CHAPTER FOUR
The Lost Boy
Flipdid not say anything. She just stood there and let Paul hold her hands too tightly and she felt that somehow the pain in her hands might ease the pain in his mind. Then he dropped her hands and started to walk again, but more slowly. When he began to speak she listened intently, but it was impossible to make it seem real. The story Paul was pouring out to her now was like a movie, or something read in a book. The concentration camps. The children and the children's parents gassed and burned. The cold and the hunger, and afterwards the lostness. The children in the DP camps. The children roaming and scavenging the streets like hungry wolves.
"I was one of the lucky ones," Paul said in a low voice. "My mother and father found me. I mean—Monsieur and Madame Laurens.... You'll have to understand Flip, if I keep calling them my mother and father—but that's the way I think of them now, and I don't remember anyone else for a mother and father."
Flip nodded, and Paul continued, his face tense in thestarlight. "They found me in a bombed out cellar in Berlin when my mother was singing there for the troops just after the war was over. I'd been trapped there somehow and I was nearly dead I guess, but I kept on calling and they found me and rescued me. And for some reason I didn't want to be rescued. It's like sometimes when you try to save an animal he snarls and bites at you before he realizes that you aren't going to hurt him more. A dog was run over on our street once—not Ariel, another dog—and he kept trying to bite at me for a long time until he realized that I wanted to help him. His back was broken and I had to chloroform him. Dr. Bejart helped me." Paul stopped talking and continued to walk so rapidly that Flip almost had to run to keep up with him. She looked up through the bare trees and the last color had drained from the sky and the full flowering of stars was out and they seemed to be caught in the topmost branches of the trees like blossoms. By their light she could see Paul quite clearly but she knew that she must not say anything to him. They had walked beyond the chateau now and behind her she could hear an owl calling forlornly from one of the turrets.
"I don't really remember anything before my mother and father found me," Paul said. "Sometimes I remember bits of the concentration camp. Aunt Colette thinks its because of the concentration camp that I'm afraid of institutions. I might as well admit it, Flip, I amafraidof institutions. I think if I could remember I wouldn't be afraid. Sometimes when I'm in the chateau I feel as though I were going to remember but I never do. I remember bits of the camp, the way you sometimes remember bits of a nightmare, but when I try really to remember it's like going out of a bright roominto a dark room and you can't see anything in the dark except strange shapes and shadows...."
"Oh, Paul," Flip whispered. She could think of no words of comfort or reassurance so she whispered "Oh, Paul...." again to let him know that she was listening and caring.
"It's like being blind," Paul said, "not remembering. When people talk about the five senses they forget memory. Memory's like a sense.... Flip, I have never said these things to anyone before." He turned sharply and they started walking back to the gate house. After a while he asked her, "Are you cold?"
"No," Flip said.
"You must be cold. You wouldn't be shivering if you weren't. We'll go back and roast some more chestnuts." She walked along beside him and suddenly he turned to her and smiled and his voice was Paul's voice again, "We're going to have wonderful times this winter, Flip!" he said. "When you learn how to ski we can go skiing together. And in the spring we can go for trips on the lake and in the summer we can go swimming. I'm glad you came to the chateau, Flip."
"Oh!" Flip said, "supposing I hadn't."
2
The nextafternoon the sky clouded over and it began to snow and it snowed all afternoon and all night and the following afternoon skiing began. Fräulein Hauser met the beginners in the ski room, and told them the various parts ofthe skis and the ski sticks, and how to take care of them. Flip clutched Eunice's discarded skis and felt happy with the excited kind of anticipation that comes before Christmas. Somehow she knew she would be able to ski and maybe if she turned out to be a really wonderful skier the girls would like her better and then she would begin to like school and she would be better able to help Paul.
But when they got out on the gentle slopes where Fräulein Hauser taught the beginners it wasn't at all the way she had imagined and hoped it would be. Instead of all at once being able to fly over the snow like a bird as she had dreamed, she found that no sooner was she on her feet than she was flat on her back, skis up in the air, or with her head buried in the snow, or doing a kind of wild splits. Fräulein Hauser was not unkind, but after a while she said,
"You don't seem to have much aptitude for this, do you, Philippa?"
Flip gritted her teeth. "I'll learn."
"I hope so." Fräulein Hauser sounded dubious.
Every afternoon Flip went out grimly with the beginners. She was covered with bruises and every muscle in her body ached, but she was determined that she was going to learn how to ski, that in this one thing at any rate she would not fail. When the other beginners laughed at her tumbles she tried desperately to laugh back, to pretend that she thought it was funny, too.
