CLOUDED NOON

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20540, 15 February 1935, Page 14

CLOUDED NOON

By

BASIL HAYE

CHAPTER X. A Changed Man. It appeared to be an informal social gathering which had been discussing the annual fete, a great incident in Loring’s life. John had always contributed to thU yearly outbreak in the way of subscription, often quite heavily, but had not attended it, or interested himself in it by direct help other than money. He knew all these people more or less by sight, but had always avoided unnecessary personal contact with them. Before this evening, John would probably have fled from • the Oppenshaw drawing room, finding it so full. But, on this occasion, apart from being unable to retreat, he was. in no mood to do so. His new spirit of defiance, on the contrary, impelled him to face them boldly and without inward qualms. He found himself being pressed by the Rector and Colonel Trotter to take a more active interest in the fete. “Our trouble at the moment, and it is a very serious one, Mr. Burden,” the Rector began, “concerns the actual ground in which the fete is to be held. Always, as you doubtless remember, we have been able to secure the large field behind Lea Farm. Unfortunately, that has been sold for building purposes in connection with the new Lea Estate.” “And to cut short a long story,” intervened the colonel in his brusque way, “there isn’t another confounded site anywhere near large enough. Unless — well, well—why should we shirk the issue? We have just been discussing whether you might be persuaded to allow the use of your parkland at The Pleasure? 1 admit it’s rather a tall order, Mr. Burden. One hesitates to ask a man to admit the public to such wellkept grounds, in case of possible dam“Jt certainly isn*t a prospect I should much relish, colonel,” John interrupted him, a little taken aback for the moment. Then, realising that he had been just as much cornered here as by the pressman outside, he tried once again the line of least resistance. “On the other hand,” he went on, “I wouldn't like to see the fete suffer if I can help it. Perhaps we might be able to come to some arrangement. It isn’t, I ( ike it, a matter of immediate decision ?” It wasn’t, as he had guessed. The fete would not be held for a eonple of months yet, but arrangements were necessarily being made well ahead. It was easy to stave off any definite promise for a week or two, and the matter was left in that position. It was obvious to John, however, that his habitual reticence and aloofness from local society since he had lived here was likely to be threatened in the future. ‘ T TVe can’t help thinking, my dear Burden,” said the colonel, obviously pressing friendship and a greater familiarity on John, “you don’t allow your neighbours here much chance to show you how much we appreciate your existence in our midst. We hardly ever 6ee anything of you.” “And now that you have brought Loring so prominently into the newspapers, you really must permit us to become better acquainted with our conquering hero!” urged the rector. “You mustn’t lea your retiring nature and natural modesty get too much the better of you, my dear sir. A man in your position owes some duty to public life.” John did not argue the point. But he suffered an exceedingly uncomfortable half-hour avoiding a barrage of inquiries put up by the colonel, obviously seeking to know something of John’s antecedents, without appearing too inquisitive. Just those things whicli were anathema to John, so near to his heart and yet S 9 far from his tongue, where he had been born, schooled . . . And always, inevitably had he been in the war? Yet, somehow, this evening he did not mind them so much as was his custom, did not shrink from them, but parried them with a deliberate deftness. Ultimately, he persuaded the colonel to talk of himself, cajoled the rector into reminiscence of his youth, his last term at Harrow, the pure joy of college days. That was as near as John ever could get to a reflection of his own hidden past. He found himself exceedingly popular here. It really was like that wherever he, went, though he had never offered encouragement. Both the colonel and rector were insistent that he should take an interest in local affairs, and at least join more freely in the intercourse of the little social circle of Loring. The colonel’s daughters, keen on hunting and dancing, gave him no peace till he promised he would come to a dinner they were giving the following week, when he would meet everybody worth while and make quite a lot of friends. And, for once in a way, John promised without being quite certain that the promise would not be kept. Why shouldn’t he keep it? WTiy should he stifle himself any longer in a shroud of fear? What was there to fear —for John Hasluck Burden, the successful and courted ? “It’s just as I thought, John!” Lena Oppenshaw eyed him smilingly when the company had dispersed, save for Henry Stayrc, talking to the doctor and his wife. “As you—-thought. ?” John looked down at her, trying to harden his heart against responding to the glamour of her tantalising personality. “You’re a howling success!_ It’s time someone woke you up, as I’m doing. You know, your face—when you saw this room full of people—was quite a picture! It I hadn’t hurried to stop you, I do believe you’d have turned tail and run away again. And there reallv wasn’t anything to be afraid of, was there?” There came, indeed, moments during the days that followed when Burden wondered why fear had so long been the secret companion of his life in the last thirteen years. It was only natural at first, while feeling his way to the making of his identity as John Hasluck Burden, but lie could quite see now that he had allowed himself to be too much dominated by the incessant dread of discovery. Any such danger was bound to lessen with the passing of time, and to possess less and less importance as his . position gained in strength and standing. It must always exist, in the shape of chance recognition by someone who still remembered Eric Branscombe and was struck by a resemblance which inevitably would remain. But facial resemblance was no proof of identity. And, after his interview with the only living man capable of providing that proof, a threat now fortunately averted, Burden felt completely

