Hotel Mirador (23 page)

“But she’s alone?”

“Yes. I must confess I feel she should have arrived here while it was still light, but you know how it is with the young. They will wait and talk and miscalculate
...”

“You shouldn’t have let her have the car! I haven’t allowed her to drive in Morocco.”

“But she can drive, so why not in Morocco? She asked me, because it was the only way she could see Tony.”

“Damn Tony,” said Dane, unforgivably, and he swung open the door and went out.

But Pierre was not affronted; he was concerned and puzzled. Always, during their association, Dane had been friendly, if sometimes abrupt. Never had he looked as he had a moment ago, pale with anger
...
and something else. Assuredly, the imperturbable and masterful Dane was involved in something catastrophic. Being a Frenchman, Pierre drew but one conclusion.

Dane, meanwhile, had stalked out to the blue and silver car and got back into his seat. He seemed to have been driving and trying to hang on to his temper all day, but now he let go, started the car and swung it out on to the esplanade, accelerated up to a cool sixty, even within the city limits. And naturally, it was not long before he left Shiran behind him. There was little traffic on the road, and that little consisted chiefly of donkey carts and an occasional small military car heading for the lights of Shiran. He would know Pierre’s car a mile away by its gargantuan headlights. Pierre maintained that the bigger the beams, the more likely it was that other cars would be well out of his way before he reached them. He could be right.

Dane’s right foot went down hard, the car touched eighty, eighty-five. It held the road at that speed for twenty minutes and then, fortunately, the surface undulated for a stretch and he had to lose speed; otherwise he would have shot past the car on the verge without noticing that it' was Pierre’s. But he did notice; he braked and reversed, slipped out to examine the vehicle. The lights were off but the bonnet was still warm; on the front seat lay a white straw hat that he recognized. Dane slammed the car door, stood back and looked about him. Wild thicket and olive trees beyond; certainly no place for a girl to explore alone. She had taken the car keys with her ... or maybe—a sweat dewed his temples
—
she had been stopped by someone. Not that highway violence of any kind had ever been heard of in these parts, but there always had to be a first time.

He sounded the klaxon of his own car, waited a minute and did it again. No response of any kind. But wasn’t there a small light bobbing away among the trees? He made for it along a narrow, thorn-strewn footpath, came face to face with a small brown man in a soiled djellabah who carried something in each hand, as well as the torch.

Dane spoke at once in French. “Have you seen a white mademoiselle?”

The bewildered peasant stared up at the big Englishman. “Yes, monsieur. She is at the house of the olive farmer.”

“Unhurt?”

“Yes, monsieur. The car had no petrol—it stopped just there on the road. Monsieur will see that I carry two cans of petrol.”

Dane muttered automatic thanks, patted his shoulder and got into his own car. He drove slowly, looking for the turn, took it and saw the small farmhouse in the distance. She had walked this, he thought grimly, walked it in the darkness. But how had she known a house existed among the trees? It wasn’t visible from the road.

By the time he reached the cottage the burning anger and anxiety had become transmuted into something less easily definable. He stood on the path, was on the point of taking the last pace to the door when he paused, to look into the simple room illuminated by a paraffin lamp. The swarthy little farmer was in there, nodding and waving his pipe as he talked. Sally sat in a wooden rocking chair, drinking something from a large mug, and right next to her, with his elbows on the table, lounged Tony de Chalain. Taut as steel, Dane gave one terrific thud on the door and flung it open.

For an endless moment the three inside the room stared at him as he stood there, big, lean and almost threatening, in the doorway. Then, very carefully, Sally put her cup on the table and Tony stood up.

“Hi, Dane,” he said awkwardly, and with a weak attempt at flippancy. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, fancy.” Dane sounded as if he could hardly trust himself to say more, but he went on, “I understand you ran out of petrol.”

“Yes, that’s right. I was going to see Sally on her way from here and hang about till I could hitch a ride back towards the plantation.”

“You needn’t hang about,” Dane said curtly. “Use your father’s car, and come up to Shiran in it at the weekend. I’ll take Sally.” He turned to the olive farmer. “Very many thanks for all you have done, monsieur. I’ll see that you’re paid.”

“But it was nothing, Monsieur Ryland. I was happy to be of assistance.”

“We’re very grateful.”

Without another word he got Sally outside, took her arm and marched her to the car. They were on their way within a minute, Sally having uttered no word since his sudden arrival. Dane didn’t look at Pierre’s car as they shot past it, and Sally didn’t dare to mention her hat.

At last she did say, “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Monsieur de Chalain told someone to fill the tank, but they could only have put in a few gallons. If Tony hadn’t looked at the indicator, I’d have been stranded on my own. When he saw how low the fuel was, he wouldn’t let me go alone. We actually made for the olive farmer’s place, but the petrol ran out about a mile off.”

“Leave it,” he said brusquely.

“You can’t blame anyone.”

“I’m not blaming anyone.”

“Back at the cottage you looked as if you thought Tony was at fault. He wasn’t.”

“All right, you’ve put Tony in the clear. Now be quiet!”

And she was. In any case, you can’t argue with a man while he’s driving like a maniac. They swept down into Shiran, pulled up in the courtyard of the Hotel Mirador. Dane was opening her door before Sally had realized they had arrived, and the next moment he was propelling her through the vestibule and into the lift. Oddly, she wasn’t a bit surprised to be pushed along the corridor and into his sitting room. He was in a mood to do almost anything.

Luckily the telephone rang and gave her a minute’s respite. It was Pierre, apparently; he must have seen them come in.

