Free The House of the Scissors by Isobel Chace Page B

with anxious fingers.
    “Do I take it that Hilary was trying to remind me that I’m taking you both to Gedi on Sunday?” his deep voice drawled behind her.
    “She—she doesn’t understand that you might have other commitments,” she said defensively.
    He lifted his eyebrows in enquiry. “Have I?”
    “I thought—I mean—It doesn’t matter,” she said finally. “I quite understand.”
    “It’s more than I do,” he taunted her.
    She could have cried with sheer frustration. “You’ll want to have Miss Dark to yourself. You don’t have to invite me, Mr. Manners. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t, because I have other things to do—”
    “Oh?” His voice was bleak and ice cold. “Forgive me, Miss Burnett, but I thought you had already accepted my invitation. Did I misunderstand you?”
    Arab blinked, hoping the tears that threatened to afflict her would go away.
    “But you’d rather take Miss Dark—”
    “Nothing would induce me to take Sandra on a picnic to Gedi,” Lucien assured her brutally. “She would be bored stiff as soon as we hit the dirt track. Sandra believes in being comfortable at all times.”
    Arab blinked again. “Then—then somewhere else?” she suggested.
    Lucien’s hand closed round her elbow and he steered her with deliberation towards her Mini-Moke.
    “Don’t be silly, Arab! Sandra and I are quite capable of making our own arrangements without any help from you. If you want to know, she’s spending the week-end down at Mombasa with some friends. Now, do you want to go to Gedi on Sunday, or not?”
    Arab sniffed and rubbed her face with her free hand. “I think you’re horrid !” she burst out.
    “I daresay,” he returned patiently. “Well, Arab?”
    “Yes ! But only because Hilary would be disappointed if we didn’t go!” She jumped into the Mini-Moke and glared at him. “I can quite well look after myself, Mr. Manners, whatever you think!”
    To her chagrin he only laughed at her. “Perhaps on Sunday I’ll find out!” he threatened and, turning on his heel, he went straight back into the house.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    BUT, before Sunday, there stretched the rest of the week. Arab liked the early mornings best of all. She was woken promptly at seven by the African who cleaned her room, who brought her tea and orange juice and wished her a good day in his country. He told her that he came from up country, but that his wife was one of the local tribeswomen, so he had moved down to the coast. It was very hot, but he liked the work in the hotel. He liked, he said, to watch people enjoy themselves. Arab tried to explain that she was working and not on holiday, but his rather limited English broke down at this point and he hurried off about his duties.
    Breakfast was a feast left over from the best of the Colonial era. Arab felt it gave an importance to the day that she had never achieved by grabbing a cup of coffee on her way out of the room she shared with a girl-friend in London. Here, there was a whole table laid out with a choice of cereals and tropical fruits to which one helped oneself, and this in turn was followed by a choice of bacon and eggs, or sausages, or smoked haddock, toast and marmalade, and coffee or tea. It gave one a sense of well-being that surprised Arab. She had not thought that her creature comforts were particularly important to her, and yet here she was, lapping up the luxury of her surroundings just as though she always ate breakfast in style.
    The only people who were up when Arab had breakfast were the two young Frenchmen.
    “Come dancing tonight with us, Arab?” they begged her. “We’ll ask Jill too, to make it all respectable. You come, out ?”
    “Oui, she agreed. “I’d love to. But they don’t have dancing here, do they?”
    “Not here. At one of the other hotels.”
    Jacques’ warm eyes caressed her. “Will you wear that gold dress for me, little Arab?” he whispered in her ear as he went past her table.
    Arab blushed and