"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 4 May 1940, Page 10

"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

MARGARET WATSON.

CHAPTER IX. fContinued). Something had happened to Martin in those few minutes, something as inexplicable as it was disturbing. His eyes had acquired the sparkle they wore only on special occasions, when the zero hours of some mad adventure was near. She had seen him look like that before taking a particularly dangerous ski-jump, and on one terrifying night when they had been caught in a bad snowstorm at a high altitude on one of the minor peaks of Koranto. She remembered keenly his face in profile against the white slopes with narrowed, shining eyes, and mouth contentedly smiling. He looked like that now. “Who was that man?” she asked. , “A German visitor. He asked to be directed to the Franciscan church where the kings are buried.” It was glib enough, but why should his face have put on its battle-look because e German visitor had asked about thi royal burial-place? “Marlin, is that the truth? Is tha really all he said to you?” “Oh, not, he said quite a lot. He was telling me all about Gustavus Adolphus, if I could have stopped to listen.” Erica said suddenly and irresistibly: “I don’t believe you.” “Just as you like, darling. But he talked German, didn't he? You heard that for yourself. ' “He looked at me, summed me up as no linguist, and eliminated me by talking German. Because he hadn’t expected me to be there. Because he nad something to say to you which I mustn’t be allowed to hear.”

Martin went on unconcernedly’ marching beside her. His eyes looked ahead, and seemed to see pleasant and thrilling things, he whistled a line of “Off to Philadelphia,” as if he was the happiest man in the world. She believed he was. That she was angrily accusing him of telling her a parcel of lies did not seem to matter.

“All right, darling, if you want to make up fairy-tales, go ahead. Don't mind me. I like them.”

“You’re not denying it because you know it’s perfectly true. Isn’t it?” They turned into the porch of the church of St Nicholas, which had been their objective; and there they stopped by mutual consent, unwilling to carry the argument inside the church with them. Martin consented to be both serious and truthful. He took her by the wrists, and held her facing him in the gloom. “Now, listen to me, dear. I can’t tell you all about it now, because it isn’t my secret; but I swear I’ll tell you just as soon as I’m allowed. Yes. there is something in the wind, but it hasn't anything to do with-—with us —with our relations to each other; so I want you to promise not to ask me any questions yet. Will you do that. Erica?”

“I don’t see why. You know I wouldn’t breathe a word to a soul, Martin; can’t you tell me?” “No dear, I can’t. Promise me!” “Very well, then! I promise.”

They climbed a part of the great tower, and looked down from a window upon the panorama of Stockholm, a maze of water and land and shining building and green gardens spread out below them. In the distance the harbour opened, and beyond it islands again, in a reckless profusion of beauty. Martin pointed to where there shone upon one Of these islands, the dazzling white of a large house. “Do you see that brilliant white building, all by itself among the pine trees?” She nodded.

“Do you know what it is? No, of course you don't. Well, it’s the summer residence of one of the richest men in Sweden, the timber merchant Bjornson. I’ve met him once or twice in the way of business. Not a bad sort of fellow, but for his disgusting wealth. He has a fat wife, and two daughters who will be just as fat as she is by the time they’re her age.”

And that’s his house. It looks beautiful. What were you going to tell me about it?”

“I'm going there tonight, on business; and it's just possible I may not be back for two or three days.”

“You're going there on business?” said Erica, in astonishment. “It's the first hint I've had of it. I thought we were going to Upsala this evening?” “So we were, and I'm sorry, dear. But this is very urgent.” She looked at him for a moment with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Then she said deliberately: “That's the news that strange man brought you. isn't it? You're expected on the island onight; and something is going to happen there, is it? Something I'm not to know: something that makes you excited, and —yes. and happy."

‘■l'm not going to say a word more about it, if you won't be sensible. I've told you that I can’t explain that affair yet. You promised not to ask any questions.” “Well, I won't. There's really no need, for I know I'm right about the connection between the two. You call it being silly, do you, that I should want to know what my husband's doing when he goes away for —for two or three days?—and in most mysterious circumstances?” “I told you it's on urgent business, didn't I?" “Yes, but a little while ago you told me a string of lies in just the same voice. I don't know how far 1 can believe you.” “Erica!” he cried, really angry now, and rather formidable in his anger.