At the end of the skiing class on Friday afternoon, Fräulein Hauser called her back to the ski room as the others left.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Philippa, but I think you'd better drop skiing. You'll enjoy the ice-skating when the hockey field is flooded, I'm sure, and in the meantimethere are walks, and gym work."
"But why, please, Fräulein Hauser?" Flip gasped in dismay.
"You just don't seem able to learn, and I'll have to admit I can't teach you. I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself in one of your falls and I think it would be best if you just give it up."
Flip looked at the racks and racks of skis as they suddenly began blurring together. "I'd rather keep on, please, Fräulein Hauser, if it's all right."
"I'm afraid it isn't all right," Fräulein Hauser said impatiently. "I just can't have you in my class. I'll put you on the walk list for tomorrow."
Flip turned her head and left. She walked blindly down the corridor but she had managed to control her tears by the time she got to the big Hall.
3
On Sundayshe could not help telling Paul of her defeat. Paul had immediately seen that something was wrong, asking, "What's the matter?"
"I know I could learn to ski if she'd just let me go on trying," Flip persisted. "I know I could." Ariel was licking her face in a worried manner and she put her head down on his back to try to hide the tears that were threatening.
"Bring your skis over next Sunday and I'll help you," Paul told her.
"Oh, would you really, Paul?"
"I said I would. Do you think it's because of your bad knee you told me about?"
Flip shook her head. "No. My father asked the doctor when Eunice gave me her skis and he said skiing was fine for me. So it isn't that."
"Well, bring your skis next time then," Paul told her.
So Flip brought her skis over. Madame Perceval arrived just as they were about to set off.
"Hello, Philippa, Paul, what's this?" she asked, fending off Ariel's frantic welcome.
"I'm going to teach Flip to ski," Paul announced.
"Oh?"
"Fräulein Hauser said I had to drop skiing," Flip explained.
"Why, Philippa?"
"She said I just couldn't learn and she couldn't teach me. But Madame, I'm sure Icanlearn, I'm sure I can."
"Why don't I go out with you and Paul?" Madame Perceval said, "and we'll see."
She watched while Flip put on her skis, watched her push off, fall down, push off and fall down again.
"Where did you get your skis?" she asked.
"A friend of my father's gave them to me. They were hers."
"Take them off for a moment," Madame Perceval said. "Now raise your arm." She measured the skis against Flip. "Just as I thought. They're much too long for you. I don't know what your father's friend was thinking of. She can't know much about skiing."
"Well, she says she's skied a lot," Flip said. "Maybe she was trying to impress father. He doesn't know anything about skiing. He used to use snow shoes when he was a boy."
Madame Perceval took the skis away from Flip. "No wonder you couldn't learn on these. They would be too longfor Paul. I don't know why Fräulein Hauser didn't notice it at once."
"She probably would have on anybody else. People just expect me to be bad at sports."
Madame Perceval laughed. "You're probably right, Philippa. And Fräulein Hauser certainly has her hands full with beginners this year. Now, there's a pair of very good ash skis back at school that would be just about right for you. One of the girls from last year left them. I think I'll run along back and get them. You and Paul wait inside for me."
"Oh, thank you, Madame!" Flip cried.
"Thank you Aunt Colette," Paul added.
She and Paul went indoors. Georges Laurens was shut up in his tiny study, deep in concentration, so they did not speak to him, but went over to the fire, stripping off jackets and sweaters. For a moment they were silent and Flip knew that Paul did not want to talk about any of the things he had told her, or to have her talk about them.
"Papa's been writing all day, except when he went to get you," Paul said, talking nervously as he stared into the fire. "I was afraid that he might forget to go for you, but he didn't."
"Thank goodness for that," Flip sighed.
Paul stood up. "I'm hungry. I'll go get us some bread and cheese from Thérèse." He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and came back with a chunk of cheese, half a loaf, and a bone handled carving knife. Flip lay on the hearth, using Ariel as a pillow.
"Aunt Colette was over here last night," Paul said, "And that Italian teacher, Signorina what's-her-name."
"Signorina del Rossi."
"That's right," Paul said. "And they were talking about you."
"About me! What did they say?" Flip cried, sitting up.
"Well, I didn't hear all of it because I was reading."
"But what did they say?" Flip asked again.
"Well, Signorina was saying that it was the first time Aunt Colette's ever taken a special interest in any one girl. And Aunt Colette laughed and said that you had great talent and then she said that an artist's life was a hard one but she was afraid you were stuck with it. And then she said—now, don't get angry with me, Flip—"
"Go on."
"Well, she said you were a nice child when you didn't spoil it by being sorry for yourself."
