Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye Page B

‘that I can’t do that either. You see, there are no other rooms.’
    â€˜Oh yes there are. There was one booked for Ada.’
    â€˜Yes, I know. But they thought I was your wife, and when that receptionist asked you about the “other lady” — meaning your secretary — you said there wasn’t one.’
    â€˜So what?’
    â€˜So I’m afraid they’ve given the other room to someone else.’
    â€˜Then they can dam’ well give you another,’ snapped Lash.
    Dany shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid not. There aren’t any more rooms. Not even mine! A Mr Dowling’s got that. He told them I’d cancelled my passage, and he’d taken it, and could he have my room as well. There isn’t a hole or corner to spare anywhere, though the manager was very kind when I explained that I was only the secretary and not the bride, and he rang up at least eight other hotels. But it seems we’ve chosen a bad time to arrive. There’s some special week on at the moment, and the town is packed out. I said I was sure you wouldn’t mind.’
    Lash looked at her for a long moment, and then he rose and crossed the room, and planted his thumb firmly on the bell.
    â€˜What are you ringing for?’ inquired Dany, a trifle anxiously.
    â€˜Rye,’ said Lash grimly. ‘I intend to get plastered again. And as quickly as possible!’

6
    Dany ate a solitary luncheon in a corner of the cool dining-room, and drank coffee on the hotel verandah with Mr Larry Dowling, whose conversation she found both restful and entertaining. He appeared to be aware that she was feeling worried and distrait, and cheerfully took it upon himself to do all the talking: for which she was profoundly grateful, as it enabled her to relax and enjoy the view, while the necessity for paying some attention to what he was saying prevented her from brooding over her own problems.
    â€˜I must get me a suit of white drill and a panama hat,’ said Larry Dowling. ‘It’s obviously that sort of climate. I suppose you wouldn’t be really kind and come and help me do a bit of shopping would you, Miss — Miss ____ ?’
    â€˜A — Kitchell,’ supplied Dany, almost caught off guard. ‘Yes. I’d like to very much, thank you. I want to see something of Nairobi, and I have to send off a cable.’
    â€˜That’s grand,’ said Larry gratefully. ‘Let’s go.’
    They set out on foot in the bright African sunlight, and found the Telegraph Office without much difficulty. Dany had dispatched a brief affectionate message by deferred cable to Aunt Harriet, reporting her safe arrival (after first making quite sure that it could not be delivered in England before she herself reached Zanzibar) and Larry Dowling had cabled an even briefer one, express, to an address in Soho. After which they had visited several shops, and Mr Dowling had duly acquired a tropical suit, a panama hat and a pair of beach shoes. He had also bought Dany an outsize box of chocolates, as a small return, he explained, for her invaluable assistance. But Dany was becoming uncomfortably aware of pitfalls.
    It was proving no easy matter to talk for any length of time, even to an attractive stranger, without finding oneself mentioning things that belonged to Miss Ashton rather than to Miss Kitchell. And although Larry Dowling had no more than a friendly interest in Miss Kitchell, he was intensely interested in Tyson Frost and anything and everything to do with him, and the indignant Dany found herself being compelled to listen to a candid thumb-nail sketch of her step-father’s career and her mother’s marriages, with a brief reference to herself.
    â€˜I’ve heard that there’s a child somewhere,’ said Larry, strolling beside her. ‘Kept well in the background, it seems. Not Frost’s — hers. But the Lorraine type don’t like being