garden, and gradually she felt herself relax. For the past half hour she had been smiling, a smile that might have seemed natural to Andrew who hardly knew her, but which was beginning to strain the muscles of her cheeks. At last she could allow her face to rest.
The tension began to drain from her body. It was cooler in the garden than it had been on the verandah, but she did not feel cold. The air was fragrant with the mingled scents of the shrubs—the muskiness of the jasmine, the spiciness of the aloes, the sweetness of the lovely frangipani. The mountains were tall dark shapes against the star-studded sky, and the air rang with the song of a million crickets.
How different all this was from last night! Then the mountains had crowded in on both sides, and the sky had been no more than a thin sliver between them. Last night too there had been tension, but a tension of a different kind. For on the ledge far below the cliff path George had lain unconscious, and there had been the constant fear that he would wake and fall before the rescue party found them.
And then the rescue party had come. It was almost twenty-four hours since Kelly had begun the walk down the mountain with Gary and Alex and Sheila, following the stretcher back to the hotel. Twenty-four hours. It seemed so very .much longer. For so much had happened since them.
Beneath a tree was a bench, and Kelly sat down. During the day there would be a beautiful view from here, across the garden to the bubbling trout stream and the mountains beyond. Now she could see nothing of all this. But she had no desire to go to the cottage yet. In the bedroom which belonged to Mary and George she would feel an intruder, strange and alone. Here, in the cool fragrant air, with the sound of the stream and the crickets, she could relive all that had happened.
She thought of George, and of the accident. All her life her father's money had been a constant factor, something which Kelly had no need to think about often, but which was always there. It represented purchasing power. It was also a means of opening certain doors. Though she had never thought of it consciously until this moment, she realised now that money had been the Open Sesame to anything she had ever wanted—even people, for there had always been men who showered her with their attention, women who wanted her friendship for reasons of their own.
The accident had shocked her. For the first time Kelly understood that money, when it was used unwisely, could be dangerous. In offering George an amount far in excess of the usual guiding fees, she had lured him with a temptation which, in his desperate circumstances, he had not been able to resist. It did not matter that she had done it to help Gary. In a way that made it even worse. For she realised now that together they had risked a man's life merely because Gary wanted so badly to win a bet.
Though she might never come to Great Peaks again, Kelly knew that the days she had spent here would affect her for a long time to come. She had changed, for ever perhaps. Sadly she acknowledged to herself that her feelings for her fiancé—even while she still loved him—would never be the same again either. She would try not to speak of what had happened, for to do so would make him angry, but she realised now that coupled with all the qualities which made him lovable, Gary's nature contained elements that were less endearing. In the first flush of their romance she had been enchanted by his recklessness. For the first time she realised that it was also childish.
Was it irony that this day had provided her with some measure of a yardstick? She thought of Andrew Lang, mature and pleasant and sensible, not as handsome as Gary, and certainly not as much fun, but very attractive all the same, and with an air of dependability which would be a source of great comfort to the woman who would one day be his wife. It was a long time since Kelly had met a man to whom she felt quite so
The tension began to drain from her body. It was cooler in the garden than it had been on the verandah, but she did not feel cold. The air was fragrant with the mingled scents of the shrubs—the muskiness of the jasmine, the spiciness of the aloes, the sweetness of the lovely frangipani. The mountains were tall dark shapes against the star-studded sky, and the air rang with the song of a million crickets.
How different all this was from last night! Then the mountains had crowded in on both sides, and the sky had been no more than a thin sliver between them. Last night too there had been tension, but a tension of a different kind. For on the ledge far below the cliff path George had lain unconscious, and there had been the constant fear that he would wake and fall before the rescue party found them.
And then the rescue party had come. It was almost twenty-four hours since Kelly had begun the walk down the mountain with Gary and Alex and Sheila, following the stretcher back to the hotel. Twenty-four hours. It seemed so very .much longer. For so much had happened since them.
Beneath a tree was a bench, and Kelly sat down. During the day there would be a beautiful view from here, across the garden to the bubbling trout stream and the mountains beyond. Now she could see nothing of all this. But she had no desire to go to the cottage yet. In the bedroom which belonged to Mary and George she would feel an intruder, strange and alone. Here, in the cool fragrant air, with the sound of the stream and the crickets, she could relive all that had happened.
She thought of George, and of the accident. All her life her father's money had been a constant factor, something which Kelly had no need to think about often, but which was always there. It represented purchasing power. It was also a means of opening certain doors. Though she had never thought of it consciously until this moment, she realised now that money had been the Open Sesame to anything she had ever wanted—even people, for there had always been men who showered her with their attention, women who wanted her friendship for reasons of their own.
The accident had shocked her. For the first time Kelly understood that money, when it was used unwisely, could be dangerous. In offering George an amount far in excess of the usual guiding fees, she had lured him with a temptation which, in his desperate circumstances, he had not been able to resist. It did not matter that she had done it to help Gary. In a way that made it even worse. For she realised now that together they had risked a man's life merely because Gary wanted so badly to win a bet.
Though she might never come to Great Peaks again, Kelly knew that the days she had spent here would affect her for a long time to come. She had changed, for ever perhaps. Sadly she acknowledged to herself that her feelings for her fiancé—even while she still loved him—would never be the same again either. She would try not to speak of what had happened, for to do so would make him angry, but she realised now that coupled with all the qualities which made him lovable, Gary's nature contained elements that were less endearing. In the first flush of their romance she had been enchanted by his recklessness. For the first time she realised that it was also childish.
Was it irony that this day had provided her with some measure of a yardstick? She thought of Andrew Lang, mature and pleasant and sensible, not as handsome as Gary, and certainly not as much fun, but very attractive all the same, and with an air of dependability which would be a source of great comfort to the woman who would one day be his wife. It was a long time since Kelly had met a man to whom she felt quite so
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