"Oh," Flip said. "Oh." And she lay down again rubbing her cheek against Ariel's fur.
"Here," Paul said. "Have some more bread and cheese.... You aren't angry at me, are you, Flip?"
"No."
"Are you sorry for yourself?"
"Yes. I think I am sometimes—"
"Why?"
"Oh—because I want my mother. And the girls don't like me. Oh, and everything. And I want to be with father instead of at school. But I don't feel that way so much any more, Paul. And if I can learn how to ski it will be wonderful. And I love coming here every week-end. And I'm beginning to like school. Truly I am."
"Why do you keep saying that?" Paul asked, holding the loaf against his chest and cutting off another chunk. "You keep saying you like school so much and I don't believe you really do at all."
"Ido," Flip persisted. "Idon'thate it the way I used to."And she realized with a start that her words were true. While she didn't actuallylikeschool, she no longer hated it with the sickening passion of only a few short weeks ago.
"Aunt Colette said something else," Paul went on. "Do you want to hear?"
"Of course."
"She said you reminded her of Denise."
"Who's Denise?"
"Her daughter."
"What!" Flip yelled. "Herdaughter!"
"Hush. Here she comes. Have some more bread and cheese, Flip," Paul said as Madame Perceval came in carrying a pair of skis.
"Here you are, Philippa," Madame Perceval held the skis up. "Let's try these for size."
Flip scrambled to her feet and Madame Perceval tried them against her. "How are they?" Flip asked eagerly.
"Perfect. Couldn't be better. Put on your things and we'll go out and try them."
As Flip snapped the skis onto her boots Madame Perceval said, "Now don't expect miracles, Philippa. The skis don't make as much difference as all that. Just go very slowly and do as I say."
Madame Perceval was right. Flip was not able, all of a sudden, to ski like an angel because of the new skis. But she no longer fell quite so frequently, or had such a desperate struggle to get to her feet again.
"Better, much better!" Madame Perceval cried as Flip slid down a tiny incline and stopped without falling. "Now turn around."
Flip raised her leg and the long ski no longer tumbled herignominiously onto the snow. She snapped her other leg around and there she was, all in one piece and erect.
"Bravo!" Madame cried. "Now herring-bone up the little hill and come down again."
Her tongue sticking out with eagerness, Flip did as Madame Perceval told her.
"Good," the art teacher said. "Good, Philippa. More spring in your knees if you can. How about that bad knee? Does it bother you?"
"Not much." Flip shook her head. "Oh, Madame, do you think I can learn?"
"I know you can. Just don't stick your tongue out so far. You might bite it off in one of your tumbles."
"Do you think Fräulein Hauser will take me back in the skiing class?"
"Wait! Wait!" Paul cried, waving his ski sticks in wild excitement. "I have a much better idea."
Madame laughed and ducked as one of the sticks went flying. "All right, Paul. Calm down and tell us this magnificent idea." But Flip could see that she was pleased because Paul sounded excited and happy, and the dark look had fled from his face.
"Well, Flip was telling me about this ski meet you have at school and how everybody can go in for it and there's a prize for form, and a long race, and a short race, and a prize for the girl who's made most progress and all sorts of things. And I think it would be wonderful if we could teach Flip and she could enter the ski meet and win and surprise everybody."
Madame Perceval started to laugh but then she looked at Flip and Paul and their eager excited faces, and she saidslowly, "It would be rather a tall order teaching Flip just on week-ends. She needs lots of practice."
"I could slip out in the morning before Call Over," Flip cried. "If I make my bed before breakfast and hurry breakfast I'd have almost an hour and nobody'd see me then."
"And think how surprised that Fräulein Hauser would be," Paul cried.
"And the girls would be so surprised," Flip shouted. "Erna and Jackie and all of them. Oh, Madame, do you think Icouldlearn? I'd work terribly hard. I'd practice and practice."
"If you keep on improving the way you've improved this afternoon," Madame Perceval told her, "I'm sure you could."
"Come on, Aunt Colette," Paul cajoled.
Madame Perceval looked at them for a moment longer. Then she smiled and said, "Why not?"
4
Flipfinished her still life of a plaster head of Diana, a wine bottle, a loaf of bread, and a wine glass, early during the next art class.
"That's good, Flip," Madame Perceval said. "Really very good, though your perspective is wobbly—everything's going up hill at quite an alarming angle and poor Diana looks as though she were about to fall on her ear. But the color and texture is excellent. That's really bread, and the transparency of your glass is a great improvement over your last still life. That's good work, Flip."
Flip blushed with pleasure, partly at the praise, and partly because Madame was calling her Flip. Several of the girlslooked up at the name and Gloria actually winked at her.
