The House of the Scissors (9 page)

“Where is Sammy?” she demanded.

Lucien’s derisive gaze met hers. “Making his way to us across the lawn,” he said. “If he can ever get past the dogs!”

A brief whistle brought the two dachshunds to heel and a sweating Sammy limped across the coarse grass towards them. “So this is where you’ve got to!” he exclaimed, easing his damp shirt away from his chest. “Come on, come on! We’re all ready for you. You can’t stand gossiping here all day!”

“I’m ready,” Jill declared. “I thought we were waiting for you!”

Sammy rubbed his hands together. “Good, good. They’ve got the lighting fixed up for the evening wear.” His eyes slithered on to Lucien’s face and away again. “I—I thought we’d have Arab in the harem trousers and Jill in the white and silver. Okay?”

Lucien nodded briefly. Arab frowned. “What’s it got to do with him?” she asked deliberately.

Sammy shrugged his plump shoulders. “Am I running this unit yet?” he demanded. “So, if I want to ask advice, what’s that.to you?”

Arab raised her chin. “It’s nothing to do with Mr
.
Manners what I wear!”

Sammy glowered at her. “Isn’t it enough that we have this fine house at our disposal? Do you have to make difficulties for me?”

“Yes, I think I do. This is a professional matter.”

“Then go and get ready!” Sammy ordered her. “What is it with you? Are you thinking to tell me what to do now?”

Arab stood stock still, not quite daring to look at Lucien, but determined to have the matter out in the open once and for all.

“What’s to be done with such a one?” Sammy demanded of the heavens.

Lucien put a hand on Arab’s shoulder, defying her efforts to shake him off. “Why don’t you go and get started?” he suggested politely to Sammy. “Arab and I have something to say to one another.”

Arab watched tearfully as Sammy and Jill walked across the lawn and disappeared into the house. She tried to get free of Lucien’s grasp, but his fingers closed like a vice about her.

“Now,” he said, “what’s all this about?”

“You know what it’s about!” she sniffed. “You’re hurting me!”

He let her go with a suddenness that hurt more than the relentless pressure of his fingers.

“Yes, I know,” he admitted. “I’m not at all sure that you do, though. I don’t customarily disrupt my working day and allow my house to be turned upside down for
anyone.
Do you understand that?”

She nodded meekly, not daring to say anything at all.

“Nor would I have allowed it this time if it hadn’t been for one thing. I don’t know how or why, but Hilary is more fond of you than she is of any other female except her mother, so there must be more to you than is immediately apparent! And I don’t like to see innocent young women of my acquaintance being pawed by men like Sammy Silk!”

Arab could have laughed, but something in Lucien’s expression prevented her. Instead she allowed herself a small, tight smile.

“Sammy is like—like a father to me!” she claimed wildly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I ridiculous? If there’s anything ridiculous about this conversation, it’s you!” she stormed on.

“Very likely!” Lucien agreed grimly.

“Well then—?” She stole a glance at his angry face and realised bitterly that she was a little afraid of him. “L-Lucien, he doesn’t paw me!”

“My dear girl, when you were being photographed in that atrocious grey dress, he couldn’t keep his hands off you!”

“But—” she began. She licked her lips and began again. “But—”

“Yes?” he prompted her.

“It wasn’t like that!” she insisted, but even as she formed the words, a small doubt came into the back of her mind. Perhaps it had been like that. Perhaps that was what Jill had been getting at, not only when she had warned her to be on her guard with Jacques, but when she had said that Lucien might have been the big fish who had got away, but all the others were rising to the bait! “I think that’s horrible!” she said out loud.

His eyes quizzed her. “It would be worse if you had no effect at all on the males of your acquaintance!”

“Would it?” Arab said dolefully.

“When you’ve thought about it,” he drawled, “I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion.”

“I’m not! I didn’t have much of an effect on you!”

“That, little one, is something you’ll never know!” The affectionate amusement in his voice made Arab crosser than ever.
She did know
! She knew exactly! She knew that she had strayed blithely into his life, without a care in the world, and now she would never feel like that again. Now she had to worry about Jacques, and what Sammy was thinking and, worst of all, how she was going to cope with her own knotted emotions every time Lucien came near her.

She made an attempt at a smile. “You told me,” she said. “You thought me a street arab with a certain
gamin
charm. A suitable friend for Hilary!”

His laughter mocked her. “For Hilary, yes. For Sammy, no!”

Arab sighed deeply. “Sammy doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t he? Think again, Arab!”

She remembered how Sammy had almost kissed her in the ruined harem quarters of this very house. But he hadn’t kissed her!

“I thought so!” Lucien remarked, watching the expressions as they flickered across her face, first guilt and then surprise, and finally a valiant dignity that told him more than she knew.

