"CHRISTABEL"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 21 June 1939, Page 10

"CHRISTABEL"

Published by Special Arrangement.

Copyright.

By

PEARL BELLAIRS.

(Author of “Velvet and Steel,” “The Prisoner’s Sister," etc.)

CHAPTER I. (Continued). Later he went out to buy some cigarettes, and returned lo say that “Mr West,” the owner of the house, was coming in for half an hour to talk it over. It was not until later that Christabel realised that Keith must have rung Mr West from a call box instead of using the ’phone in the flat. Mr West arrived. A very benign looking, white-haired gentleman in sober black, with elastic-sided boots and an umbrella. He had a ribald manner of drinking - whisky, which went rather oddly with his sober attire. “I like to do my best for the young people,” he said, beaming on them, when Keith mentioned the house in Ealing. . , Christabel was out of the room cutting some sandwiches for them, and she gathered that they talked of the house while sne was ’ away, for Mr West said to her when she came back. “Well, Mrs Milsom, I shall be away for a few days, and your husband here will be at his—ah—work! Soak—Mrs Milsom, we thought that perhaps you would be the best person to take Mr Goring out to see the property in Ealing one afternoon!” “Certainly 1 will!” said Christabel, looking a trifle surprised. “I know you want to help your husband in making a nice little profit — a nice little profit for yourself too, Mrs Milsom! Point out to Mr Goring what an excellent’ position the house is in; so secluded, and yet only fifty yards from a new tube station. And all in perfect repair! And the garden, Mrs Milsom, the garden would be worth the money alone without the house!- Perhaps if you were to take Miss Goring as well, she might be attracted by the garden?” ' “She might come too,” said Christabel, doubtfully. Mr West didn’t press the point. “I would never be without a garden myself,” he said, with a hopeful glance at the whisky bottle. Keith gave him some more. He seemed a little ill-at-ease, as though he wanted to turn the conversation from the subject of the house. Christabel wondered if he felt a little ashamed of being willing to take a commission on it.

Then Henry Goring came round to fetch a magazine. Christabel introduced him to Mr West. Mr West said he had an appointment, and rose to go, saying confidentially: “I hear these young people are going to show you that house of mine in Ealing! I’m sorry to have to part with it —it’s a beautiful place. But I have my house at Chalfont, and when I’m in town I stay with my sister in Earl’s Court. She would, move out there, you know, to Ealing, only her boy goes to a school nearby, and it would be too far for him to go in. Ask your good husband to pop in and see me, Mrs Milsom, and I’ll let you have the keys." He pressed Christabel’s hand as though she were ’his favour granddaughter; bowed to Henry Goring, and tottered out. His hair was snow white, but Christabel had not noticed j that he was so very frail until then. Keith said Mr West wanted a thousand down for the house, though it was worth eighteen hundred. Henry Goring agreed to look at. it. with Christabel. The day was Monday; on the Tuesday Keith said to Christabel, in a casual tone: “I may get a job in Buenos Aires, Christ!” “Oh, Keith —really?” She felt an immediate rush of relief and hope, at the mere thought of something new —a new prospect in life. “You’re not to say a word about it to a soul!” he said, losing his casual air with a sudden, almost angry vehemence. “Of course I wont." “I can’t tell you anything about it now. I’ll tell you about it if it comes to anything.” When she asked him about it again —it was just after ne had given her the keys for the house in Ealing—he said: “Oh, I’ve not hoard any more about that!” Miss Goring decided that she must see any house that Henry thought of buying, and she also went over to Ealing. Christabel, feeling in the way. would have given the keys to the Gorings and let them go alone if she could have found a good enough excuse. But when they arrived at it, Christabel really did think that the house was very pleasant; admiring it saved some awkward silences; and Miss Goring seemed to like it, too. It was a big. white stucco building that could not have been built for more than twenty years. It was newly painted and decorated inside, and the garden and tennis court were in perfect order. Even Christabel, who knew very little about house values, could see that it. was cheap at a thousand pounds—which was what Mr West was asking. “It’s a bargain, unquestionably!" said. Henry. He and his sister agreed that they might buy it. "What did Henry say about the house?" asked Keith as soon as he came homo that evening. He seemed to be trying to look as though it didn!t interest him: and yet she felt sure it did —because of the commission, she fancied. “They liked it. They said they would think about it before they decide what to do.” “Oh!" was all Keith said. During the next week Christabel didn’t see Henry Goring at all: then she saw him in the street and he stopped her and said.

