by Betty Neels
It seemed likely that she would be going back to England soon. Claudia didn’t really need her now; Lars had been the miracle that was needed, if Claudia loved him enough she wouldn’t drink again as long as she lived—they would marry and live happily ever after in Bergen. And Simon? Presumably he would go on building bridges wherever they were needed in the world. He was entirely self-sufficient and content with his lot. Presumably he had a home somewhere in England. He might even marry one day; he would make a terrible husband, she considered, although just once or twice she had glimpsed a quite different man behind that dark austere face. He had been kind to her, too. She remembered his smile and smiled herself, thinking about it. Undoubtedly there was another Simon Savage tucked away somewhere…
It was warm in the room and she dozed off, thinking about him still, and awakened to hear Claudia’s voice and Lars’ deeper tones.
They stopped in surprise when they saw her. ‘Have you been here all day?’ asked Claudia, and started flinging her jacket and cap and scarf on to chairs and kicking off her boots. ‘We thought you’d go with Simon.’
Louisa tried to remember if he’d said anything about taking her out and couldn’t—how awful if he had, and she’d gone on sleeping when she should have been up and dressed and ready. ‘I didn’t wake up,’ she said uncertainly.
Claudia shrugged. ‘Oh, well, probably he didn’t want you, anyway—only he said he was going to the hospital at Tromso, and that’s your meat and drink, isn’t it?’
Louisa didn’t answer but picked up the dropped clothes and asked if they’d like tea. ‘There’s dinner in the oven,’ she explained, ‘but it’ll keep until you want it.’
They decided to have tea and Lars went into the kitchen to get the tray while Louisa whipped upstairs with Claudia’s things. Claudia looked fantastically happy, but she looked tired too.
‘Where did you go?’ Louisa asked when she got downstairs again.
‘Oh, miles and miles—it was heaven,’ Claudia answered her carelessly. ‘Lars, must you really go back to Bergen?’ She smiled at him beguilingly. ‘One more day?’
He shook his head. ‘No, my dear, I have to go, but I’ll come again, as often as I can.’
‘Why can’t I come with you?’ Claudia’s voice was dangerously high.
‘Because another week or two here is what you need; I want a healthy beautiful girl for a wife and I’m prepared to wait for her.’
Louisa poured tea, feeling de trop, and after her first cup she escaped to the kitchen with a muttered excuse which no one listened to, made herself another pot of tea and sat at the table drinking it. She felt incredibly lonely.
When she went back to the sitting room an hour later, the two of them were so absorbed in their talk that she had to ask twice when they wanted their supper.
‘We’re going over to the hotel,’ said Claudia. ‘I daresay Simon will be back, and you can eat together.’
‘He’ll be able to tell you about the men in hospital,’ suggested Lars kindly. ‘They’re all talking about you, you know, saying how splendid you were.’
‘Oh, are they? I didn’t do anything.’ She smiled at them both and went back to the kitchen and stayed there until they left, calling cheerfully that they wouldn’t be late back.
‘I’ve got a key,’ said Claudia from the door. ‘Go to bed if you want to.’
Louisa went back to the sitting room, cleared away the tea things, plumped up the cushions, made up the stove and sat down. If Simon didn’t turn up by seven o’clock she was going to have her supper; the casserole was more than ready and she was hungry.
All the same, it was half an hour after that time when she finally had her supper. She ate it on her lap, wondering if the launch had turned turtle on the way back from Tromso. It was more than likely that Simon had gone to a hotel there and had a slap-up meal—probably with some lovely Norwegian lady, she thought gloomily, and then told herself sharply that it didn’t matter to her in the least with whom he went out.
By ten o’clock she had had enough. She washed the dishes, tidied the kitchen and went up to bed. It wasn’t long after that that she heard Claudia and Lars come in and after a murmur of voices, Claudia came upstairs. What seemed like hours later, she heard Simon Savage’s deliberate footsteps coming into the house. She listened to him making up the stove, going into the kitchen, retracing his steps to his workroom and finally the clink of a glass—whisky; perhaps he was chilled to the marrow, hungry, soaking wet… By a great effort she stayed in bed, although every instinct was willing her to go down and warm up the rest of the casserole. It was an hour or more before he came upstairs and it wasn’t until then that she allowed herself to go to sleep.
