by Helen Wells
“He’s a wild one,” Joe said. “With all my experience, I would never take such chances as he does. Just for a thrill.” Joe Wardi turned to Cherry as if he sensed she felt left out of their conversation. But she had been listening and thinking, and now asked, “Does he really do it only for excitement? Or could Toni have an errand to do?”
“In that empty, untracked snow valley?” Val was astounded. He thought about it, fidgeting absently. “No, it’s not possible,” Val said.
“Eh, it is possible but not likely.” The mountaineer slapped one mittened hand against the other to warm them. “Miss Cherry, Toni lives only for thrills. Why, he is not even reasonable! As for work—he is never eager to work. Listen, Val! Last week some of your friends came to my cabin to see my wood carvings. Well, I started to tell Toni, because he’s new around here, the story about Spirit Mountain—”
“What a spooky name!” Cherry said.
“—but he grew excited. ‘I don’t want to hear about Spirit Mountain!’ he said to me. Why? Toni gives no reason. A strange boy.”
The three of them skied down to the cable-car shed, then rode down to the village. After the mountaineer had said goodbye, Cherry asked Val, “What is the story of Spirit Mountain?”
“A folk tale—I don’t remember it clearly. You’d better ask Joe Wardi sometime. Or ask my mother. She knows all the legends and folk songs.”
“Yes, I will,” Cherry said. “Tomorrow at lunch should be a good time.” Most of the guests were up on the slopes at midday, leaving the Chateau Nicholas quiet.
The next day Madame Blanche Sully interrupted Cherry’s plan to speak to Val’s busy mother. Madame arrived at the Chateau Nicholas with her artificially red head sticking out of the taxi window, laden with luggage, an armful of roses and a pet parakeet in a cage. Madame Sully swept grandly into the foyer, like a rather stout actress making a stage entrance, brushing past Cherry who had come in for lunch. Madame gave one withering glance at Cherry’s white uniform, and a swift, jealous look at her young face and abundant dark hair. In a voice that could be heard vibrating all over the theater—or this house—Madame demanded:
“Nicholas! Où êtes-vous? Pourquoi pas—why the devil weren’t you on the doorstep to meet me?”
Papa Nicholas, round and rosy, hurried to greet her. Cherry was so entertained that she sat down, pretending to be reading a newspaper.
“Bon jour, Madame! You must be Madame Blanche Sully?” Papa Nicholas bowed, but then he did for everyone. “It is a pleasure to have such a great lady of the theater grace our house. Welcome—we’ll take the best care of you.”
The lady held out her hand to be kissed. Papa Nicholas obliged. Cherry thought she detected a discreet twinkle in his eye.
“And how is your health today, Madame?” Papa Nicholas asked, while he signaled a houseman to carry the new guest’s luggage, roses, and bird upstairs.
“Thank you, Nicholas, I am better today.” Madame Sully allowed him to offer her a chair, and then the hotel register to sign. “But such headaches! It is exhaustion, really. Even though I have not made many stage appearances recently”—the aging actress hesitated—“on my doctor’s orders, of course.”
“Of course,” Papa Nicholas sympathized. “My wife and I enjoyed so much your performances in Paris.”
Madame winced and said sharply, “That was ten years ago. But, well, thank you very much. Yes, my doctors have ordered me to take a long rest, to regain my strength—”
“Madame looks as strong as a horse,” Cherry thought. “And bad-tempered. Oh, those bulging eyes!”
“—so here I am, to enjoy your pure air and, I hope, a quiet room.” Her voice rose. “And privacy.”
“Yes, certainly, Madame,” Papa said as Mama Nicholas came in to welcome their illustrious if slightly battered guest.
After the great lady had made a flamboyant exit, Cherry came out from behind the newspaper. Val’s mother and Cherry exchanged quick, amused smiles.
“Forgive me for listening,” Cherry said. She stood up out of respect to Val’s parents. “I—I love the theater, you see.”
“Not at all.” Papa Nicholas mopped his forehead and smiled. “Madame Sully enjoys having an audience. She gives a bravura performance, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed. May I ask Mrs. Nicholas—?” Cherry started to inquire about the legend. But this was not the right moment. For Mama Nicholas was saying in her gentle way to her husband:
“Tell me, my dear, who recommended this stage queen to us?”
