Hotel Mirador (11 page)

“You
...
idiot,” he breathed. “You could have landed on your head and been killed.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Her hair had fallen forward and the blue eyes were huge with remembered fright. She gazed at him and her lips trembled, and with a savage movement he shoved an arm round her and pushed back her hair.

“All right, Sally.” His voice was more normal. “You had a shock and so did I. Wait a bit, before you move.” There was a silence, during which she became acutely conscious of his arm about her and his breath on her forehead. She stirred, let out a shuddering sigh and felt his arm tighten, lifted her head and found her face close to his; his eyes were still smouldering. For a long moment of blank intensity she was entirely without volition; dazedly she knew that her mouth moved a fraction closer to his, but only because he had first lowered his head. She quivered, and he let her go, abruptly.

He spoke in cool, sarcastic tones. “That’s what emotion does for you. You get stirred up over something and before you know it you’re back on the old routine. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Was she hurt! Her whole nervous system was in shreds. But she shook her head. “I don’t know how to thank you, Dane. I’m afraid your hand came off badly
...”

“Forget it.” He stood up, and his grip on her elbow as he helped her to her feet was hard and impersonal. Without haste, they went out on to the landing and down the stairs. As he walked, Dane wound a handkerchief about his hand and tucked in the ends. He pulled the door shut behind them and tested the lock, guided her round the fallen debris. They walked to the car and he set it in motion.

He drove fast, without speaking. Sally wondered, hollowly, if he was thinking how near he had come to discovering whether she were a cold fish. She felt sick and full of foreboding, had the horrid conviction that if she did not leave Shiran at once she would regret it forever. Yet something held her here in Morocco, something far stronger than anything she had ever imagined could exist

Dust swirled behind them, landmarks leapt up to meet them. Only an hour after leaving the plantation they were curving round the drive of the Hotel Mirador. Sally was helped out on to the tiled courtyard, she reached back into the car for her wide-brimmed hat and held it in front of her to conceal the most blatant rip in her frock. Dane gripped her arm with angry fingers, led her up into the foyer.

“I’ll send up some lunch,” he said, in glacial syllables, “and you’d better
b
e down as soon as you’ve had it. Go straight into the lift”

A pyramid of dashing and very feminine blue and white travelling bags stood near the lift, and the reception clerk was gesticulating excitedly to Pierre de Chalain. Someone, apparently, was demanding the best suite in the hotel, and no suites of any kind were available.

Sally entered the lift and was wafted upwards. She walked the silent corridor to her room and opened the door. Sanctuary, she thought thankfully, as she entered the air-conditioned coolness of the sitting room.

And then she stopped, precipitately, and stared at the exquisite young woman who awaited her. She had the aquiline features of a well-bred Latin, night-black hair, an olive skin and the figure of a dancer. Her thin black suit was the latest thing from Paris, very narrow and elegant, but her smile had nothing tailored about it; it was brilliant and spontaneous.

“Sally!” A hearty hug. “Oh, Sally, it’s so good to see you!”

“Lucette,” said Sally faintly. “Why, Lucette!”

CHAPTER FIVE

TOO many things were happening at once for Sally. The greeting over, she leaned back upon the table and tried to sort this particular moment from the rest of the morning. Lucette Millar was here, twice as large as life! Those were her bags downstairs. Dozens of them. And Lucette was talking with her usual lack of restraint.

“It was so strange, Sally. Your letter arriving while my parents were out for a few hours. I took in the mail and there it was—just what I’d been waiting for! Darling, you don’t know how I felt. I gathered, of course, that you’d been writing fairly often, and knew my mother must have destroyed
anything
in your handwriting. She read your letters before burning them—you can be sure of that! I was infuriated—almost gave myself away when the parents got in that evening. But somehow I hung on to my temper, and next day I started planning. And here I am!”

“But how did you manage it? I thought they never let you out of Tangier.”

The black glance evaded Sally’s, and Lucette laughed. “It was easy, once I knew where to come. You couldn’t have chosen a better place. They’ll never think to look for me here.” She paused anxiously. “You didn’t write again, did you, Sally? There won’t be a letter giving the show away?”

“No. No, I didn’t write again.” Dazedly, Sally realized that since posting the one letter she had hardly thought of Lucette. “That luggage downstairs
...
how long are you
staying?”

“For days and days. And what do you think? They say they haven’t a suite for me! I told them nothing less would do and left them sorting it out.” She looked about her. “I like this. They’re doing you proud, Sally.”

It was unbelievable, but Sally felt she would have given anything to remain alone in the suite. However, she had to say, “You can share it if you like. There’s a huge bedroom with twin beds.”

“Marvellous! I couldn’t wish for anything better.” Lucette got up from her chair and dropped a long snake
-
skin purse on the table, took off her little black cap and stretched her arms rapturously. “This is freedom! You have to be imprisoned before you can appreciate it. Oh, Sally, you don’t know how I feel—so happy and full of life. I’m going to have the best time in the world!”