"You have time to start something else," Madame was saying. "Here's a clean sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal. Just draw anything you like. Either from something in the room or from your imagination."
For the past two days Flip had been thinking of three things, Paul, skiing, and Madame's daughter. She had not had another opportunity to ask Paul about Denise, how old she was, or whether she was alive or dead. Somehow Flip felt that she must be dead and that perhaps that accounted for the sadness in Madame Perceval's eyes. She wondered what Madame's daughter would look like and, almost without volition, her hand holding the charcoal moved across the paper and she began to draw a girl, a girl about her own age sitting on a rock and looking out across the valley to the mountains.
The likeness was stronger than she could possibly have guessed. She was trying, more or less, to draw a girl who looked like Madame and who had short hair like hers. But the girl who appeared on the paper did not look like Madame and Flip felt discouraged because she knew the perspective was wrong again and the mountains were too small and far away and the girl's feet weren't right. She sighed and tried to erase the mountains and the feet and correct them.
Madame Perceval stood behind her and looked over her shoulder down at the paper. Flip almost jumped as the art teacher's strong fingers dug into her arm.
"What are you doing?" Madame Perceval's voice was calm and low, but Flip felt the strain in it.
"Just—just a girl looking at the mountains," she stammered. "The—the feet aren't right."
"I'll show you," Madame Perceval said; but instead of explaining what was wrong, and then telling Flip what to do to correct it, as she usually did, she took the charcoal and swiftly put the feet in again herself; and then she took the thumbtacks out of Flip's board and took the paper and walked over to the cupboard with it and Flip saw that her hands were trembling.
In a moment she came back with a fresh piece of paper. "Why don't you try drawing one of the girls in the class?" Madame suggested, and her voice was natural again. "Erna, you've finished, haven't you? Will you sit still and let Flip sketch you?"
"Yes, Madame. How do you want me to sit, Pi—Philippa—uh—Flip?"
Madame Perceval smiled as Erna stumbled over Flip's name, and Flip said, "Oh, the way you are now looking over the back of your chair is fine, if you're comfortable."
She took up the charcoal and sketched quickly and then she laughed because the girl on her paper was so out of proportion and funny-looking and at the same time shewasErna. In trying to get a likeness Flip had over-accentuated and the braces on Erna's teeth were ridiculous and her chin jutted out and the barette pulled the hair back far too tightly from the forehead.
"What are you laughing at?" Erna demanded.
Flip looked at her drawing and thought,—oh, dear, now Erna will be mad.
But Madame Perceval had come over and was laughing, too, and showing the paper with Erna on it to the class, and everybody was laughing.
"I think you have a flair for caricature, Flip," Madame said.
And Jackie bounced up and down on her chair, crying, "Draw me, Flip, draw me!"
"Hold still, then, Jackie," Madame said, handing Flip another sheet of paper.
Flip's hand holding the charcoal made Jackie's curly hair fly wildly about the paper; the enormous, long lashed black eyes took up half the page, and the mouth was a tiny bud above the pointed little chin. Erna had been watching and as Flip laid down the charcoal for a moment she grabbed the paper and held it up, shouting,
"Look at Jackie! She looks just like a cat!"
"Draw me! Draw me!" All the girls were shouting at Flip until Madame Perceval stopped them, saying, "Not now, girls. The bell just rang. You can get Flip to draw you any time. I know she'd like to, wouldn't you, Flip?"
"Oh, yes, Madame!"
So they besieged Flip in the Common Room with requests for caricatures to send home, and Flip went to her locker, her face bright with happiness, to get her sketch book and pencils.
"Don't make my nosetoobig!" "Should I take my glasses off, Flip?" "Oh, Pill, don't put in my freckles!" 'Flip' and 'Pill' came indiscriminately, and somehow quite suddenly and surprisingly Flip knew that she no longer minded the 'Pill' because it sounded friendly; it was being said to her, not at her.
—I'm liking school, she thought.—I'm liking it. Now it will sound better when I tell Paul I like it.
Only Esmée Bodet was discontented with her picture. "I don't look like that!" she said, and tore the page across, tossing the pieces in the waste paper basket.
"She looks exactly like that," Erna said in Flip's ear. "Comeon up on the billiard table and let's play jacks." The entire school had a jacks craze on. Even the seniors were playing though Esmée turned up her nose and said it was a child's game, and continued to play very bad bridge.
"Oh, jacks! Let me play too!" Gloria cried, clambering up and sitting cross-legged on the green felt of the billiard table; and Flip realized that one reason Gloria never lacked for partners, or a place in the Common Room games, was that she never hesitated to ask.
