ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD
The rack-and-pinion railway from Montricheux to the Dents de Loup wound
upward like a single filament flung round the mountains by some giant
spider. The miniature train, edging its way along the track, appeared no
more than a mere speck as it crept tortuously up towards the top. At its
rear puffed a small engine, built in a curious tilted fashion, so that as
it laboured industriously behind the coaches of the train it reminded one
ridiculously of a baby elephant on its knees.
Ann was leaning against the windowless framework of the railway carriage,
watching the valleys drop away, curve by curve, as the train climbed. Far
below lay the lake, a blue rift glimmering between pine-clad heights. Then
a turn of the track and the lake was swept suddenly out of sight, while the
mountains closed round--shoulder after green-clad shoulder, with fields of
white narcissus flung across them like fairy mantles. The air was full of
the fragrance of narcissus mingling with the pungent scent of fir and pine.
Ann sniffed luxuriously and glanced round to where Tony was sitting.
"Doesn't it smell clean and delicious?" she said, drawing in great breaths
of the pine-laden air. "When I come up to the mountains I always wonder why
on earth we ever live anywhere else."
Tony smiled.
"You'd be the first to get bored if you didn't live somewhere else--now
that the winter sports are over," he returned. "After all"--mundanely--"you
can't derive more than a limited amount of enjoyment from scenery, however
fine. Besides, you must know this route by heart."
"I do. But I love it! It's different every time I come up here. I
think"--knitting her brows--"that's what is so fascinating about the
Swiss mountains; they change so much. Sometimes they look all misty and
unreal--almost like a mirage, and then, the very next day, perhaps, they'll
have turned back into hard-edged, solid rock and you can't imagine their
ever looking like dream-mountains again."
Gradually, as they mounted, they left the verdant valleys, with their
sheltered farms and châlets, behind. The pine-woods thinned, and now and
again a wedge of frozen snow, lodged under the projecting corner of a rock,
appeared beside the track. The wind grew keener, chill from the eternal
snows over which it had swept, and sheer, rocky peaks, bare of tree or
herbage, thrust upward against the sky.
Presently, with a warning shriek, the train glided into a tunnel cut clean
through the base of a mighty rock. The sides dripped moisture and the icy
air tore through the narrow passage like a blast of winter. Ann shivered in
the sudden cold and darkness and drew her furs closer round her. She had a
queer dread of underground places; they gave her a feeling of captivity,
and she was thankful when the train emerged once more into daylight and ran
into the mountain station. Tony helped her out on to the small platform.
"Which is it to be?" he asked, glancing towards where a solitary hotel
stood like a lonely outpost of civilisation. "Tea first, or a walk?"
Ann declared in favour of the walk.
"Let's go straight up to the Roche d'Or. I always feel as if I'd reached
the top of the world there. It's certainly as near the top as I shall ever
get!" she added laughing. "I don't feel drawn towards mountaineering, so I
shall probably never ascend beyond the limits of the rack-and-pinion."
The Roche d'Or was a steep upward slope, culminating in a rocky promontory
from which was visible the vast expanse of the Bernese Oberland. A
railed-in platform capped the promontory, for it was a recognised
viewpoint. Opposite, across a shallow valley, the Dents de Loup cut the
sky-line--two menacing, fang-shaped peaks like the teeth of a wolf, and
beyond them a seemingly endless range of mountains stretched away to
the far horizon, pinnacle after pinnacle towering upwards with sombre,
sharp-edged shadows veiling the depths between. Along immense ridged scarps
lay the plains of everlasting snow, infinitely bleak and desolate till a
burst of sunlight suddenly transformed them, clothing the great flanks of
the mountains in cloth of silver.
Ann stood still, absorbing the sheer beauty of it all.
"It's heavenly, isn't it?" she said at last, a little sigh of ecstasy
escaping her.
Tony looked, not at the hills, but at the young, eager face just level with
his shoulder.