Dane said, “Yes, it’s all right—tell you about it later. Tony has your car till the weekend, by the way. No, nothing’s wrong with it. Right.” He rang off, picked up the phone again and ordered drinks.

Then he took off his jacket and tossed it on to a chair, turned about and stared at Sally. She withstood the scrutiny for what seemed a long time, then looked away.

“Do you mind if I go now?” she asked politely.

“I’ve a few things to say to you. Take a seat.”

Sally remained standing. “I suppose Monsieur de Chalain told you I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. I was going to let you know myself this evening.”

“That would have been nice—to have you actually coming along to give me the news. Or were you going to write me a little note?”

Sally didn’t answer that; the sarcastic remark was too perceptive. “My work here is finished. It was obvious I’d be leaving soon.”

“But I brought you here, and it was up to me to book your passage home. You were due to remain here at least until Mike goes.”

“There was no reason for it, and I didn’t want to.
”

“
Not even to be near Tony for a bit longer? I seem to recall that when I asked you if you were yearning for him you said that when you began to yearn you’d go down and see him.”

“Oh, stop it, Dane.” For the first time her voice shook. “I went to the plantation to say goodbye.”

“It took you a long time.”

“I stayed because I liked it there! Tony was restful, which is more than you can say about anyone here. Even Pierre is often infected with the Hotel Mirador unrest.
”

“
And you can’t wait to leave Morocco!”

Sally lifted a hand. “I don’t belong
here, as you seem to. I ... I k
now you’re feeling pretty terrible, and I also know th
a
t I’m half responsible for it
...”

“Half!” h
e
ejaculated unpleasantly. “You’re the whole works, honey.”

“That’s not fair. It was through me that Lucette came here, but the rest was up to you. If anyone had suggested that you’d fall in love with her and get hurt I’d have thought it the joke of the year, but
...”

“And it would have been. Lucette is a charming idiot and as unstable as they come. To me, until that last day, she was just that—an attractive little joke.”

“I don’t believe it,” Sally said flatly. “You’ve behaved like a humorless bear since she left.”

“I’ve felt far worse than that,” he returned forcibly. “How could you lend yourself to that plan of Mike’s? I know you did nothing to further it—you’re not capable of that—but you knew what was going to happen to Lucette, your own friend! You let her lounge there on the terrace waiting for a disaster of which she had no inkling. Even if you knew only a little, you should have warned her.”

“But I knew nothing!” Sally retorted. “I was as much taken by surprise as she was. I didn’t speak because I was afraid of worsening matters. How dare you
think
I’d harm Lucette! You
...
you
...”

“Hold on!”

She turned furiously away as the steward brought the tray of drinks into the room. Dane waved him away and began pouring, but the moment the door had closed he set down the bottle and turned to her.

“Lucette had a word with me while her husband was attending to the luggage at the airport. She said you practically admitted knowing what Mike and
Cécile
were up to.”

“I knew nothing whatever. Why should she say that?
”

“
God knows,” he said savagely, and took a turn about the room. “Unless
...
well, unless she was afraid I had too good an opinion of you.”

Sally’s mouth was dry. “Lucette doesn’t think of me like that.”

Dane’s manner had changed a little. “You really hadn’t any notion at all of what Mike was planning?”

“None.”

“Well,” with an angry sigh, “that’s a relief, anyway. It was a comparatively small thing, but it was there, a little wound that kept getting rubbed. I didn’t want to believe it, but I didn’t see that Lucette had anything to gain by lying.”

“She was hurt and humiliated—and I wasn’t as sympathetic as I should have been. I suppose I was too shocked at the way she had treated the man she married.” She paused, bit at the inside of her lip. “Then you didn’t
...
really care for Lucette?”

“Heavens, no,” he said impatiently. “She was gay, and at the end I must admit I felt sorry for her. Her husband seems a good chap, but he’ll be stern with her from now on. She needs it.”

By now, Sally was a little dazed and worn. “Do you think we might have that drink?”

He gave her a glass containing a spot of gin, topped it with orange and ice and then poured whisky for himself. He lifted his glass and said, “To honesty. I can use some from you right now.” And he tossed off half the drink.

She sipped gratefully, and knew that the tiny proportion of gin could not possibly be responsible for the cautious little glow within. She had been wrong about his feeling for Lucette. Was it possible
...
?

He asked bluntly, his eyes watchful, “Had you said goodbye to Tony before I arrived?”

“No. No, I hadn’t.”

“No kisses at the plantation?”

“Not one. Tony and I aren’t that way about each other. I wish there were some way of convincing you.
”

“
There is,” he said tersely.

“Is there?”

“You could tell me there was someone else.”

A silence throbbed between them. Sally’s glass was taken from her fingers and she looked up quickly into the lean clever face gone dark with some emotion, into eyes in which the banked-down fires had suddenly flamed. She felt the flexible strength of his fingers upon her upper arms. The dark cloud of torment in her own eyes cleared magically and her breath caught in her throat.

“For Pete’s sake,” he said thickly. “Don’t look at me so meltingly unless you mean it. I’ve stood enough agony from you, young Sally.”

She whispered, “What did you mean—someone else?
”

“Do I have to translate it into words of one syllable? Can’t you
...
feel it?”

She did, then. Felt it tingling through his fingertips, surging up from her own heart. Trembling, she pressed her face against him and clung, and for a long time there were just his hands, moving and gripping over her back, and the leaping responses of her own nerves. Then he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, and she was filled with a painful rapture as his mouth came down to meet hers.