The next day was a bad one. Claudia, without Lars to keep her happy, was at her very worst. She refused to get out of bed, she threw her breakfast tray at Louisa, declared her intention of leaving for Bergen that very morning, swore that she would kill anyone who tried to stop her, and then dissolved into a flood of hysterical tears. Louisa, picking up broken china, was just in time to meet Simon Savage, coming up the stairs like the wrath of God, and order him down again.
‘Don’t you dare!’ she admonished him. ‘She’s only upset because Lars isn’t here—it’ll be all right presently…’ She shooed him step by step until they were back to the hall. ‘Go on,’ she told him firmly, ‘go and build your bridge! You don’t understand women, even if you do know how to make a bridge stay up.’
His face, black with temper, suddenly broke into a smile. ‘I think you may be right there, Louisa. How fierce you are!’ He kissed the end of her nose and turned her round. ‘Up you go!’
He was wise enough not to come back until well after tea time, and by then Claudia was at least trying for self-control. A phone call from Lars had helped, of course, and Louisa’s patient, uncomplaining company. Halfway through a good wallow in self-pity Claudia paused long enough to observe: ‘I don’t know how you can put up with me—I’d be gone like a bat out of hell if I’d been you.’ But before Louisa could answer that she was in floods of tears again.
Simon behaved beautifully when he did come back home. Bearing an armful of magazines and the newest papers, he put them down beside his stepsister, wished the room at large a good evening, and went into his workroom, where he stayed until Louisa summoned him to supper. And during that meal he talked with unusual placidity about Bergen, Lars’ house, his work, his interest in sport, and from there he passed to the various churches in the city, remarking that Lars always went to St Jorgen Church. ‘It might be a good place in which to marry,’ he suggested mildly, ‘because they hold English church services there as well.’
Claudia looked up from the food she was pushing round her plate.
‘You don’t mind if I marry Lars? You’ve always disagreed with everything I’ve wanted to do—hated my friends…’
Louisa watched his saturnine features, ready for an outburst. None came. He said mildly: ‘Won’t you in all fairness agree that I had good reason to dislike them? Do you really want them as friends?’ He shrugged. ‘Not that it’s any business of mine any more, but I’m not sure if Lars will care for them.’
‘Oh, I know that—you don’t have to preach at me, but I won’t want friends now, will I, I’ve got him.’ She got up from the table. ‘I’m not hungry. ‘I’m going to bed. Louisa, you can bring me up some coffee and a sandwich later.’
‘If it were not for the fact that you would scold me severely, I would have made Claudia apologise for talking to you like that,’ remarked Simon evenly.
‘She doesn’t mean it—she’s unhappy…’ Louisa gave him the briefest of glances, wishing to appear matter-of-fact after their meeting that morning.
‘And you? Are you happy?’
‘Yes. You see, Claudia is almost cured, isn’t she? Oh, I know she’s had relapses before, but this time there’s Lars. I think he loves her so much that he’s prepared to put up with a good deal.’
‘And would you like to
be loved like that, Louisa?’
‘Yes, of course I should, but it doesn’t happen to everyone, does it?’
He didn’t reply, but presently said: ‘I had planned to take you both to Tromso for a day’s shopping, but the weather forecast is bad and it’s too risky.’
‘Perhaps in a few days—it would do Claudia a lot of good. How are the three men?’
‘In good shape; two of them will be coming back in a few days, the boy will have to stay for a bit, but he’s got relatives in Tromso, so it won’t be too bad for him.’ He was staring at her steadily. ‘Everyone here is proud of you, do you know that?’
She looked down at her empty plate and could think of nothing to say. Presently she broke a silence which had gone on for too long. ‘Mr Savage…’
‘And that’s another thing—why am I always Mr Savage? We have Lars and Arne and Knut and Mr Savage, as though I were some mid-Victorian ogre. My name is Simon.’
She poured herself more coffee which she didn’t want, but it gave her something to do. She said very quietly: ‘But you were an ogre,’ and heard his sigh, and the next moment he had got to his feet.
‘Well, I’ve some work to do,’ he was icily bland. ‘Goodnight.’
