There Will Come A Stranger by Dorothy Rivers Read Free Book Online Page B

that kind of thing!”
    A moment later she regretted having said it. John and the Prescotts, who were staying only for a fortnight, were unlikely to be suffering from financial stringency; they were not the sort to indulge in champagne dinners at the Schweizerhof, or any other currency-devouring luxuries: she hoped her casual words hadn ’ t sounded like a hint that he might stand them drinks, nor anything of that kind!
    As they turned up the road a voice behind called, “Hey, there! John!”
    They all turned, and saw a young man striding up the road towards them. John raised a hand in salutation. “Rory! This is grand! We were beginning to think you weren ’ t going to turn up this year! When did you get here?”
    “About half an hour ago!”
    John grinned. “You haven ’ t wasted much time! Why have you deserted the Casque d ’ Or this year?”
    “Left it too late. The whole place was booked up when I wrote. But Madame Jourdier fixed me up at the Pension Edelweiss—that little place beside the church. It ’ s run by cousins of hers.” John introduced him to the two girls as Rory Wilson and they all set off together. Rory was slightly above average height, wiry and well-knit. Both Vivian and Valerie liked the look of him. He had merry grey eyes and an attractive smile revealing very white teeth; his appearance, voice, and manner combined together to express a vital, virile personality. His age was twenty-eight or thereabouts.
    The road was empty, so they walked four abreast, the two girls in the middle, Rory beside Valerie, John by Vivian. Rory ’ s good-humoured friendliness banished all traces of shyness Valerie was apt to feel with strangers, and in a moment they were talking nineteen to the dozen. Under cover of their talk John said quietly to Vivian, “I knew you ’ d probably be starting rather late, and as the instructors get snapped up pretty early on, I took a chance and booked one for you. Couldn ’ t get you one each, I ’ m afraid—but one is better than none! Antoine ’ s his name—I hope you don ’ t think I ’ ve been butting in!”
    Before she could reply Rory exclaimed, “I say, we ’ d better get a move on—they ’ re just going up!”
    They all began to run. The men, racing ahead, took tickets at the little office and they all four flung themselves, laughing and breathless, into the quaint contraption as it started on its dizzy ascent.
    Vivian and Valerie were side by side, facing the mountain, with the two men opposite, looking back the way that they had come. In the hurry and flurry, followed by the excitement of the novel experience, Vivian momentarily forgot what John had said about the instructor, as like Valerie she gazed about her at the overwhelming beauty lying on all sides: white peaks soaring proud against the azure sky, fir trees emerging from the snow, casting their sapphire shadows on its purity; far in the distance skiers no larger than black dots flashed downward from the dazzling heights with poise and grace that caught one ’ s breath.
    The funicular was slowing. John was saying, “Well—here you are! Antoine will be waiting for you at the hut.”
    Then she remembered. Getting out, she called back, “I ’ ll thank you properly this evening—it was good of you—only I wish you hadn ’ t bothered!”
    Near the funicular was a log hut fronted by a wide veranda with chairs and little tables, partly enclosed by glass screens. As they walked towards it Valerie was thinking rather nervously of what lay ahead. But Vivian was thinking that she knew now why John had set out so late this morning. The “errand” of which he had spoken to Madame Jourdier was on their behalf, and having booked an instructor for them he had returned to tell them he had done so—probably ruining his entire day, since the others had set off without him.
    It would make all the difference in the world to their first morning here to start off properly from the beginning, instead of having