Little sister

by Mary Burchell

  "My very dear child' 9 she read. "/ am very sorry you should have had to wait twenty-one years for your first birthday present from me — but I hope you will like it, now that you have it. It brings with it my love and my very best wishes for your happiness. — Moerling."

  "What an odd way to sign himself," remarked Jenny, as, at Alix's suggestion, she read the message too.

  "Oh no. We never used any other form of address," Alix said, tenderly fingering the bracelet. "How wonderful of him. How simply wonderful of him."

  "Him? Miss Alix dear, are you having diamond bracelets from a man? Why, that only means one thing," declared Betty, a smile of delighted congratulation beginning to break over her face.

  "No, it doesn't, Betty. It can mean lots of things," Jenny assured her. "And some of them aren't anything like so respectable as others. But in this case it's all right. The gentleman in question is — related to Alix."

  •There now!" Betty accepted the statement at its face value. "Isn't it wonderful? First a sister turns up, and now a rich uncle or some such. Well, no one ever deserved kind

  relations more than you, Miss Alix. Perhaps this uncle will die and leave you all his money."

  "That would be the height of kindness," Jenny agreed gravely. "Open your important-looking letter, Alix. We may find traces of another relation there."

  Alix smiled, and thoughtfully slit open the envelope. Nothing could really be of overwhelming interest after Moerling's present and his dear message. Anything else must be in the nature of an anti-climax.

  She drew out a legal-looking document and, spreading it out on the table, leant over it with the interested Jenny.

  Then suddenly she gave a little cry of wonder and joy. Her own name appeared amidst a forest of legal phrases — but the meaning was perfectly clear. The cottage had been bought in her name, and here was the deed of sale.

  "Nina!" she exclaimed aloud. "Oh dear, dear Nina! Then she didn't forget."

  Feverishly she unfolded the letter which was with the document, but it was only a formal note from a firm of lawyers, to explain that they "had been instructed by their client, Madame Nina Varoni, to purchase the cottage on behalf of Miss Alix Farley, and to forward the Deed of Sale therefor to her on the morning of the 23rd October."

  "Why, Alix, it's yours! The cottage is your very own and you can stay in it as long as you like," Jenny exclaimed in astonishment.

  "Yes, the cottage is mine. Nina has bought the cottage for me," Alix agreed softly. "She said once that she would. And she didn't forget it."

  "But hasn't she sent any letter with it? Not even a word? How very odd."

  "No, no, it isn't odd," Alix said gently. "It isn't really odd at all. I understand." And for a moment, she felt that she was speaking to her mother and not to Jenny.

  It was true — she did understand. Nina wanted to give her the cottage — wanted to show she had remembered her birthday with the very present she most desired. But, in her strange, inarticulate way, she could find no words to express how she felt, unless she committed herself to something much more loving than she could bring herself to write down.

  The present must speak for itself, and if Alix could not

  understand — well, Varoni could do no more about it. It was beyond the limitations of her character.

  "But I do understand," Alix thought. "I do understand."

  And even when breakfast had been brought in by a highly delighted Betty, she still insisted that the deed of sale should lie on the table beside her plate, and Moerling's bracelet — most unsuitably for that time in the day — encircled her wrist.

  It was a lovely birthday after that.

  Jenny and she went for a long walk over the Downs in the sun and wind. They talked a little of Alix's affairs, but more of Jenny's this time — "because it really is your turn to say something about yourself, Jenny," Alix declared contritely.

  They made plans for meeting during the winter, and Alix promised to come and stay with Jenny and her guardian for Christmas.

  "He's not exactly my guardian now, of course, because I'm too old," Jenny explained. "But he's quite an old pet, when kept in his place. I've been training him, ever since I left school, into appreciating the qualities of the younger generation, and now, in a cautious way, he's quite fond of me."

