Silent Witness (Dr. Patrick Grant)

by Margaret Yorke

  Liz, sourly cutting up her pork, thought she would spend the evening discussing Wagner or some other equally erudite topic with Frau Hiller, in splendid feminine isolation.

  PART FOUR

  Monday

  I

  In the end, Liz went to the discotheque with the others, but she stayed only a short time. It was stuffy in the smoky atmosphere, and she had not enjoyed the spectacle of Roy Foster and Fiona glued together throughout the evening, except when she prised herself away from him for just long enough to change the records.

  Sue came up very late; as she undressed, trying to move quietly, she kept giggling to herself. Liz, feigning sleep, hid her face in the thick duvet and sighed inwardly. Jan and Sue must have managed to find some cosy private corner; the ski-room, perhaps. If only Sue could meet someone who would marry her, how much better it would be, but she never seemed to click with bachelors. As for herself, she was content, she told herself firmly. She had a worthwhile job through which she met many interesting people on an unemotional level, and that satisfied her. Yet here she was, regretting that she had not stayed in the nightclub long enough that evening to have another chance of dancing with Francis. It must be the altitude.

  Just as Sue got into bed, Liz spoke.

  ‘Did Bernard turn up?’

  ‘Why didn’t you say you were awake?’ demanded Sue, who had stubbed her toe on the bedstead. ‘I’ve been creeping about trying not to disturb you, and now I’ve hurt myself.’

  ‘Did he?’ Liz persisted.

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ said Sue, crossly. ‘Anyway, who cares?’

  At breakfast, Bernard’s place was still empty.

  ‘He always used to be first down,’ said Sam. ‘I expect the weather’s got into him. Frau Scholler was saying that over fifty centimetres of snow fell in the night.’

  The weather that was making most people feel edgy seemed to be mellowing Sam. He looked relaxed and happy this morning, spreading the pale unsalted butter thickly on his dreary bread.

  Penny was over at the Whittakers’ table talking to them earnestly. She came back to her own place and poured herself out some more coffee.

  ‘Now who haven’t I seen?’ she said, looking round at her assembled clients. ‘Sue and Liz – you weren’t down when I told the others. No one may go further than the end of the village, and you mustn’t go along the Kramms road at all. Is that quite clear? We’re all right here, in the Gentiana, and the village is safe, but there’s a danger spot on the Kramms road, in the gulley where the little fall was on Saturday night. It’s just a safety precaution, the burgomeister’s orders. There hasn’t been an avalanche in Greutz for years and years.’

  ‘No skiing,’ Freddie said, glumly.

  ‘I’m meeting the other couriers later. We’ll lay on a snowball fight, Hickson’s versus Snopranx,’ Penny said. ‘And perhaps we could fix a ping-pong tournament this afternoon.’

  Sam shuddered.

  ‘Not for me, Penny,’ he said. ‘Maybe Bernard will volunteer for your team. Where can he have got to?’

  ‘Has no one really seen him?’ Penny asked. ‘He must be just having a lie-in.’

  ‘I didn’t see him at all yesterday. Did he have any of his meals?’ said Sue.

  ‘Did anyone see him?’

  No one had.

  ‘He’s probably not well, or sulking,’ Penny said. ‘The weather’s getting tons of people down. Several marriages are tottering at the Silvretta. Thank goodness they’re Snopranx people, not my lot. Still, I’ll ask Else if she’s seen him.’

  She called the waitress over and spoke to her in German. The girl shook her head, and answered briefly.

  ‘Else says he didn’t come for any of his meals yesterday,’ said Penny.

  ‘That doesn’t mean a thing. He’s probably got tired of the food here and is eating out,’ said Hilda.

  ‘Not Bernard. Not when he’s already paid for his meals here,’ said Sue. ‘He counts up every schilling.’

  ‘He must be ill,’ said Liz. ‘We’d better go and see.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Sam offered. ‘His room’s near mine. He’ll curse me, no doubt, but we’d better sort this out, if you’re all going to worry.’

  ‘He may have a girl up there,’ said Freddie.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Sue. ‘You obviously don’t know our Bernard.’

