There's a gleam of hope,' Flora said. She looked at me obliquely in that sidelong, automatically provocative way I had learned to hate. 'Something has come up and Bill may have to go back to New York next week. Then we could spend all the time together.' The all had a thunderous emphasis that made me look around uneasily to see if anyone happened to be listening to us. 'Wouldn't that be just beautiful?'
'B ... bu ... beautiful,' I said. It was the first time I had stuttered since I had left the St Augustine. 'Let's ... let's go in for lun ... lunch.'
*
That afternoon she presented me with a watch. It was a great thick model, guaranteed for accuracy under three hundred feet of water or when dropped from the roofs of tall buildings. It had a stopwatch attachment and all sorts of dials. It did everything but play the Swiss national anthem. 'You shouldn't have,' I said faintly.
'I want you to think of this marvelous week whenever you look at the time,' she said. 'Don't I get just a little kiss for it?'
We were in a stbli in the middle of town where we had stopped on the way to the hotel after the afternoon's skiing. I liked it because there wasn't a bottle of champagne in the house. The place smelled of melted cheese and wet wool from the other skiers who crowded the room, drinking beer. I pecked at her cheek.
'Don't you like it?' she asked. 'The watch, I mean.' I love it,' I said 'Hon ... honestly. It's just so extravagant.' 'Not really, honey,' she said. 'If you hadn't come along and just pampered me, I'd have had to hire a ski teacher and you know what ski teachers cost in a place like this. And you have to buy them lunch besides. And the way they eat I think they just dine on potatoes all the rest of the year and stock up in the winters.' She was a flighty woman, but she had a strong feeling for economics. 'Here, she said, 'let me put it on you.' She slipped it on my wrist and clipped on the heavy silver band. 'Isn't it just absolutely male?
'I suppose you could describe it like that,' I said. When I finally rid myself of the Sloanes, man and wife, I would take it back to the jeweler's and sell it back. It must have cost at least three hundred dollars.
'Just don't tell Bill about it,' she said. 'It's a little secret between you and me. A little darling secret. You'll remember, won't you, honey?'
'I'll remember.' That was one promise I definitely would keep.
*
The crisis arrived the next morning. When she came down into the hall where I was waiting for her as usual at ten o'clock, she wasn't in ski clothes. 'I'm afraid I can't ski with you this morning, honey,' she said. 'Bill has to go to Zurich today and I'm taking him to the train. The poor man. With all this beautiful snow and gorgeous weather and all.' She giggled. 'And he has to stay overnight, too. Isn't it just too bad?'
'Awful,' I said. 'I hope you won't be lonesome, skiing by yourself,' she said.
'Well, if it can't be helped, it can't be helped,' I said manfully.
'Actually,' she said, 'I don't feel much like skiing today either. I have an idea. Why don't you go up now and get your exercise and come down by one o'clock and we'll have a cozy little lunch somewhere? Bill's train leaves at twenty to one. We can have a perfectly dreamy afternoon together...'
'That's a great idea,' I said.
'We'll start with a scrumptious cold bottle of champagne in the bar,' she said, 'and then we'll just see how things work out. Does that sound attractive to you?'
'Scrumptious.'
She gave me one of her significant smiles and went back Upstairs to her husband. I went out into the cold morning air feeling a frown beginning to freeze on my face. I had no intention of skiing. If I never saw a pair of skis again it would be all the same to me. I regretted ever having listened to Wales about the ski club plane, which was the beginning of the chain of events that was leading Mrs Sloane inexorably into my bed. Still, I had to admit to myself, if I had crossed the ocean on a regular flight and my bag had been stolen, I'd have no notion at all of where I might look for it. And through the Sloanes I had met quite a few of the other passengers on the plane and had been able to try my lost luggage gambit on them. True. it had yielded nothing so far, but one could always hope that on the next hill or in the next Alpine bar, a face would leap out, an involuntary gasp or heedless word would put me on the track of my fortune.
I thought of leaving St Moritz on the same train with Sloane, but when we got to Zurich what could I do? I couldn't trail him around the city spying on him.
I contemplated the perfectly dreamy afternoon ahead of me, starting with a scrumptious bottle of champagne (on my bill) and groaned. A young man, swinging ahead of me down the street on crutches, his leg in a cast, heard me and turned and stared curiously at me. Everyone to his own brand of trouble.
I turned and looked into a shop window. My reflection stared back at me. A youngish-looking man in expensive ski clothes, on holiday in one of the most glamorous resorts in the world. You could have taken my picture for an advertisement for a chic travel magazine. Money no object. The vacation of your dreams.
Then I grinned at myself in the window. An idea had come to me. I started down the street, after the man on crutches. I was limping a little. By the time I passed him I was limping noticeably. He looked at me sympathetically. 'You, too?' he said.
"Just a sprain,' I said.
By the time I reached the small private hospital conveniently located in the center of town, I was giving a fair
imitation of a skier who had fallen down half the mountain.
*
Two hours later I came out of the hospital. I was equipped with crutches and my left leg was in a cast above the knee. I sat in a restaurant for the rest of the morning, drinking black coffee and eating croissants, happily reading the Herald Tribune of the day before.
The young doctor at the hospital had been skeptical when I told him I was sure I had broken my leg - 'A hairline fracture,' I told him. 'I've done it twice before.' He was even more skeptical when he looked at the X-rays, but when I insisted he shrugged and said, 'Well, it's your leg.'
Switzerland was one country where you could get any kind of medical attention you paid for, necessary or not. I had heard of a man who had a slight fungus growth on his thumb and had become obsessed with the idea that it was cancer. Doctors in the United States, England, France, Spain, and Norway had assured him it was only a slight fungus infection that would go away eventually and had prescribed salves. In Switzerland, for a price, he had finally managed to have it amputated. He now lived happily in San Francisco, thumb-less.
At one o'clock I took a taxi back to the Palace. I accepted the sympathy of the men at the desk with a wan smile, and I fixed a look of stoic suffering on my face as I clumped into the bar.
Flora Sloane was seated in a comer near the window, with the unopened bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the table in front of her. She was dressed in skintight green slacks and sweater that made the most of her generous, and I must admit, well-shaped bosom. Her leopard coat was on a chair beside her, and the aroma of her perfume made the bar smell like a florist's shop full of exotic tropical plants.
She gasped when she saw me stagger in, using the crutches clumsily. 'Oh, shit,' she said.
'It's nothing,' I said bravely. 'Just a hairline fracture. I'll be out of the cast in six weeks. At least that's what the doctor says.' I collapsed on a chair, with a sound that sensitive ears would have distinguished as a smothered groan, and put the cast up on the chair across from me.
'How in hell did you do it?' she asked crossly.