"Come on, Jackie," Erna called. "Climb up."
Flip was quite good at jacks and Gloria bounced up and down impatiently. "Come on, Pill, miss can't you? I want a turn." And she gave Flip's elbow a jog, but Flip caught the ball and laughed triumphantly.
"Good for you, Flip," Erna cried. "You can't play if you're going to cheat, Glo."
"It's Erna's turn next, anyhow," Jackie said. "By the way, Pill, I think it's a dirty shame Hauser made you drop skiing."
"Me too." Erna nodded so violently that her hair came out of the barette and she had to fasten it again.
Flip thought of the progress she had already made on her skis, and smiled to herself. Then she shrugged, "Well, if she thinks I'm too impossible to teach, I guess that's that."
"The old minge, the mangy old minge," Gloria muttered. "I say, Pill. What're you going to be when you get out of this place, an artist?"
Flip nodded. "I'd like to be. The way my father is. I'd like to paint portraits and do illustrations for children's books." She reached wildly for the jacks' ball, which was this time an old golf ball Gloria's mother had sent, but it bounced off the table and Erna scrambled after it.
"At last," she said, bringing it back and collecting the jacks. "I'm going to be a doctor likemyfather. I think it must be wonderful to cut people up and put them back together again." Underneath her joking words Flip could tell that she was serious.
"The trouble is that you can't always put them back together again," Jackie said.
"I will." Erna swept up her jacks with a confident gesture. "If people have their legs and things blown off I'll discover a way to put them back or give them new ones off dead people."
Flip started to tell Erna that Paul wanted to be a doctor too, but Gloria, who didn't mind when she herself talked about glass eyes or false teeth, put her hands over her ears. "Oh, stop! Stop!"
"Well, dead people can give their eyes so blind people can see," Erna said, "so I don't see why they shouldn't give their legs and things, too."
Gloria clapped her hand over Erna's mouth. "You go talk about your old operations somewhere else."
"Who asked you to play jacks anyhow?" Erna mumbled from behind Gloria's hand. "Let go and let me play. I'm on fivesies, eggs in the basket."
"Foursies."
"Fivesies."
"It's fivesies," Flip corroborated. "Are you going to be a movie actress, Jackie?"
Jackie laughed and waved her arms. "My father says I'll be an actress over his dead body. I haven't thought about it much. Maybe I'll just be a wife like my mother. She says that's a career in itself, only lots of people forget it."
"Love," Gloria sighed, "that's what I'm cut out for."
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Flip asked and blushed.
"I believe in love." Gloria placed her hand dramatically over her heart. "It's love that makes the world go round."
"Have you seen Maggie Campbell's brother?" Jackie asked. "He's the handsomest man I ever saw. Maggie's going to give me a snapshot of him for Christmas."
Flip sat with her legs stuck out in front of her on the old hotel billiard table, because her stiff knee kept her from sitting cross-legged or on her heels, and watched, and listened, and occasionally said a word, and she felt so excited that she could feel the excitement like hunger in the pit of her stomach. She was excited because for the first time she felt on the inside, and underneath the new warm sense of being one of them was the glorious secret knowledge of Paul—and tomorrow she would see him again.
5
The firstthing Paul asked Flip the next day was, "Have you been practicing your skiing?"
Flip nodded. "Every morning."
"How's it going?"
"Better."
"Well, come on and let's go. Is Aunt Colette coming over?"
"I don't know."
"Well, come on, Flip," Paul said impatiently. "I want to see how much you've improved."
They went out, Ariel rushing madly about them, diggingup the snow, running and jumping against them, until Paul had to send him in.
Paul was visibly impressed with Flip's progress, and when Madame Perceval appeared on skis, Paul flew over to her in great excitement. "Flip's a natural born skier, Aunt Colette!" he cried. "She's magnificent!"
Madame Perceval smiled at Paul and held out her hand to Flip. "Let's see what you've accomplished, little one."
She, too, was impressed. "You must have been working hard!" she said. "We'll have you doing Christianas and all sorts of things in no time."
"Oh, Madame, do you really think so?"
"Just keep up the practicing, Flip, as you've been doing, and I'm sure of it."
"She'll be quite a shock to everybody at the ski meet, won't she?" Paul asked.
Madame laughed. "She certainly will."
And Flip went to bed that night to dream of soaring through the air on her skis, watched by admiring throngs of girls; of executing perfect Christianas and the delicate loops of telemarks; and when she woke up in the morning her mind was still a happy jumble of snow conditions, stems, and langlaufs.
