FREEDOM FOR TWO

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 22963, 15 February 1938, Page 19

FREEDOM FOR TWO

By MARGARET WATSON

SYNOPSIS' Erica Manning driving home to (he rectory at Brandford, has given a lift to Michael Dunn after a social. It is a wet night. After leaving Michaol at his home she js travelling fast when sho sees a figure on the road. In spite of a desperate attempt to pull up, the car hits a man and then she loses control and the car is Wrecked. Erica much bruised but manages to extricate herself and then finds a man, smilinir cheerfully, helping her. He rescues her attache case from the wreckage and it falls open ipilling a lot of concert tickets. The tickets ■ lead to genoral conversation and she learns his name is Martin Hirst. She advises him the concort will not b.; worth going to, but lie appears on the stage as the pianist Olaf Elson and plays brilliantly. There is no ,doubt he has soen her in the judience and with a little smile he began to play a recall number.

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued)

Martin gave them "Minstrels." Erica wa s startled. No ono else, surely, no one else in the world, would have examined a typical Brandford audience and offered them Debuissy. Or was it, indirectly, an offering to her. Erica was very much afraid to flatter herself by thinking so. Instead, she turned inward every sense hut hearing, the better to enjoy the brief pleasure of "Minstrels." The soft plucking of invisible guitars slipped out from under Martin's fingers, and broke into the elusive gaiety of trouvere song. For her there was a sort of wistful, kind nostalgia in it for the strange days of Melicent and Melusine. She loved him for playing it. Brandford could have its Handel and it Chopin; but what this man liked playing was Debuissy. When he brought the encore to a close, with the wanderers jingling gaily on their way in the distance, all Brandford clapped decorously. "Rum piece, that, wasn't it?" said Michael. "What was it?" " 'Minstrels' —Debuissy. Like it?" "Well, ncrt very much, I'm afraid. To deep for me." She sat with impatience through the anti-climax the society provided. No sooner did they end their last item bofore the finalo than the tnll figure of Martin came sauntering inconspicuously from the artists' room beyond thi» stage, and slipped quietly down toward her. He had-not reached her when the audience rose to the National Anthem; and immediately after that they were dissolving into little chattering groups which effectively blocked every gangway, though they were continually changing their formation and moving i on from one position to another. This phase of the evening made no appeal to Erica. She stood under one of the lamps, its yellow light scintillating over her green dress, and waited for them to grow tired of talking and let her out.

Michael was saying something to her on one side, but her attention was not with him. She heard Mrs. Benthorne saying to Miss Riley: "I wonder if our rolling stone will ever settle down." That was herself, she knew, though she was not supposed to know it. Then Michael's Toice, which could not draw her thoughts by speaking, drew them at last by ceasing to speak. She looked lip, and found him staring at Martin Hirst, who was * bearing down upon her with the slight smile of an old friend. iS':

She forgot Michael; it was impossible to remember him when Martin was in ■ight. She held, out her hand.

"I don't know to whom I owe the apology-r-Martin Hirst or Olaf Elson."

"Neither of them deserves one," he ■aid, smiling.. think you might have told Supposing I'd said something much much worse?" "Martin Hirst doesn't usually ,go about claiming to be the pianist Olaf Elson: As.'-, a matter of fact, except when he's on thb concert platform he doesn't-*esemble him in tne least."

His self-assurance, seen so closely was much too fast apd stable for her to question. She looked round, instead, for Michael;, .and found him trying not to startf'.at them both, and failing. "I'm Michael, I should have told you that I met Mr. Elson, quite by chance,-last night. Only as a matter of fact, X didn't know that he was Mr Elson. is Michael Dunn.'' She added maliciously: "He enjoyed 'Minstrels' so~much -that I'm sure he'd like to tell you'SO.." Michael stammered something obvious but characteristically kind. Erica stood back and looked at them both. Yes, he was the taller of the two. He topped Michael by two or three inches, ana contrived to be equally broad iD the shoulder without the suggestion of bulkiness which Michael's figure undoubtedly had. And there was 110 comparing the two faces. They were from different worlds; the one so entirely static, the other so frighteningly dynamic. Michael was in eclipse. In a few minutes more he was in 'till more certain eclipse; for hw mother came ."'panting through the throng with a lament that she had lost her bag, and hauled him away to find it for her, and cast only the briefest and jaguest of glances for _ Erica' and Martin. Michael said hurriedly: • ''You'll excuse me, won't you, Erica? I ! ll be back in a moment. It'll >ure to be where she left it—it always is,"