She didn’t see him again until the following evening and by then she was tired and a little cross. Claudia had been very trying, although there were signs that she was pulling herself together again. After all, Lars had promised to come up for the following weekend. Louisa reminded her of this at frequent intervals and talked herself hoarse about the new clothes Claudia insisted she must have. ‘I shall want a great deal of money, heaps of it,’ she declared. ‘Simon will just have to foot the bills. I’m not getting married without a rag to my back!’ An inaccurate statement Louisa ignored, only too happy to get Claudia in a more cheerful frame of mind. She wasn’t quite as happy when Claudia brought the matter up at the supper table. The conversation between the three of them had been a little forced and Simon looked tired and bad-tempered too. But to her surprise he agreed placidly that Claudia should have enough money to buy what she needed. He even suggested that she might like to fly to Oslo and shop there.
‘Does that mean that we can get away from here soon?’ Claudia demanded.
‘Very soon now—it’s up to you, Claudia.’
‘I’m on the waggon,’ she promised him. ‘I swore to Lars that I’ll not drink another drop, and I won’t—you see, I don’t need to. What about Louisa?’
His glance flickered over her before he answered his stepsister.
‘I think we might dispose with Louisa’s services very shortly,’ he said casually. Just as though I’m not sitting here, thought Louisa indignantly, and quelled the temptation to ask when she was to go. Let him tell her, she couldn’t care less. She just stopped herself in time from tossing her head.
She didn’t have long to wait. ‘How about the end of the week?’ he asked smoothly. ‘Lars is coming up for the weekend, isn’t he? I shall be finished here in four or five days. I don’t see why you and Lars shouldn’t go back together, and we can put Louisa on a flight the day before that.’
‘To London?’ asked Claudia without much interest.
‘Where else?’ Again that quick glance.
She conjured up a smile and said brightly: ‘Oh, how lovely, home for Christmas!’
The very thought appalled her. She would have to find another job before that—go to an agency and take anything, preferably something that kept her so busy she wouldn’t have a moment to remember Norway and Claudia or, for that matter, Simon Savage.
Now that plans were made and Claudia felt secure in a happy future, she shed her bad habits like some old outworn skin. For the next two days she got up for breakfast, insisted on taking Louisa on to the slope to teach her more about skiing, made her own bed and spent barely an hour on her face and hair. Louisa could hardly believe that this was the same woman who had engaged her in London, the change was so great. Of course, Claudia still took little interest in anyone else but herself and Lars. Beyond supposing that Louisa would get herself another job quickly she didn’t mention her going and even remarked that it would be delightful to be on her own—at least until she married, she added quickly. ‘You’re not a bad kid,’ she told Louisa, ‘but it’s like having a ball and chain attached to me, but I suppose you have to put up with that if you’re a nurse—a necessary evil, aren’t you?’ She had laughed and Louisa had laughed with her. No one had ever called her that before, it gave her a nasty cold feeling in her insides, but she would have died rather than let Claudia see how shattered she felt.
And Simon made it much worse that evening, talking at great length and with remarkable fluency for him about the delights of the Norwegian Christmas. ‘Everything shuts down at midday on Christmas Eve,’ he informed her, ‘and there’s a traditional dish of dried lamb served in the evening and afterwards everyone gathers round the Christmas tree and sings carols before the presents. Christmas Day is much the same and on the next day—our Boxing Day—they give enormous parties with skiing and sleigh rides and masses of food.’ He fixed Louisa with his dark eyes. ‘You would have enjoyed it, Louisa.’
She gave him a cross look. Of course she would have enjoyed it, the idea of going back to England didn’t appeal to her at all, but what else could she do? They had made it plain enough that she was no longer needed—they would probably be relieved to see her go. She toyed with the idea of staying in Bergen. Christmas wasn’t so far off and if she was careful, she would have enough money. There had been little or no chance to spend much, but if she did Claudia might think that she was staying deliberately in order to spy on her. Besides, she had made it plain that she would be glad to see her go. She said woodenly: ‘I’m sure I should, it sounds delightful.’ And as she said it she was struck by the sudden knowledge that that was what she wanted more than anything in the world—to stay in Norway for Christmas, for ever, if necessary, just as long as she could be with Simon Savage. Falling in love with him had been the last thing she had expected to do. He was ill-tempered, brusque, impatient and intolerant. He was also, she now perceived, the only man she wanted to marry.