  Alix thought of Jenny's aloof, striking-looking guardian, of whom she had once caught a glimpse, and secretly envied her her unquenchable confidence. She couldn't possibly imagine herself trying to "train" — say, Moerling into appreciating the younger generation. And as for "keeping him in his place" — well, of course, Moerling's place was simply where he himself chose to be. Even Varoni had never presumed to order him — only to look at him with those great blue eyes and mould him to her wishes.

  Jenny stayed at the cottage several days, in the end, and when she went back to London she took with her the promise that at least Alix would telephone to her once a week.

  "Then I shan't worry about you," she said, as she kissed Alix good-bye at the station.

  "There isn't any need to worry, really," Alix assured her, but she was very glad of the arrangement. It was as though one had been too ill to see anyone for a while —

  completely isolated — and now there was a connection made again.

  For the rest of that winter Alix lived quietly and happily at the cottage.

  At Christmas time she went to stay with Jenny and certainly — whether it was Jenny's training or not, she couldn't say — the guardian proved a very charming host.

  Jenny was a girl who liked a good deal of gaiety, and she took Alix with her to a round of theatres and dances. At first Alix went with a slight sensation of fear, for the thought entered her head that she might see Barry there, and awaken memories which she tried to tell herself were silent.

  But of course, coincidences like that seldom happened. Barry was not one of Jenny's circle of friends — perhaps he was not even in London — and Alix's visit passed without a sign of him.

  Sometimes she found it hard to believe that he had dropped so completely out of her life. He was the only person in the world who had made a serious challenge to her overwhelming devotion for her mother — and, but for Varoni's own intervention, he would have won.

  Yet now she saw nothing of him, heard nothing of him, knew nothing of him. He might be married to someone else for all she knew.

  Of Varoni too she heard nothing. She had written to her after her birthday, sending the letter to the address of Varoni's agents, but there had been no reply. Nor had Alix really expected one.

  From time to time there were letters or occasional cables from Moerling, but he was evidently extremely busy, and Alix was touched that he even remembered her so much. And then, towards the end of February, came a letter from him to say that he was returning to England.

  Alix was overjoyed, and again awakened pleasant suspicion in Betty's mind.

  "Well, Miss Alix, I must say you're extraordinarily pleased, considering it's only an uncle."

  It was she herself who had decided on the degree of relationship, and Alix scarcely saw how she could correct her. To say now "Oh Betty, he's not an uncle — he's my father," would involve an amount of explanation that was

  beyond her. And so, for the moment, Moerling was allowed to remain an uncle, so far as Betty's view went.

  Alix went to the airport to meet him. After all this time without a sight of him or Varoni, it seemed to her the only natural thing to do.

  But apparently to Moerling it was an unexpected and delightful surprise. As he came through the customs door, very big and overwhelming in his travelling coat, he looked away over her head and never even noticed she was there.

  Ajnused and half shy, Alix had to touch his arm to draw his attention.

  He glanced round a little haughtily, then his face lit up with joy.

  "Liebchen!" He dropped the case he was carrying and, taking her in his arms, kissed her on both cheeks. "I had no idea you would come. How dear of yo
u!"

  "Well, of course, I wanted to." She hugged him impulsively and returned his kiss.

  He would hardly let her go, and when they walked across to the taxi rank, his arm was still round her. Only when a newspaper reporter came up and began to ask questions did he take his arm away. And then, Alix saw, it profoundly irritated him that he had to disguise the real relationship between them, and skilfully parry one or two dangerously personal questions.

  But they escaped in the end, and, driving back to London, he questioned her about the months since he had gone away.

  She had thought it would be difficult to speak to him of Nina, but she found herself almost at once telling him about the gift of the cottage.

  "She — did that?" He smiled in that affectionate, reflective way she remembered so well. "Oh — Nina! How dear and absurd she is to imagine she can run away from her feelings for ever."

  Alix looked at him doubtfully, and then said, as though she couldn't help it:

  "Do you still think she will come back?"