"I'll look alter Miss Manning," said "artin coolly, and looked after her to »uch good effect that within two minutes they were out of the hall, and talking at 'a leisurely pace along the street, past the unwonted array of cars awaiting their owners. It was a fine night, full of _ stars,_ and 'he rectory was almost distressingly ifiar. Erica had stored up so much to •»y in this moment that now that she "id it she found it slipping by without 1 word from her. She turned her head a *iu looked up at him as they strolled, Jt the dark profile which seemed so ® l ßh above the level of her eyes, at the "P« which had an almost vivacious curve as he tajked. with complete unand absolute selfreliance about himself. You see, I didn't want you to come 2 the concert just because I was Olaf H'lson, That sounds conceited, 1 know, Sjjt to some people—not to you—Olaf Wson would be matter for conceit. I WM you, if you came at all, to come because | was Martin Hirst. And you I should thank you, Well, what s °2r opinion of my playing?" said quite emphatically: 'lts "tromely good; but. it's moody. .Yon in can there are things T cant PlayP" I niean there are lots and lots of tniugg you won't put yourself out to But Debuissv isn't one of thorn. HfOtt likerl thiitP" he asked, with Waden eagerness. , Rhal] always remember you by •M had reached the rectory gate, instinctively sloped, looking at J®® other in the glow of the light ljf!B the study window, two still B ' n oran S e ''i'hl black , should I In- going out of character, asked in a low voice, "if f told you Wyou're quite the loveliest thing I ve 'Minstrels' was for you, though M n 't explain just how it applies. I Melttsine must have had eyes like '>'lllß—so brown they're almost red.' I iilv " I

A STORY OF LOVE THAT ENDURED THROUGH STORM AND STRESS, A tOVE THAT WAS BIG ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND

She thought that her bounty had never been ho dispassionately appraised, nor so comfortably summed up. She said with a little breathless laugh: "I think anyone but you would be miles out of character, but somehow it doesn't seem so surprising in you—" "What doesn't? Appreciation of lov. - linoss?" 'That you should look like a man of action, walk like an adventurer, play like a virtuoso, and know about Melusine." "Would you rather I talked about adventure, then? I'm the original Ancient Mariner. I've been shipwrecked, .I've combed beaches. I've narrowly escaped annihilation by bandits under the Great Wall of China, I've dropped out of 'planes, I've begged in traditional rags—not to say fear and trembling—in far from friendly Saharan cities—l've even seen—once —the Sargasso Sea." He was laughing like a romancer, like a new Baron Munchausen watching his dupes swallow the bait; but she knew, and was transported in knowing, that every word ho spoke was true. She looked at him with parted lips and shining eyes, and then pushed the gate wide open and moved trancedly within it. "It isn't late. Will you come in and meet my people? And tell us all those stories? Please —I'd like you to." The rector was busily writing in his study when she pushed open the door and looked in. "Hullo, daddy! I've brought you a visitor." "Bring him in, my dear, by all means," said the rector, and went on writing. Mrs. Manning came in through the further door and stood smiling at the half-seen arrival with an older and calmer version of Erica's smile. "I think I should warn you." said Erica, "that lie claims to bo the original Ancient Mariner."

"That's all right," said the rector, comfortably. "We've no wedding guests here."

Mrs. Manning, an iinconscious prophet, thought of her husband's duties for a very full to-morrow, and added innocently: "At any rate, not to-day." CHAPTER 111. MARTIN KETUKNS TO BHANDFORD • It was not at all difficult to got Martin to talk about himself, Erica discovered. Things which were over and done were of little interest to hiin, and slight importance. The future and the present were the times for which he cared; but if she required that he should remember with detail and passion some of the incidents of the past — why, he would remember them. And if her curiosity was insatiable, his patience was inexhaustible. He sat there beside the study fire, on that first evening, with long hands clasped round his crossed knees, and talked vividly and merrily, while the light went in and out among the strong, clean, hollows of his face, and all three of his hearers hung breathlessly on his lips. •'"l'm the traditional bad boy," said Martin: "the one who ran away to sea. I'm sorry to be so hackneyed, but I really did run away to sea —just like Amyas Leigh. Of course, I hadn't broken my schoolmaster's head, or anything; like" "that. 'As a matter of fact, I'm afraid the dear man encouraged me. Whatever dreams he'd had as a boy had had to stay dreams; so he was anxious —almost desperately anxious—that ours should have a chance to come true. He told me a lot about places I'd never seen; I didn't realise then that he'd never seen them, either. So wheii I was eighteen I ran away. "I worked my way to Australia gradually during the first year—rounded the Cape on a four-masted barque, to my joy and terror. Boys who run away won't be able to do that very much longer. And there's nothing, nothing on earth, quite so beautiful as a sailing ship—all wings and air—ho little of flesh, and so much of the spirit—oh, I can't tell you! "Australia was fun, too. She showed off for me in the finest style, with a flood and a minor earthquake. My Uncle Jim, mother's brother, wrote and told me to look up an old partner of his who was operating a shipping