“I believe it was Thelma DeRhay,” Papa Nicholas said.
“Oh, really! But Mrs. DeRhay never paid her full bill. She still owes us, and so I wonder—Henry dear, I hesitate to suggest this question, but with the high prices of food—”
Mama Nicholas, for all her retiring manner and dainty, delicate appearance, was a practical business woman. She supervised the kitchen and dining room, planned the menus, and helped Papa with the accounts. Now he looked aggrieved; his dignity as head of the family was wounded. Mrs. Nicholas hastily said:
“You know I never, never doubt your judgment, Henry. You are so hospitable, however, so generous and openhearted that La Sully may easily take advantage—”
“You are being uncharitable,” Papa objected. “I know the reporters all write that she has a terrible temper, is impossible to work with, but all the same—”
“Reporters used to write,” Mama Nicholas corrected ever so softly, “she was impossible to work with. She has not been seen on any stage or screen for years. Will she be able to pay her bills here? This is all I venture to ask you, my dear. Now, please advise me on the marketing list.”
When at last Cherry was able to speak to Mama Nicholas without interruption, she asked about the legend of Spirit Mountain. The older lady repeated, “Spirit Mountain!” and grew dreamy. Then she admitted:
“It is a long time since I’ve thought about the Blue Castle. You see, Cherry, this was one of Val’s favorite stories when he was small.”
The Blue Castle, Mama Nicholas said, was built on Spirit Mountain in the fourteenth century for an exiled king of France. There the king went into hiding, under the title of Professor, and practiced strange arts. He lived there with a St. Bernard dog and one servant, a man who was the firewatcher, whose job was never to let the fire in the great hall go out. One bitter night the fire did go out. The stones of the castle turned icy blue with cold, and the king who was called Professor, the dog, and the firewatcher never were seen again.
“Legend says they were wafted away by spirits and still wander over Spirit Mountain,” Mama Nicholas said. “Indeed, that is how the mountain got its name.”
“Is any of the story true?” Cherry asked.
Mama Nicholas laughed softly. “Spirits and strange arts. What nonsense! Probably the poor creatures froze. Because the skulls and bones of two men and a dog, or wolf, were found on Spirit Mountain. Near the ruins of a stone tower or castle…. No one knows much about Spirit Mountain, Cherry. It is rocky and barren, a lonely place. Just the place to hide, as the king did.”
Cherry realized Mama Nicholas was teasing her a little. “I’ll stay away from Spirit Mountain,” Cherry promised. “Unless I have to go, to do a nursing job.”
“I hope not!” Val’s mother looked at her with affection.
Midweek, the Nicholases acquired another addition to their household. Toni Peter came to work at the Chateau Nicholas.
Val was delighted. He helped Toni bring his few belongings into the modest room that was to be his, on the main floor, just in back of the public rooms. Through the open hallways Cherry could see on Toni’s rubber-mask face his relief and pleasure at such a homelike room. He carried his beloved skis and poles carefully from the hallway into his room.
Val’s mother confided to Cherry. “I am ashamed of myself, but I do not really trust or like that poor boy.”
Papa Nicholas declared, “Toni is a nice boy, down on his luck. And what a fine skier. We will give him
a chance.”
Val’s mother said ruefully to Val, “You miss your brothers who are away at school, and I’m afraid that is why you suddenly are so fond of this new friend. Toni is attractive and daring, yes. But Toni is a gypsy. He is unreliable.”
Val retorted, “I don’t care if Toni is a gypsy and a wanderer—excuse me, Mama, but I know you mean ski bum. What of it? He’s fun; he’s marvelous company; he’s brave. He’s not inflexible, as possibly I am. And he is willing to work for Papa.”
Papa Nicholas, sympathetic and astute, had assigned young Toni to jobs he loved to do—take care of the chateau’s supply of skis and poles, and escort guests who wanted to ski. Occasionally, when needed, Toni would run errands for guests and for Papa or Mama.
Cherry was interested to hear Val say, “Toni apologized for not joining us last Sunday. He really seemed sorry.”
