Free Love in High Places by Jane Beaufort Page A

feet winding their way up the village street, and the thought of the lonely day that stretched ahead of herself made the envy grow stronger.
    Then one of the group turned and looked up at her window. It was the tallest amongst them, a bareheaded man with shining hair that was blue-black in the sunlight, wearing a primrose-coloured windcheater and black vorlagers. She saw his hard white teeth as he flashed a derisive smile upwards at her balcony, and her fingers clutched the balcony rail so tightly that they were numb for some time afterwards. And then he sketched her a salute, and Lou — all powder-blue to-day, and radiant as the morning — looked upwards also in some surprise.
    Then she, too, waved a hand, and immediately afterwards forgot all about the girl she employed. She clutched at the Baron’s arm in a familiar manner, and the whole of the village street echoed to their determined tramping. In a matter of minutes they had rounded a corner by the cafe, and were out of sight.
    Valentine went back into her room and started to tidy it automatically. The maid, Lisa, who did her room was a willing girl, but she hated to give her too much trouble, for the hotel was over-full, and Lou demanded rather more attention from the staff than she could reasonably expect.
    Valentine began to make a plan for her own unexpectedly free day. She was not very much in favour of the Devil’s Plateau idea, but there were other things she would like to do. She rang for Lisa and made the unusual request of a picnic lunch for herself, and with it strapped inside a knapsack went out into the resinous freshness of the morning. The resin was the odour of the pines that guarded the hotel, and their shadows lay like blue-black pencils on the whiteness of the snow. The overhead arch of blue sky had an amazing quality of purity about it, as if it had been carefully distilled through layers of gauze, and was even yet protected by an invisible layer of gauze that softened anything in the nature of a blemish which would otherwise have been revealed to the naked eye.
    Valentine looked up at it appreciatively, and felt a sudden lightening of her spirit. The warmth of the sun even at that early hour, made her suddenly intensely aware of the fact that it was good to be alive, and although the village street confronting her was comparatively empty, and there were few people left on the steps of the hotel, she didn’t feel nearly so alone. And even though she was alone it didn’t matter, for there was a whole day stretching ahead of her, and she needn’t bother about nylon underwear or pressing seams or banishing cigarette burns in taffeta evening skirts. She was free to enjoy every minute of the day, and as preparation she drew in some exciting breaths of the wine-like air and tightened the strap of the pack on her back.
    She was wearing navy-blue ski-pants and a scarlet windcheater, and there was a navy-blue cap on her curls. One or two of the people who still lingered on the steps of the hotel glanced at her curiously as she stood there, poised, as it were, for adventure, and a glimmering of admiration appeared in more than one pair of eyes. These English, they had such excellent complexions, was the general consensus of opinion of the German and American element, and the Austrians themselves were impressed by the touch of fragility.
    You didn’t get it in a country where there were so many mountains, and so many opportunities to enjoy outdoor sport and exercise.
    “You go off by yourself, Fraulein ? ” said a voice behind her, and Count “Willi” beamed at her as if he thought it a very excellent notion. “That is good! So long as you do not go too far, or forget that this is not Piccadilly Circus! So?” And he laughed as at an extremely funny joke. “You will remember that here people can get lost ? ”
    “I’m not likely to get lost,” Valentine reassured him, smiling as if she thought his joke amusing, too. “I’m going to have a