To Journey Together (19 page)

"When," he enquired politely of Elinor, "do you and the Conneltons have to leave Vienna? I hope you are staying a long time."

"Not very long, I'm afraid. It was never meant to be more than a short visit. But I haven't heard anyone talk about leaving yet," Elinor said.

"I was talking it over with my uncle this afternoon," Kenneth put in at this point. "We are expecting to leave by the end of the week.

"So soon?" Elinor exclaimed, and a feeling of dismay invaded her, while all the others looked at Kenneth as though he had deliberately spoiled the fun.

"Unavoidable, I'm afraid." Kenneth, looking rather deliberately in character for Alfonso, shrugged and smiled slightly. "Business considerations come into it. My uncle and I ought to be in Rome in a week or ten days' time."

"Does one really go to Rome, of all heavenly places, for business?" Rudi enquired, a little disdainfully, although he smiled.

"Certainly one does. There's a lot of very useful business done in Rome, I assure you," Kenneth countered dryly. "Particularly if you're in the touring world."

"Rome---" Elinor said almost to herself. And for a moment the thought of Rome consoled her for the threatening loss of Vienna. Then she remembered that in Rome there would be no Rudi or Ilsa, and her spirits sank. "It will be lovely to go to Rome," she said, feeling that somehow blame seemed to have attached itself unfairly to Kenneth. "But I shall hate to leave Vienna."

"We shall hate to lose you." Ilsa glanced at her with genuine affection.

"We may turn up in Rome before you have time to move on," Ruch said impulsively, and Elinor

thought there was even a touch of rashness in the way he said that.

"You do get about, don't you?" Kenneth observed, speaking almost with a drawl. "For someone who is not in touring, I mean."

"I must see about getting into it," Rudi declared lightly. "It seems a wonderful way of combining business and pleasure. Are there vacancies?"

"For those who are ready to work hard," Kenneth said. "It's not all running around enjoying oneself." And although the words suggested that he was merely giving useful information, the tone implied that Rudi was thus ruled out.

They went back and danced again after that. But a little of the brightness had gone out of Elinor's evening.

Only during the last waltz all of it came back again, because Rudi said softly and thoughtfully, "Shall I come to Rome, Liebling?"

"If you would like to, Rudi—of course."

"But would you like me to?" He seemed to have forgotten his sister for the moment. "That is more important."

"I'd love you to," she said, without coquetry. "You know I'm going to miss you dreadfully. But it's rather a long way to come just because I say I'd like to see you there."

"Men have changed their whole way of life for less," he told her, half laughing, half serious. "Wasn't that what we were talking of earlier in the evening? The idea of changing one's way of life because someone else's wishes mean so much?"

"I don't think we put it as categorically as that," Elinor said, trying to make herself sound matter-of-fact. And then they were silent, and perhaps he let the lilt of the waltz, the feel of his arm, and the knowledge that the lovely evening was nearly over, all speak for him instead.

A million stars were shining overhead as they drove home to the hotel, but the first cold breath of dawn was stirring as they said goodbye to each other on the pavement.

"Don't bother about the dress, darling. I'll collect it sometime tomorrow—or, rather, later today," Ilsa said, as she kissed Elinor good night. "Anyway, I'm going to ask Leni if you can keep it. No one else will ever look half so lovely in it, and I don't know what good it's doing anyone, stored

away in an attic."

"Oh, no, please don't suggest such a thing to her," Elinor exclaimed. "It would sound exactly as though I were cadging. I was so happy to borrow it, but that's all."

"You're sweet," Ilsa declared, as though she noted, but did not understand, Elinor's point of view. Then good nights were said and, suddenly unable to keep from yawning and overwhelmed by pleasant fatigue, they separated.

"You were talking Greek to Ilsa," Kenneth remarked as they made their way to the lift.

"Greek?" repeated Elinor, too sleepy and muddled to work that out.

"Never mind." Kenneth smiled at her and, incredibly, ruffled her dark hair with a rather gentle hand. "Good night—or rather good morning. Sleep well."

And so she said good night and went to her room. But only when she had carefully undressed, hung the lovely blue dress on a hanger, and crept wearily into bed did she realize what he had meant. It was the last thing that she thought of as she drifted into sleep. That and the knowledge that the touch on her hair had been both amused and approving.

Inevitably she slept late. But, even so, she found Lady Connelton still at the breakfast table when she came down.

"I breakfasted late on purpose," that lady explained. "I guessed you wouldn't be early, and I do want to hear how everything went."

Very willingly Elinor re-lived her wonderful evening, describing in detail to her delighted employer all her experiences and reactions.

"M-yes, of course." Lady Connelton rubbed the bridge of her nose reflectively. "I suppose Rudi von

Eiberg would be the ideal companion for such an occasion."

"It was a very nice party altogether," Elinor stated impartially, and something about that appeared to amuse her employer a good deal.

"It's a pity we have to go at the end of the week. Did you know about that?" Lady Connelton asked.

"Kenneth told me. I'm sorry too. But even the best of things have to come to an end, I suppose, and we never expected it to be a long visit. Besides—" Elinor hesitated, wondering if she could make this suitably casual and then deciding that at least it was better to make the statement now—"Ilsa and Rudi think they might manage to come to Rome while we are there."

"Is that so?" Lady Connelton's expression became rather complicated. "Was that your suggestion or his?"

"His, of course, Lady Connelton! I shouldn't have made such a suggestion."

"Not even if you wanted him there very much?"

"Not even then," Elinor assured her firmly.

"Well, I don't know. He's a remarkably attractive young fellow, of course," Lady Connelton said, with apparent irrelevance. "No visible means of support, though, as my husband says. And one doesn't even know how the old lady has left her money, so one can't even bank on prospects."