  "Yes," he replied briefly.

  She touched his hand gently.

  "It's a wonderful faith to have."

  "Oh no. It's only that I couldn't go on unless I believed

  that," he answered. And then they talked of something else.

  She stayed in London for more than a week, going twice to concerts of his. He evidently loved to have her there, and was extravagantly generous to her — buying her a magnificent fur coat, because she said she had nothing that really kept out the English cold, and telling her that if she liked to have a little car of her own she had only to tell him.

  "You're much, much too generous to me," Alix exclaimed, but he only smiled and said:

  "Nonsense, Fm a wealthy man. What is the good of having a rich father if you don't get expensive presents out of him?"

  "Well, for me it's a sufficiently delightful novelty to have a father at all," Alix declared with a smile in her turn. "I can do without the presents."

  He laughed then, telling her she was the least mercenary person he had ever met, and she knew from the way he kissed her how pleased he was.

  But she couldn't stay there indefinitely, going about with him everywhere. Already a few eyebrows were being raised — and she could guess nervously the sort of thing that was being said. "Where is Varoni these days? Quite supplanted? What's that you say? Really, my dear! Her own sister. How extremely unsuitable."

  That, and, again, the fear that she might meet Barry, made her decide to go back to the cottage for a while.

  Moerling was sorry, she could see, but he didn't oppose her decision. She refrained from giving him her first reason for going, in case it should anger and distress him, but she told him quite frankly:

  "I'm a little afraid of meeting Barry somewhere."

  Moerling glanced at her penetratingly.

  "Don't you think, my child, it would be better if you did? You can't very well come to any sort of explanation if you never meet."

  "No, no." The very thought of another snub from Barry made her nervous. "There's no question of any explanations. That's — all over."

  "So?" He touched her cheek. "Without regrets?"

  "Oh, I — I wouldn't say that." Alix's mouth trembled very slightly in spite of herself.

  "I think, my dear, you should have a little more courage," Moerling said, though very kindly.

  But she only shook her head, and he didn't press her further.

  So Alix returned to the cottage, but she conversed with him by telephone quite often, and even arranged to come up to London occasionally for day visits.

  It was not an arrangement that satisfied either of them entirely. "But what else can we do?" thought Alix. "And anyway, there's a queer feeling as though this is all temporary, somehow, as though something is just about to happen that will put things on a different basis altogether."

  There was nothing logical or well-reasoned in the idea, of course, but all the same, it persisted — and one wet, windy evening in April the telephone bell rang, with a shrill insistence which suddenly seemed to Alix to hold a presage of drama.

  It was Moerling, though she had not been expecting him to telephone — and something in his tone made her say at once:

  "What is it? Has anything happened?"

  "Yes, something has happened. It should have been good news, Alix, but it has turned to very bad news instead. I'm sorry I should have to tell you by telephone, but listen carefully to what I have to say."

  "I am listening," Alix said breathlessly.

  "Nina wrote to me this morning—"

  "She wrote! At last!"

  "Yes. She wrote that she would be in England some time this afternoon. It was the kind of letter I have been waiting for ever since she went away. She admitted at last that her feelings were too much for her. She could not do without — either of us, Alix, and she was coming back to us."

  "Coming back!" repeated Alix in very little more than a whisper. And even then she marvelled at VaronTs childlike confidence that Moerling would forgive her and have her back. But it was justified, of course. She was quite right. There was no question of his refusing her.

  "Well?" Alix said a little huskily. "What then? What then? Is she — with you?"

  "No. I was out of town and didn't receive her letter

  until this afternoon, or I would have let you know sooner. Half an hour ago a telephone message came through for me from sorse place in Kent Her car had crashed, on the way up from the coast. She is — very badly hurt"

  Alix gave a wordless little sound, but Moerling went on as though he were wound up to say this and must say it all.

