Love Is My Reason (3 page)

“
Then he was about twenty when you were
born
?
”

“
Yes. He would be about forty-five now if—if he were alive. But—
”
she gave a slight shrug, as though to cast off her own foolishness—
“
it
’
s silly to talk like this. If he were alive he would surely have turned up long ago.
”

“
I think you can assume so, my dear,
”
David agreed.
“
Tell me, what was he like? Did you ever see a photograph of him?
”

“
Why, of course.
”
She looked surprised.
“
Have you never noticed that Mother wears a photograph of him in that old-fashioned fob brooch of hers? It
’
s so clumsy I sometimes wish she wouldn
’
t. But I suppose it
’
s an understandable piece of sentiment.
”

She smiled then, with an air of cool indulgence which was more like the Celia he knew. Grieve she might for a lost brother, but nothing would induce her to wear any reminder of him that might conflict with her ideas of elegance.

“
I have noticed it,
”
David admitted.
“
I always supposed it was your father as a young man.
”

“
Oh,
no
,” said
Celia, and one somehow felt that she would not have allowed her father to be party to such a lapse of taste.

“
I see.
”
He smiled.
“
And because of Martin you felt a sympathetic interest in my Anya?
”

The moment he had said that, he knew he should have used a different phrase.
“
The D.P. girl,
”
or
“
the poor little thing I mentioned.
”
To call her
“
my Anya
”
had given her an identity, and a most unwelcome sort of identity in Celia
’
s eyes, he saw.

But she said quite pleasantly,
“
Anya? Is that her name? How did you know?
”

“
I asked her and she told me,
”
he replied briefly.

“
Oh—yes?
”
she said, and he wondered why he had ever supposed Celia was warmly interested in Anya. Then, after a faintly uncomfortable pause, Celia went on,
“
You know, if you really want to help her, you could possibly arrange for her to get a domestic job.
”

“
A domestic job?
”

“
Yes. Some of these poor things make quite good servants if someone will have the patience to train them.
”

“
I daresay you are right,
”
he said rather stiffly, trying not to feel furious at the condescending goodwill with which Celia made her suggestion.
“
But I
’
m not specially likely to see her again, I suppose.
”

“
Well, I suppose not,
”
Celia agreed. And suddenly everything was pleasant and friendly between them again.

During the next few days, David was not aware that he looked out specifically for the girl he had met on the hillside. There was some agreeable sight-seeing to do, and they motored out into the surrounding country on several days. But, without knowing it, he did glance with special attention at people he passed in the narrow streets of the town. And once he even hurried to overtake a thin, shabby girl whose figure seemed momentarily familiar.

When he came up with her, however, he saw that the hair which was gathered under her coloured scarf was coarse and dark, and there was nothing elusive or enchanting about the heavy face she turned upon
him.

By the end of the first week, he would have said that Anya had almost slipped from his mind. And then, early one evening—when the others had gone on ahead to their rooms and David came in alone after garaging the car
—
he became aware that some sort of commotion was taking place in the usually quiet and decorous lounge of the Drei Kronen. In a gesticulating group stood an excited chambermaid, a couple of waiters, and the manager himself, all more or less talking at once.

It was, perhaps, the angry repetition of the word
“
Polizei
”
which drew David
’
s attention, for the police are not often openly invoked in the lounge of a well
-
conducted hotel. And then, as he glanced across, the manager suddenly stepped to one side, disclosing, to David
’
s astonished and disturbed gaze, Anya, standing there twisting her thin hands together, but looking, in spite of her shabbiness and her obvious fear, somehow contemptuous of the gesticulating Teutons.

Without pausing for thought, David came over at once and, addressing the manager in a peremptory tone, asked.
“
What
’
s the trouble here?
”

“
Meester Manvorth—
”
the manager, immediately respectful, dropped into his serviceable, though heavily accented English—
“
it is of no importance. Just one of the D.P.
’
s—displaced persons, you say—from the camp on the other side of the river. Maria caught her hanging around the corridors. One must have care. They are all thieves. But the police will attend to it. All will be arranged.
”

At the further mention of the police, the fear in the girl
’
s face deepened, but she gave no other sign of having understood. Nor did she make any sort of appeal to David. She just stood there and looked at him, her eyes dark blue in her white face.

