Free Horizon by Helen MacInnes

and was eaten too quickly.) The rough linen cloth on the table was clean; the large white coarse cups were clean; the room was clean. Everything was neat and clean, from the well-scrubbed face and well-brushed hair of FrauSchichtl to the stiff little curtains of white lace above the precise row of ivy pots on the sill.
    Lennox said a mild good-morning, and fingered his chin nervously as he slid into his chair at the table. He ought to have shaved after all, he thought, as he glanced up at Frau Schichtl’s quiet face. She had the same wide-spaced blue eyes as her son, Johann. Now these eyes were watching him curiously. He wished she would sit down. She was almost his height, and that was tall for a woman. Now, as she stood there so impassively, her strong arms and capable hands flowing from her broad shoulders, her well-shaped head erect on the long, firm neck, he felt as young as Johann. He resented it. And that gave him courage.
    “Frau Schichtl!” he began. “Frau Schichtl, what’s the use of—”
    But she had turned her back towards the door and was listening to something else. He watched the decided curve of jaw and the line of high cheek-bone in profile.
    “Anything wrong?” he asked.
    “No. I only thought I heard Johann. He came home at dawn today. He’s asleep now. He had a long journey this time.” She moved suddenly to the entrance-hall, which formed the sitting-room of the house, and stood listening at the foot of the staircase. He could see her, the tall, strong figure in its severe black dress, intent on listening. The beams of light from the kitchen and sitting-room windows made a good angle against the soft background of darkened pine walls. The still darker furniture formed solid shapes, bright surfaced with polishing, so that they held the glancing light. Interior, he thought, interior in the Dutch manner. And then he glanced down at his right hand. Frau Schichtl, coming back into the kitchen with her slow, evenstep, saw the bitter smile on his lips. She forgot about Johann.
    “What is it, Peter?” she asked quickly.
    Lennox’s right hand slid under the table. He lifted the heavy cup of milk with his left hand. He didn’t want to test the right hand now, not with Frau Schichtl’s sharp blue eyes watching him.
    “What news does Johann bring?” he countered.
    “A lot. About many things.” She stopped watching him and moved suddenly over to the oven. She unwrapped the white cloth which lay on its side-ledge. She picked up a loaf and cut a thick slice with its floury golden crust still warm.
    “Try this,” she said, and offered him the new breads.
    Lennox stared at her in surprise. He took the bribe with almost a smile. But Frau Schichtl was now too preoccupied with her own thoughts even to notice it.
    “Why don’t you like us?” she asked suddenly, staring at the floor in front of his feet.
    Lennox moved restlessly. “I do like you,” he said very evenly. “You have been very kind.”
    “Yet you are not happy. If you really liked us then you would be happy.”
    “That doesn’t follow.”
    She raised her eyes and studied his face with a puzzled look. “You want to leave,” she said at last. “You think this is a prison.” It was a statement, rather than a challenge, and she said it so sadly that Lennox found himself answering. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but his words were tight and hard.
    “That,” he said, “is a fact about me, and not about you or about the people of those mountains out there.” He noddedtowards the window. “You’ve all been kind. You’ve given me as much food as you’ve had for yourself. Sometimes more. You’ve given me shelter. You’ve hidden me well. I understand why I can’t leave this house through the day, why I’ve got to stay upstairs most of the time. I understand why the neighbouring houses aren’t even supposed to know I am here. I understand why no one sees me except you, and Johann, and the local Committee who