The Golden Peaks Read Online Free Page B

her in the six months that I reckoned on. I know she has been in bed since we came, and hasn’t made a trial of her strength yet; but I would be so grateful and relieved to know that she was getting better. What a good thing that I am able to be so near her! And what an odd thing meeting that friend of Peter’s! I wonder how long he intends to stay?
    She realized, at that moment, that these last weeks of strangeness, of responsibility for Dorothy, of anxiety about her health, had all been a strain; and that it was good to find a fellow-countryman here, somebody who spoke her language, understood her background, had known her beloved brother and her mother. And almost as the thought of him came into her mind, she emerged from the shadow of the pine wood and saw him on the rough mountain road a little way ahead of her.
    He saw her at the same time, and waved a hand to her. As she drew near to him, he called out:
    “Don’t think I’m dogging your tracks.”
    “I wouldn’t so far flatter myself,” she called back. “I don’t own the mountain.”
    “Well,” he said, as she came up to him, “you might flatter yourself even farther than that. Who would have thought that that rather pop-eyed schoolgirl would become such a raving beauty?”
    “You are wrong on both counts. I was no more popeyed than I am a raving beauty now. By the way, I know I ought to remember your name, but I’m afraid I can’t . ”
    “Geoffrey Crindle,” he said, with a slight bow. “Very much at your service,” he added.
    “Of course. Peter often wrote of you in his letters, and Mother talked of you. You were with Peter for a long time, weren't you? You were also a paratrooper?”
    “Yes.”
    “ There is a Geoffrey Crindle who writes detective novels,” she said thoughtfully.
    “The same," he informed her.
    “Really? Well, well. I am surprised. Such very violent detective stories. How can such a nice person as you delight in such orgies of blood?”
    “Well,” he said, with a faint hint of apology in his voice, “people like orgies of blood, you know.”
    “I was teasing,” she said. “They’re awfully clever books, I know. I wasn’t being critical—do forgive me.” They walked in silence for a few minutes, and came to a pathway leading to a very handsome ch alet, built on the mountainside to command the most extensive and majestic views. Here Geoffrey Crindle halted.
    “What do you think of that?” he asked.
    Celia studied it for a few seconds.
    "It’s beautiful,” she said. “Really lovely. Why do you ask?”
    “I’ve bought it,” he told her.
    “Really? Oh, lucky you. Are you going to live in it?”
    “ Yes .”
    "But can you do that? I mean, currency and all that.”
    “Oh, well you see,” explained Geoffrey, “ I am domiciled in this country and that makes all the difference; and as I have lived here most of my life, and a large part of my income comes from a Swiss watch factory, I haven ’ t any problem of that kind.”
    “I didn’t mean to seem inquisitive.”
    “I didn’t think you did. Care to come and have a look?”
    “I’d like to very much. Nobody is there now? ”
    “No. Builders and decorators have to have an innings first. I thought I’d move into the Rotihorn , which I know very well, and supervise the operations here.”
    Celia walked with him over the soft turf to the ch alet . It was a particularly handsome one, its walls and balco ni es intricately carved, its roof deeply overhanging. They went up the outside staircase to the balcony, from which long windows led into the living room. From it, too, the views of the mountain range and the massive snow peaks, were superb. Celia spent so long admiring them, and excl ai m in g with delight over the chalet itself, that when she finally remembered the time, she realized with horror that she would be late for the dinner service, unless she ran most of the way. Leaving Geoffrey to do one or two things before he returned to the hotel, she ran