The Dark Frontier by A. Decker (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📕

then a lot of people found their soups hard to stomach for a long time to come.”

“Well, let’s drink to Nestlé then,” Ellen said, raising her glass. “Cheers.”

“Santé,” Marthe replied with a smile.

“I’d really like to thank you, Marthe.”

Marthe reached out and placed a hand on Ellen’s arm.

“Whatever for?”

“For inviting me. For being there for me all the time. For being such a comfort.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Really,” Marthe insisted, moving closer and taking both of Ellen’s hands in hers. “I enjoy your company. Urs does not always have as much time for me as I would like. He’s often at the clinic or away at conferences. Or with his protégé Stefan.”

“Even so, I’m sure you would be relieved to have me out of your hair for a while,” said Ellen.

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about Frank in the train up here. The way he’s slipping away from me. I’ve been in limbo for the last few weeks. Not knowing where he is. Or what’s happened to him. Always fearing the worst. Going round in circles chasing someone who is supposed to be him, but who keeps evading our searches.”

Marthe clasped Ellen’s hands tighter as she spoke.

“For all your wonderful kindness and hospitality, Marthe, this is really not a life anymore. It’s purgatory. And all the while, I have an employer back home, patiently waiting for me to get back to work.” She paused. Marthe relaxed her grip before Ellen continued: “So, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time I returned home. For a time at least. We’ll stay in touch of course. And as soon as you have any news for me, then I will fly over right away. But at the moment, I believe it’s the right thing to do.”

“I understand how you feel,” Marthe said. “But you don’t have to make any hasty decisions. While we’re here in the mountains, you will have plenty of time to consider it in depth.”

“I already have,” Ellen insisted. “I don’t need any more time. I’ve really made up my mind.”

“Well, at least you can enjoy the mountain air for a few days,” Marthe said, withdrawing her hands and sitting back in her chair. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a late start and stroll down to Suvretta House for lunch. They have a fabulous restaurant there, where we can talk more about your plans, and then go shopping in town.”

Ellen was adamant in her own mind that any further talk would be pointless. But she told herself that lunch and shopping would provide a pleasant distraction. So she and Marthe spent the remainder of the evening contemplating the flames of the log fire and punctuating each other’s thoughts now and then with idle chatter.

When Ellen eventually closed the outside shutters in her bedroom, drew the quaint little gingham curtains over the windows and climbed into bed, she fully anticipated that Marthe would come knocking on the door and sneak into bed beside her. Ever since she felt her hands play appreciatively with the strawberry-blonde tresses of her hair when they arrived in St Moritz, Ellen had the feeling that she was keen to renew the intimacy they had shared a few days earlier. The prospect excited her in a curious way that she would not have imagined possible until a short time ago. As she lay in the snug warmth of her duvet, she longed for the door to open. Yet the frisson that came with this anticipation was also fraught with unease and self-doubt. And it was these misgivings that she eventually carried with her into a deep sleep. Not until the morning did her self-doubt give way to a sense of disappointment when it dawned on her that Marthe had kept her distance after all. She wondered whether it had anything to do with her decision to return home.

Marthe was already up and about by the time Ellen woke to the sound of activity in the kitchen. And music. It was ‘Lola’. The track that Ellen was surprised to find what seemed like weeks ago to be a source of such excitement for Marthe. And she was no less surprised to hear the music now playing in the kitchen below.

By the time Ellen emerged, it was already on ‘This Time Tomorrow’. Where will we be? What will we know? It all seemed so apposite. Why is it, she asked herself as she entered the kitchen, that every song ever written seems to have been penned for that given moment when its words carry such meaning?

“Good morning Ellen,” said Marthe breezily, switching off the music when she turned and saw Ellen in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I hope the music didn’t wake you.”

“It’s already well past nine. Normally I’d be awake much earlier than this. So, no. The music didn’t wake me,” Ellen said, catching sight of a cassette player on the table as she spoke.

“Did you bring it with you?” she asked.

“The cassette?” Marthe replied, flicking a switch to boil the kettle. “I thought it would be nice to have a little music in our retreat.”

“I would never have taken you for a fan of the Kinks. Or of anything but classical music really.”

“Well, Ellen. You should never be taken in by appearances,” Marthe said, throwing two spoonfuls of tea into the teapot next to the kettle and glancing at Ellen as she did so. The glance came with a smile so engaging that it struck Ellen as almost flirtatious. She felt the colour begin to rise in her cheeks.

“I like all kinds of music,” Marthe added, instantly delivering Ellen from her embarrassment. “But my favourite song on this album is ‘Lola’.”

“It’s one of mine too.”

The wistful expression in Ellen’s eyes and the musing tone of voice as she spoke these words were not lost on Marthe. Ellen could see from the way she was hanging on her every word that she was expecting more.

“It so reminds me of Frank,” she said, not wanting to disappoint. “I was constantly dropping