AUTOCRATS ISLAND

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 88, 15 April 1933, Page 8 (Supplement)

AUTOCRATS ISLAND

By MARY HOWARD. /•uthop of "Windier Skies."

CHAPTER X. —(continued.) The Misses Marchmont were deliriously thrilled.' Such an exciting happening was an event they had never dreamed ahout. Eoma was behaving exactly like the heroine of one of the novels they enjoyed so much. They sat and listened breathlessly while R6ma, witholding only Jaime's name, told them about everything. Then they offered their advice in chorus. Had she not better wire her father to put his mind at rest? Had she any money ? Had she anywhere to stay in Paris? Soma looked in her bag. "I've got about Ave thousand francs," she said after a brief calculation. "1 usually stay at the Ritz. Only if this is all I have to start life on I guess I'd better find a cheaper place." The two Miss Marchmonts were staying at the Ivanhoe—a real English hotel, they assured her, with quite moderate charges. They strongly advised her to go there. In spite of the fact that their enthusiastic descriptions conjured up visions of aspidistras and halfwarm soup Eoma agreed to accompany them—rather amused at finding herself so well chaperoned at this early stage, and content for the moment to let them guide her progress. The afternoon wore on, and Roma, tired from her eventful day, fell asleep in her corner, in spite of Miss Marchmont's assurances of beautiful scenery to watch. The Alps slipped by and Paris was drawn nearer on a steel thread of railway line. But Roma slept on until the steward came along the train calling them to dinner. Roma felt ill at ease as she entered the dining saloon with Miss Marchmont and her sister Julia. For one thing her slim white frock, the close-fitting hat which pressed gold waves of hair against her face, and the long white cloves were so obviously unsuited for travelling. It had been singularly appropriate when she had thought that she was just going on board the yacht to Paradiso, where white seemed the only colour to wear—but she would have been very grateful now for a tweed coat or dark cloak to her very bridal appearance. It was far too hot to wear her fur coat. A little recklessness seized her as they eat down at the table. It was the first time she had ever been actually free. She had thought herself free before, but really money and position had chained her. Now it was as though she was standing at the entrance to a dark passage that was full of promise of strange adventures, frightened to take a step forward, yet sure with the sureness of fate that she would go. Miss Marchmont chose her dinner and ordered lemonade to drink. "Oh, Miss Marchmont," said Roma lightly, stopping the man with a gesture of her hand, "don't you realise this is a celebration? Who can drink lemonade when they suddenly find themselves free ?" She knew pain as she said the words, knowing that she would barter all the freedom in the world to feel Jaime s arms about her once again, strong and marvellously reassuring. Everybody wants freedom and when they get it they find it an empty thing . . . especially if they have had the glimpse of something much sweeter and more rare. But she was not going to regret her freedom ... she was going to make it a fine, reckless thing, following impulses blindly and suffering no regrets. After all—very little mattered now. She ordered the wine list and ordered a mild and sweet champagne which she thought would suit her companions' unsophisticated palate. Miss Julia had a tiny flush in her cheeks as 6he sipped her glass in a genteel manner. She did not really like it, finding it, in spite of Roma's careful choosing, sour anff thin, but for once in her life she felt deliriously wicked and depraved. Miss Marchmont tried to look disapproving and failed hopelessly. Roma's sudden sparkling entrance into their dull, globe-trotting lives had broken down all her defences. She had read about Roma's sort of people in magazines and seen photographs of them in illustrated papers . . . and had even seen them in the flesh at the Lido and in Monte Carlo. But to have one here, sitting at the table with her, ordering champagne as though it was the most everyday occurrence, looking round her with llie splendid assurance of the very rich, was too exciting. She felt the tingling thrill of the wine behind her ears, and began to talk. "My dear, we're very glad to have met you," she said, tackling her % homard a l'Americaine, which Roma had ordered for her, sending back the grilled with a firm hand. "We're very quiet people, my sister and I," she began. "This is really quite an adventure for us. . . " "I'm going to have lots of adventures," said Roma. She looked down at her plate, and Miss Marchmont marvelled at the length of her dusky lashes. "I'm going to have lots of adventures. I don't see how you can help having adventures if you haven't any money. It is an adventure merely keeping alive. Just think. Here I am with lots of pretty clothes and very little cash—and all the world before me. Soon I shall have to think about getting more money, and I haven't the vaguest idea how to begin. I might be a ■ chauffeuse, but I couldn't put the car right if it went wrong, although I can drive quite efficiently. I might be a professional dancing partner . . . what do you think of that, darling?" she asked Miss Julia, suddenly. "How about my being a dance hostess 1" "My dear, think of the temptation to which you would be exposed," said MissJulia, in awe-stricken tones. "Wealthy men dangling favours in front of you — offering you fur coats and jewels to lure you into a life of depravity." "Lovely," laughed Roma, and her gay eyes met those of a man dining alone on the other side of the carriage. A well-dressed man with a heavy face and close-cut grey hair. Deliberately he raised his glaEs and toasted her—and, just as deliberately, she smiled back. Men's eyes were always greedy when they rested on Roma . . . before they were greedy for her money—but now they were greedy for this beauty of hers. Only Jaime's eyes had never been greedy . . . they had been scornful and indifferent, and once she had thought they had held another light . . . oh, why did she keep thinking of Jaime? That was all over and done with now . . . he had married her to save her father's fortune and his name . . . well, she had had ample revenge on both of them. He could explain his runaway bride to the busybodies of Mont Allasso. He could gloss over the scandal that would follow her disappearance —if he could. "Stop thinking of him," she said desperately to herself. "Flirt with this one ... it is safer, and it may adventure."