“They’ll be waiting for me,” she said. “Thank you for telling me about Cheng Ho.”

She more than half hoped he would think of something to stop her going, but he never even looked at her. He sat down again in front of his typewriter, his notes beside him, obviously glad to get back to his work.

Arab rubbed her shoulder where he had held her, telling herself that the place still hurt though it no longer did. She wanted to know about Cheng Ho and the people of Malindi who had sent ambassadors as far away as Peking so long ago. But she didn’t dare to interrupt him again, so she turned and went into the house with dragging feet, and began to change languidly into the harem trouser suit, ignoring Sammy’s cries of rage that she was wasting time and that she would have to do better if she wanted to keep her job.

Arab’s evening was spoilt before it had begun. The air-conditioning in her room wasn’t working properly and she took her gold dress in to Jill’s room to change in there. It was only then that she noticed that one of the seams under the arms had begun to come undone and, by the time she had sewn it up, she was already late for dinner and had to hurry to get dressed, which made her hotter than ever.

To her surprise, Jill was already in the dining room when she went to find her, eating at a small table for two with Jean-Pierre.

“I thought Jacques would prefer it,” Jean-Pierre explained with Gallic charm. He pointed to his friend at another table. “He is waiting for you over there. Have a good time, no!”

Arab thought it very unlikely, but she managed a smile, and went over to the other table, wishing that Jill and Lucien hadn’t combined to make her feel so absurdly self-conscious of this likeable young Frenchman.

“A golden goddess!” Jacques greeted her. “How lucky that I have a tribute for such a beautiful lady!”

Arab hesitated, sitting down as quickly as she could opposite him. “I thought we were all going together,” she said.

“We are! But to have you a little time to myself is more romantic,
n
’
est-ce pas
?”

“I don’t feel romantic!” Arab retorted, but he looked so hurt that she immediately regretted her frankness. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Sammy made us work all through the heat of the day and then the air-conditioning in my room went wrong. The heat hasn’t bothered me before, but today I feel
wilted
!”

He smiled, his warm eyes caressing her. “Yet you look so cool and perfect,” he complimented her. “As perfect as my tribute!” He held out a little box to her. “It is a symbol of my devotion!”

She opened the box slowly, relieved to discover that it contained nothing more compromising than the frail bud of a golden rose, still cool from the refrigerator where it had been kept all day.

“May I pin it on?” Jacques asked her, already standing and coming round the table towards her.

She had little choice but to allow him to do so, though she couldn’t help comparing his fumbling movements with Lucien’s firm, cool hands.
Lucien!
He had haunted her thoughts all day and she heartily wished that his ghost would go away and leave her in peace. She smiled warmly up at Jacques, accepting his light kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you, Jacques. I’m sorry I took my bad temper out on you. I won’t any more. In fact, I think I’m going to really
enjoy
every moment of this evening!”

He bent his head and kissed her other cheek in the Gallic manner. “So shall I,
ma belle
, so shall I!”

Arab opened her eyes wide and she chuckled.
“
You are the first person ever to call me beautiful!” she told him, dismissing the compliment as an enjoyable quirk. “I shan’t be able to believe anything you say!”

“But you are beautiful!” he protested. “I find you quite lovely! But, if it annoys you, you can look on it as a pleasant contraction of your name.
Belle
,
bella
,
bellissima!
”

Arab blushed. “But nobody calls me Bella.” She eyed him dreamily across the table, enjoying his mild flirting. How much nicer it was to be called beautiful than a street arab, she thought.

“I shall call you Bella!” Jacques laughed at her. “
Ma belle petite
! Do you mind?”

She blushed again. “No,” she assured him, her voice eager. “I rather like it! It’s pretty!”

Bella, she tried it over to herself. It sounded older and more sophisticated than Arab. She smiled jauntily at Jacques, wondering why she had allowed herself to be suspicious of his motives in asking her to the dance. “This is fun!” she said.

They rejoined Jill and Jean-Pierre for the short walk down the road to the hotel where the dance was being held. The room was already full of people and, despite the open windows and the fans overhead, the heat met them like a blast from a furnace. Most of the people seemed to be Germans holidaying in Malindi on the package tours that are operated so cheaply from there. A few Britons, most of them air-crew benefiting from the cheap rates they could get for their families from the airlines, stood round the edges of the dancing space, their faces red and shiny from the sun and the heat.

Jacques put his arm round Arab and swept her on to the floor, smiling into her eyes. He was a good dancer, a better one than she was, and he made her feel that together they could attempt anything and get away with it.

“Records are not as good as a band, but after a term on the space project, this is good enough for me!” Jacques breathed.

Arab missed her step. “I suppose you get very lonely out—out there?”