line from a rather unobtrusive harbour there. I did. It wasn't much of a line, a two-ship affair, but there seemed more money in it than I could afford to miss. He offered me a home for the scrap of money I saved, and I jumped at it. It wasn't until I wanted to skipper one trip that I found we had a double cargo. Yes. We were in the Chink-smuggling business, it seemed. When I tried to make trouble —well, it turned out to be m.v trouble. I was a partner, you see; and both his crews were ready to swear to anything he told them, and altogether, I had to move out m rather a hurry, minus my savings. I've a notion I'm still wanted in Australia. "After that 1 was in Burma and [ndia for quite a while, doing all sorts of odd jobs. I was there when Uncle Jim died; and I think his conscience must have been troubling him about the Australian business—though he'd always taken my part against a family who'wanted me to be a lawyer. Can you imagine it? —because he left me a very competent little fortune, with his blessing, and in the hope, I firmly believe, that I'd go on annoying my people by roaming round the world |ust as he'd roamed and annoj-ed them when ho was young. And I have. They don't write to me. They're still living up in Cumberland, and I write sometimes, , but I never get any answer. Thev've washed their hands of mo." Erica, looked at him with an envy he could not altogether understand, asked strangely: "How old are you?" "Twenty-eight. Why?" "Only twenty-eight, and you vo lived two or three lives, and have goodness knows how many still to come. You lucky, lucky creature!" "Lucky? What's so very lucky in that?" "Just being born a man, 1 suppose. But what have you found time to become such a fine pianist?" "Oh, music!" he said, his face lighting. "You can always find time for something you love. I've always cared for it, and had a bit of a flair, I suppose. .So when I'm in England I get a few engagements, just to keep my hand in I called myself Olaf Elson as a sop to the audiences; it would take a genius to get away with Martin Hirst, nnd I'm not a genius. Olaf Elson was the skipper of the Swedish barque on which I rounded the Cape. There was nearlv seven feet of him, and a face like Eric Bright-eyes; ho's doad now, five years ago, lost overboard somewhere in the Pacific, There's no one to mind my using his name, and I don t think he'd have been at all troubled, though the fiddle—by ear— was his only instrument." "And what else do you do? she asked, smiling. . "Oh, a little of everything, I think. I've mined here, and planted there, and done a bit of merchant-shipping on my own account. I was a one-slap lino in' Central America once, and it was the greatest lark ; but no one could accuse me of making money out of it. There were too many revolutions. I ve had cargo after cargo confiscated by one side or tho other. Once or twice we fought for them, but wo had to run for it, usually with half the scum of the Gulf on our tails. Then I've been a professional parachute-jumper with an aircircus that toured Europe once. And I've been a lumber-jack, too, in between whiles. I'm keen on timber; it's xn-

(COPiniGHT)

dividual and it's beautiful, and it grows in the open air. There's a job open to me in the timber business whenever 1 euro to take it, but so far—well, .1 don't want to be tied. 1 want to be the cat who walks by himself—all places alike to me. It's a lot to want; and if ever .1 find myself unexpectedly growing old 1 filial! take that job and settle down, But until then —well, there's such a lot to be done. I've never seen .Japan yet; and there's plenty of unexplored territory on the Amazon; and some day there! 11 be another attempt on Everest, and maybe that time it won't fail; anyhow, I want to be there." He stopped, smiling at her. Sho sat motionless, with wide eyes fixed on his face, and said: "Do you feel like Motite Crista? You should. The world is yours." It wag late wlion he said good-night, and the rector's mid-week address was still unfinished. "I hope you'll never have, to grow old and settle down," said Erica at parting. "I should hate to think of you as changed." She gave him hexhand. She supposed it was really goodbye this time, for surely no power could hold him in Brandford for an hour longer than was necessary; and yet there was some inmost security in her which knew that he could not go away like that, without a word more. "Goodbye," she said. "Until to-morrow? I'm going to stay for a week or two. I think we should find out more —much more—about the

eyes of Moluaine. Alter all. fate simply pitched us at each other, and 1 don't wee whv 1 should let her go back on the. bargain now. Besides. I want to tell you about Lhasa, and a hundred and one other places." She said that she would like to hear, tlioueh that was a poor expression for the eagerness she felt. So Martin stayed, and Christinas, once a mere variation of Brandford's monotony, became an event of excitement and ardour, filled with a new passion for life. Erica forgot to be discontented. Being in Martin's company, hearing the stories he would always willingly tell her, was like eating when sho was hungry, like travelling the whole world whenever the dullness of her own corner of it became too great.

