Dark Moonless Night. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ together into an impassable living mesh that had to be hacked away with machetes. And yet it did happen, and the children were morbidly fascinated by her revelations.

      Downstairs, a wide hall with an enormous revolving fan opened into the various public rooms of the hotel. Flowering, climbing plants rioted over low ornamental trellises, while huge stone urns spilled exotically coloured lilies and flame flowers over the cool, marble-tiled floor. It was obvious that no expense had been spared in making the Hotel Ashenghi as attractive to its guests as was humanly possible in a climate verging constantly on the unbearable.

      As Caroline paused to get her bearings she encountered the eye of a man who appeared to be the head waiter standing in the arched entrance to the restaurant, keeping his waiters under surveillance. He bowed courteously as she approached him, and asked if she required a table. His English was quite good, so Caroline thanked him, and after he had shown them to a table set in a window embrasure, she said:

      ‘Mrs. Lacey—the children’s mother—is not feeling well. She’d like some coffee in her suite, and would it be possible for her to have some toast?’

      The head waiter smiled, his teeth startlingly white in his black face. ‘Of course, madam. I will see to it myself. Now, what would you and these children like to eat?’

      Caroline had coffee, but David and Miranda chose fruit juice, and they all tried the warm rolls spread with conserve. The butter that was provided in a dish of ice cubes wasn’t to their taste and David, with his usual lack of discretion, said in a clear, distinct voice that it was rancid. Of course, it wasn’t, but even Caroline preferred to avoid it. There was a dish of fruit on the table, too—mangoes and bananas, pawpaws and oranges, but Caroline advised the children to wait before trying anything too unfamiliar to their stomachs. All in all, it was an enjoyable meal, the fans set at intervals about the room creating a cooling draught which was most acceptable. Clearly, the air-conditioning kept the temperature down, but the fans helped to disperse the flies.

      Judging by the number of used tables it appeared that by this hour of the morning most of the hotel’s guests had already partaken of breakfast, and Caroline and the children were the last to leave. They were walking towards the lifts when a man who had been talking to the receptionist turned away from the desk and saw them. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, dressed in narrow fitting mud-coloured pants and a cream bush shirt, but what attracted Caroline’s attention was the man’s hair. It was corn-fair, streaked with a lighter shade, as though the sun had bleached it, and it was startling against the dark tan of his skin. She had only known one man with hair like that, one man whose ice-blue eyes could turn to green when he was emotionally aroused, one man who had once asked her to marry him, and she had turned him down because she had youthfully asserted that she didn’t intend to marry a penniless engineer and go and live in some awful, Godforsaken, undeveloped country. How stupid she had been, how careless with the one thing in her life she had ever really wanted …

      The man was standing quite still now staring at her, and she moved uncomfortably under that intent scrutiny. But for a moment she had felt as shocked as he must be at seeing her here. What could he be thinking? What kind of a coincidence did he think this was?

      Realising that it was up to her to make the first overture, she took a few steps towards him and said: ‘Hello, Gareth. This is a surprise, isn’t it?’

      Gareth Morgan seemed to recover admirably quickly from his momentary pause. In fact, he didn’t seem too shocked at all. It was Caroline who could feel the tremor of this encounter rushing through her veins, moistening her palms, sending a rivulet of sweat down her spine. She had not realised until then just how much she had wanted to see him again, and she had the most ridiculous impulse to run to him, to press herself against him, and beg his forgiveness for what happened seven years ago.

      But of course the very fact that it was seven years ago precluded any show of emotion. Seven years was a long time, and a lot had happened—to both of them. Why else had she waited so long before making any attempt to contact him? Even now, facing him, the width of the years stretched between them, made even wider by the cold detachment on his face.

      ‘So you really came, Caroline,’ he remarked at last. ‘I never believed you would.’

      He made no attempt to take the hand that she had tentatively offered, and awkwardly she allowed her arm to drop to her side. She was aware of Miranda’s speculative interest, of David’s curiosity, and gathering all her composure, she said: ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      Gareth looked sceptical. ‘No? Oh, well, never mind.’

      Caroline frowned. ‘Did you know I was coming, then?’

      ‘Know? Of course I knew. I thought that was the general idea. I just can’t imagine why you bothered.’

      Caroline coloured. ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken if you think I supplied advance notice of my arrival——’ she began hotly.

      ‘Am I?’ Gareth’s tone was mocking. ‘Didn’t you expect us to meet?’

      Caroline bent her head to the children. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘There’s a monkey hiding in that tree just outside the window. Why don’t you go and see what it does?’

      David looked at Caroline and then at the tall man standing nearby. ‘You’re just wanting to get rid of us,’ he declared, with his usual candour. ‘Why? Who is this man? Does he work for Daddy?’

      Caroline straightened, her cheeks burning now. This was hardly the way she had envisaged her first meeting with Gareth Morgan. She had thought to surprise him, and if she had hoped for any reaction from him it had not been this mocking derision and scarcely concealed contempt.

      ‘Are these Lacey’s children?’ he asked now, and David said:

      ‘I’m David Lacey, and this is my sister Miranda. Who are you?’

      ‘My name is Gareth Morgan,’ replied Gareth, his expression changing somewhat as he went down on his haunches beside them. ‘I suppose you could call me a friend of your daddy’s.’

      ‘Do you live at La Vache, too?’ asked Miranda.

      Gareth shook his head. ‘No. I live at a place called Nyshasa, but it’s not far from La Vache. I live near the river.’

      David’s eyes were round. ‘Are there crocodiles in the river? My teacher at school said there were crocodiles in Africa.’

      ‘Oh, there are. But they prefer calmer waters than where I live. We do have hippos, though, and they’re quite interesting.’

      ‘How super!’ David was enthralled. ‘Do you think my daddy would take me to see them——’

      ‘And me,’ piped up Miranda, when Caroline interrupted them.

      ‘Not now, children,’ she exclaimed, realising the sharpness of her tone had less to do with them than with the man talking so casually to them. ‘Er—I’m sure Mr. Morgan has more important things to do than waste his valuable time talking to us.’

      Garth straightened, flexing his back muscles, unwillingly drawing Caroline’s eyes to the broadness of his chest. He was leaner than she remembered, but no less attractive because of it. ‘On the contrary,’ he was saying mildly, ‘I came here to meet you and take you back to La Vache.’

      ‘What?’ Caroline gasped, and then quickly tried to hide her astonishment. ‘But—but СКАЧАТЬ