Free Dorothy Eden by Deadly Travellers

bedroom at the hotel waiting for the telephone to ring. At this very moment, she thought, Lucian was standing somewhere, impatiently dialling the number and waiting for her to answer.
    She tried, with exactitude, to recount to Johnnie the events of the journey from Rome, but her story strayed a little, and he had to keep bringing her back to the point.
    “You say no one believed you had a child with you. Not even this man who helped you?”
    “Lucian? But he had never seen Francesca and I hadn’t talked about her. One doesn’t relate all one’s affairs to a stranger over dinner.”
    Johnnie’s hand, square and soft, rested momentarily on hers.
    “I wish you’d break that rule, Kate.”
    She looked at his face which was now very close to hers. It was too large and too red, and all its expression seemed to be in its lips. She couldn’t take her eyes off those waiting lips.
    Suddenly she wondered overwhelmingly why she was here, in this fusty place, its atmosphere of doom only veneered with gaiety. Why had she come? Why had she not gone to the opera, or just had a respectable early night?
    It had been because Johnnie was kind, and because he worked for Mrs. Dix, which somehow made them seem to be old friends.
    She made herself smile and speak lightly. “Then tell me about yourself. You have a wife and children?”
    “Not me. I’m a rover. I don’t like shackles. Well—depending on how decorative the shackles are. Do you know, you’re very attractive. How did Mrs. Dix come to let you travel alone? Normally she’s much more cautious.”
    “I’m competent, usually.”
    “I’m sure you are.”
    “How long have you been working with Mrs. Dix?” Kate asked.
    “Five, six years. I was a schoolmaster originally, but that got too dull. I’ve done these odd tutoring jobs. I took an American brat, pots of money, around the world. Once I was secretary to an oil magnate, but we didn’t hit it off very well. Still, this way one gets around.”
    The man with the wax-like face was singing again, accompanied vigorously at the piano by the lady in the mauve dress. Kate pressed her hands to her eyes and longed for fresh air. It was only eleven o’clock. Would Johnnie be hurt if she suggested leaving so early? Later, one imagined, it would be impossible to breathe in here. More people were coming down the narrow stairs, and being seated in dusky corners. Madame, large and overpowering, in her sweeping black velvet, appeared to sing “Alouetta.” She was rolling her large eyes at Johnnie and he was appreciatively applauding. Kate wished she hadn’t drunk so much wine. How much? Not more than two glasses. How idiotic to get so fuzzy-headed on that. She waved away the waiter who would have refilled her glass, and leaned back in her chair. Madame’s voice, rich and deep, seemed to fill her head. It made it swell, made her vision a little imperfect so that the lights seemed to flicker, and Johnnie’s face, nodding in time to the music, seemed far away.
    “Kate”—his voice was far away, too—“are you all right?”
    “I’m rather tired,” she said. “I wonder if you’d mind—”
    But she never finished her plea to leave, for at that moment, without warning, all the lights went out.
    There was instantly a storm of voices and cries. A girl began to giggle irrepressibly. People blundered about. Madame’s voice, domineering and calm, sounded above everything.
    “You will please sit still. A little accident in the fusebox—in one moment it will be fixed.”
    “Kate, are you all right?” came Johnnie’s voice very close to her ear, and he felt for her hand.
    Someone began striking matches, and faces appeared phantasmagorically and disappeared. They might have been the faces of the long-ago doomed, flung in here to rot slowly. Johnnie’s hand, holding hers so firmly, might have been that of a despairing fellow-prisoner. Madame suddenly appeared carrying a branched candlestick with the candles alight, and her face,