“You still haven’t explained how you got away from Tangier. You’ve brought so much luggage that your parents must have known all about it.”

“Oh, they knew—but not where I was bound for. I put on labels for Casablanca and had them changed at the airport.”

“But why should they let you go to Casablanca?” Lucette said gaily, “Because I have a very solemn relative there, darling, and I’ve been there before, without dire consequences.”

“But won’t they get in touch with your relative?”

“No. You’re probably aware that the plane from Tangier stops at Casablanca, and I sent them a telegram from there to say I’d arrived. It was that simple!”

“But if you stay away for long they’ll expect letters.”

“Not from Lucette—she’s a bad girl who’s gone all independent since
...
well, since she’s been twenty-one. I’m twenty-two next week, you know.”

“Yes, I remember.” Sally paused, and pushed a hand over her brow. “What about that old man they were trying to make you marry?”

Lucette looked startled, as if she could not quite recollect having written such words. “He was not so old, but it’s all been dealt with. I will tell you about it some time.” Quickly, rather more quickly than was necessary, Sally thought, she changed the subject. “Tell me what you do here. Have you met any exciting men?”

“Not your sort of exciting. I’m here to work.”

“Pooh to that
.
We’ll have fun, lots of it.” She sighed gustily with pure pleasure. “This is bliss. I’m free, and with my sweetie Sal. How are your brothers?”

It was typical of Lucette that she should enquire first about the young men and only then put a polite query about Mr. and Mrs. Yorke, who had made her welcome so many times as a schoolgirl.

“They were fine when I left England,” said Sally. “I’m afraid Geoff got over his crush on you.”

“Never mind—it was a long time and many crushes ago. Your respected mother and father are still wearing tweeds and reading
Farmers’ Weekly,
I suppose?”

“They always will, thank goodness.” Sally was recovering a little, and discovering that Lucette’s fingers and wrists were rather plentifully encircled with jewellery. “Have you been left a fortune, or something?”

“These?” Lucette jiggled her hands. “All phoney, darling.” She nodded at Sally’s frock. “Your patient seems to be rather violent. Do you have to handle him alone?” Sally summoned a smile. “I had an accident. Mind if I
change right away? If you want to go on talking I shall be ab
le to hear you in the bedroom.”

But Lucette followed her, taking off a couple of bracelets and a ring or two and slipping them into a drawer. She was left wearing a gold wristlet which must have weighed half a pound and a diamond ring on each hand. The jewellery, she explained, had been left her by a grandmother; she had worn it all because it was safer than packing it; it had sentimental value only, of course, but she didn’t want to lose it Sally handed over the key to the drawer, and then washed and got into a clean print frock. She used powder and lipstick, brushed her hair and felt better.

They had just returned to the sitting room when a knock came at the door and a servant wheeled in a luncheon trolley. And straight behind the trolley came Dane, looking as fresh and nonchalant as if he had spent the morning down at the pool. He did glance rather keenly at Sally, but after that he wore the sort of smile that ties feminine hearts in knots, and his tones were lazily interested.

“Mr. Ryland
...
Miss Millar,” said Sally carefully. “Lucette and I were at school together.”

“Really?” said Dane, appraising Lucette’s dark, vital features. “I’m charmed to know you, Miss Millar. I hear you’re expecting a suite all to yourself.”

Lucette’s pleased surprise at encountering such a man within the first hour of her arrival was openly intense. “Not now. You see, I didn’t know that Sally would have such a magnificent flat all to herself. We’ve decided to share.”

“That’s fine. Knowing you were here with Miss Yorke, I took the liberty of adding a battle of champagne to the luncheon. With the hotel’s compliments.”

“What a lovely gesture!” exclaimed Lucette, scintillating for all she was worth. “Won’t you open the bottle, Mr. Ryland, and drink with us?”

Mr. Ryland did, somehow managing to keep hidden the hand which had adhesive plaster over the knuckles. He bowed as he raised his glass, made a few suave remarks, finished his drink and left them. The door closed with an insidious quietness, and Sally was aware of an a
c
he where he had gripped her about the ribs. But Lucette was enchanted.

“He’s mine,” she said, whirling about with the empty glass aloft “And you said there were no men!”

“I said
your
kind of men. Dane Ryland doesn’t buckle at the knees at the sight of a pretty girl.”

“Maybe not, but he didn’t get that charm of his through sticking to male company. He’s a dream!”

“He’s anything but,” replied Sally with a trace of acid. “And there’s a woman who has first claim. You may have heard of her.
Cécile
Vaugard?”

“The singing siren? I’ve seen her in Tangier.”

“Does she know you?”

“Oh, no. She was in some operatic thing I had to sit through once.” Lucette was sobered. “She was quite a looker.”

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Blonde?”

“Honey-fair, with dark eyes.”

“And the Dane man goes for her?”

“She’s the only woman he takes about in Shiran.”

