, then returned to the couch to relax
and let the fire soak into me. There was nothing I
could do, no action I could take. Until Dougal phoned
with fresh news, I would just have to curb my im
patience and wait. In fact, this brief respite from rush
and activity was rather delicious.

I drifted into a light doze, conscious of Brett moving
around the room, doing this and that. In the end, I fell
deeply asleep.

The sound of the door being closed aroused me.
Opening my eyes, I saw that Brett had just come in
from outside. The fire was a glow of red embers, and I
realized the daylight was fading.

“What time is it?” I asked drowsily.

He flicked his wrist in a gesture that I’d seen him
make a hundred times before. “Just on five-fifteen.
You had a good sleep. You must have needed it.”

I snapped wide awake. “Hasn’t Dougal phoned yet?
It’s
hours
since we got here.”

“He will—the second there’s anything to tell us. But
it may be that Alexis has really gone to ground this
time.”

“Oh no. You don’t really think that, do you, Brett?”

He shrugged. “It might be best all around if he
vanished, considering the trouble he’s causing every
one. Just now, while you were asleep, I was thinking what a terrible fraud that man is. I remembered the touching little gathering at Deer’s Leap on Christmas Eve. Both families gathered around the fire, with the
radio tuned to the BBC European service to hear Alexis giving his annual message of hope and comfort to his
fellow countrymen. The famous Wenceslas Message. At the end, my father was so moved that he couldn’t
speak for a minute. There were actually tears in the
old chap’s eyes as he silently produced the bottle of
slivovice he’d bought specially for the occasion. Oh, it
makes me sick.”

I bit my lip, keeping back tears. Being in the United
States, I had missed Christmas at Deer’s Leap this year,
but it was always the same. A solemn ritual. Alexis had
broadcast the Wenceslas Message each Christmas Eve
since his escape to freedom.

Brett went on in the same bitter voice, “It’s all very
fine you having this crazy idea of talking Alexis around
and making him see the error of his ways—but I doubt
if
I
will ever forgive him. And I reckon that goes for a
great many people.”

Out of my despair came a flash of anger. “You
shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgment. What right
have you to condemn Alexis before you’ve heard his
side of the story?”

Brett’s dark eyes were flinty. “Look who’s talking
about fairness. I never remember
you
being ready to
give
me
the benefit of the doubt.”

I almost snapped back at him, but I checked myself
in time. There was no use in our bickering, no sense in
fighting past battles again and reopening old wounds. A
log fell to the stone hearth with a crash of sparks, and
it gave me an excuse to kneel down and attend to the
fire.

Later, for supper, I made a large ham omelet, using
Harriet Shackleton’s heavy iron skillet. We had more
of the Camembert and some grapes to follow. Brett
opened another bottle of wine.

We sat opposite each other at the round table, in the
pool of light cast by a figured brass oil lamp. My mind
leaped back across the months. It had often been like
this in my apartment in London—just the two of us in
a softly lit room.

But it was different now. Everything was changed. Brett and I sat and made polite talk, empty words and
phrases strung together. Whenever a possible danger point loomed, we both drew back hastily into the safe
ty of platitudes.

Brett got up from the table and began to prowl about
the room restlessly. He seemed just as much on edge
as I was.

“The moon’s up,” he said, stopping by the window
and drawing aside the curtain. “It looks beautiful. Get
your coat on, Gail, and we’ll go outside for a few
minutes.”

The wind had dropped and the air was crisp. The
moon was low in the sky, just a half circle, and its
pure clear light made a landscape of vivid contrasts.
The distant snow-capped peaks were etched silver
against an indigo sky, while nearby a massive outcrop
of rock rose like a miniature mountain, the limestone
glowing a translucent bluish white. The shadows were
deep, black, mysterious.

Brett said, pointing, “I remember there’s a path
leading around that big crag. From the farther side
you get a terrific view right down the entire length of
the valley. It’s fantastic.”

“Can we go and look?”

“Not now. The path is too narrow to be safe at night,
even when there’s a moon. Besides, one of us must stay
close to the phone. If we’re still here in the morning,
you can go and have a look then.”