“We did have a long, cold wait,” Cherry said. “What happened to Toni last Sunday?”
“He forgot.”
“Forgot!”
“At least Toni is honest enough to admit it,” Val said.
Honest? Cherry wondered but kept silent.
On Thursday Cherry had an unnerving surprise. She had come home to the chateau quite late for lunch, and had gone directly upstairs to her room to change into a fresh uniform. Dr. Portman and she had a busy morning and her white uniform had gotten stained and crumpled.
After changing, Cherry decided not to wait for the elevator, which was tiny, antiquated, and slow. She started down the stairs. Suddenly she hesitated.
Coming up the staircase was the odd, shy man she and Marie had escorted to the doctor’s office in Lugano. He wore a drab tweed suit, complicated wrist-watch, and woolen scarf around his neck as before, and now carried a briefcase. Yes, he was the same stocky, strongly built workingman, with brown hair and brown mustache. But something seemed different about him—a nervous quickness or was he taller than she remembered?
Jacob Lenk saw Cherry. A startled tremor passed over his face. He speeded up his pace as he climbed toward her.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Lenk?” Cherry said.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled. His voice sounded different than she remembered.
She stopped on the stairs. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m one of the two nurses who went with you to Dr. D’Adamo.”
“Oh, yes—thanks—I’m well.” But Lenk did not pause as he came abreast of her. Hurrying past, he flashed a hostile glance. She felt it as if he had inflicted an electric shock.
“What in the world has he got against me?” Cherry wondered. She said to his back, “I phoned you at your new job, to see how you were.”
Lenk did not even answer.
“Well, maybe he’s in a bad humor and is scowling at everybody, not just me. Now let’s see…. I’d better be quick about lunch. Dr. Portman wants me to do a blood count before Mrs. Jackson comes in at two-thirty—”
She hurried to the clinic and promptly got to work. Yet Lenk remained in her mind. She was so busy all afternoon that Cherry did not fully realize how troubled she felt. And then, on the way home in the clear blue dusk, she saw Lenk again on the village street.
Jacob Lenk was talking to Toni in a shadowed corner. The man was doing all the talking and Toni Peter was listening intently. In fact, Cherry thought, she had never seen Toni so respectful and paying such attention.
She watched Jacob Lenk take out a cigarette and light a match with his left hand. He smoked jerkily, impatiently, a few tense puffs, then threw the cigarette away.
“Now that’s not like the stolid man Marie and I saw,” Cherry thought. “He’s changed.”
She moved on before they could notice her. She remembered Lenk’s hurry at the hotel when he saw her—it didn’t make sense!
That evening at the chateau Cherry saw Toni waxing and sorting out skis. She went over to him, and after a little conversation, said:
“I saw you a while ago, chatting with your friend. I mean that middle-aged man with the mustache.”
“Oh, him.” Toni finished inspecting one ski before he looked up and answered. “His name is Jack Lenk. He’s an old friend of my father’s. Why, Miss Cherry?” Toni’s voice was easy, his eyes sharp.
“No special reason, Toni.”
Toni looked blank, except for a glint in his eyes. Did they hold secrets? Cherry let the conversation end there, but she wondered:
Was Jack Lenk the same name, the same person as Jacob Lenk?
“Must be one and the same man,” Cherry thought. “Too much of a coincidence if he weren’t. I’d just be imagining things.” But she still felt uneasy, and could not explain why.
Later, Val invited Cherry out for a walk to see an especially clear sky full of stars. It was deserted and quiet in the moonlit village streets, except for a red sports car, its top down, tearing wildly through town. Cherry had one glimpse as it streaked past.
“Isn’t that Toni in that car?” she asked Val.
“I think so,” Val said. “He seems to be having the time of his life. Whose car is it, I wonder?”
“Perhaps Toni rented it?” Cherry said.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Val said. “Car rental is expensive, and my father doesn’t pay Toni that big a salary. Someone probably lent him the car.”
Next morning she saw Toni for just a minute in the hotel hallway. Cherry seized the moment and said:
“What a marvelous red car you were driving last night! So fast! Whose is it?”
“Red car?” Toni’s face showed surprise. “Oh—uh—I rented it, Miss Cherry.”