Flip had thought as she slipped out the ski room door after breakfast each morning that the girls would become curious about her hurried breakfasts and ask what she was doing; but they were used to her disappearances and absences and were too hungry and sleepy and hurried in the cold dark of the mornings to pay much attention to anything besides getting themselves out of their warm beds and then eating as much hot chocolate and porridge and rolls and jam as possible.
Flip was out practicing intently one Saturday morning whenshe noticed someone watching her. She looked up, fearful that she was being discovered, but it was no one from the school. It was a man with a dark, wild face, and the look in his eyes frightened her; but he waved and grinned at her cheerfully and moved away. He wore climbing boots and carried a stick and he struck off up the mountain, walking very rapidly. She watched after him until he was lost in the trees, wondering what a strange man was doing on the grounds of a girls' school. Then she thought he might be a new gardener or perhaps someone to help with flooding the hockey field for ice skating, though that was not to be done till the Christmas holidays.
Oh, well, she thought, there's never anybody around who isn't meant to be around, so I guess it's all right.
And she kept on working at the skiing until time to get the mail before Call Over.
Most of the girls were already at the desk in the Hall when she arrived, flushed from her early morning exercise; and Signorina, who was on duty, was giving out the mail. Since she had begun noticing other people besides herself, Flip had learned a lot from the mail. Hardly a day went by that Jackie did not have a letter from her mother. Erna always came rushing eagerly to the desk but seldom received anything. Gloria frequently didn't even bother to come and if she had a letter someone took it to her. Esmée had already begun to get letters from boys and read them aloud to anyone who would listen. Solvei's letters came as regularly as Jackie's, and Sally received hers every Wednesday and Saturday.
"Philippa Hunter," Signorina called.
Flip took the letter from her father and opened it eagerly.
"My darling baby," he said, beginning the letter as he hadnot done in years, "here I am in a hospital in Shanghai, but don't be worried because it's nothing serious—jaundice—but it's a great nuisance especially because the doctor says I won't possibly be able to get to you for your Christmas holidays. Flippet, Flippet, don't be too terribly disappointed and don't weep that sweet face into a pulp. Eunice will be delighted to have you for your holidays, and she is in Nice, and the weather will be wonderful, and I know she'll do everything she can to make you happy. Your letters have sounded so much more contented recently and I feel that you are growing up and that you try to enjoy yourself without your yellow old father. I expect to be in Germany and Switzerland shortly after New Year and I promise you thatnothingwill interfere with our Easter."
Flip's disappointment was so acute and overwhelming that she thought for a moment she was going to be sick. She turned and ran until she reached the bathroom and then she shut herself in and leaned against the door and she felt all hollow inside herself, from the top of her head down to her toes, and there was no room in this cold vacuum for tears.
After a few moments she heard a knock. She clenched her fists and held her breath but whoever it was did not go away, and the knock came again. If it's Miss Tulip I'll kick her, she thought in fury.
Then Erna's voice came. "Flip."
"What?" Flip said, sounding hard and forbidding.
"Flip, it's just me. Erna."
"Oh."
"Did you—was it—was there bad news in your letter?"
"No. It's all right." Flip's voice was stifled.
"Well, look, Flip," Erna said. "I just meant ... Percy'staking Call Over this morning and you know how strict she is ... and the bell's about to ring...."
Flip opened the door and came out. "Thanks, Erna."
"Oh, that's all right," Erna said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry if it was bad news in your letter."
"It's just that my father's sick in China and I can't be with him for the Christmas holidays," Flip started to explain in a controlled voice. Then she burst out, "and I have to spend the holidays with Eunice—she's a friend of my father's—and I don't like her and if she marries my father I'll—I'll want to kill her."
"Ach, that's awful," Erna said. "I'm awful sorry, Flip. It certainly is awful."
"Well—" Flip's voice trailed off; then she spoke briskly. "We'd better get down to Call Over."
6
The nextday she told Paul about the letter and for the first time since she had received it she started to cry. Ariel, distressed at her unhappiness, jumped up at her, almost knocking her over, and licked excitedly at her face.
"That Eunice," Paul said, frowning heavily and pushing Ariel away from Flip and sending him over to the hearth. Then he jumped up. "Put on your skis and go on out and start practicing," he commanded. "I'll be out in a minute." And he half-shoved Flip out the door.
Flip went out obediently and put on her skis and started working on her turns. In just a few minutes Paul came flying out of the lodge, shouting, "Flip! Flip!"
He rushed up, panting, and gasped, "My father says you may stay here with us for Christmas if your father says it's all right! And Aunt Colette is going to be with us because my mother can't come." His face was radiant with pleasure.
