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Authors: Dörthe Binkert
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she interrupted her game and, cupping her hands around her mouth, called over to him: “In ten minutes I can try out what I’ve just learned on you! But a lemonade before we match our skills would be marvelous!”
He got the hint. Spurred on by the prospect of beating her in a few rounds, he came back just minutes later with a large glass of lemonade.
She took the cool, frosted glass, sipped at the lemonade, and said, beaming, “Thanks! You’ve saved me from dying of thirst! Though an orangeade might have been even nicer.” Before he had the chance to think about what he’d done wrong, she gaily took his arm and said, “Come on. I’d like to beat you. Right this moment. The tennis instructor was quite pleased with me.”
The game was brief. James was more athletic than he looked. He couldn’t tell from his partner’s eyes whether his speed and intelligent game had impressed her. The lady—he’d learned her name was Kate Simpson—wiped her brow.
“You’re no gentleman, sir. Didn’t you know that a gentleman always lets the lady win? And in such a way that no one can tell?”
But she was already laughing gaily, and James only nodded as she went on, “I’m hungry as a bear. Won’t you come with me to the restaurant? I have a date with my husband and a couple of friends for lunch, and I’d like to introduce you to them. A good-looking man isn’t such a bad troph y . . . ”
She took his arm and pulled him toward the changing rooms.
“I’ll see you in ten minutes in front of the entrance, all right?” She cast him a look with her blue eyes that was like blowing a kiss, and she was gone.
She’s quick and witty—not at all bad company, James thought. And she was exactly what he needed to make St. Moritz bearable, even if she was a bit spoiled. But spoiled in an amusing way. And she was pretty.
He looked at his pocket watch. Where was she? He’d already been cooling his heels there twenty minutes; the noonday sun was burning hot, and sweat was collecting under the rim of his straw hat. He couldn’t go into the ladies’ dressing rooms, and it would have been rude just to leave.
She came out just as he had finally had enough and was turning to go.
“It’s not nice to sneak away like that,” Mrs. Simpson called out in a good-humored way.
This time James couldn’t suppress a trace of annoyance, “I’ve been waiting for you for quite a while already.”
“Oh, I was looking for something; it’s all right now. Let’s go. But we have a short ride there first.” She took his arm and dragged him along. “My husband and I are staying at the Hotel Maloja, and the others are waiting for me there. We’ll take a carriage and be there in half an hour. Come on!”
James was no longer quite certain that he wanted to have lunch with her. But it was too late to back out.
“Are you in love with him?” Betsy asked her niece and fanned herself with the telegram the waiter had just brought to their table. Mathilde made a grab for it, but her aunt held on to the envelope. “First, answer my question, are you in love wit h . . . ”
“Adrian?” Mathilde finished the question.
“Yes, with Adrian,” Betsy nodded. “In any case, he wrote to you even before we arrived her e . . . and now thi s . . . ” she handed Mathilde the telegram, “even though, you called home to tell them, but you completely forgot to tell your fiancé.”
Sometimes Betsy really is impossible, Mathilde thought. Mama, who hated indiscretions when she wasn’t committing one herself, was right about that. Why did her aunt have to be so observant! Under her aunt’s gaze Mathilde felt herself blushing as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden.
“It’s all right, Tilda,” Betsy said with a smile. “I was just kidding!”
Betsy really liked the Hotel Maloja. It had a reputation for measuring up to the best hotels in the world, and it more than lived up to that. It hadn’t been all that difficult to
He got the hint. Spurred on by the prospect of beating her in a few rounds, he came back just minutes later with a large glass of lemonade.
She took the cool, frosted glass, sipped at the lemonade, and said, beaming, “Thanks! You’ve saved me from dying of thirst! Though an orangeade might have been even nicer.” Before he had the chance to think about what he’d done wrong, she gaily took his arm and said, “Come on. I’d like to beat you. Right this moment. The tennis instructor was quite pleased with me.”
The game was brief. James was more athletic than he looked. He couldn’t tell from his partner’s eyes whether his speed and intelligent game had impressed her. The lady—he’d learned her name was Kate Simpson—wiped her brow.
“You’re no gentleman, sir. Didn’t you know that a gentleman always lets the lady win? And in such a way that no one can tell?”
But she was already laughing gaily, and James only nodded as she went on, “I’m hungry as a bear. Won’t you come with me to the restaurant? I have a date with my husband and a couple of friends for lunch, and I’d like to introduce you to them. A good-looking man isn’t such a bad troph y . . . ”
She took his arm and pulled him toward the changing rooms.
“I’ll see you in ten minutes in front of the entrance, all right?” She cast him a look with her blue eyes that was like blowing a kiss, and she was gone.
She’s quick and witty—not at all bad company, James thought. And she was exactly what he needed to make St. Moritz bearable, even if she was a bit spoiled. But spoiled in an amusing way. And she was pretty.
He looked at his pocket watch. Where was she? He’d already been cooling his heels there twenty minutes; the noonday sun was burning hot, and sweat was collecting under the rim of his straw hat. He couldn’t go into the ladies’ dressing rooms, and it would have been rude just to leave.
She came out just as he had finally had enough and was turning to go.
“It’s not nice to sneak away like that,” Mrs. Simpson called out in a good-humored way.
This time James couldn’t suppress a trace of annoyance, “I’ve been waiting for you for quite a while already.”
“Oh, I was looking for something; it’s all right now. Let’s go. But we have a short ride there first.” She took his arm and dragged him along. “My husband and I are staying at the Hotel Maloja, and the others are waiting for me there. We’ll take a carriage and be there in half an hour. Come on!”
James was no longer quite certain that he wanted to have lunch with her. But it was too late to back out.
“Are you in love with him?” Betsy asked her niece and fanned herself with the telegram the waiter had just brought to their table. Mathilde made a grab for it, but her aunt held on to the envelope. “First, answer my question, are you in love wit h . . . ”
“Adrian?” Mathilde finished the question.
“Yes, with Adrian,” Betsy nodded. “In any case, he wrote to you even before we arrived her e . . . and now thi s . . . ” she handed Mathilde the telegram, “even though, you called home to tell them, but you completely forgot to tell your fiancé.”
Sometimes Betsy really is impossible, Mathilde thought. Mama, who hated indiscretions when she wasn’t committing one herself, was right about that. Why did her aunt have to be so observant! Under her aunt’s gaze Mathilde felt herself blushing as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden.
“It’s all right, Tilda,” Betsy said with a smile. “I was just kidding!”
Betsy really liked the Hotel Maloja. It had a reputation for measuring up to the best hotels in the world, and it more than lived up to that. It hadn’t been all that difficult to
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