“Very lonely!” he grinned. “But now I am busy forgetting all about that! How could I be lonely with you in my arms?”

Arab swallowed. She found that she preferred to look over his shoulder and to do that she had to stand away from him, despite the pressure of his hand in the small of her back.

“What’s the matter, Bella?” he whispered.

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted. She tried to relax against him, but in doing so, the flash of an orange dress caught her eye and she knew, even without looking, that it belonged to Sandra Dark. She was laughing, too, straight into Lucien’s eyes, and he looked as though he were loving every moment of it.

Nothing was the same after that. Arab finished the dance with the now familiar, tight knot of despair in her stomach. When the record came to an end, she tried to look gay and smilingly asked Jacques if she could have something to drink. He went away immediately in search of a long orange squash with buckets of ice in it. Arab pushed her way to the edge of the dancers and sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs that the hotel had provided. She shut her eyes for a moment, closing out the sight of Sandra Dark, who was everything that she was not. When she opened her eyes Lucien was there before her, smiling down at her.

“Don’t you feel well?” he asked her.

“Oh yes!” she assured him. “It’s only the heat.”

“Well enough to dance?”

She couldn’t answer him in words, but the heat and the pressure of the people about her dropped away. She stood up and went straight into Lucien’s arms, forgetting all about Jacques and the promised orange squash. This was a taste of heaven, to be close to him, to love him even if he didn’t love her in return. This was what she had wanted from the beginning of time.
This was Lucien Manners
!

CHAPTER SIX

THE dance came to an end and Arab reluctantly pulled herself free of Lucien’s encircling arms. Despite the heat, she felt cold and forsaken away from his touch and longed to rush headlong back into them no matter what anyone thought of her. Instead she stood, with dreamy eyes, pretending that the tune they had been dancing to, of which she hadn’t heard a single note, was one of her favourites and always had this effect on her.

“They have lots of the latest records, don’t they?” she said, when she couldn’t stand the silence between them any longer.

“They do, but that one was old before you were born!” he answered, the familiar mocking expression back in his eyes.

“Oh,” she muttered. It was funny, but she hadn’t felt at all inadequate all the time they were dancing, but now the tight knot of depression was back with a vengeance and she hadn’t the least idea of what to do next.

“Arab—” Lucien began with an urgency she had never heard before in his voice.

“Yes?” She looked up at him eagerly, hoping that he was going to say something that would destroy her nervousness for ever. But he never had the opportunity, for there was Sandra, her beautifully manicured hand on Lucien’s jade green coat, smiling at them both.

“Duty done, darling?” she asked him.

Lucien took a quick step away from Arab. “A pleasant duty,” he said. He smiled faintly. “Arab dances very well.”

“All her generation does,” Sandra remarked. “I suppose the coming of the shake, or whatever it’s called, has made them less inhibited than we were at that age.”

“Are we that old?” Lucien drawled.

Sandra laughed. She managed to laugh without disturbing any of the contours of her face. Arab watched, fascinated, wondering how long it had taken her to practise laughing like that, and thought cattily that it would probably save her any distressing lines later on.

“We aren’t children any longer,” Sandra reminded him. “I’ve never thought that children and adults should mix in the same world, have you? It’s so unfair on the children. Their heads are easily turned and they think themselves much more important than they really are!” She turned to Arab with a friendly smile. “Present company excepted, of course, I’m sure you are only interested in the delightful French boy who brought you. I have to confess that I drank your orange squash, while you were dancing with Lucien—once it had been suitably pepped up with gin!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arab managed.

Sandra laughed again. “I should hope not! Darling, it was only a drink, even if it had been obtained for you by Jacques. He’ll get you another, if you ask him nicely!”

“Are you thirsty, Arab?” Lucien asked her. “Seeing I deprived you of your drink, perhaps I should be the one to get you another?”

Sandra frowned. Arab knew that the older girl was keeping a tight rein on her temper and wondered what it was that had angered her. “Leave the child alone!” Sandra snapped. “We’ve already interrupted her young idyll with Jacques for quite long enough. Darling, I think you’ve forgotten how much these things matter at that age!”

“Perhaps I have,” Lucien agreed tersely.

Arab longed to cry out, No, you haven’t! Could he really think that she preferred Jacques’ company to his own? She couldn’t allow him to think that! But then sanity returned and she realised that he had already practically forgotten her. His eyes were on Sandra and she was smiling up at him, as she had been when Arab had first seen them. Jacques came up to them, putting his arm round Arab’s shoulders.

“Will you excuse us, sir,” he said to Lucien.

Lucien started. For a brief second his eyes rested on Arab’s flushed face. “Thank you for the dance,” he said.

Arab swallowed. “You haven’t forgotten about Sunday, have you?”

