Free Oriental Hotel by Janet Tanner

soft red pile. In front of her door she stopped, fumbling in the crocodile bag and extracting her room key.
    A slight, unidentifiable sound made her hesitate suddenly and she stood with the key in her hand, listening. Someone in her room? No, the room boys would have long since finished the daily chores of cleaning, tidying and laying out fresh towels and soap, and it was much too early for them to be turning down the beds.
    Dismissing the foolish thought, she inserted the key in the lock and turned it. Then, as she pushed the door open, a startled gasp escaped her.
    There was someone inside and it was not a room boy.
    Sprawled in the rattan chair in front of the window, with a cigarette between his fingers and a glass of amber liquid at his elbow, was a man – someone she had never seen in her life before.
    As she stood in the doorway, frozen by surprise, he looked up and the light from the window showed the planes and angles of a strong-boned face beneath a quiff of thick, dark hair. It was a dangerous face, she thought in that first startled moment, a face to be reckoned with; hazel eyes glinted coolly and the mouth could be cruel … or sensual. He got to his feet and she noticed with a further stab of surprise that his lean, muscular body was clothed in the uniform of a British RAF officer.
    Speechless, her hands tightened on the cool crocodile skin of her bag and as he surveyed her, the man’s eyebrows lifted fractionally.
    â€˜Well, well, I wasn’t expecting visitors,’ he said conversationally. ‘But now that you’re here, do come in.’
    With a tremendous effort Elise recovered herself. ‘ What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
    The man lifted his cigarette to draw in smoke, looking at her through half-closed eyes. He had neither expected nor wanted any interruptions this afternoon, but this young woman was beautiful enough to warrant a second glance, however unexpected her arrival. The dull gold glint of her hair was like sunshine on a dark day and the way she lifted her chin, looking at him with angry defiance, made his own mouth twist upwards for no reason he could identify. As for the way she was dressed, it was a long time since he had seen a woman wearing designer fashion such as her dress of blue silk, and her crocodile shoes and bag had plainly not been purchased in shortage-racked England.
    But why should they have been? he asked himself. This was not England, it was Cairo. After months of seeing women either in uniform or doing the best they could on clothing coupons, he was once more among the wealthy, untouched by the war that was tearing down civilisations. From blackouts and ration books and bombs that killed indiscriminately he was back in relative peace; from mess rooms and aerodrome hangers he was once more surrounded by the untouched luxury which the great Oriental hotels could provide.
    His mouth twisted again; this time it was not a smile but a grimace and the young woman in the doorway made a small, impatient movement of her head.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ she asked again.
    He took the cigarette from his mouth, holding it with a slight awkwardness that she failed to notice.
    â€˜I could very well ask you the same question.’
    â€˜But you’re in my room!’ she said sharply.
    He half turned away, flicking ash into the heavy cut-glass ashtray.
    â€˜On the contrary. You are in my room.’
    â€˜It can’t be your room. I just opened the door with my own key!’
    Her voice was sharp, all the tensions of the afternoon exploding inside her at the sight of this intruder who dared sit calmly in her room when all she wanted to do was take off her shoes, throw herself full length on the bed and sob out her despair.
    â€˜And what’s more,’ she added angrily, ‘I should be very grateful if you would put out that cigarette. I don’t want all my clothes to smell of smoke.’
    His lips tightened a fraction but