df.theedge-第46部分

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　　Filmer　didn't　e　out。　I　willed　him　to：　to　appear　without　his　briefcase　and　roll　away　for　hours：　to　give　me　a　chance　of　thinking　of　some　way　to　get　into　his　room　in　safety。　Willing　didn't　work。　Julius　Apollo　didn't　seem　to　want　to　walk　on　a　glacier　or　dangle　in　a　cable　car；　and　stayed　resolutely　indoors。
　　Mercer；　Bambi　and　Sheridan　came　out　of　the　hotel　together；　hardly　looking　a　lighthearted　little　family；　and　inserted　themselves　into　a　large　waiting　chauffeur…driven　car　which　carried　them　off　immediately。
　　No　Xanthe。　No　Xanthe　on　the　bus　either。　Rose　and　Chamber　Young　had　boarded　without　her。　Xanthe；　I　surmised；　was　back　in　the　sulks。
　　Nell；　making　a　note　on　her　clipboard　and　looking　at　her　watch；　decided　there　were　no　more　customers　for　the　bus。　She　stepped　inside　it　and　closed　the　door　and　I　watched　it　roll　away。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Fifteen
　　　
　　I　walked　about　on　foot　in　the　mountains　thinking　of　the　gifts　that　had　been　given　me。
　　Lenny　Higgs。　The　binations　of　the　locks　of　the　briefcase。　Nell's　friendship。　Mrs　Baudelaire。　The　chance　to　invent　Zak's　scripts。
　　It　was　the　last　which　chiefly　filled　my　mind　as　I　walked　round　the　path　which　circled　the　little　lake；　and　the　plans　I　began　forming　for　the　script　had　a　lot　to　do　with　the　end　of　my　conversation　with　Bill　Baudelaire；　which　had　been　disturbing。
　　After　he'd　agreed　to　arrange　a　replacement　groom　for　Laurentide　Ice；　he　said　he'd　tried　to　talk　to　Mercer　Lorrimore　at　Assimboia　Downs　but　hadn't　had　much　success。
　　'Talk　about　what？'　I　asked。
　　'About　our　quarry　I　was　shocked　to　find　how　friendly　he　had　bee　with　the　Lorrimores　I　tried　to　draw　Mercer　Lorrimore　aside　and　remind　him　about　the　trial；　but　he　was　quite　short　with　me　If　a　man　was　found　innocent；　he　said；　that　was　an　end　of　it。　He　thinks　good　of　everyone；　it　seems…which　is　saintly　but　not　sensible。'　Bill's　voice　went　even　deeper　with　disillusion　'Our　quarry　can　be　overpoweringly　pleasant；　you　know；　if　he　puts　his　mind　to　it；　and　he　had　certainly　been　doing　that　He　had　poor　Daffodil　Quentin　practically　eating　out　of　his　hand；　too；　and　I　wonder　what　she　thinks　of　him　now。'
　　I　could　hear　the　echo　of　his　voice　in　the　mountains。　'More　saintly　than　sensible。'　Mercer　was　a　man　who　saw　good　where　no　good　existed。　Who　longed　for　goodness　m　his　son；　and　would　pay　for　ever　because　it　couldn't　be　achieved。
　　The　path　round　the　lake　wound　up　hill　and　down；　sometimes　through　close…thronging　pines；　sometimes　with　sudden　breath…stopping　views　of　the　silent　giants　towering　above；　sometimes　with　clear　vistas　of　the　deep　turquoise　water　below　in　its　perfect　bowl。　It　had　rained　during　the　night　so　that　the　whole　scene　in　the　morning　sunshine　looked　washed　and　glittering；　and　the　rain　had　fallen　as　snow　on　the　mountaintops　and　the　glacier　which　now　appeared　whiter；　cleaner　and　nearer　than　the　day　before。
