No Gentle Possession. Anne Mather

in snow. It’s a pity I was around at all.’

      ‘Yes, it was.’

      The girl looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, and something stirred way back in his subconscious. Something about her was vaguely familiar; he had the disturbing suspicion that at some time she had looked at him like that before. But how was it possible? It was obvious from her accent that she was not from the southern part of England, nor did she have the cultured overtones in her voice that he was used to. How could he have met someone like her? Unless it was at university …

      He frowned. It was an infuriating impression, and on impulse, he said: ‘Have we ever met before?’

      Immediately the words were out he regretted using them. She lifted her dark eyebrows mockingly, and replied: ‘Is that the best you can do? I expected something quite devastating after that introduction!’

      Alexis’s frowned deepened. He didn’t like being made to feel small. ‘It was not a line,’ he said. ‘I meant it.’

      ‘Really?’ She sounded uninterested, and a slow feeling of anger began to burn inside him. It was a long time since any woman had treated him to such a show of indifference, and he resented her assumption that he might be interested in her.

      In cool tones, he said: ‘I should have realized it was impossible to ask such a question without you assuming I was necessarily voicing a personal interest in you. I’m sorry if I’m exploding the high opinion you have of yourself, but there it is.’

      The girl tensed at this, and for a moment he felt contrite. He felt quite sure that could he have seen her in normal lighting and not the eerie artificiality of the moon he would have found her cheeks to be blazing with colour at the intended slight.

      But she made no reply and not really knowing what prompted him to do so, Alexis said: ‘Are you staying long in Grüssmatte?’

      There was a moment’s silence while she obviously fought with herself as to whether to reply, and then she said: ‘Actually no. We leave in the morning.’

      ‘I see.’ Alexis thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his sheepskin coat. ‘Will you be sorry to leave?’

      ‘Not really,’ she conceded quietly. ‘I – well – two other teachers and myself are responsible for thirty teenagers. It hasn’t exactly been a picnic.’

      Alexis was interested in spite of himself, but at that moment she halted and gestured towards the small hotel standing back from the road. ‘We’re staying here,’ she said. ‘Good night.’

      Alexis’s brows drew together. All of a sudden he wished they had not had that altercation. He would have liked to have continued talking to her. But she was already walking up the slope towards the hotel and short of going after her and risking another rebuff there was nothing he could do. And he still had that annoying sensation that he had met her before.

      He arrived back at the Grüssmatte Hotel, not in the best of tempers, and when the hotel manager stopped him in the hall with a tentative: ‘Herr Whitney!’ he turned to him with ill-concealed impatience.

      ‘Yes? What is it?’

      Jurgen Blass gave an apologetic smile. ‘So sorry to trouble you, Herr Whitney, but there has been a telephone call for you – from your father.’

      Alexis sighed. ‘Yes?’

      ‘He – er – would like you to ring him back as soon as you come in, Herr Whitney. He said it was urgent.’

      ‘Urgent? At this time of night?’ Alexis glanced at the gold watch on his wrist.

      ‘Yes, Herr Whitney.’

      Alexis considered the man’s impassive face for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Very well. Arrange the call for me, will you? I’ll be in my suite.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      The manager bowed his head politely and Alexis went on his way to the stairs. For all its excellence, the Grüssmatte had no lifts.

      While he waited for the call to come through, Alexis took a shower. It was when he was towelling himself dry that the telephone in the adjoining bedroom began to ring. Wrapping the huge towel around him, he went to answer it. Until that moment he had not paid a great deal of attention as to why his father should want to speak to him at this time of night, his thoughts had still been absorbed with the girl from the ski slopes, but now as he lifted the receiver recollections of his life in London came back to him, and he felt a sense of resentment that because of this medium there was no real escape.

      ‘Alexis Whitney,’ he responded automatically.

      ‘Alex! Alex – is that you?’ His father’s voice was indistinct. It was not a good line.

      ‘Yes, Howard. Where’s the fire?’ He was laconic. It was a long time since he and his father had had any real communication with one another. They saw one another frequently, they talked frequently; but always there was that unseen barrier between them.

      ‘Alex! I’ve been trying to reach you since ten o’clock!’

      ‘I was out.’

      ‘I know that, dammit. Couldn’t you leave notification as to where you are?’

      ‘They knew where I was.’

      ‘Then why the hell didn’t somebody contact you?’

      ‘I guess you didn’t make the position too clear.’ Alexis was bored with this conversation. ‘In any case, I don’t see why whatever you’ve got to say couldn’t wait until morning.’

      ‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’ Howard Whitney was breathing heavily down the telephone and Alexis could picture him propped against the desk in his study, his face reddening with frustration as he endeavoured to restrain the temper which Alexis himself had inherited. A big man, as tall as Alexis himself but stockily built with a thickening waistline, he was forced to maintain a rigid diet to avoid the blood pressure which was already evident in times of stress. ‘Damn you, Alex, do you know what Knight has done? He’s attempted suicide!’

      ‘What?’ Alexis, who had been reaching for one of the slim cigars he favoured, stayed his hand. ‘You mean – he’s dead!’

      ‘No.’ His father bit off the word harshly. ‘No, fortunately he was found in time. He’s not dead – just off his head, I hear.’

      Alexis took a deep breath and wrapped the towel more closely about him. ‘I see.’

      ‘Is that all you can say?’ Howard burst out.

      ‘What do you expect me to say?’ Alexis shook his head. ‘Give me a chance to take it in.’

      ‘You’re to fly home first thing in the morning,’ went on Howard grimly. ‘I want you here, in my office, before noon.’

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ Alexis was controlling his own anger now. ‘I’m not a boy any more, Howard. Don’t try to give me orders!’

      ‘Alex!’ There was a short explosive silence, and then his father went on more reasonably: ‘Alex, for God’s sake, man, do as I ask. I have to talk to you. And not like this.’

      ‘Where’s Janie?’

      Howard snorted furiously. ‘You’re not still interested in her, are you?’

      ‘No.’ Alexis was cool. ‘But as one human being to another, I guess I can feel sympathy for her, can’t I? Or don’t you know what that is?’

      ‘I shouldn’t waste my sympathies on her,’ retorted Howard brutally. ‘But as far as I know, she’s still at the apartment.’

      ‘Did she—?’

      ‘—find her husband? No.’ Howard was definite about that. ‘He took an overdose of drugs at the office. The night watchman found him. He telephoned her.’

      ‘I