  Sam went off. He returned quite quickly, and now he did look concerned.

  ‘He isn’t in his room, and his bed hasn’t been slept in,’ he said.

  ‘He’s probably with a bird in another hotel,’ said Roy Foster, who had so far made no contribution to the conversation. He looked pale, and had drunk three cups of strong coffee without eating anything, clearly suffering from a monumental hangover.

  ‘Still waters run deep, we know, but not as deep as that,’ said Sue cryptically. ‘Where on earth can he be?’

  By this time, the Whittakers had finished their breakfast. As on the previous day, Barbara left the dining-room, but Francis came to join the others. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Liz.

  ‘What’s up? You all look very worried,’ he said. ‘We’re safe enough here from avalanches.’

  ‘It isn’t that. Bernard Walker seems to have vanished,’ said Penny.

  ‘He can’t have. What makes you think so?’

  ‘No one seems to have seen him since—when? Did you see him on the Schneiderhorn yesterday? He never misses a day’s skiing.’

  ‘I didn’t see him yesterday, but that doesn’t signify,’ said Francis. ‘I wouldn’t be looking out for him.’

  ‘He skied alone a lot. He used to go up when the class had finished and do an extra run. If he did that yesterday, just before the lifts stopped, and fell—’ Sam did not finish.

  ‘But the lehrers go down all the runs after the last person,’ said Freddie. ‘At least, they do everywhere else. They must do it here too.’

  ‘Oh yes, they do,’ said Penny. ‘But suppose he’d run off the piste?’

  ‘Someone would have seen him. Or heard him, he’d have yelled,’ said Roy.

  ‘He might have knocked himself out. Or got buried in a drift,’ said Penny.

  ‘Well, cheer up. We’re not certain he’s missing yet,’ said Freddie. ‘Mark my words, in spite of what you say, he’ll have spent the night with a girl somewhere, and he won’t be too pleased if there’s a hue and cry. After all, what else is left but sex in this sort of weather?’

  ‘There’s always bridge,’ said Liz tartly.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to send out a search-party, let us know, and we’ll join in,’ said Hilda, getting up. ‘Meanwhile, I am going to have my hair done.’

  ‘I’m off too,’ said Roy, rising.

  ‘Have you heard how June is this morning?’ Sue asked him.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Well, give her our love.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  He and the Derringtons left, and Penny turned worriedly to the others.

  ‘Now what should I do about Bernard?’ she asked their advice. ‘I’d better consult Frau Scholler. We don’t want to start a panic. Freddie may be quite right. He was always rushing off to keep appointments, but he never said who with. Even if he isn’t with a girl he may be with some crony we don’t know about, and stayed the night rather than walk back here with it snowing so hard.’

  ‘Would you like some support, Penny? I’ll come with you if you like,’ Francis offered.

  Penny looked grateful.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. She and Francis went off and the others continued silently with breakfast. It seemed a wild idea that anything should have happened to Bernard but Penny’s suggestion made good sense; everyone had heard Bernard’s remarks about having to meet people.

  Francis came back and told them that the Schollers were organising a discreet inquiry round the hotels.

  ‘Penny’s going to talk to the other couriers. Someone’s sure to have seen him,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to find the p
eople in his ski-class to see where he went yesterday, or if they know who his friends are. It’s probably all a storm in a tea-cup and he’ll walk in for lunch as right as rain.’

  His words made sense, but there was still a feeling of uneasiness among the others after he had gone. They drifted out into the hall where they stood about looking through the swing doors at the yellow-tinged world outside where the snow still fell gently. Sam went over to the annexe where he found the maid who cleaned his room and Bernard’s. She told him in her halting English that though Bernard’s bed had been rumpled the day before, as if someone had lain on it, his pyjamas had been left still as she had laid them out for him the evening before, a task she carried out while the guests were dining.

  ‘Of course it doesn’t prove anything,’ Sam added, after he had related this to the others.

  ‘It could mean he was missing all day yesterday,’ Liz said sharply.

  ‘We’re already afraid of that, aren’t we?’ Sam answered her.

  ‘We should have noticed,’ Liz insisted.