　　The　air　was　cold；　descending　perceptibly　like　a　tide　from　the　frozen　peaks；　but　the　sun；　at　its　autumn　highest　in　sky；　still　kept　enough　warmth　to　make　walking　a　pleasure；　and　when　I　came　to　a　place　where　a　bench　had　been　placed　before　a　stunning　panorama　of　lake；　the　Chateau　and　the　mountain　behind　it；　it　was　warm　enough　also　to　pause　and　sit　down。　I　brushed　some　raindrops　off　the　seat　and　slouched　on　the　bench；　hands　in　pockets；　gazed　vaguely　on　the　picture…postcard　spectacle；　mind　in　second　gear　on　Filmer。
　　I　could　see　figures　walking　about　by　the　shore　in　the　Chateau　garden；　and　thought　without　hurry　of　perhaps　bringing　out　the　binoculars　to　see　if　any　of　them　was　Julius　Apollo。　Not　that　it　would　have　been　of　much　help；　I　supposed；　if　he'd　been　there。　He　wouldn't　be　doing　anything　usefully　criminal　under　the　gaze　of　the　Chateau's　serried　ranks　of　windows。
　　Someone　with　quiet　footsteps　came　along　the　path　from　the　shelter　of　the　trees　and　stopped；　looking　down　at　the　lake。　Someone　female。
　　I　glanced　at　her　incuriously；　seeing　a　backview　of　jeans；　blue　Parka；　white　trainers　and　a　white　woollen　hat　with　two　scarlet　pompoms：　and　then　she　turned　round；　and　I　saw　that　it　was　Xanthe　Lorrimore。
　　She　looked　disappointed　to　find　the　bench　already　occupied。
　　'Do　you　mind　if　I　sit　here？'　she　said。　'It's　a　long　walk。　My　legs　are　tired。'
　　'No；　of　course　not。'　I　stood　up　and　brushed　the　raindrops　off　the　rest　of　the　bench；　making　a　drier　space　for　her。
　　'Thanks。'　She　flopped　down　in　adolescent　gawkiness　and　I　took　my　own　place　again；　with　a　couple　of　feet　between　us。
　　She　frowned。　'Haven't　I　seen　you　before？'　she　asked。　'Are　you　on　the　train？'
　　'Yes；　miss；'　I　said；　knowing　that　there　was　no　point　in　denying　it；　as　she　would　see　me　again　and　more　clearly　in　the　dining　room。　'I'm　one　of　the　crew。'
　　'Oh。'　She　began　as　if　automatically　to　get　to　her　feet；　and　then；　after　a　moment；　decided　against　it　out　of　tiredness　and　relaxed。　'Are　you；'　she　said　slowly；　keeping　her　distance；　'one　of　the　waiters？'
　　'Yes；　Miss　Lorrimore。'
　　'The　one　who　told　me　I　had　to　pay　for　a　Coke？'
　　'Yes；　I'm　sorry。'
　　She　shrugged　and　looked　down　at　the　lake。　'I　suppose；'　she　said　in　a　disgruntled　voice；　'all　this　is　pretty　special；　but　what　I　really　feel　is　bored。'
　　She　had　thick　almost　straight　chestnut　hair　which　curved　at　the　ends　over　her　shoulders；　and　she　had　clear　fine　skin　and　marvellous　eyebrows。　She　was　going　to　be　beautiful；　I　thought；　with　maturity；　unless　she　let　the　sulky　cast　of　her　mouth　spoil　not　just　her　face　but　her　life。
　　'I　sometimes　wish　I　was　poor　like　you；'　she　said。　'It　would　make　everything　simple。'　She　glanced　at　me。　'I　suppose　you　think　I'm　crazy　to　say　that。'　She　paused。　'My　mother　would　say　I　shouldn't　be　talking　to　you　anyway。'
　　I　moved　as　if　to　stand　up。　'I'll　go　away；　if　you　like；'　I　said　politely。
　　'No；　don't。'　She　was　unexpectedly　vehement　and　surprised　even　herself。　'I　mean。。。　there's　no　one　else　to　talk　to。　I　mean。。。　well。'
　　'I　do　understand；'　I　said。