‘How utterly silly!’ she muttered, and earned a surprised look from him. She said the first thing which entered her head: ‘Do I fly direct to England or must I change planes?’
‘Tromso to Bergen and Bergen to Heathrow.’
‘How nice,’ she observed idiotically, and waffled on about the journey, the delights of Christmas at home, seeing her friends again, so intent on painting a carefree picture of her future that she quite missed Simon’s puzzled look which presently turned to speculation.
And if she had hoped, during her wakeful night, for some small sign that he might want to meet her again at some time, she was disappointed. He was more austere than usual over the breakfast table, telling Claudia in a forthright manner that on no account were they to go skiing that day. ‘There’s bad weather coming,’ he assured her, ‘probably there’ll be no flights to Tromso…’
‘Then Lars won’t be able to come?’
‘Probably not.’
She shot him a furious look. ‘Then I shall go to him.’
‘No, if you get to Tromso and the planes are grounded there, you might not be able to get back here. I suggest that you ring him during the morning.’ He had gone before she could answer and Louisa was forced to listen to recriminations for the next ten minutes or so; not that she listened very hard, for her head was full of her own problems.
Lars telephoned during the morning. There were violent snowstorms in the south of the country and all flights had been cancelled and he would come just as soon as he could—a statement which met with an outburst of tears on Claudia’s part and an hysterical request to be taken to Bergen at once. Even Lars’ promise that if the weather delayed him for too long he would travel by the coastal steamer did little to cheer her up. He rang off finally and Claudia went up to her room and locked the door.
It was getting
on for midday when she came downstairs again, and daylight, which would last a mere two hours or so, had come. The sky was blue and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen from the window and she pointed this out to Louisa. ‘They’ve slipped up,’ she said hopefully. ‘There’s not a sign of snow.’
Louisa glanced out at the sky. ‘We can’t see a great deal from here,’ she pointed out. ‘Would you like me to start your packing?’
Claudia sprawled in a chair and picked up a book. ‘After lunch—would you go to the shop for me? There are several things I simply must have—I’ll make a list while you get your jacket.’
It was quite a long list and Louisa read it with surprise. ‘But you can get most of these in Bergen. I mean, none of them are urgent…’
Claudia barely glanced up from her reading. ‘Don’t argue. I want them now—unless you’re too lazy to go and get them?’
Louisa bit back an angry retort and went out of the house without a word. What did it matter, she asked herself tiredly; what did anything matter?
It took her fifteen minutes to do the shopping by the time she had waited her turn, waited while the various odds and ends were found and then had a short chat with Arne’s sister. As she started back again, she could see that the fjord’s waters were dark and heaving sluggishly and that the blue sky had become less vivid. Perhaps there was bad weather coming after all. She went into the house and straight into the sitting room. Claudia wasn’t there, so she picked up her basket and went along to the kitchen. Elsa was standing by the table, getting the lunch and looking put out.
‘I am glad you are here,’ she began. ‘Miss Savage has gone out and there is bad weather coming fast. She would not listen to me. She has taken her skis too. I think that Mr Savage should be told, for she will be lost once the snow comes.’
Louisa dumped her basket on the table. ‘Did she say where she was going?’ and when Elsa shook her head: ‘How long ago?’
‘Ten minutes, perhaps.’
‘Then I’ll try and catch her up and get her to come back. Make me some coffee, Elsa, and put it in a thermos, and I want a torch, and then telephone Mr Savage.’ Louisa was searching around for the rucksack which hung in the kitchen and when she had it, rammed in some slices of bread Elsa had just cut and a slab of chocolate and a ball of string she saw on the dresser. She hadn’t a very good idea of what one took on such a trip and probably there would be no need to use any of them, all the same she added the coffee and the torch. It had all taken a few precious minutes and Claudia might be miles away by now. She put on the rucksack, urged Elsa to telephone without delay, collected her skis from the back door and hurried through the snow, past the last of the houses, where she put on her skis and started cautiously up the slope where they usually went. Claudia had gone that way; she could see the ski marks very plainly. Once she got to the top she would be able to see in all directions.
