Free The House of the Scissors by Isobel Chace Page A

Mambrui again?” he asked her.
    She swallowed, hoping to disperse the knot in her stomach, but it refused to go. “Hilary said she didn’t think they’d recognise us,” she managed.
    “And did they?” His eyes mocked her, assessing her cotton bell-bottomed trousers with the same frankness with which he had condemned her frayed jeans.
    “No, they didn’t,” Hilary put in. “We had a super afternoon. I wish you’d been with us!”
    “It looks to me as though you’ve got sunburned,” Sandra observed from the sofa. “I hope you don’t smart all night, or you won’t want to go out with—Arab, isn’t it?”
    “Arabella Burnett,” Arab answered quickly, enunciating very clearly.
    Lucien looked amused. “Only her friends are allowed to call her Arab,” he explained to Sandra in a deadpan voice.
    Sandra was prepared to be tolerant. “These silly names that one’s family give one do tend to stick. May I call you Arabella?”
    “If you like,” Arab said.
    Hilary gave her aunt an impatient look and turned back to Lucien. “You tell her!” she commanded him. “She doesn’t believe me that those bowls are Chinese of the late Ming dynasty. But they are, aren’t they?”
    “They are,” Lucien agreed.
    “I told you so!” Hilary gloated. “I knew they were Chinese!”
    “Does it matter?” Sandra asked, looking bored.
    Arab longed to put an end to the conversation, but she couldn’t think of any way of leaving as soon as she had come. She sat down on the arm of one of the leather chairs, her long legs stuck out in front of her.
    “How did they get here?” she asked, pretending an interest in the buckle of her belt that she was far from feeling.
    Lucien’s face lit with a burning enthusiasm that completely obliterated his former mockery. “They came here long before us Europeans,” he said. “There’s a fine description of their ships, or junks, in a poem written by Chin Chhu-Fei, in 1178. One can imagine them coming into these ports and selling their wares, just as they’re trying to do again today. ‘The ships that sail the southern seas and southward are like houses. When their sails are spread they are like great clouds in the sky...’ ”
    Arab’s imagination was caught. “Were they as big as that?”
    “They must have been pretty big,” Lucien answered. “They had a long way to come.”
    “And they brought the porcelain bowls with them?”
    He nodded. “The local people incorporated them into the walls of their houses, probably to keep away evil spirits. They still do in some of the local houses along the coast. Some of the best examples are in Lamu. Lamu bowls, dug out of their ancient houses, are very valuable. One might almost say they’re collectors’ pieces.’
    “Are there any at Gedi?” Hilary asked him, wriggling her body into the limited space between him and Sandra Dark.
    “Not the very best examples,” he answered.
    Arab jumped hastily to her feet before Hilary took it into her head to remind her uncle that he had offered to take them to Gedi the following Sunday.
    “I must go back,” she stammered. “Jill will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
    “She won’t have finished her letter,” Hilary said flatly. She gave another wriggle, forcing her aunt to give way and to shift farther down the sofa. Arab thought that Sandra could sometimes be forgiven for wanting to slap her young niece. With difficulty, she repressed a smile.
    Lucien stood up more slowly, hauling Hilary on to her feet beside him. “Won’t you have something to drink before you go?” he asked.
    Arab shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, thank you.” She swallowed. “Please sit down, I can see myself out.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucien retorted. “You might steal my best Lamu bowl on your way out!”
    Arab started guiltily, bringing on herself another half-mocking smile of amusement from Lucien. She walked ahead of him into the hall, pushing her hair back behind her ears