Free Shifting Sands by Anthea Fraser Page B

– it would soon be winter in the UK, with short, cold days and long, cold nights. They seemed to have been away far longer than seventeen days.
    Lewis did at least speak to her as the meal progressed, and she wondered if he regretted his outburst. Probably not, since it seemed he was prone to them. As things stood, she reflected, their relationship – if it could be called such – looked unlikely to survive the next twenty-four hours, degenerating into the mildly derided category of holiday romance. And after Wendy’s revealing comments, perhaps that was just as well.
    Coffee was served, Lewis receiving a complimentary brandy with his, and someone made a short speech, thanking Edda for making the holiday so enjoyable and ending in a toast. In reply, Edda assured them they’d been a wonderful group and reminded them they still had the best part of a day left. Johannesburg being a mere thirty-five miles away, they could have a much-needed lie-in, and the morning was free to look round Pretoria in their own time and do some last-minute shopping. They’d be leaving for Jo’burg after lunch.
    It was time to disperse. Small groups formed for last photographs, and people began to drift away. Leaving Lewis and George talking to the Bells, Anna and Wendy excused themselves and took the lift to their rooms, Anna emerging at the first floor and Wendy going on to the third.
    Anna felt in her bag for her key and, rounding a corner, almost collided with the young couple, Tony and Shelley, locked in an embrace. They seemed oblivious to her, and she hurried on, a lump in her throat. How did the song go? Don’t cry, young lovers, whatever you do, don’t cry because I’m alone. And something about having had a love of one’s own. As she had, she thought, oh, she had! She was overwhelmed by a wave of longing for Miles, for, above all, the reassurance of being loved and wanted.
    Eyes blurred by tears, she let herself into her room, roundly cursing herself for a fool. She’d come away to put her grief into perspective, she reminded herself. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that perspective would include another man.
    Her open case, from which she’d extracted only what was needed for that evening, stood on the luggage rack. She stepped out of her dress, folded it between layers of tissue paper, and laid it on top, adding her evening bag and sandals. The maid had turned down the bed, and her nightdress lay draped across the pillows. She slipped it on and, going over to the dressing table, started to brush her hair. Her last night in Africa, she thought; this time tomorrow, she’d be on the overnight flight, the following one in her own bed at home.
    She went through to the bathroom, her mind busily darting from one subject to another, rather than winding down to the required sleep mode. No doubt the coffee was responsible, since with all that was going on, she’d forgotten to ask for decaffeinated. But it was essential she should sleep, she thought worriedly, because she certainly wouldn’t on the plane home.
    Returning to the bedroom, she drank a glass of the bottled water provided and glanced half-heartedly at her notebook. Since she didn’t feel tired, perhaps she should try to bring it up to date. She was about to pick it up when a tap on the door startled her.
    Wendy? she wondered, in bewilderment. Edda, about a change in the arrangements? But surely not at – she glanced at her bedside clock – twelve thirty? She looked round quickly for her dressing gown, before remembering she’d not bothered to unpack it and it was somewhere in the depths of her case.
    The tap sounded again. A little apprehensively, she walked across the room and looked through the peephole. Lewis’s face, distorted by the glass, swam into view, clogging the breath in her throat. Very slowly she opened the door, registering that he was wearing a silk dressing-gown in dark red.