"You like him, don't you?" she said to her mother, over and over again during that fortnight. "It would bo a strange person who

didn't like him," admitted Mrs. Manning, an opinion in which her husband joined her. Thero was no snow for Christmas, but a dry whito frost every morning, and a sheen of stars every night. Erica and Martin walked, danced, shopped, did a number of things together which until'then sho had infinitely preferred to do alone. Sometimes he played for her; sometimes she sang for him. They showed off; neither of them had ever felt any pleasure in the amusement before. On New Year's Eve there was a ball at the town hall, a farewell party for the old year, a house-warming for the new. At midnight Erica stood just within one of the open windows and heard the beginning of the three-hour peal the rector's ringers were performing for the first ambitious time. "Good luck, New Year!" said Martin at her shoulder. , _ The rector . had worked so hard, had been hurrying round all day with his greying hair rubbed erect, and his face furrowed with anxiety, with his fingers tucked in books of expert advice, and his eye perpetually on the clock. Erica had watched him affectionately as she donned her coat ready for the'ball, and patted her brown hair still more securely into its shining waves. To him this was excitement, lhe contrast was all the more overwhelming when Martin came in, like a being from another world. There was nothing flamboyant about him, even in his most communicative moods; and yet he came into the rectory with a personal force which seemed to demand more space than its walls afforded, as if a demi-god from some wider air had unaccountably strayed into their puny

world. The curious part of it was that though the Rector was aware of the contrast, he was not dwarfed. His interests remained of such real import-

ance that he could bear to catch at the demi-god's sleeve as he entered, and demand: "Do you know anything about campanology?" Martin had laughed, and humbly admitted ignorance. "L was afraid you wouldn't," said the Hector, and rushed away to ring bells, while his daughter and Martin shared the frivolous pleasures of the ball.

Erica felt, him at her shoulder now as something tremendously vital and yet elusive. He had been thrown into her life in such haphazard manner that she could still hardly believe in him. and certainly not in the possibility of his remaining there. She turned and looked at him, big and dark against the

whirl of colour in the hall behind, the flutter of rainbow streamers and the

gleam of dresses. The features of his face were half-concealed, but she could see. as on the night that she had first met, the hint of a smile that came and went round his mouth, and the dark eyes fixed upon her. "I wonder," she baid slowly, "what this year will bring you? I wonder where you'll be next New Year's Day? Up 011 the moon, maybe." She heard him laugh, gently and richly, to himself. Then he took her elbow and drew her back to the dancing floor.

"That depends on you," he said

'Come 011, let's dance."

She did not try to make him explain himself, and she thought that he was tacitly refusing to do so; but on the way home, with the last proud notes of the rector's peal ringing in their oars, he said suddenly: "Do you realise that we really are at the beginning of a New Year? Something so new that anything may happen in it. What would you like your year to briny? Where would you like it to

take your"' "Out of this place, first; as far away from it as possible, into mountains and jungles, over rivers and seas —" She lifted her head and looked at him fiercely. "Oh. what's the use? But anyhow I hope you'll enjoy it. J hope it will bring you everything you want. Me? I'm a prisoner. The only way I shall ovor really get out is pillion behind one of our minstrels. I'm grateful even for that, though I can't bo quite satisfied wifh dreams." , They had reached the shadow of the church Lower over the close, where thu reverberations of the peal seemed to sing still in a vibrating thruin through every stone of the fabric. She stopped, just within sight of the gates of home. "I suppose you'll be off soon?" "Oil, yes, very soon, 1 hope; but it all depends." "On what?" she asked listlessly. "On you, of course, just as I said." He caught the sudden sparkle of her eyes, red-brown in bewilderment, and loaned abruptly closer. "Did you really think I could go away free as I came, and leave you here in prison P Do you still think I could bring myself to go away without*you ? Oh, 110, you're coming with me. I want to give you the world. I want to drop every adventure under the sun into your hands, and pop every sweetness there is into your mouth. You don't know what it's like to be telling you stories. There's nlwayn the feeling that everything would hav» been twice as grand if you'd been in it. And from now on you're going to be. We'll turn the world upside down, Erica." (To bo continued daily)