David was never quite sure what prompted his next words. But he found himself saying coldly.

“
There is some mistake, I think. The lady is a friend of mine. She came to see me.
”

If he had been in a mood to smile, the abject change in the manager
’
s attitude would have amused him.

“
M-mein Herr, I cannot tell you—I apologize—I could
not know. Maria here
—”
The manager shot a furious
glance at the now open-mouthed chambermaid who had involved him in such embarrassment with one of his most valued clients.
“
If the lady had explained—again I
apologize
—
”

“
Very well.
”
David gave him a curt nod.
“
Mistakes happen, but this was an unfortunate one. Let us have no more fuss, however.
”
And, putting out his hand, he took Anya
’
s cold fingers in his.
“
Come, we
’
ll sit over here and talk.
”
Like magic the others faded away. But not until he had found them seats in a quiet corner of the empty lounge did David look rather sternly at the girl before him and say drily, in English,
“
And perhaps now you will tell me what you
were
doing, hanging about the hotel corridors.
”

“
But what you said, mein Herr.
”
Leaning forward, she addressed him with childlike simplicity.
“
I—I came to speak to you.
”

“
To me? But why? And why didn
’
t you ask for me at the desk, in the ordinary way?
”

“
I—I didn
’
t know how to ask for you
.
”

“
I told you my name.
”

“
But I remembered only D-David,
”
she explained timidly, and he found himself wishing that it did not give him such curious pleasure to hear her say his name like that.

“
Well—
”
insensibly his tone softened—
“
why did you want to speak to me, Anya?
”

“
There was no one else.
”
She made a strange little gesture, inescapably suggestive of emptiness.
“
And I am in great trouble.
”

For a startled and distasteful moment, he wondered what awkward story was about to be unloaded upon him. And then something about the still loneliness of her figure smote him.

“
What is it?
”
he asked, more gently than he usually spoke.

“
It is my father, mein Herr. He is very ill. But he will not have the camp doctor because he is a German and my father despises the Germans. The other people in the
room, they have their own troubles. I think my father is dying. And I have no one—no one else in all t
h
e world.
”

“
My dear,
I’
m terribly sorry. But—
”
he hesitated
—“
what did you think I could do? I mean—why did you come to
me
?”

A little flicker of light seemed to pass over her wan face at that, and she looked for a moment as though she glimpsed something bright, beyond the drab horizon of her daily life.

“
You smiled at me, that evening on the hill,
”
she said, almost in a whisper.
“
And you spoke to me—kindly.
”

And then suddenly, on the last word, her voice broke and, without even bothering to put her hands over her face, she began to cry. Slow, cold tears which trickled down her face and fell bleakly on her faded cotton frock.

David was not a man to be easily moved, and, like most Englishmen, he was usually made uncomfortable by any open display of emotion. But something in this girl
’
s deep and simple tragedy transcended all ordinary experience. And that broken little reference to his very passing kindness hurt in a way that was almost physical.

“
Don
’
t,
”
he said gently, and he found himself offering her his own immaculate handkerchief.
“
Don
’
t cry, child.
I’ll
do what I can to help you. What do you want me to do?
”

She dried her eyes at that, and looked at him over the handkerchief.

“
Would you come and see my father, mein Herr?
”

“
If you think it would do any good, certainly. But
I’
m not a doctor, you know.
”

“
But my father will listen to you,
”
she declared with conviction.

