Free Love in High Places by Jane Beaufort Page B

wonderfully lazy day and do practically nothing, except sit in the sun.” She pointed upwards at a wood that crowned the crest of a rise. “I’m going to explore that. I’ve never been there before.”
    The Count looked upwards a little wistfully, shielding his eyes from the glare.
    “I wish I could offer to come with you, Fraulein , but nowadays I find that I cannot climb.” He touched his noticeable paunch, and then his chest. “My breath refuses to come, and I gasp and gasp! ...” He rolled his eyes horrifically, and then smiled his ridiculously angelic smile. “So I, too, will sit in the sun and smoke a cigar. It is all I can do now that I am growing old!”
    “Nonsense.” The warmth of her smile, and the soft brilliance and clarity of the golden eyes stirred something inside him that would probably never grow old, and, indeed, he suddenly yearned to be able to escort her. “But I hope you’ll enjoy your cigar!”
    By noon she had reached the little plateau where the pine wood spread its protecting branches, and as the sun, by that time, was fiercely hot, she was glad to find a fallen tree trunk on which she could sink down thankfully and begin her lunch.
    It was deliciously cool in the pine wood, and the green twilight that hung between the trees was a rest after the glare of the open snow slopes. She was able to remove her dark glasses and put them away in her knapsack, and the serried shapes of the trees that rose up all around her assumed an additional sprightliness and a grace that was surprising when one thought of the storms that lashed at them.
    Eating thick slices of bread interspersed with sausage, cheese tarts and an apple in this tranquil shade, Valentine thought how even more delicious it would be here in the summer-time, when instead of trodden snow underfoot there would be a warm carpet of pine needles on which one could recline, and the aromatic scent of them would rise like a cloud of incense on all sides. And instead of the stark whiteness of the valley confronting her there would be a green slope covered with wild flowers, the hazy shimmer of sunlight in the long luxuriant grass, and the endless silver glitter of streams and cascades finding their way down from the heights.
    There would be the babble of the running water — instead of this frozen silence — the noisy chirping of unseen regiments of crickets, the music of cow-bells stealing down, also, from the high pastures. And at this hour of the day it would be hot, hot ... So hot that one would think thankfully of falling fast asleep, and almost certainly succumb to the temptation to close one’s eyes, at least. Sink deep into the pine needles ...
    After such a hard climb as she had done that morning Valentine would have been glad to close her eyes just for a minute, and lean back against the stout pine behind her. But there was a nip in the air when the sun’s rays couldn’t touch one that warned her of the foolishness of doing anything of that kind, and instead she concentrated on the lonely figure of a man towing a sled up from some deep pocket of the valley. There was another figure some considerable distance to the right of him — a figure without the bright blob that represented a cap — and although he appeared to be moving more quickly, and with greater ease, he was too far away to be of any real interest to Valentine.
    Almost certainly someone from the hotel — or one of the other hotels in the village — not bothering about hurrying back for lunch. Possibly armed like herself with a lunch packet.
    Then, abruptly, her thoughts drifted to Lou and von Felden. That week-end they would probably be visiting his schloss, and she wondered whether she ought to go along with Lou — although what would she do for a chaperon if she didn’t? — and what sort of an excuse might be acceptable if Lou could find someone to take her place. Then, because her mind was growing a little drowsy, and vital problems were better shelved, she