Oriental Hotel (10 page)

‘Ma chère!' She inclined her head, indicating that she expected Elise to kiss her cheek. ‘You were not long in coming.'

‘Five minutes later and I would have been in the bath', Elise confessed.

The Comtesse's blue eyes ran swiftly over the younger woman's face; she looked tired and drawn, Francoise thought.

‘You have had another fruitless day? Ah yes, I can see it is so, but at last, ma chère, your friend has some help to give you! Sit down and I will tell you all about it. That is better. Now, today has come to Shepheard's someone who I think could assist you in obtaining your passage back to Hong Kong.'

Elise was suddenly very still; hope was flaring in her and its intensity seemed to rob her of the power to move or speak.

The Comtesse smiled, her long scarlet fingernails touching the black lace ruffles at her throat.

‘I thought that would please you. Now, I do not know this man personally, but my family has business connections with his. Our vineyard, you know, has made us many strange bedfellows. It would be so easy for me to make the introductions if you wish.'

‘Oh, Comtesse!' The hope was becoming a surge of joy; already in imagination she was on her way, ‘That would be marvellous!'

‘
Bien
! I will do what is necessary. I think perhaps a dinner invitation; we can then broach the subject as if it has only just occurred to us. Just a little subtle persuasion and …'

‘Who is this man?' Elise asked casually.

The Comtesse was looking about for a boy to pour more tea.

‘Who? … Oh, his name is Brittain … you may know …'

‘Brittain.' The name was a bombshell; Elise's heart sank as mounting elation was succeeded by shock and then by an overwhelming surge of disappointment.

‘Ah, you know him! Bien.'

‘I met him just a short time ago. In fact I have been turned out of my suite for him,' Elise said harshly.

The Comtesse's blue eyes widened. ‘Really? Then he will owe you a favour, will he not?'

‘No!' Her tone was a sharp whipcrack; such disappointment coming on top of the frustrations of the day was just too much. ‘I don't want any favours from him.'

‘But ma chère …' The Comtesse's eyebrows arched in bewilderment. ‘You cannot afford to feel so just because of a room …'

‘It's not just because of a room. We have had dealings with the Brittains in Hong Kong – at closer range than you. It would stick in my throat to ask him a favour and Gordon would never forgive me.'

‘Oh, Elise!' The Comtesse spread her hands expressively. A boy had materialised to pour more tea; she waited until he had gone before continuing. It does not always pay to be too proud, my foolish child. I do not know why you dislike the Brittains so, but surely it cannot be so bad? All these weeks and you tell me nothing matters but to get back to Hong Kong to your son, now when the chance comes …'

‘I don't suppose for one moment that he can do anything,' Elise said sharply, ‘ and if he could he would not. If he's a typical Brittain – and from what I have seen of him so far that is certainly so – he would take a delight in letting me grovel and then refusing. I cannot do that, Comtesse!'

The piercing blue eyes narrowed. ‘Not even for the little one?'

The words went home. All the despair and disappointment showed for a moment in Elise's face, then she shook her head. ‘ It wouldn't do any good.'

‘Ah, my child, my child, you disappoint me. But you will still think about this? I know you will.'

‘No!'

‘In that case,' the Comtesse sighed and made to rise, ‘I will leave you to finish the tea, Elise. It is time for me to rest a little. Shall I see you at dinner?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Bien! Till tonight, then.'

Her slender wrist bearing down heavily on her silver-topped cane, the Comtesse left the lounge; from where she was sitting, Elise was unable to see the faint but unmistakable half smile on the Frenchwoman's face.

Elise was about to leave her suite to go down for dinner when the telephone shrilled.

She put down her small sequinned evening bag and crossed to answer it. For the last three hours she had been waiting for the call, now – just at the very moment when she was on the point of doing something else – it came through!

‘Hello?'

‘Hello – Elise? Is that you?' His very English voice was totally familiar in spite of the crackling wires and it raised waves of homesickness in her besides conjuring up an image of him in her mind – his dapper frame immaculate in white ducks, his fair-skinned face giving the impression of paleness except for the pinkish patches at the temple where the sandy hair had receded sufficiently to allow the sun to catch.