  ‘We’re not his keepers, have some sense,’ said Sue. ‘Well, we can’t spend the morning standing here. I shall take a tip from Hilda and have my hair done. What about you, Liz?’

  ‘I couldn’t sit still,’ Liz replied. ‘You go. I’ll have a walk, at least as far as one’s allowed.’ The permitted area must surely extend to the professor’s chalet. A dose of Patrick might get things in proportion.

  It was still very muggy out of doors, and everything was hushed. People were walking carefully, as if they feared incautious treading might set off enough vibrations to dislodge the menacing snow piled on the mountain tops. Liz had loved the mountains since her first sight of Mont Blanc, pink-tipped at dawn, when she was a schoolgirl, but today she hated them. Climatic conditions did profound things to people’s temperaments, and here was nature manifestly still untamed. She longed suddenly for the neat fields of England and her own civilised flat in Bolton Gardens.

  At the end of the Gentiana lane, instead of going towards the village she turned to the right along the Kramms road, and walked on until, quite quickly, she came to a barricade made of barbed wire with a mandatory notice attached, printed in red in several languages, forbidding further progress. Having inspected that, she turned back and walked into the village. Near the bridge she stood by the river’s edge, looking at the water. It was sluggish, black, mysterious. Across on the far bank was the clinic, an austere, concrete-faced building with balconies to many of the windows. In there, poor June must be lying with her Potts fracture now pinned and in plaster. It depressed Liz still more to contemplate her plight. She ought to visit her; Sue already had, the afternoon before.

  She walked on up the road, to the Grand Hotel, and beyond it until she met another barrier like the one below; then she retraced her steps and set off up the slope past the church to Professor Klocker’s chalet.

  Patrick opened the door to her.

  ‘A woman! Just what we need!’ he cried. ‘Come in, Liz, and welcome. Helga’s marooned in Kramms, where she went last night to visit her daughter, and Max and I are left fending for ourselves. Rescue us, I implore you.’

  ‘Do you mean to say your brilliant brains can’t direct themselves to a little domesticity ?’ asked Liz, caustically.

  ‘You forget how cosseted we both are. I never do more than make tea or Nescafe at Mark’s, and Max has a replica of Helga in Innsbruck, anticipating his every need.’

  ‘Idiot. I’m perfectly aware that you can cook sausages,’ said Liz, thinking back to a May morning a long time ago.

  ‘There are no humble bangers in Greutz,’ Patrick told her. ‘The local kind are much more sophisticated. But all this merry banter is merely a ruse to prevent me from bursting with delight because you’re obviously unable to keep away from me.’ He took her anorak from her, shook it in a housewifely fashion outside the front door, pointed at her snowy boots, and before she could take them off held her by either arm and kissed her. She suddenly clung to him. He was familiar: tiresome, indeed exasperating; but safe.

  ‘Liz dear!’ he exclaimed, hugging her with warmth but detaching her slightly so that he could inspect her face. She was almost in tears. ‘Whatever’s wrong? Shall I run the fellow through for you?’

  Liz made an effort to regain control and laughed shakily.

  ‘It hasn’t come to that,’ she said. ‘I’m a fool and a clot, but I don’t seem to be quite myself, what with one thing and another. Patrick, one of the guests at the Gentiana has disappeared.’

  ‘Not the one you’ve a yen for? Not Whittaker?’

  So Patrick had noticed. He knew her much too well. She simply shook her head.

  ‘Well, that’s something anyway. Come and tell me all about it,’ he said.

  ‘Let me take my boots off first,’ said Liz. She sniffed, and like a child rubbed her face on the sleeve of her thick sweater.

  ‘You are in a way, aren’t you? Never mind the boots, I was only fooling.’

  ‘I know, but there’s no point in making pools of water everywhere,’ she said. ‘Where’s the professor? Cooking lunch?’

  ‘No. He’s working on his book, he’s miles away with Marlowe,’ said Patrick. ‘He won’t have heard us. Come into the kitchen and talk to me there.’