at ease in his mind. Even "when Harvey Stayre referred to the subject of his pro : jected search for the missing Brans* combe, Burden was not in the least perturbed. On the contrary he was amused when the Australian mentioned to him, in a tone of disappointment, that the only reply to his advertisement had failed him)' and the solicitor's clerk evidently knew nothing of any value. There was no other possible source from which Stayre could discover anything, so there was ail end to that. “If I were you, I should give it best!” John laughed* at him. “Why not turn your attention to business? It’s surely time you and I got down to brass tacks, if there’s to be any working together. And —as a matter of fact —I’ve a proposal to put to you.” “Then, let's have it, John . . .** By now all formality was at an end between them. Burden held out to him a little sheaf of typewritten papers. They were at his otffiee, Stayre having driven up with him that morning from The Pleasure to look in at his bank, and come along afterwards for them to take lunch together. “What’s this?” Stayre eyed the topmost sheet with a vague surprise. Austria. Why, Austria’s broke, bordering on revolution!” “Perhaps, and perhaps not,” retorted John. “Anyhow, Harvey, I’m taking all risks as to what happens there, and I’m feeling no worry about it. If you’ll have a look through those papers between now and to-morrow, I dare say you’ll agree with me that the risks are well worth taking. That’s for you to say, however.” “Why, for that matter, John, you can have my opinion right now before I read a line of this!” laughed the other. “What’s good enough for you is ihy meat as well! I don’t even want to know what it is.” “Yes you do. This is a question of ' money, a deal of money. You don’t go • in with me, Harvey, not to the extent of a shilling, without knowing what you’re buying.” “You wouldn’t ask me to buy what wasn’t good. That’s what I meant. Naturally, I’ll be interested to go into all these papers, because I’ll need to know what the scheme’s all about. But—if you’re offering to take me in on this— I’m accepting right away. You’ve only got to name the figure and have everything ready for me to sign by way of agreement between us, and my cheque’s yours.” “That’s verv trusting of vou, Harvey!” John laughed, a little awkwardly. “You’re one of the very few men I’ve ever met I’d trust so much,” said the other. “I’d as soon expect the end of the world to come as to think you weren’t straight as a die.” For a moment .John felt a stab of selfaccusation. - Yet, putting all sentiment on one side, the sense of hurt was foolish. As John Hasluck Burden he was as straight as a die. And it was only with that —his business honesty—this man was concerned. “Well,” Johp said, “you read those papers carefully, my friend, before I take your acceptance as definite. If then you decide to go in, we’ll get busy at once. It’ll mean that we shall have to go over there in a week or so.” “Make a pleasant little trip! Austrian Tyrol! Queer thing! Lena”—he glanced awkwardly across at John, and then corrected himself—“l suppose I should say Mrs. Oppenshaw—was talking about that part of the world only a, few days ago. The doctor was thinking/of sending his wife over there for a few weeks, to see if the change would do her good.” “Was he really ?” Burden looked across in surprise, having heard nothing of the matter before. “Yes, though I don’t know if anything was settled, or to what part they were going. But, if we’re going over, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.. ... I suppose Mrs. Oppenshaw would be sure t-o go to look after her aunt, and ” “Just as well if we all went together, Harvey ?” Burden, speaking with apparent indifference, was inwardly torn between amusement and serious concern. The last few days down at Loring had only served to indicate quite clearly to him how much Lena had attracted the* Australian. It would have been amusing to watch, if only Burden had been a disinterested party, and had not known—as the Australian apparently did not—the real trend of Irena’s mind. It was true that the newspaper had playfully linked Lena’s and John’s names, suggesting a romance in the making. But John, when tackled about this by Harvey, had assured him the suggestion was pure imagination. Burden thought it was a pity that Lena put a different construction on the affair, and could not realise the obvious feeling behind this bluff, generoushearted fellow’s attentions to her. And then it struck him that perhaps, if Lena were more definitely thrown into his society for a while, as would be the case if they all went to Wienthal, she might change her attitude. “I think. Harvey, that would he a very wood idea.” he said. “We’ll talk to the Doc. and I’ve no doubt he’ll be only too glad to fix it up.” If only Lena could somehow be persuaded to change her mind! That was John's one remaining worry these days, for certainly, if she were married to him, she would have to know the truth about him. And he wasn’t at all prepared for that to happen. Which, so he had argued it out to himself, only proved too plainlv that he could not care for her enough. But she eared for him too deeply, it seemed. More deeply than he would have imagined her lisht-hearted nature had it in its power to feel. He could do nothing about it. but what he had been doing consistently the last few days, keeping away from her as much as possible, while encouraging Stayre to step in as a buffer between them. Tn time, especially if the Wienthal trip came off, she might realise Stayre’s obvious seriousness and value, as compared with his own equally obvious indifference from the point of view of marriage. And the thouebt sent him back to his office after lunch with a more easy mind. Stayre had gone on ahead down to T.oring to look in at KnLee and set the ball rolling about Wienthal. Wienthal, as it hapnened. was the subject of a letter which Miss Vane handed to him with some others arrived by the afternoon post. “This is from Herr Weber, about, accommodation at Wienthal. Mr. Burden.she said. “You asked him. if you remefilber, to find a nice, quiet hotel not one of the usual big ones ■**

“I detest those usual big ones!” he laughed. “It isn’t that I object to paying a good price. To me—that sort of place is just anathema.” “This one reads more in your line, Mr. Burden.” He read the letter, in its foreign spidery scrawl and rather amusing English : “Dear Mr. Burden, —You ask me to recommend a good place for you on your visit here, which we to have are hoping. I think you find nice quiets and good feedings if you come to the Schloss Babenhof Tension, which is in keeping of an English widow and her quite charming daughter, who shall be happy to make you of the most comfortable, as I have requested them. If you like it you shall please write and arrange this with her. She is Mrs. Louise Carsl&ke by name .... (To be continued daily.)