Flip sat down in the snow, her feet going every which way.
"And you can work on your skiing every day. And I'm sure Aunt Colette can take us up to Gstaad to ski, and to Caux too, so you'll be familiar with Gstaad and all the runs for the ski meet and maybe you will become such a good skier that we can do a double jump! Papa said he'd write your father right away this afternoon. Oh, Flip, it will be wonderful to have you here all the time instead of just on Sunday afternoons!"
"Oh, Paul!" Flip cried and scrambled to her feet. "Oh, Paul! Next to being with father it's the most wonderful thing in the world. I know he'll let me!"
"Well," Paul said, giving her a quick, shy hug. "What a relief. Come on. Let's get to work on your skiing."
Flip had been skiing conscientiously for about an hour under Paul's tutelage when Madame Perceval came out and called them.
"Come on in to tea, children!"
They skied over to her, Flip with almost as great ease and confidence as Paul, shouting, "Hello, Madame!" "Hello, Aunt Colette!"
"So," Madame said, raising Flip's chin and looking into her eyes. "You're happy about your holidays now?"
"Oh, yes, Madame!"
"I was wondering what had happened to upset you, my problem child. You seemed so much happier and then gloomdescended. But you did have some reason this time. It's hard to be away from your father at Christmas time."
"And it would have been awful to be with Eunice," Flip said. "Eunice always makes me feel—well, even clumsier and gawkier and tongue-tieder and everything than I am. But oh, Madame, I'll love being here, and I'll try to help and not be a bother."
"Hurry up, Flip, take off your skis," Paul called impatiently. "Papa went over to Lausanne to the dentist yesterday and brought us back cakes from Nyffeneggers."
When they had finished tea Madame said, "How about skiing back to school with me, Flip? Feel up to it?"
"Yes, Madame, I think so."
"You haven't skied any distance at all, yet, and I think it would be good for you. Not afraid of skiing in the dark? I'll keep right beside you."
"I'm not afraid, Madame."
They pushed off, Flip feeling excited and happy as she turned around to wave good-bye to Paul, who was standing in the lighted doorway. And Flip thought how beautiful the night was with the stars just coming out; and the pine trees' noble arms bowed with snow; and the shadows of the ruined chateau looming behind them; and the warmth and comfort of the lodge, the golden light pouring out the open door and Paul standing there waving good-bye.
"Yes," Madame Perceval said, as if in answer to her thoughts. "It's beautiful, isn't it? In the spring the fields are as white as they are now, with narcissi, not snow.... Shall we go?"
They started off down the mountain side, Madame calling Flip from time to time to check her speed or give her instructions.Now at last Flip had the feeling of being a bird, of having wings. And as she pushed through the cold night air she felt that it was as solid and entire an element as water. A bird must know this solidity; but as she felt the air against her body the only thing within her own knowledge with which she could compare it was water, and she felt as she broke through it that she must be leaving a wake of air behind her, as a boat does, cutting through water.
Madame let her go faster and faster, and, exhilarated by the speed and the beauty, she would have gone flying past the school gates if Madame had not checked her. They turned through the gates together and moved slowly down the white driveway.
"That was good skiing, Flip," Madame said. "I'm really very proud of you."
Flip dropped her head in quick confusion, then looked up with eyes that shone in the starlight. "I love it, Madame, I just love it!"
"You know," Madame told her, "We're not going to be able to enter you in the beginner's class at the ski meet. You'll have to go in the intermediate. If you go on improving at this rate you'd be disqualified from the beginner's class. And with all the skiing you'll be able to do during the holidays I don't think there's any question but you'll go on improving. I want to work with you on your left stem turn. Your right is fine, but the left is the only place where your weak knee seems to bother you. Don't worry, though. I think a little extra practice and the left stem will be as good as the right."
They went indoors and Flip put her skis on the rack, stroking them lovingly. The smell of the ski room, of hot wax and melted snow, and damp wool from the ski clothes, wasalmost as pleasant to her now as the smell of the art Studio.
"Madame," she said softly, "thank you so much for the skis."
"The girl who left them was rolling in money," Madame spoke shortly, "and I suspect it was black market money. They're in far better hands now—or rather on far better feet." She laughed. "Run along upstairs to the Common Room. There's about half an hour before dinner. We made better time than I expected."
7
Flipran up the stairs and across the Hall, almost bumping into Miss Tulip.
"Really, Philippa Hunter!" Miss Tulip exclaimed in annoyance. "Will you kindly remember that you are supposed to walk, not run. You used to be such a nice, quiet girl and you're turning into a regular little hoyden." And Miss Tulip shut herself up in the cage of the faculty elevator and pressed the button.