“Oh, don't be stupid! What's the use of looking daggers at me for believing you can lie pretty glibly, when you know perfectly well that you did, only a quarter of an hour ago? You can't play the injured innocent now, Martin. It's too late.” “That’s the only time I've even put you off,” he cried, “and you know it. I’d rather tel] you—or I would rather have told you then; but I couldn’t. It wasn't my secret to tell. But now —I wouldn't if I could. He stopped. Their voices had become frighteningly loud, and there was an echo which redoubled them into the embrasure where they stood in an eerie way. They looked at each other hatefully, in shame, and humiliation, and rage. He said in a strangled voice. “Come op, let’s gel home out of this!” and hustled her away down the long depth of the tower and out into the street. Neither of them spoke until .hey were more than half-way to the hotel, standing in the prow of one of the little steamers which plied up and down between island and island with the busy air of aquatic omnibuses. Then Martin said in a low voice. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. It wasn't true. I’d still like to tell you. but I can't yet.” “You're going, then? To the island?” “Of course I’m going.” “Are your orders from Jameson?” “I can't tell you anything more.” She turned her face to him suddenly, and he saw her eyes blazing witn a withering, cold anger. “Are your orders from Jameson?” Martin drew a long breath. “Very well, then, if you must know. No, they’re not. Jameson knows nothing about it. It has nothing to do with Jameson. It’s my pidgin.” “Then you could tell me.” “But I can't. It concerns other people.” Erica dropped the subject with the suddenness of a blow. She did not mention it again, nor speak of anything but the most-listless of ways, all and in the most listless of ways, all that day. They spent an unhappy afternoon, but towards evening Martin seemed to lose the sense of tragedy before the onrush of excitement. He dressed, and packed a small case; and tjren, at the last moment before his departure. came to her where she sat reading with her back turned towards him, and tilted her face towards him, and kissed her. She permitted the kiss, but with a chilling coolness, though the .pressure of his fingers round her 'cheeks tugged at her heart with something of the old glamour. “You’ll be all right .darling, until I come back. It won’t be more than three days, at latest. Ddn’t hate me. Erica. Next week you’ll be laughing about this.”

When he had almost reached the door she said, with a blind instinct to frighten and hurt, and grasping at the first weapon which offered: "I may not be here when you come back.” And Martin laughed. For a moment she did seriously hate him for that. He was so emptily optimistic, or so sure of her, that he could afford to laugh at that threat. What difference did it make that he was right to be so sure? It was horrible that he should know, and trade on it.

“I’ll risk it, darling,” he said, and departed. Erica sat there for a full half-hour tormenting herself, as much about her own reasonless disappointment in him as about his mission. Then her loneliness became overwhelming. She could no longer bear to sit there bv herself in the hotel, nor did she particularly desire the company of any of her casual feminine friends in Stockholm. She dressed with forlorn care, and went out and walked through the streets of Norrmalm in a restless and aimless fashion, watching the faces which passed by her, gay, and cool, and sad, in a kaleidoscopic procession. She dined at a little restaurant on the edge of the gardens of Norrmalm. It was warm and she had a table in the garden, where lights hung in the trees, and music came and went fitfully between the wafts of wind, as if from no human agency. Summer was at its highest peak, and Norrmalm smelled of it, with a first hint through the fragrance that autumn might follow some day.

Afterwards she went down towards the harbour. She did not in the least know why her aimless wanderings should lead her that way, unless because Martin had always turned his head in that direction by instinct, like a horse headed for home. She found a wall to lean on. where there was open sea before her. and the ridinglights of ships, and the irrideseent shimmer of the islands beyond. She’ did not turn her head when she heard footsteps approaching at a leisurely walk from the why by which she had come; but when a hand touched her arm lightly, she started out of her reverie, and swung round. “Jon!"

He came and leaned upon the wall beside her. She saw his face in the half-light pensive and serene. “So it is you. Without the attendant husband. I hardly recognised you. Whatever are you doing here all alone at this hour?” “Oh, just absorbing the local colour." she said, rather wretchedly. “It's too lovely to go indoors yet." “So you're taking a last stroll- just as I am. I don't know what you think of it. Erica, but for me this place has no glamour except by night.” (To be Continued).