“Depressing, isn’t it?” But Lucette instantly brightened. “I’ll try for him all the same.” She examined the silver dishes on the trolley. “I suppose, being thin and energetic, you can eat this delicious stuff without bothering about your figure? I’ll take some salad and a roll.”

As it happened, Sally wasn’t a bit hungry. She ate a little, talked a little and listened a great deal. Lucette, she decided, had not changed very much. She was still volatile and merry, seldom cast down about anything for longer than a minute. She, Sally, ought to have remembered Lucette’s temperament when she had received the letter full of utter misery back in England. Somehow, Lucette either wriggled out of everything unpleasant, or she changed her views and came to like the bugbear. She was mercurial, full of stratagems and little tricks, fond of money and fun but basically loyal.

Sally’s mother had always blamed the Millar parents for the oddities in Lucette’s character. They were both English with a dash of Latin and distinctly bohemian in outlook, and Mr. Millar had had one of those convenient arty jobs which allowed him to live almost anywhere and conduct
h
is business by mail. The Millars had never settled anywhere for more than three or four years, and it was quite possible that they would soon uproot themselves once more and glide along to the other end of the Mediterranean.

Perhaps it was natural that, living mostly in southern Europe or the northern tip of Africa, they should have stri
c
t ideas about their daughter while she lived with them. They had even gone to the length of trying to make her marry someone they had chosen for her, but Lucette, apparently, had successfully jibbed. Well, it wouldn’t do her any harm to be away from them for a while.

Sally said presently, “I still don’t understand what’s been happening to you, Lucette. You were so keen to r
u
n away from home—and you hadn’t any money of your own. Yet you’ve arrived here by air, and presumably you have enough cash to pay for a luxury suite.”

“Actually,” Lucette confided, “I sold something. It’s sort of pawned, really, because I can get it back if I ever have enough cash. In Tangier y
o
u can find people who’ll accommodate you with money so long as the security is about fifteen times greater than the sum you want. But don’t let’s be sordid, darling. I have to make the most of this break!”

“Some time it will become known that you didn’t stay in Casablanca. Have you decided how you’ll explain it away to your parents?”

“No, but I’ve plenty of time to hit on some watertight idea, and you can help me manufacture something really plausible. I’ve never been able to live in anything but the present. You know that.”

Yes, Sally knew it. She could remember two days of black anxiety when Lucette had been a member of the Yorke household, two long nights when the whole family had searched the hills and worried. Lucette had cheerfully turned up at noon on the third day, after a riotous sojourn with a group of girl and boy cycle tourists from Holland. There was never any need to worry about her, Lucette had protested; life was so glum if you couldn’t do just as you wished when the fit took you.

It seemed she still cherished the same philosophy, but she was grown up now, and likely to cause a different kind of trouble. However, Sally realized there was nothing on earth she herself could do about it. Lucette was of age, and if her accounts of her parents’ strictness were true, it was time she had some freedom. But unaccountably Sally washed her friend had not come to Shiran.

The luggage arrived in two loads, on one of the
rubber wheeled
hotel carriers. Lucette began to unpack, and presently her gowns and summer furs, her Shoes and multifarious groups of accessories squeezed Sally’s possessions into one
corner
of the vast wardrobe cupboards. Sally decided to escape.

“I have to see the doctor about Mike Ritchie,” she said. “I’ll be back later.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” was the airy reply. “I’ll find my way about and make a few friends. Don’t hurry for me.” Her emotions jumbled, Sally went down to the vestibule and asked the reception clerk to telephone Dr. Demaire’s residence for an appointment. She was told that the doctor was resting after lunch, and she could call at any time within the next half horn
^-
. When, twenty minutes later, she was shown into an old-fashioned French drawing room in one of the crowded houses on the Avenue Lyautey, Sally found that the doctor was already in possession of Mike’s file, and ready to prescribe his physiotherapy. When she left him she felt that at last she was in command, and on an impulse she changed her instructions to the driver.

‘Take me up to Monsieur Ritchie’s house, please.”

The man, dark-skinned and impeccably uniformed, answered politely and turned away from the esplanade. Sally looked out at the coffee houses, where Moors drank a thick sweet brew of mint tea under faded awnings; always men. A masculine world, this; no wonder a few years in the country had had their effect on Dane Ryland. No, she musn’t think of Dane, and certainly it was foolish to recall the fact that he had not only saved her from serious injury this morning, but had inflicted an invisible wound, which might never quite heal.

Yet she couldn’t help recollecting those few minutes in the suite, when he had opened the bottle of champagne and drunk with them. At first she had thought, ‘He brought it for me, not for Lucette. He hadn’t even seen Lucette, but he knew I was shaken and fed up with myself.’ Then she had watched him, seen his expert judgment of Lucette’s elegant dress, her animation and whole-hearted eagerness to please the male. He had lived here at the Mirador for so long that a swift ass
e
ssment of a guest came easily to one who had seen her baggage. No doubt he had heard about Lucette from Pierre and decided she might be worth meeting.