Free Shifting Sands by Anthea Fraser Page A

dates. It was after five when they finally checked into their hotel, and, hoping for a few minutes’ relaxation, she lay on the bed and promptly fell asleep.
    To her consternation, it was an hour later when she awoke, and time to prepare for the evening ahead. Standing under the reviving shower, she realized, with a mixture of feelings, that she’d not exchanged one word with Lewis all day.
    It was to be their Farewell Dinner. Everyone gathered in the bar as usual, and several members of the group began exchanging email addresses, though Anna doubted if, once back in their normal routines, they’d bother to get in touch. Lewis was at the far end of the bar, seemingly being talked at by David Lincoln, known for liking the sound of his own voice.
    â€˜A word of warning,’ Wendy murmured, sotto voce. ‘Lewis is in one of his moods. He had a stand-up row in reception, over the delay in his case being brought to his room. I pretended not to be with him!’
    Anna was silent, wondering guiltily if she were responsible for his bad humour.
    â€˜George says he was pretty uncommunicative all day,’ Wendy continued. ‘Trouble is, once a mood gets hold, it can take him days to shake it off. It must make him hell to live with. Fond of him as I am, I do wonder how Myrtle put up with him.’
    â€˜I thought you said it was she who was difficult to live with?’ Anna reminded her, increasingly uneasy.
    Wendy shrugged. ‘Six of one and half a dozen of the other, I suppose. I know for a fact they had the most spectacular rows. Still,’ she added, belatedly realizing she might have spoken out of turn, ‘I’m sure he’ll have mellowed with age!’
    Since this was their last night, all twenty-two of them were seated at one long table, with Edda at its head, and the meal was punctuated by people repeatedly jumping up from their chairs to take photographs. Having escaped from David, Lewis was seated between Anna and Wendy, but his mood did not appear to have lightened, and he made little attempt at conversation. Adopting Wendy’s advice of leaving him to get over it, Anna chatted to Harry Bell on her left and the couple directly opposite.
    Mellowed by pre-dinner drinks and several glasses of wine, her eyes drifted round the table. She’d come to know quite a few of her companions over the last two and a half weeks, and felt a general fondness for them all, coupled with mild regret that she wouldn’t be seeing them again. Even Jean, of the loud voice and decided opinions, had melded into the group, and seemed the happier for it.
    Anna was brought out of her reverie by Lewis’s raised voice. ‘I can’t eat this!’ he was telling the waiter standing behind him. ‘It’s cold, and the vegetables are raw. Take it away and bring me something edible.’
    There was a lull in conversation as heads strained to see what was happening. Anna kept her eyes firmly on her own plate as the unhappy waiter complied, and, a little hesitantly, everyone resumed eating, while Lewis stared at the empty space in front of him. Minutes later, another plate was put before him with a murmured apology.
    However, after trying it, he again pushed it away. ‘That’s no better! Where’s the head waiter?’
    â€˜Please don’t make a scene, Lewis!’ Wendy murmured.
    â€˜Let me handle this,’ he replied curtly. ‘It’s a four-star hotel, for God’s sake. They should know how food ought to be served.’
    The head waiter materialized, soothing words were spoken in an undertone, and within minutes a third plate of food was produced, which, to the relief of everyone, appeared to be satisfactory. Normal service is resumed, Anna thought.
    The meal wore on, and her earlier mellowness merged into a vague sadness, imagining the days ahead, the large, empty house awaiting her, and the ongoing problems with Jonathan and Vicky. No more African sunshine