She turned and smiled at the man again, and all the time Miss Julia was warning her about the sins of society. "Of course; my dear," she was saying, "I'm aware that you must know far more about these people than I. But after all you are very young. It would be wise to listen to me." She sipped her champagne carefully and warmed to her subject. "There was a book I read last week, my dear. Her Fatal Step' it was called, about a girl very similar to yourself. A young society girl, and just one mistake in her life plunged her into the depths , . . the lowest depths ..." "I'd like to have a look at the depths," said Roma in her high, clear voice. "I was nearly on the heights for a few days ... I caught a real glimpse of happiness. But the light is too brilliant up there ... or I wasn't strong enough or was not worthy. I quite understand why people prefer to hide themselves in the depths ..." The waiter made a pretence of picking up her napkin and slipped a card into her hand. She glanced at it, disinterestedly. Mr. Randal Tharke. The man at the other table, of course. Resentment seized her—then she realised he was perfctly justified. There was no message on the card, and a little puzzled frown appeared between her brows. Miss Julia was still talking, Miss Marchmont was nodding with ponderous wisdom above her coffee. The man, as though making a decision, rose suddenly to his feet and came to her side. "Why, Roma! Of all the coincidences. What are you doing on the Paris express? Are you all alone in this weary world?" The two Miss Marchmonts looked up and fluttered. Such a handsome, welldressed man, young, too . . . they waited breathlessly for Roma to 6peak. Roma glanced at the card on her lap and took her cue. He had evidently been listening and so had learned her name. It was sheer impudence on his part to pretend to know her, but still it was courageous impudence, and as such she could not despise him. Besides, perhaps adventure lay in the hands of this well-set-up, well-dressed figure who had the air of "big business man" written all over him. Roma plunged. "Why, Randal? This is a surprise. I didn't see you—you must have been in some dark corner." She turned with 6uperb effrontery to her companions. "May I introduce Mr. Randal Tharke, a friend of my father's ? Miss Marchmont and Miss Julia Marchmont. Have you had coffee, Randal? Have some with us." "That's very nice of you," said the "old friend of her father's," and took the empty chair next to Miss Marchmont, who looked at him with the greatest admiration. Randal Tharke was a good-looking man if one likes the heavy, solidly masculine type—but in the rose-coloured haze in which Miss Marchmont viewed him he seemed almost a godly creature. "How well you look, Roma. Have you been by the sea?" "Yes. I've been to Mont Allasso. Do you know it at all?" "No, I can't say I do. Are you goinc on to Paris?" "Yes. For a short while," she said, her eyes challenging him. "Won't you tell me where you are staying—so that I can look you up? I have about a month in Paris . . . supposing, to use an Americanism, we make a little whoopee together. I think it would be fun before I go on to London." "Are you going to London ?" Roma thought quickly. There were heaps of people in London she could appeal to for help. But she did not think she really wanted help . . . she wanted to float with this rapid stream that was taking her to unknowable things. England sounded like solid respectability. ... it might even mean staying with her maiden aunts in Cheltenham until her father had got his business straight again. Paris beckoned invitingly. Not the Paris she had hitherto known . . . the Paris of the Ritz, Cartiers and the Rue de la Paix, but the Paris of the by-streets and quaint ways, where life stirred and spread, and- blossomed into occasional fleurs du mal . , . "Roma is staying with us," said Miss Marchmont, quickly. "At the 'Ivanhoe.' For a little while in any case.' Randal looked at Roma with astonishment. He remembered the "Ivanhoe" in his less prosperous days. It did not seem to bo the environment for this glamorous, golden girl. Miss Marchmont rose to her feet and beckoned to her sister. "Come along, Julia," she said, with overpowering tact. "I expect Roma would like to talk with her friend. We will see you later, dear." "Surely," smiled Roma, and her mind said mischievously, "The Lord will provide," for Tharke's heavy manicured hand went out unobtrusively for their bill. She took out her little onyx case and offered him a cigarette. He took one smilingly, raising his brows when she slipped it back into her bag without taking one herself. "Now then," he said, leaning on the table. "Let's hear more about it. I know you're beautiful—that's all. I think the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life." "Sir, you flatter me," mocked Roma, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "No, I don't. I want to know who you are, where you come from, why you wear white silk on a train journey; where you picked up those 6uperb specimens of Victorian coquetry, and —" he caught up her hand, the slim white hand on which the fine platinum band gleamed. "And why you wear a wedding ring?" So. He did not know who she was. He had picked up her Christian name from her conversation with Miss Marchmont. It was easy to play hide-and-seek with someone who did not know she was Roma Paul—Roma Paul who was now Roma Graham. "My name is Roma —you know that, and I'm sure you're not interested in any other name." "Roma will do for me," he said, and a little eager light crept into his eyes. "I come from Mount Allasso. I wear white silk because I came very hurriedly from a wedding ..." "Whose wedding?" "Mine," she said mockingly, but it was all she could do to keep her voice from trembling and her eyes from filling with tears. "Then —you are married?" "Yes. I was married just a few hours ago." "Then why?" He looked at her, a 6trange curiosity in his face. "Because I was a fool. Because I dreamed a dream that was full of loveliness, full of everything that makes life