Instead of being crushed by Miss Tulip's irritation Flip had to surpress a laugh as she watched the elevator rise and saw the matron's feet in their long, narrow white shoes slowly disappearing up the elevator shaft. Then, completely forgetting her admonition, she ran on down the corridor and into the Common Room.
She had just started a letter to her father when the big glass door was opened and Martha Downs and Kaatje van Leyden came in. A sudden hush came over the Common Room because the senior girls had studies and a special living room of their own on the second floor, and seldom came downstairsunless it was to lecture one of the girls for some misdeed that affected the two school teams, the Odds and the Evens, or that came under the jurisdiction of the Student Government. Martha and Kaatje walked towards Flip now and she knew that everybody was wondering, "Now what has Pill done?"
But Martha smiled in a friendly way and said, "Hi, Philippa."
"Hi," Flip said, standing up awkwardly.
"I hear you're good at drawing people."
"Oh—just sort of caricatures," Flip mumbled.
Erna, who had been listening curiously, broke in, "She's wonderful, Martha! I'll show you the ones she did of Jackie and Gloria and me in the dormitory last night."
Erna had forgotten that they weren't supposed to have books or drawing materials in the dormitory at night, but Martha and Kaatje kindly ignored this and looked at the slips of paper Erna held out. They both laughed.
"Why, you're a genius, Philippa," Kaatje cried.
And Martha said, "We came down to see if you'd do us."
"Oh, I'd love to," Flip said. "Right now?"
"How long does it take you?"
"About a second," Erna told them. "Here's a chair, Martha, and one for you, Kaatje. Run get your sketch book, Flip."
Flip got her pad and a couple of sharp pencils out of her locker. "Just stay the way you are, please," she said to Martha. "That's fine."
It wasn't quite as easy to draw Martha as it had been the girls she saw constantly in the Common Room and the class room, or as easy as the faculty, whose caricatures, sketched hurriedly at the end of study halls had thrown the girls intofits of laughter; but she managed to get a passable exaggeration of Martha's almost Hollywood beauty onto the paper, and the Head Girl was very pleased.
While Flip was drawing Kaatje, Martha said, "My mother writes me you're going to be spending the holidays in Nice with Mrs. Jackman, Philippa. We're going to be there for a week, so maybe we'll see you."
Flip shook her head, glancing up briefly from her sketch of Kaatje. "I'm not going to be with Mrs. Jackman. I'm staying up the mountain with Paul Laurens."
"Percy's nephew?" Martha asked in surprise. "How did you get to know him?"
"She has tea with him every Sunday afternoon." Erna, who had evidently appointed herself as Flip's spokesman told the seniors. "She's just come back from there now, haven't you, Flip?"
Flip nodded, tore off her page, and gave it to Kaatje.
"Thanks simply ages, Philippa," Kaatje said. "You'll probably be besieged by every girl in school."
"I don't mind," Flip said. "It's what I love to do. If those aren't right or if you want any more I'd love to try again."
"We may take you up on that." Martha smiled at her. "Sorry you aren't going to be in Nice for the holidays."
"Flip, you're made," Erna said when the older girls had left. "If Martha and Kaatje like your pictures there won't be a girl in school who won't want one. I bet you'll get artist's cramp or something."
"It's all right with me." Flip grinned happily.
"And it's wonderful about the holidays. When did that happen?"
"This afternoon. And Madame's going to be there, too."
"Percy?" Erna looked dubious. "I'm not sure I'd like that. She's so strict."
"She's not a bit strict when you're not at school. She's—oh, she's so much fun and she doesn't act a bit like a teacher. And Paul says she'll take us on all kinds of trips on the holidays, to Gstaad, and we'll come down from Caux on a bobsled, and we'll go to Montreux and places to the movies and all sorts of things."
"It's too bad you can't ski," Erna said; and Flip turned away to hide a grin.
8
Flipwas out skiing by herself before breakfast several mornings later when she saw the strange man again. At first she did not notice him, and then she became vaguely aware through her concentration on her skiing that someone was watching her, and she swung around and there he was leaning against a tree. This time he did not smile and wave and move away up the mountain. He just stood there watching her and she stared nervously back. He was very thin and his cheeks were sunken and his jaw dark as though he needed to shave. He wore shabby ski clothes and a small beret and his eyes were very dark and brilliant. She stood, leaning lightly on her ski sticks, looking back at him and wishing he would go away when suddenly he came stumbling across the snow towards her. She started to push away on her skis but he made a sudden leap at her and she fell headlong. She started to scream but he clapped his hand across her mouth.