The cold was striking through my coat, but I had
no urge to go back inside. Not yet. There was a strange
enchantment about this silent, silver world of moon
light. Nothing seemed quite real. I felt a fluttering with
in me that was almost panic.

It plucked a chord of memory. Some time, some
place, this had happened to me before. Suddenly, I
recalled the occasion vividly—the Ivory Room at Deer’s Leap, when I had met Brett again after an
interval of more than ten years. That evening I had
experienced this same curious sensation, as if every
thing was without substance and I was floating adrift, drowning, having no say in my own destiny.

I shivered, from the cold, from the remembrance.
Brett’s fingers reached out to me, and I let my hand
stay in his. It seemed so natural, so utterly right. The
misty vapor of our breathing mingled and hung in a
little cloud, scarcely moving in the stillness of the night.

I don’t remember if there was a moment of decision.
I only remember going into Brett’s arms, being held,
clinging to him. I remember the feel of his lips on mine —ice-cold, then warm.

“Gail,” he murmured softly. “Darling Gail.”

Without any more words being spoken, as if the
silence was somehow too precious to break, we turned
and went back inside. Brett tossed logs onto the fire,
and I stood very still, watching him, watching the
golden, leaping flames, conscious of the flames that
leaped within me.

There were no explanations, no apologies, no for
giveness. That night it was as if Brett and I had never
been apart.

This time when I awoke, the fire had almost died, but
the room still felt warm from the glowing embers and
the stored-up heat of the massive hearthstone. The
lamp had burned itself out, leaving a slight tang of
kerosene in the air. Around the edges of the curtains
the first gray light of morning was showing.

I had spent the night on the couch, wrapped in
blankets, cushions under my head. Brett lay within
touch of my outstretched fingers, rolled in more blankets on the hearthrug. He seemed to be deeply asleep,
not even stirring when I leaned down and drew back
the blankets so that I could see the luminous dial of his
wristwatch.

Five minutes to eight. Over twenty-four hours had
gone by, and still no further news of Alexis. The reali
zation wiped away my exalted mood of the night.
Yesterday’s problems were still with me, I thought
bleakly.

I rose from the couch and went out to the freezing
kitchen, washing as best I could in icy water. I longed
for a good hot bath and clean clothes.

I considered whether to start getting breakfast but
decided not to. Brett might as well have his sleep un
disturbed.

I went back to the living room and stood for a mo
ment looking down at him, feeling my heartbeat quick
en. He lay on his back with his head turned to one side, so that I saw the outline of his profile, the firm
contours of his neck and shoulder. I had an urge to
sink down on my knees and fondle his tousled dark-
brown hair.

I made myself move away. After a moment, I
slipped on my coat and went quietly to the door, letting
myself out.

It was an overcast morning, the distant peaks cut
off from view by banks of snow clouds, slate-gray and
threatening. Hands thrust deeply into the pockets of my coat, I paced moodily along the track that led to
the road, while I thought about Brett. Last night, what
had it meant? Nothing had really changed. There was
still the question of Elspeth. Brett had made me no
promises. He had shown no regret for the time we had
been apart, those long wasted months. Perhaps last
night had been just an interlude for him, without any
feeling of commitment. Perhaps he had merely taken
what he sensed I was only too eager to give. My face
burned as I recalled how easy I had made it for him.

And yet, how insistent he had been to come with
me on my quest for Alexis. He had done everything possible to help me, taking me on a trail I could never
have followed alone.

Why had he done all this?

Last night I believed I had found the answer. But
the cold gray light of morning, the cold light of reason, told me it was only wishful thinking.

Why, then?

Ahead, the track ran through the clump of pine
trees. It looked dark in there and somehow ominous.
With a shudder, I turned back.

Retracing my steps, I came to where a path led off
to the right, curving away toward the massive lime
stone crag. I remembered that Brett had spoken of a viewpoint from the farther side. This wasn’t really the
morning for distant views, but I. might be able to see
something. And it would kill time.