Free The Golden Peaks by Eleanor Farnes Page A

there would be in their attitude if she were to say: “No, Luigi, you must not waste your time on me. I am only a secretary, and only that for a couple of days—I ought to be buried in a back room with a typewriter. ” She did not say it. She smiled at Luigi as he absented himself with a bow to attend to other guests, and gave herself up to watching all that went on.
    She saw at once that she was in a truly cosmopolitan milieu. She saw that Kurt carried himself with an assurance that was as effective here as at the Rotihorn . He dined with two men, and waiters and commis vied for his attention and approval. He danced two or three times with women who were elegantly gowned and expensively bejewelled, while anxious waiters did their best to keep the next course at the correct temperature. There was no doubt about it—his authority was unquestioned. His every word was deferred to—waiters, bellboys, porters and clerks would all be anxious to please.
    As she watched the dancing, studying the dresses and jewels with an interested eye, she suddenly wished that she were dancing among them herself. It seemed a very long time since she had dressed up in her evening dresses, and danced. She would like to be dancing there—with Kurt St. Pierre. The thought startled her. It had slipped into her mind so suddenly, unheralded. Yet facing it squarely, she knew that she would like it; that it would give her immense pleasure. She thought back over her day—and realized that the drive with him had already given her pleasure, and that this day would probably stand out from all others as a red-letter day. She cautioned herself not to let him become important to her. All sorts of repressing thoughts came up in her mind: she had eventually to go back to England, she was an unimportant cog in his business affairs, she had no knowledge of his friends (among whom might be many beautiful and cosmopolitan women); she had much better keep her mind on Dorothy and her work and her return to England.
    When she left the dining room, she went out into the cool air of the evening, and walked for a while by the side of the lake. Others walked there, too, but not singly. The glowing ends of cigarettes went in twos or threes, and voices conversing leisurely told of people spending this evening in company. A feeling of loneliness descended on her. It would be pleasant to have a companion here.
    At last, she went up to her luxurious room. She was tired, but she could not sleep. Her window was open, and laughter and snatches of talk came up to her, with the occasional purring of a car on the gravel. Her mind was overfull of new impressions, of the mountains, of the Mirabella, of the place where they had lunched, and of Kurt himself.
    The next day was one long session of work, interrupted at intervals by meals on trays. Kurt came and went, occupied with a thousand things. Maria came in several times from the larger office where she worked, and it struck Celia that Maria resented her being here, but there was nothing Celia could do about that, and this might be the only time that she would be at the Mirabella. When Kurt was in the small office, he dictated letters at great speed, in English. When he was out, Celia painstakingly put them into French or German, and typed them. The whole day she was busy, and the whole day she wondered if she would once more dine in the restaurant, and if Kurt might possibly take some notice of her. It was a great disappointment to have her dinner also brought to her on a tray, and to hear that Kurt was in conference. After dinner, he was still busy but did not need her longer, so she walked once more by the edge of the lake, alone, and tried to fight an unreasonable despondency.
    She was in bed, but restless and not sleepy, when her room telephone rang. Kurt’s voice spoke to her:
    “ I think,” he said, “we shall be able to get off in the morning. I’ve been trying to despatch everything here today. Can you be ready by