  Liz was not so far gone in woe that she failed to be amused by Patrick’s arrangements. Neatly aligned on a board by the stove were two flattened slices of veal fillet, some chopped mushrooms in a heap, chopped onions, and a packet of frozen peas. The table was spread with a red and white checked cloth; bread, cheese and butter were laid ready, and a bottle of wine stood open on the draining board.

  ‘You’d make a dear little wife,’ she said.

  ‘That’s better. There’s hope if you can still smile,’ said Patrick.

  He opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of rum, and poured her out a tot. ‘Max has got the rest of the drink in his study, we won’t disturb him while he’s working, he’s got some deadline with his publisher for this book. Rum’s a pretty good restorative. Swallow it down and tell me all,’ he commanded.

  They sat on either side of the table and Liz related what was known about Bernard thus far.

  ‘But, my love, you’re jumping to conclusions. He’s probably bedded down with some curvy female for the duration of the snow-in,’ said Patrick, when she had finished.

  ‘You haven’t met him, at least not to talk to. He isn’t like that. Anyone else, maybe; even you, though I sometimes wonder. But not Bernard.’

  ‘I’ll ignore the implied insult,’ Patrick said with dignity. ‘Let’s stick to the matter in hand. Do you mean that he’s queer? Maybe he’s with a fellow, then.’

  ‘No, I don’t think he is queer. I don’t even think he’s one of those neuter types who’s neither one thing or the other – which incidentally, I think describes Sam, not what you implied, if I understood you. I think Bernard’s someone who’d like to, but doesn’t dare. Hilda Derrington described him as a middle-aged schoolboy, which was rather shrewd of her, especially as she’d only met him once. He’s never in one place for long, always darting off to keep some undisclosed date, but I’ve never seen him dancing, or even talking to a girl, except when he literally can’t help it. He was entwined with Fiona in the nightclub on Saturday, after you left, but she was making the running. She was completely plastered, I don’t suppose she knew whose neck she was draped around. Bernard looked most uncomfortable.’ Liz described the scene. ‘I think all the running about he does is an act – to seem busy.’

  ‘Did they leave together? Fiona and Bernard?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t stay to see. Sue was loitering about with her Dutchman and I left first.’

  ‘Ahead of the others? The Whittakers and Irwin?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think they were far behind me. What does it matter?’

  ‘It doesn’t yet. I don’t suppose Fiona has vanished, too?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t. She’s done a trans
ference to Roy Foster, the one whose wife has broken her leg.’

  ‘Hm.’ Patrick poured her out some more rum. ‘Let me know if he’s still missing after lunch and I’ll come over.’

  ‘But what can you do? If he’s lost on the mountain there isn’t a hope for him: No one could even begin to look for him in these conditions. If he had a fall, he’d be buried – you know what it’s like if you come off a drag or something into the deep snow, it’s almost impossible to get out. If he was up on the mountain all night, well.’

  ‘He’s probably safe and warm in some snug hut,’ said Patrick. ‘The altitude or the weather, or both, are playing tricks with your mind, my love.’ He spoke gently, and held her hand across the table.

  ‘Oh Patrick, why on earth can’t I be in love with you? At least then I’d know where I was!’ she cried, despairingly.

  ‘Darling Liz, you know I’m devoted to you, so please feel free to use me as a prophylactic, which I think is what you need,’ he told her, gravely. ‘Fall for me, by all means, while the dangerous infection is abroad, just for a week or two.’

  She looked down at their joined hands. Then she freed her own.

  ‘One day you’ll fall yourself,’ she said. ‘And for someone who won’t give two hoots for you.’

  ‘Maybe I shall. And you will comfort me,’ said Patrick.

  II

  Bernard was not back by lunch-time, nor was there any news of him from the village. It was now officially conceded that there was cause for concern. In spite of the weather, the ski-lehrers were going up the mountain to search for him.

  The Gentiana group watched the men start up on the chair- lift; they went at great risk to themselves on the loosely packed, soft snow.

  ‘Wouldn’t you know Bernard would be the one to cause trouble?’ Sue said.

  ‘I think it’s so dreadful that we didn’t miss him sooner,’ Penny answered. ‘I should have noticed yesterday.’