‘Gordon!'

‘Are you there, Elise? I can hardly hear you.'

‘Yes, I'm here.' She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. ‘ It's a bad line, but I suppose we were lucky to get one at all. I have been trying to ring …'

‘Have you had any luck with the passage?' he interrupted her. ‘We're doing all we can this end. We had another Protest Meeting last night and we are going to lobby the Governor. It's time he threw his weight behind us. We have already been promised the support of at least some of the Executive Council: Hugh de Gama …'

Irrationally Elise felt a twist of resentment. Hugh de Gama, a clever and plausible Portuguese who was a nominated ex-officio member of the Executive Council which was consulted by the Governor on all important administrative matters, was Gordon's best friend in Hong Kong. But for some reason she could not have explained, she did not like him. Now she said rather snappishly, ‘What's it got to do with Hugh? He's not a husband, is he?'

She could almost feel Gordon bristle. ‘I should have thought you would have been pleased to know he's on our side. Hugh's influence counts for a great deal.'

‘I know.' Elise did not want to waste precious minutes discussing Hugh de Gama. ‘ How are things there? How is Alex?'

There was a slight but discernible pause; before she could have reasonably known, her instincts had interpreted it for her.

‘What is it?' she asked quickly. ‘Is he ill?'

‘Now don't get into a panic, Elise.' The calm reasonableness of Gordon's tone annoyed her. ‘ It may be nothing.'

‘What may be nothing?'

‘He's not been well the last day or two. I've had Cromer in to look at him; he thinks in all probability it's a mild virus infection.'

‘What sort of infection?'

‘He couldn't identify it. Now you're not to worry, Elise.'

Not to worry! Her child was sick and she was hundreds of miles away and he told her not to worry!

‘What are his symptoms?'

‘High temperature – sickness – headache; it could be anything really; we shall have to wait and see what develops, Cromer said.'

She was holding tightly to the receiver and her knuckles had gone white. ‘It could be anything.' Typhoid, cholera, malaria even, the list in the East was endless.

‘Elise, are you still there?'

‘Yes. Gordon, why didn't you let me know at once?'

‘Because there is really nothing to tell and in any case it will probably turn out to be something trivial – just a bug. By tomorrow I expect he'll be fine. You know what children are.'

Oh yes, she knew! Pathetic as a stray kitten at one moment: lifeless, pale, whimpering. Then bouncing back, playing twice as noisily as before, eating twice as much, a complete turnaround recovery. But she also knew how a sick child needed his mother. All too clearly she remembered when he had had measles. Night after night when he was getting sick he had been unable to sleep and she had woken to hear him grizzling, his nose stuffy and blocked, not knowing what was the matter with himself. She had sat up with him then, comforting him, singing softly to him until at last he fell asleep for a little while; and had made sure she was there when he woke up again, perhaps less than an hour later. When the illness was at its height she had been on hand to sponge him down when his temperature soared, tempt him with drinks of barley water and generally fuss him better.

Would Su Ming do all that? She was a good amah, but she was not his mother.

I should be there! Elise thought. Even if he's not seriously ill, I should be there.

‘Gordon, you will ring me tomorrow, won't you? Let me know how he is, and what Dr Cromer says?'

‘I'll do my best, but you know how difficult it's getting to use these international lines.'

She closed her eyes, sick with helplessness,

‘But you will try?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘And so will I. Oh, Gordon, will you make sure Su Ming lets Alex have his cuddly toy if he's not feeling well? She thinks it's a grubby thing and that he's too old for it, but it does comfort him so. And …'

‘Time is up, caller!'

‘Can't we have a little longer?' she asked in panic.

‘Sorry. The lines are booked.'

‘Gordon …' she was almost sobbing.

‘I'll try to get you tomorrow Elise. Goodnight, now.'

