Miss Marley said, “Come in,” in that wonderful, low, soft voice of hers that came so strangely from her blistered lips. She was sitting in a low chair, smoking, in front of an open wood fire.
Her room was furnished by herself. It was a comfortable, featureless room, with no ornaments and no flowers; there were plenty of books in cases or lying about at ease on a big table, a stout desk by the window, and several leather-covered, deep armchairs. The walls were bare except for photographs of the Cresta. These had been taken from every possible angle of the run – its banks, its corners, its flashing pieces of straight, and its incredible final hill. It was noticeable that though there was generally a figure on a toboggan in the photograph, it never happened to be one of Miss Marley herself. She was a creditable rider, but she did not, to her own mind, show off the Cresta.
Her eyes met Winn’s with a shrewdness that she promptly veiled. He wasn’t looking as if he wanted her to be shrewd. It struck her that she was seeing Winn as he must have looked when he was about twenty. She wondered if this was only because he had won the match. His eyes were very open and they were off their guard. It could not be said that Winn had ever in his life looked appealing, but for a Staines to look so exposed to friendliness was very nearly an appeal.
“Mavorovitch has just left me,” said Miss Marley. “You ought to have heard what he said about you. It was worth hearing. You played this afternoon like a successful demon dealing with lost souls. I don’t think I’ve ever seen bandy played quite in that vein before.”
Winn sank into one of the leather armchairs and lighted a cigarette.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I played like a fluke. I am not up to Mavorovitch’s form at all. I just happened to be on my game; he would have had me down and out otherwise.”
Miss Marley nodded; she was wondering what had put Winn on his game. She turned her eyes away from him and looked into the fire. Winn was resting for the first time that day; the sense of physical ease and her even, tranquil comradeship were singularly soothing to him. Suddenly it occurred to him that he very much liked Miss Marley, and in a way in which he had never before liked any woman, with esteem and without excitement. He gave her a man’s first proof of confidence.
“Look here,” he said, “I want you to help me.”
Miss Marley turned her eyes back to him; she was a plain woman, but she was able to speak with her eyes, and though what she said was sometimes hard and always honest, on the present occasion they expressed only an intense reassurance of good-will.
“When I came in,” Winn said rather nervously, “I meant to ask you a little thing, but I find I am going to ask you a big one.”
“Oh, well,” said Miss Marley, “ask away. Big or little, friends should stand by each other.”
“Yes,” said Winn, relieved, “that’s what I thought you’d say. I don’t know that I ever mentioned to you I’m married?”
“No,” she answered quietly, “I can’t say that you did; however, most men of your age are married.”
“And I’ve got a son,” Winn continued. “His name is Peter – after my father, you know.”
“That’s a good thing,” she concurred heartily. “I’m glad you’ve got a son.”
“Unfortunately,” said Winn, “my marriage didn’t exactly come off. We got hold of the wrong end of the stick.”
“Ah,” said Miss Marley, “that’s a pity! The right end of the stick is, I believe, almost essential in marriage.”
“Yes,” Winn acknowledged; “I see that now, of course. I was keen on getting her, but I hadn’t thought the rest out. Rather odd, isn’t it, that you don’t get as much as a tip about how jolly a thing could be till you’ve dished yourself from having it?”
Miss Marley agreed that it was rather odd.
Winn came back swiftly to his point.
“What I was going to ask you,” he said, holding her with his eyes, “is to sit at my table for a bit. I happen to have two young friends of mine over from Davos. He’s her brother, of course, but I thought I’d like to have another woman somewhere about. Look better, wouldn’t it? She’s only nineteen.”
His voice dropped as he mentioned Claire’s age as if he were speaking of the Madonna.
“Yes,” agreed Miss Marley, “it would look better.”
“I dare say,” said Winn after rather a long pause, “you see what I mean? The idea is – our idea, you know – to be together as much as we can for a fortnight. It’ll be all right, of course; only I rather wondered if you’d see us through.”
“See you through being all right?” Miss Marley asked with the directness of a knife-thrust.
“Well – yes,” said Winn. “It would just put people off thinking things. Everybody seems to know you up here, and I somehow thought I’d rather you knew.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Marley, briefly.
She turned back to the fire again. She had seen all she wanted to see in Winn’s eyes. She saw his intention. What she wasn’t sure about was the fortnight. A fortnight can do a good deal with an intention.
Miss Marley knew the world very well. People had often wanted to use her for a screen before, and generally she had refused, believing that the chief safeguard of innocence is the absence of screens. But she saw that Winn did not want her to be that kind of a screen; he wanted her to be in the center of his situation without touching it. He wanted her for Claire, but he wanted her also a little for himself, so that he might feel the presence of her upright friendliness. He intensely trusted her.
There are people who intend to do good in the world and invariably do harm. They enter eagerly into the lives of others and put their fingers pressingly upon delicate machinery; very often they destroy it, more seldom, unfortunately, they cut their own fingers. Miss Marley did not belong to this type. She did not wish to be involved and she was scrupulous never to involve others. She hesitated before she gave her consent, but she couldn’t withstand the thought that Claire was only nineteen. She spoke at last.
“What you suggest,” she said quietly, “is going to be rather hard for you both. I suppose you do realize how hard? You see, you are only at the beginning of the fortnight now. Unhappy men and very young girls make difficult situations, Major Staines.”
He got up and walked to the window, standing with his back to her. She wondered if she had said too much; his back looked uncompromising. She did not realize that she could never say too much in the defense of Claire. Then he said, without looking round:
“We shall have to manage somehow.”
It occurred to Miss Marley, with a wave of reassurance, that this was probably Winn’s usual way of managing.
“In any case,” she said firmly, “you can count on me to do anything you wish.”
Winn expressed no gratitude. He merely said:
“I shall introduce her to you this evening.”
Before he left Miss Marley he shook hands with her. Her hands were hard and muscular, but she realized when she felt his grip that he must have been extremely grateful.
CHAPTER XXIV
They went out early, before the sun was up, when the valley was an apricot mist and the mountains were as white as snowdrops in the spring. The head waiter fell easily into their habits, and provided them with an early breakfast and a parcel for lunch. Then they drove off through the biting, glittering coldness.