“OH, are you? Well, I think you couldn’t do better!” "Mind you make Keith share the “I’m going to buy that house!" commission with you!” he said, jokingly. “It was you who sold it lo me!” She laughed, and made no reply. But she didn’t think she would like to make a commission out of selling something to a friend. “How silly I must be!” she said to herself with a sigh. CHAPTER 11. Three days later Christabel forgot about the prospect of commission on Henry Goring's house. Keith came in in the evining, in a hurry, to tell her that he had got the job in the Argentine. “Buenos Aires,” said Keith, tersely. "Five hundred a year." The sudden realisation of her hope took her breath away . . She didn’t question the wisdom of it. ' “When would we go?” “Tomorrow morning.” “Tomorrow!” He explained. When he told it the story sounded credible enough. The firm which was sending him wasn’t satisfied with the way ‘ its Buenos Aires branch was being carried on. Keith had to leave immediately to investigate, and no one had to know that he was going. „ He was pale, and seemed so excited that he couldn’t keep still. “But are you sure it’s —all right?” asked Christabel, smitten with doubt, the first shadow, perhaps of awful certainties to come later. “All right? Of course it’s all right! What do you mean?” She didn’t explain that she meant was it all respectable ,and above board? Keith sound as though he would hardly have patience with such naive suspicions. “Eve given my word that I’ll keep quiet! All you have to do is to pack —pack and be ready to leave here at 6.30 in the morning.” “But am I not even to say goodbye to mother? And aren’t we going to say good-bye to Henry? He wouldn’t tell anyone, surely, if we asked him not to.” “No, no, no! Henry, above all people. Didn’t I tell you I’ve given my word? Don't be a fool, Chris!” He never called her a fool unless he was seriously annoyed. She saw how excited he was about the whole thing —getting the job, she presumed; and felt that her irrelevancies were very stupid. “But what about our passage?” “I've got the passage.” “But how am I to get the money from the bank to leave for the charwoman if we're going at half-past six? And the rent, Keith?” "I’ll give you some money for the char. Henry can see about, the rent for us. I’ll leave him a note with the cash in it.” When she looked her surprise at his. readiness, he added: , “Thes’ gave me an advance. Fifty pounds.” He slapped his breast pocket. She didn’t ask any more questions because she knew how he hated her prying into his business. The hurry that night gave her no time to think. And why, then, should she have suspected? What she saw in the midst of the chaos of emptied drawers and open trunks was a new world, a future of new possibilities in a new country. Perhaps she thought Keith rather unreasonable in not even allowing her to ring her mother and say goodbye. In the faint summer morning, driving to Liverpool Street in a taxi it came into her head to ’phone from the station. But Keith kept close to her all the time until the}’ got into the train. On the way to Custom House she stared intensely out at the last of Londqn, taking an unregretful farewell. At Custom House, by telephoning, they managed to get a taxi to drive them to King George V dock. Christabel had never been to the docks before. The sense of adventure took her out of herself, filled her with elation, as they went aooard the ship, a British cargo vessel with accommodation for passengers, called the River Plate. It seemed extraordinary to her afterwards that she should have been so convinced of her good fortune, then, when the curtain had already risen on a tragedy of fright, shame, and inexorable disaster . . ! An hour later she stood with Keith, watching the Kentish shore slide slowlj’ away in the fine morning. There were no other passengers on beard, but that didn’t seem dull, only more exciting. She didn’t feel at all ill, and at lunch, when the captain called her "Mrs Lorraine." she was amused at his mistake. She wanted to talk to Keith, ask him questions about South America, speculate about what they would do there. But Keith looked white and strained, and didn’t seem to want to talk. When she remarked on it he said he felt seasick. They’ were on the upper deck at four o'clock when the boat came out to take off the channel pilot; white clouds were floating over Ihe low coast line of the England left behind, and there was a choppy sea. "It's getting cold." said Keith. "Let’s go into the saloon." "You go in. I want to watch this boat come alongside. But Keith didn't go. (To be Continued.)