The line went dead and she stood for a moment with her hands pressed to her face. ‘Why hadn't Dr Cromer been able to diagnose what was wrong? And why hadn't Gordon got in touch with her immediately? Was it as he had said, that there really was no cause for concern? Or was it just the opposite – that Alex was so ill he shrank from telling her?

The panic was a blackness inside her which she fought to control, but she was still shaking as she retrieved her bag and left the room to go down to dinner.

The call had made her late and she knew the Comtesse would be growing impatient. Elise, never the best of timekeepers, had called forth a sharp remark from her on several occasions, for the old Frenchwoman did not like being kept waiting.

If she says anything tonight I shall explode, Elise thought. She may be exiled, but she doesn't really know what it's like to be in my position. Her children are all grown-up and her grand-children have their own mothers to look after them; if she says two words to me, I shall tell her just that!

In the dining room dinner was in full swing. Waiters glided soundlessly between tables set with heavy silver, crystal glasses and snowy white napery, and the discreet rattle of cutlery and murmur of conversation was masked by a trio playing softly on a dais behind potted palms.

The Comtesse's regular table was hidden from the door by a screen of ferns and a six-foot-high arrangement of fresh flowers, but through it Elise caught a glimpse of jet-black lace. The head waiter approached, inclining his head deferentially, and she followed him across the room.

As she passed the concealing screen she stopped, tensing in shock and annoyance. For the Comtesse du Pare was not alone. Sitting opposite her was a tall, lean man in RAF uniform – the same man for whom she had been turned unceremoniously out of her room – Gerald Brittain.

‘Ah, Elise, ma chère …' The Comtesse looked up and saw her. ‘You are here at last then. I am so glad, because tonight we two ladies do not have to dine alone. I have invited a friend to join us – well, I can say an old friend, can I not, when our two families have done business for so many years?' She smiled expansively in Brittain's direction, but Elise caught the gleam of triumph in the blue eyes and her smouldering emotions fanned to an explosion of fury.

This time the Comtesse had gone too far in her manipulating. Even before hearing the news of Alex's illness which had added to her worries, she would not have been pleased to find herself in the position of having to make polite conversation with one of the Brittains of Cormorant throughout dinner. Now, upset as she was, the prospect was intolerable.

She drew herself up. ‘ I'm sorry. You will have to excuse me tonight.'

‘But Elise, why? What is wrong?'

‘I'm not hungry.'

‘But that is not possible! My child, I cannot believe …'

‘Please don't make me give you the real reason. I don't wish to be impolite to your guest.' She glared at him and was repaid with an amused look from the cool hazel eyes.

‘Mrs Sanderson, I believe.' The simple acknowledgement spoke volumes. ‘We do seem to meet under the most unfortunate circumstances.'

Her chin lifted. ‘ That's hardly my fault,' she flared, ‘but you may depend upon it that I will do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again.'

She turned abruptly, honey-coloured hair bouncing against the high collar of the scarlet brocade Chinese jacket she was wearing over her simple black gown, and without a backward glance she swept out of the dining room. She strode through the foyer with head held high, clutching her sequinned bag as if she would like to club someone with it. A boy held open the door for her, his dusky face puzzled and anxious, but she did not acknowledge him; she was too furious to speak – and certain that if she tried, the torrent of tears inside her would escape.

How dare the Comtesse place her in such a position? She had made it clear how she felt about the Brittains of Cormorant, who took a delight in seeing others grovel and found amusement in their discomfort.

Her high heels clattered on the steps of Shepheard's and as the warm air touched her flushed cheeks the bubble within her burst.

It was hopeless, hopeless! The tears aching behind her eyes spilled over, running down her cheeks, as her feet carried her blindly along the broad boulevard that ran parallel with the banks of the Nile.

Soldiers passing her turned to whistle or to stare – a woman alone in the streets of Cairo after dark was cause for comment – but she did not notice them.

What
can
I do? she was thinking as her breath came more unevenly, punctuated by small almost soundless sobs.

Hong Kong was in danger of invasion by the Japanese, Alex was ill – perhaps seriously – and she could not get to him. Nobody could help, nobody cared a damn!