heaven—and I woke up into reality and couldn't face it. Not that reality, anyway. I ran away." "I take it from this you found out something . . . detrimental about the man you married?" Roma sighed and rose to her feet, stubbing out the end of his cigarette which he had flicked into the ash tray. She looked very slim in her white dress and the rosy light of the electric table lamp shone on her lovely face and the golden wings of her hair. "I found out just one little thing. It may not seem very dreadful to you, but meant all the world to me." <r What was it?" ' "That he didn't love me." The man rose to his feet by her side, a different expression on his face. It was more kindly and a little amused. 'You child," he said softly, "You child. . ." "Why? Because I was made part of a nice smug bargain and refused to carry through with it? I wouldn't have minded. . . I wouldn't have minded if they'd told me what they were about. But it was eo deceitful. . . I thought he loved me. . . I thought he wanted me. . "In fact, madame," he said mockingly, "instead of being the sophisticated woman of the world I took you to be, you are an incurably romantic little girl. A very spoiled, sulky, but very sweet child. It will give me the greatest pleasure in the world to chaperon you in Paris." Her eyes flashed with anger. How dare he take this attitude? They were walking along together, swaying in the badly lit corridor. She turned to him with a swift smile. Her face was very near his shoulder, and Tharke caught his breath. She was amazingly beautiful, this girL The smiling coral lips were very neai his own, and involuntarily he bent his head towards them. Roma moved quickly away, avoiding him. "I think you will find this child, as you call me, more difficult to chaperon than you would imagine," she laughed. "Probably," he said coldly, "and I think you have a lot to learn. Goodbye, until to-morrow, Miss Roma—or should I call you madame?" "So formal, Mr. Tharke," she smiled, "Good night." Randal Tharke went back to his compartment with a strange sense of elation in his mind. He was a man who had always got what he wanted out of life. From humble beginnings he had wrested a fortune from the world . . . and now for the first time he really wanted something unobtainable. A golden girl. Roma went into the compartment. The windows were tightly shut, and it was unbearably stuffy. The two Miss Marchmonts, wrapped up in travelling rugs, were blissfully asleep. Roma let down the window and a cool breath of mountain air rushed in, caressing her face and driving away the overheated air in the compartment. Life for her had always been exciting. She was the 6ort of person who could never be bored . . . but these last few hours all her life had been different. The excitement of moving rapidly and making quick decisions . . . of having standards and illusions made and destroyed in such a short while. She thought of Tharke for a moment and dismissed him as a person who might be amusing but who was totally unimportant in her scheme of things. She wrapped herself up in the soft warmth of her mink coat and lay back in the corner by the window. Her mind seemed to be a turning whirl of happenings and speculations, but it was of Jaime she was thinking as she fell asleep. (To be continued Saturday next.)