Free The Sword of Fate by Dennis Wheatley Page A

natural for her to accept such a situation and be perfectly prepared to go through with it. But she was not in love with her fiancé at all, and the inference was that she was in love with me.
    “If—if you don’t love him,” I stammered, “do you—could you …?”
    She began to shake her head violently. “I didn’t ask you to come and make love to me, but you did and I liked you. Then you made me utterly miserable, going away like that. I hate you! I hate you!”
    It was only with the exercise of the strongest control that I was able to refrain from seizing Daphnis and crushing her to me, flower-tray and all, but even in the semi-darkness of the marquee I dared not risk so much as to touch her hand unless it appeared as though it were done by accident, since people were constantly passing. The fact that she had been miserable on my account showed that she
did
love me and the happiness of knowing that was so great that, for a moment or two, I stood there absolutely tongue-tied. Suddenly she spoke again:
    “You hadn’t even the decency to come riding on the beach next morning so that you could say good-bye to me.”
    The reproach both amazed and shook me. In all those days and nights of going over the affair in my own mind it had never once occurred to me that if, instead of getting tight and sleeping late, I had gone out riding on the last morning of my leave, I could have met Daphnis and have at least obtained from her some sort of explanation about her engagement. Risking that someone who knew her might catch sight of us, I seized one of her hands for a moment and pressed it as I whispered:
    “Daphnis, I’ve behaved like the most utter fool, but I adore you and things are going to be all right from now on.”
    For a moment we gazed deep into each other’s eyes, and from the tenderness in hers I knew that I was forgiven. Paolo was forgotten. The only thing that mattered was that all was well between us. I knew that I must keep my head, though, and play my cards well for both our sakes, so I said:
    “We mustn’t stay here any longer, otherwise your mother will start to wonder what’s become of us. Let’s go out and sell some of your flowers. We can talk again later.”
    Outside in the strong sunshine the gardens of the Palace were beginning to fill rapidly with a colourful throng. Smart European women in bright silks, chiffon and lace, mostly escorted by British Naval, Army and Air Force officers, mingled with no less smartlydressed Alexandrians and Cairenes accompanied by red-fezzed Egyptian officials. As we moved among them, in intervals of selling buttonholes from Daphnis’ tray, I told her how, once I had ascertained that I should be able to get an introduction to her mother through the Wisharts, I had got seven days’ special leave solely in the hope of seeing her again. Then I asked what chance there was now of my being able to break into the closely-guarded family circle.
    She said she thought it would be best if she told her mother now that it was I who had been carried into their house after the accident. As my face had been covered with blood, and I had hardly regained consciousness before being carted off in the ambulance, that was sufficient explanation for our having appeared not to recognise each other at once when introduced that afternoon; and a decent interval having elapsed it would be assumed that I had only turned up again through pure coincidence. After this second apparently chance meeting and now that I was sponsored by the Wisharts she did not think her Mamma’s suspicions would be aroused if I hinted that I had very few friends in Alex and asked permission to call.
    The afternoon passed all too quickly and during it I forced myself not to stick to Daphnis the whole time but to make myself as useful as I could to her mother and the other ladies who were running the stall. The impression I created was evidently satisfactory, as before we parted—after I had hinted that I was rather