  "They took her to a nearby house where she still is, too badly — hurt to be moved. The people have been extremely kind. They found out who she was. She asked for — both of us, and they somehow managed to get in touch with me through the concert hall box office* I am going down to her now."

  "I must come too," Alix said wildly. *T want to come too!"

  4C Yes. Listen, child. I'm sending a car for you. It will be there about nine. Will you be ready?"

  "Of course."

  "I must go now. There is a car waiting here for me."

  "Wait, please — one moment She's not — she's not going to—"

  "I don't know, Alix. I'm afraid from what they say—" Moerling's voice was completely calm, only that slight hesitation before some words which she had noticed several times. Then, in a tone of quiet determination he added: "But if my life can keep her alive, she shall not die."

  Long after he had rung off, Alix sat staring into the fire, wondering quite what he had meant.

  The wind blew furiously, rattling the windows and, every now and then, a spatter of raindrops found their way down the chimney, making the fire hiss.

  Varoni was ill — probably dying. Was this the end to the most incredible chapter of her life?

  Presently Alix got up and called Betty. She explained quite quietly what had happened. After all, if Moerling, with his life in ruins, could be calm, surely she could also. Then she went upstairs and packed one or two things in a small case, for it was impossible that she would be home again that night

  While she was busying herself in her room she didn't glance at her mother's photograph. She knew that if once she met those wistful, laughing eyes, she would break down and weep. And that would help no one.

  Downstairs again, she glanced at the clock. Half-past eight already — but she had nothing to do now except wait

  Minute dragged after heavy-footed minute through the longest half-hour of her life. It was very difficult to think coherently. Her mind kept lighting on first one unbearable thought and then another.

  She had been coming back to them! Dear, obstinate, vanquished Nina had been coming back to them. Alix could imagine her — outwardly confident, but her blue eyes scared and defiant.

  No, she would not think of her like that. It hurt too much.

  Then, remember her as she had been that very firs
t evening — smiling, triumphant, a queen among subjects, as she passed through the crowded lounge of the Gloria. How they had looked at her! How she had smiled! And how Alix's very breath had stopped at this first sight of her mother.

  But she wouldn't do that again. It was over, the triumph and the glory.

  Then think of her some other way. But how? Every facet of her strange and changing character—

  There was the sound of a car drawing up outside, and, springing to her feet, Alix reached for her coat.

  Betty, hovering in and out of the passage, was at the door at once, admitting someone who had come very quickly up the path.

  "It's the gentleman come to fetch you, Miss Alix." Betty appeared at the sitting-room door. "I've hot coffee ready for you both before you start."

  "All right, thank you, Betty. Show him in." He was probably a secretary of Moerling's or—

  Betty stood aside to allow someone to pass.

  The gentleman who had come to fetch Alix was Barry Elton.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "BARRY!" Alix said in a whisper. "Barry—" And then she could say no more.

  Betty had gone to fetch the coffee now, and they stood there alone facing each other. He was embarrassed too, she saw — perhaps even more embarrassed than she was, for, with her, surprise wiped out anything else.

  "I'm sorry it should be like this that we meet, Alix." He spoke at last. "Moerling rang me up and explained. He asked me to fetch you. He said—" Barry stopped as Betty came back into the room with the coffee, and when she had gone out again, he didn't seem inclined to continue.

  "What did Moerling say, Barry?"

  They were both speaking very quietly, a little as though Nina were in the next room.

  "He said — the only thing that would make it better for you would be if — if I fetched you. It was stupid — I couldn't explain. He didn't understand, of course."

  "Oh, Barry, he did understand. That was just it." Alix suddenly found the courage to speak. "He has understood all along — all the things I didn't — couldn't tell you."

  "Well then, is it I who haven't understood?" he said slowly, and came across the room towards her.

  She held out her hand to him, hardly conscious of what she did — only knowing that she must not waste the fearful effort which Moerling must have made to remember her need in the darkest hour of his life.