"It's probably as near heaven as I shall ever get," he answered. "Anyway,
just for the moment, I don't feel I've anything particular to complain of."
"I suppose I'm to take that as a compliment," replied Ann.
"Anyway"--mimicking him--"I don't really think you have very much to
complain of at any time. You're one of the idle rich, you know. How would
you like it if you were obliged to keep your nose to the grindstone--like
Robin and me?"
"I shouldn't mind"--curtly--"if I could choose my grindstone."
"But that's just it! Robin can't--choose his grindstone, I mean. He's just
got to keep slogging away at anything that turns up."
Her face shadowed a little. They were very devoted to each other, she and
Robin. From their earliest childhood their father had counted for so little
in either of their lives that they had inevitably drawn closer to each
other than most brothers and sisters, and the enforced separation of the
last few years had been a sore trial to both of them.
"You're very fond of Robin," observed Tony. There was a note of envy in his
voice.
"Of course I am. If we could only afford to live together, I think I should
be absolutely happy."
He glanced at her quickly.
"Aren't you happy with Lady Susan?"
"Oh, yes, yes! No one could be kinder to me than she is. But--I miss
Robin"--rather wistfully. "You see, we've always been everything to each
other."
"I see. And what will happen if one day you--or Robin--should get married?"
Ann skirted the topic dexterously.
"Oh, don't let's think about possible calamities on a day like this. Look!"
She touched his arm, drawing his attention to a girl who had also climbed
the Roche d'Or hill to see the view and had halted near them, a sheaf of
freshly-gathered wild-flowers in her hand. "Aren't those blue gentians
lovely?"
Tony glanced at the few vividly blue flowers the girl was jealously
clasping. She had walked far in search of them and valued them accordingly.
"Do you want some?" he asked eagerly.
Ann nodded.
"Isn't it getting rather late in the year to find them, though?" she said
doubtfully.
The girl with the flowers, overhearing, turned to her with a friendly
smile.
"There are very few left," she vouchsafed. "I've been hunting everywhere
for them. But you may find one or two over there." She pointed to a distant
slope.
Tony's eyes followed her gesture. Then he glanced down at Ann inquiringly.
"Are you game for so long a walk?" he asked.
"I'm game for anything up in this air," she assured him with conviction.
But, as was not infrequently the case, Ann's spirit outstripped her
physical strength. The slope indicated was much farther away than it
appeared and "the going was bad," as Tony phrased it. Blue gentians proved
tantalisingly elusive, and at length, rather disheartened by their
unprofitable search, Ann came to a standstill.
"I think I'm beginning to feel a keener interest in tea than gentians,
Tony," she confessed at last, ruefully. "It's very contemptible of me, I
own. But when I contemplate the distance we've already got to cover before
we reach the hotel again, I feel distinctly disinclined to add to it."
"I've let you walk too far!" Tony was overwhelmed with compunction. "Look
here, sit down in this little hollow and rest for a few minutes before we
turn back, while I just go a bit further and see if I can find you a
gentian."
He stripped off his overcoat as he spoke and rolled it together to make a
cushion for her.
"No, no, I don't want your coat," she protested. "I don't need it--really!"
But Tony was suddenly masterful.
"You'll do as you're told," he asserted. And somewhat to her own surprise
she found herself meekly obeying him.
He strode away, disappearing quickly from sight over the brow of a hill,
and with a small sigh of contentment she tucked her feet under her on the
improvised cushion and lit a cigarette. She had had a busy morning, and was
really more tired than she knew. First of all there had been the car to
clean, then there were flowers to be arranged for the house, and after
that various small shopping errands had cropped up, so that Ann had found
herself very fully occupied until at length, accompanied by Sir Philip,
Lady Susan had departed for Evian. She wondered fugitively how the pair
were enjoying themselves.