　　'Do　you？'　She　was　embarrassed。　'I　was　going　to　go　on　the　bus；　really。　My　parents　think　I'm　on　the　bus。　I　was　going　with　Rose。。。　Mrs　Young。。。　and　Mr　Young。　But　he。。。'　She　almost　stopped；　but　the　childish　urge　in　her　to　talk　was　again　running　strong；　sweeping　away　discretion。　'He's　never　as　nice　to　me　as　she　is。　I　think　he's　tired　of　me。　Cumber；　isn't　that　a　stupid　name？　It's　Cumberland；　really。　That's　somewhere　in　England　where　his　parents　went　on　their　honeymoon；　Rose　says。　Albert　Cumberland　Young；　that's　what　his　name　is。　Rose　started　calling　him　Cumber　when　they　met　because　she　thought　it　sounded　cosier；　but　he　isn't　cosy　at　all；　you　know；　he's　stiff　and　stern。'　She　broke　off　and　looked　down　towards　the　Chateau。　'Why　do　all　those　Japanese　go　on　their　honeymoons　together？'
　　'I　don't　know；'　I　said。
　　'Perhaps　they'll　all　call　their　children　Lake　Louise。'
　　'They　could　do　worse。'
　　'What's　your　name？'　she　asked。
　　'Tommy；　Miss　Lorrimore。'
　　She　made　no　ment。　She　was　only　half　easy　in　my　pany；　too　conscious　of　my　job。　But　above　all；　she　wanted　to　talk。
　　'You　know　my　brother；　Sheridan？'　she　said。
　　I　nodded。
　　'The　trouble　with　Sheridan　is　that　we're　too　rich。　He　thinks　he's　better　than　everyone　else　because　he's　richer。'　She　paused。　'What　do　you　think　of　that？'　It　was　part　a　challenge；　part　a　desperate　question；　and　I　answered　her　from　my　own　heart。
　　'I　think　it's　very　difficult　to　be　very　rich　very　young。'
　　'Do　you　really？'　She　was　surprised。　'It's　what　everyone　wants　to　be。'
　　'If　you　can　have　everything；　you　forget　what　it's　like　to　need。　And　if　you're　given　everything；　you　never　learn　to　save。'
　　She　brushed　that　aside。　'There's；　no　point　in　saving。　My　grandmother　left　me　millions。　And　Sheridan　too。　I　suppose　you　think　that's　awful。　He　thinks　he　deserves　it。　He　thinks　he　can　do　anything　he　likes　because　he's　rich。'
　　'You　could　give　it　away；'　I　said；　'if　you　think　it's　awful。'
　　'Would　you？'
　　I　said　regretfully；　'No。'
　　'There　you　are；　then。'
　　'I'd　give　some　of　it　away。'
　　'I've　got　trustees　and　they　won't　let　me。'
　　I　smiled　faintly。　I'd　had　Clement　Cornborough。　Trustees；　he'd　told　me　once　austerely；　were　there　to　preserve　and　increase　fortunes；　not　to　allow　them　to　be　squandered；　and　no；　he　wouldn't　allow　a　fifteen…year…old　boy　to　fund　a　farm　for　pensioned…off　racehorses。
　　'Why　do　you　think　it's　difficult　to　be　rich？'　she　demanded。　'It's　easy。'
　　I　said　neutrally；　'You　said　just　now　that　if　you　were　poor；　life　would　be　simple。'
　　'I　suppose　I　did。　I　suppose　I　didn't　mean　it。　Or　not　really。　I　don't　know　if　I　meant　it。　Why　is　it　difficult　to　be　rich？'
　　'Too　much　temptation。　Too　many　available　corruptions。'
　　'Do　you　mean　drugs？'
　　'Anything。　Too　many　pairs　of　shoes。　Self…importance。'
　　She　put　her　feet　up　on　the　bench　and　hugged　her　knees；　looking　at　me　over　the　top。　'No　one　will　believe　this　conversation。'　She　paused。　'Do　you　wish　you　were　rich？'
　　It　was　an　unanswerable　question。　I　said　truthfully　in　evasion；　'I　wouldn't　like　to　be　starving。'
　　'My　father　says；'　she　announced；　'that　one's　not　better　because　one's　richer；　but　richer　because　one's　better。'
　　'Neat。'
　　'He　always　says　things　like　that。　I　don't　understand　them　sometimes。'
　　'Your　brother　Sheridan；'　I　said　ca