She debated whether to believe him.
CHAPTER V
A Disturbing Surprise
“MADAME SULLY,” SAID MAMA NICHOLAS THE NEXT DAY, “I hope you are feeling stronger.” The waiter beside her offered a tray of food.
“A little stronger, thanks,” Madame said in a booming contralto, and helped herself to an enormous portion of cheese, herring, salami, and hard rolls. Cherry, circulating with Mama Nicholas at today’s after-ski party, bit her lip so that she would not laugh.
“Ah, pâté! My doctor said liver will help me.” Madame Sully reached. Plop! Another mound of food landed on her plate. The large, redheaded actress was the huskiest convalescent Cherry had ever seen.
Mama Nicholas continued to smile blandly. “Madame Sully, as you know, our young American guest is a nurse.” Though Madame had arrived several days ago, she had until now kept to her room, resting and receiving a few devoted visitors. Mama Nicholas said, “I am sure Miss Cherry would be very willing—wouldn’t you, Cherry?—to drop in to see you from time to time.”
“Indeed?” Madame displayed no enthusiasm. “Thank you, but I have absolutely no need for a nurse. I shan’t need your local doctor either, thanks.”
Cherry could guess why Madame declined so emphatically. Madame was obviously perfectly well and did not want a nurse or doctor to find out that she was faking.
Cherry said something polite and wondered whom Blanche Sully was trying to fool. Why was the actress here for, as she had said, a long stay? To run away and hide from some unpleasant situation? Or evade some obligation? Val had said that Madame had requested no publicity.
Still, there was that little parade of visitors—Madame Sully wasn’t avoiding them, Cherry thought. The visitors, mostly the same two women, invariably brought a present—a big bunch of flowers, or a box of chocolates, or a package of books. Usually they came to see Madame one at a time, Cherry noticed, and never stayed long—“which is right, if she is convalescing. Maybe I’m mistaken….”
But convalescence did not fit in with Madame’s robust figure and appetite, roaring voice, her energy in keeping Toni at her beck and call. She frequently summoned Toni to her room, in her grand and bossy manner. Toni did not complain, but he looked tired. “Let us hope,” Papa Nicholas said, “that once Madame is thoroughly settled here, she may be less demanding.”
Because Val’s mother had suggested it, the next day Ch
erry rapped on Madame Sully’s door. There was a pause. After some scurrying sounds one of Madame’s callers opened the door. Madame was seated in an armchair, in flowing green velvet, holding something in her ample lap. Madame glowered at Cherry and said:
“My dear Miss—uh—you’ve come at a most inconvenient time. I’m sure you don’t mind my saying so frankly, do you? If you’d come at another time—”
“I’m sorry to intrude—” Cherry started to say, but two things stopped her. One was Madame’s rudeness in practically demanding that she get out at once. The other was the extraordinary sight of the back of a second visitor, a shapeless old lady, poking about in the huge oak wardrobe. It seemed to Cherry a maneuver to hide something.
Cherry dug her fists into her pockets and forced a smile. “I’ll stay just for a moment, Madame.” She noticed the prettily gift-wrapped boxes on a table. More presents for the actress! What was Madame holding in her lap, half concealed in a fold of her dress? A notebook. A green pocket-size notebook with a cracked cover. “I hope you are feeling well today, Madame Sully,” Cherry finished.
“Yes, quite well—I mean as well as can be expected. Laura, for heaven’s sake, come out of that wardrobe, you idiot!” Madame Sully commanded. “Trude, will you show Miss—uh—to the door? Such a pleasure to see you,” she said mechanically, and Cherry found herself out in the hall.
Whew! Cherry felt amused, angry, puzzled. Well, the aging actress was not worth getting angry about.
Cherry found pleasanter persons among the skiers who came to Dr. Portman’s emergency clinic. A small boy with a broken leg managed to be cheerful, even though he had to stay in the hospital a day and a night for observation for shock. His mother, who stayed overnight with little Maurice, had helped the male night nurse and now offered to help Cherry. Even the girl who had wrenched her shoulder could grin while the doctor manipulated the shoulder back into place. Cherry helped him to strap the girl’s shoulder with wide, heavy bands of adhesive tape.