It was very pleasant sitting there. The huge boulder against which she
leant sheltered her from the wind and the spot was bathed in brilliant
sunshine. She finished her cigarette and lapsed into a brown study
provoked by Tony's sudden question: "What will happen if one day you--or
Robin--should get married?" She had never asked herself that question. It
was so much an understood thing between brother and sister that, as soon as
Robin found a sufficiently remunerative post, they should live together,
that any alternative had not entered her head.
But now she came to think of it, of course it was quite possible that
Robin might some day meet the woman whom he would want to marry. Her mouth
twisted in a little wry grimace of distaste. She was sure she should detest
any woman who robbed her of her brother. And if such a thing happened, she
would certainly take herself off and live somewhere else. Nothing would
ever induce her to remain in a married brother's house--an unwanted third.
There would always be one avenue of escape open to her, she reflected
ironically--by way of her own marriage with Tony. She wished it were
possible to fall in love to order! It would simplify things so much. As
Tony's wife she felt sure she could keep him straight and so fulfil the
trust Virginia had imposed on her. He had always shown himself sensitively
responsive to her influence--like a penitent boy if she scolded him,
radiant if he had won her approval. And he had a very special niche of his
own in her heart. Next to Robin, there was no one she loved more.
... A sudden cloud across the sun roused her to the fact that she had been
sitting still for some time, and that, at that altitude, the air held all
the mountain keenness. She felt chilled, and scrambled up hastily to her
feet. She would go to the crest of the hill and signal to Tony that she was
ready to return.
But, to her utter astonishment, when she had climbed to the top, he was
not in sight. The hill brow apparently commanded a view of the surrounding
country for a distance of at least two miles, and as far as she could see
there was no sign of any living creature in the whole expanse. Hardly
believing her own senses, she brushed her hand across her eyes and looked
again. But she had made no mistake. Tony was nowhere to be seen. The ground
stretched bleakly away on every hand, untenanted by any human soul except
herself.
She stood still, staring dazedly around. Tony would never have gone back
without her. He must be hidden from view by some dip or inequality of the
ground. Or--her heart stood still at the thought--had he slipped and fallen
headlong into some hideous crevasse?
Curving her hands on either side her mouth, she called him, sending her
voice ringing through the clear, crisp air. But there came no answer.
Instead, the utter loneliness and silence seemed to surge up round her
almost like a concrete thing. For a moment, sheer terror of what might have
happened to him overwhelmed her.
"Tony!... Tony!" Her voice rose to a scream, then cracked on a hoarse note
of sudden, desperate relief.
To her left the ground fell away abruptly in a precipitous ravine, and,
rising slowly above the lip of the chasm, she could discern Tony's head and
shoulders. Instantly her mind leapt to what had happened. Failing to find a
gentian in his search over safe ground, he must have caught sight of a late
blossom growing in some cranny of the rock face below, and, recklessly
regardless of the danger, he had climbed down to secure it.
The mere thought of the risk he had incurred--was still incurring--sent
a shiver through her. Her first impulse was to rush towards him. Then,
realising that any movement of hers might distract his attention and so
add illimitably to his danger, she forced herself by an almost superhuman
effort to remain where she was. Motionless, with straining eyes, she
watched while he slowly edged himself up. That his foothold was precarious
was evident from the careful precision of his movements, so unlike Tony's
usual nimbleness.
Now his arm was above the edge ... both arms ... he seemed to be resting
a moment, leaning on his chest an instant before making another effort.
Should she go to him? Her arms hung stiffly at her sides, her hands opening
and shutting in an agony of indecision.
Tony was moving once more, and this time he hoisted himself up so that he
succeeded in getting one knee over the top. Another moment and he would be
safe.... Then, without a cry, he suddenly toppled backwards and disappeared
from view, and Ann could see only the jagged edge of the ravine, stark
against the sky-line.
For a fraction of a second she stood paralysed, overwhelmed with the horror
of what had happened. Then, choking back the scream which rose to her lips,
she set off running in the direction of the spot where Tony had vanished
from sight.