“
You think so?
”
He smiled faintly.
“
I don
’
t speak any Russian,
I’
m afraid.
”

“
But he speaks French.
”

“
Well, then, I daresay we can manage in French.
”

“
And to you he might also speak German. Not to the officials. He pretends he does not understand them.
”

He sounded, David could not help thinking, a somewhat difficult customer. But he had promised this girl to do what he could, and so he said,

“
Wait a moment while I leave a message at the desk, and
I’ll
come with you.
”
Then, faintly put out at having to
make the next query,
“
I suppose I shall be allowed into the
camp. I mean—there
’
s no—regulation against outsiders coming in?
”

“
I shall explain.
”

He wondered somewhat what form her explanations would take, but forbore to pursue that further. Going over to the desk, he scribbled a note to his aunt, merely saving that he had gone out and might not be in for dinner. Then, ignoring the curious glance of the desk-clerk, he accompanied Anya out of the hotel.

“
Shall I get mv car?
”
he enquired.

“
That would be nice.
”
She gave him a pleased smile.
“
And a car impresses them at the gate,
”
she added naively. So they walked across to the garage, and a few minutes lat
er
they were driving towards the river in David
’
s Bentley.

Tragic though her mission was, she could not, he saw, help being intrigued and excited by the handsome car. Once or twice she ran an admiring finger along the edge of the leather work, and she even gave a slight laugh of pleased astonishment when he pressed a lever which made the window slide down out of sight.

“
Do that again,
”
she begged. And, touched at the feeling that she was really very young still, he obligingly made the window go up a
n
d down again to please her.

“
Now you must direct me,
”
he told her, when they had crossed the main bridge of the town. And, as though recalled to the seriousness of their errand, she proceeded to give grave directions.

In less than ten minutes they arrived in a drab, dusty road, bordered on one side by a high-walled building from which the paint was peeling.

“
This is it,
”
she said. And with something between curiosity and misgiving, he turned his car in under the archway she indicated.

Immediately a man in uniform emerged from a nearby doorway, and, leaning from the window, Anya addressed him in such a thick Bavarian dialect that David could not follow her. For a moment the man looked doubtful. Then, glancing at the handsome car and the Englishman who was driving it, he shrugged and raised the wooden bar which acted as a barrier across the entrance.

They drove on, and into a dreary-looking quadrangle which had once perhaps been grassed over, but where now only a few coarse tufts of dusty grass struggled to exist. At a half-whispered word from his companion he turned left, and a moment later they stopped before an open doorway from which six or eight children rushed out, wide-eyed and interested.

“
Lock the car,
”
Anya instructed him briefly, and then she spoke to the children in a language he took to be Polish. They all wagged their heads virtuously and apparently swore solemnly to touch nothing. Then Anya led the way into the building and up a flight of stone steps.

A strong smell of cooking, humanity and disinfectant met them, and as they turned along the upstairs corridor, he was aware that from behind every door they passed there was a sound of voices.

“
It would be the same if it were a barracks still,
”
David tried to tell himself. But nothing really reconciled him to the fact that behind each of those doors several individuals or families were living out their separate lives.

At the end of the passage Anya paused before the last door and, with an air of considerate politeness strange in this harsh, overcrowded place, she knocked gently. A woman
’
s voice called out something and Anya entered, gesturing to David to follow her.

Firmly suppressing a sense of distaste, he followed her into the large, high room and looked around him. More than half of it was partitioned off with faded curtains strung on a line and a couple of high cupboards. In the open space remaining there was a small stove, and on this a woman—presumably the one who had called out—was cooking something which smelled surprisingly good.

She murmured some greeting to David which was evidently meant to be friendly, and he said,
“
Gruss Gott,
”
in return, for he knew no Polish, and
“
How do you do?
”
seemed hardly to fit the case.

Anya paused only to ask an anxious question and receive a resigned shrug in return. Then, crossing to the curtained-off space, she lifted aside one of the curtains and invited David to enter what appeared to be the middle one of three cubicles.

Grimly determined to go through with the adventure, David stepped inside the confined space, and found himself looking down upon a narrow bed, where lay the wreck of one of the handsomest men he had ever seen.