"Oh, Lady Connelton, don't talk like that!" Elinor begged. "In any case, Madame Mardenburg is so delightful and—and vital, one doesn't want to think of any time when she would be—otherwise."

"Of course not," agreed Lady Connelton, who had quite obviously been thinking of just such a time. "But one must be practical. All old people die eventually. And all rich old people leave their money to someone. Unless of course it's cats' homes or something like that," she added. "But I don't think Leni Mardenburg is the sort to think in those terms."

"I am sure she's not," Elinor agreed with a slight smile. "But I don't know quite how we came to be talking this way."

"Don't you, dear? I do, exactly," Lady Connelton said cheerfully. "I was wondering quite frankly how fond you are of Rudi von Eiberg and whether, if he suddenly became well endowed with this world's goods, you would begin to take a practical, as well as a romantic, interest in him."

"The situation doesn't arise, Lady Connelton," Elinor said quite firmly. Upon which her employer good-humouredly abandoned the discussion—and left Elinor wondering at her own social aplomb.

Later that day Ilsa came; partly to hold an enjoyable inquest on the evening before, and partly to tell Elinor that she was to keep the dress.

"I didn't say anything to Leni about it," she assured Elinor, before she could protest. "It was Leni's own suggestion. She said that when she saw you in it she remembered for a moment just how she herself had looked—and she doesn't want anyone else to have it, ever."

"How sweet of her!" Elinor's warm heart was touched. "May I come and thank her myself before we leave Vienna?"

"I'll try to arrange it," Ilsa promised. "But she's very tired again now and is keeping to her bed for a day or two. She sometimes has these spells, you know. It's nothing, really, only that she's so old. But I'm afraid it won't be possible for the Conneltons to visit her, after all. I'm so sorry, but the doctor says that she must not be tired when she is like this."

"Of course! I'm sure they will understand," Elinor said. Though secretly she was sorry too, for she knew how Lady Connelton would have enjoyed meeting the old lady, while Sir Daniel would have been able to indulge in the most nostalgic of his reminiscences.

The last few days slipped away all too soon,

though each one was so packed with pleasant experiences that there was not even time for regrets.

Elinor was not alone again with Rudi, and for

this she was not quite sure if she were sorry or

relieved. He was beginning to have an effect upon

her which was disturbing as well as delightful, and—as Lady Connelton's very practical words had indicated—there was no really solid basis to justify such feelings.

All the arrangements had been made for the Conneltons' party to leave on Friday morning, and there was a final dinner party with the von Eibergs as guests on the Thursday evening. The journey to Rome was not to be made direct, of course, as it was necessary to return to Ehrwald, hand over the car and collect the rest of their luggage.

"We shall probably be a day or two in Ehrwald," Sir Daniel explained to anyone who was interested to listen, "and then go by way of Munich and Verona to Rome."

"When we come—" begun Rudi, and then stopped.

"Are you coming?" enquired Kenneth without enthusiasm.

"Oh, we might." That was Ilsa, looking very faintly confused for once. "At least, we're pretending so to ourselves, and then we shan't feel so melancholy, saying goodbye."

Everyone—except perhaps Kenneth—seemed to think this did their sensibilities great credit.

"I do hope you manage it!" exclaimed Elinor. "And you must give Madame Mardenburg my most affectionate thanks and greetings."

For unfortunately it had not proved possible for Elinor to visit the old lady again, as the doctor still considered it unwise to allow visitors.

Both Ilsa and Rudi promised to convey this message. And then, suddenly, it was time for the goodbyes, and Elinor found her heart thumping in the most unaccountable way, and a big and almost uncontrollable lump in her throat.

She kept on telling herself that it was a good thing there was no possibility of emotional scenes with so many people present. But she was wishing, really, all the time that she could have just ten
five—two minutes alone with Rudi.

When he came to her, however, he simply took her hand, smiled down at her, and said in an undertone that made her heart thump harder than ever, "I'll come and say goodbye to you in the morning. Will you be down early to breakfast?"

"Very early. Before all the others," she promised quickly. And then he had passed on and was bowing over Lady Connelton's hand and kissing it respectfully.

It was not so difficult to say goodbye to Ilsa after that, though they kissed each other with genuine emotion on both sides. And Ilsa promised once more to convey Elinor's friendly messages to her stepmother.

They were gone at last, and even Lady Connelton sighed and said, "I hate saying goodbye to anyone with whom I've enjoyed myself so much."

Elinor found a sympathetic echo to that in her heart. But, as Kenneth looked elaborately noncommital, she decided not to put her feelings into words. In any case—she was to see Rudi once more for a few minutes on her own next morning. And, with that thought to cheer her, she could not be entirely downcast.

To ensure that she was down before everyone else on a day of departure was not quite easy. But Elinor was so determined to achieve this that she arrived in the breakfast-room next morning while it was still silent and empty.

However, a waiter appeared almost immediately to take her order. And then, for what seemed like hours, she sat there dawdling over her coffee and rolls, while her nervous impatience grew, and she asked herself how Rudi supposed he could have any time alone with her if he did not hurry.

The hands of the big clock in the dining-room crept on. One or two early risers drifted in. The waiter came to ask if she would like anything else. And still no Rudi appeared.

Instead, at last, Kenneth came in and, to Elinor's immense chagrin, joined her at the table

"Hello, you did make an early start," he said, seeing her empty plate and cup.

"Yes, I—was awake early," Elinor told him, trying not to look self-conscious.

"It's often the way on the day of a journey," he agreed, without appearing to see anything unusual in her manner. Then he ordered his breakfast, and a few minutes later Elinor got up, saying that she had some last-minute packing to complete.