The coldness of his expression hurt her. “I suppose you want me to invite this boy-friend of yours?” he enquired.

She shook her head. “No! He isn’t interested in that sort of thing!”

Something of her anxiety seemed to transmit itself to him, for he smiled suddenly, looking pleased with himself. “Then we’ll keep Sunday to ourselves,” he answered. “Sharing it only with Hilary and Cheng Ho—”

“And the Sultan of Zanzibar!” she agreed.

“Or the old Sultan of Malindi whom Vasco da Gama knew!”

“It sounds too like a schoolroom to me!” Sandra declared. “Come on, Lucien, I want to dance.”

Obediently, he put his arm round her, moving with confidence in among the other dancers. Arab watched them go, trying not to look as down as she felt, but in this she was not very successful. Jacques grunted disgustedly by her side, pulling her on to the floor whether she wanted to go or not.

“I thought you didn’t like the great Lucien Manners?” he accused her. The pressure of his hand on her back became more gentle. “It won’t do you any good,” he went on. “Mademoiselle Dark has him where she wants him. You will have to look elsewhere,
petite
, for your
grand amour.
Perhaps you will look in my direction?”

Arab shook her head. “I don’t think that sort of thing is much in my line,” she told him frankly.

“You think I am offering you an affair, non?”

“
Oui
,” she said.

“Mais non
! Naturally this occurred to me when I first saw that you were pretty and unattached. I was determined that this break away from the space project would be the best I had had! But after we had seen the film together, I knew that this was not the right thing for you. With you, I can be very serious—”

Arab stirred restively in his arms. “Oh no, Jacques, please don’t! I—I like you, you see, but I could never feel anything else.”

“That is because you have not tried! Come, we shall walk back to the hotel along the beach in the moonlight and you will begin to feel the romance of the tropics when you have a handsome man by your side.” He danced on in silence for a few minutes. “The great Lucien is not for you,
petite
.”

“I know that,” Arab said. “As far as he’s concerned I’m a ragamuffin, and the perfect friend for his little niece. Not that he means anything to me, because he doesn’t! He’s far too arrogant and sure of himself for my taste!”

Jacques grinned. “For mine too! Let’s forget all about him and his sultry girl-friend. Let’s concentrate on ourselves and how much we are enjoying ourselves!”

They danced until nearly midnight. The supply of records gave out and the tunes began to repeat themselves. When they played again the song that Arab had danced with Lucien, she felt she had had enough, and pulled herself away from Jacques, begging him once again to fetch her a drink.

“I think it is time I was taking you home,” he said, when she had swallowed down the greater part of her soft drink. “I can lounge the day away tomorrow, but you, I suppose, will have to work again.”

“I would like to go home,” Arab admitted.

“Then you shall,
ma belle
. Do we go by way of the beach?”

Arab nodded without answering. It might even be fun, she thought. The sea would be as black as ink, and the coral sand would be silver in the moonlight, broken only by the occasional palm tree. The lapping of the sea, and the song of the night birds, would be the only sounds. It would indeed be romantic, just as Jacques had promised her. Romantic and sweet, just as it should be at the end of a successful dance.

They walked together down the path to the beach, admiring the fairy lights that had been placed at strategic intervals to light the way. Arab’s gold dress stuck to her ribs and she wished she had had something cooler to wear.

“I’m afraid your rose is dead,” she said sadly.

Jacques put his arm around her, pulling her close. “Perhaps we crushed the poor thing when we were dancing. Don’t mind, Bella. There will be other roses and other nights to wear them.”

“It’s too hot for roses,” she sighed. “It never even had time to come out properly.”

Jacques chuckled. “Then next time I shall give you a passion flower,” he teased her. “Will you accept such a token, my golden goddess?”

Arab tore herself away from him, running ahead of him on to the beach. “I don’t know what a passion flower looks like,” she admitted.

“Exotic!” he murmured mysteriously. “A little like you! Oh, Bella, you go to my head, do you know that?”

“It’s the night Have you ever seen so many stars? I wonder why we see so few in London?”

“Or in Paris. It is the street lights that blot them out But here they are able to take their proper place in the scheme of romance. It is perfect, don’t you think?”

Arab ran farther and faster along the sand. It was quite true that there was a sweet scent on the air that must come from the hotel flowers. Mixed with the ozone of the sea, it was a heady affair, and not one to be played around with. She had been stupid, she thought, to come this way with Jacques. She pressed on as quickly as she could, pausing only to glance over her shoulder and wave him onwards.

Then suddenly he was beside her. His hands came down on her shoulders and he turned her round to face him.

“Is this a race we are running?” he asked, his teeth white in the moonlight.

“N—no. I want to get home—”

“We are going home. But we have been to a dance together,
ma petite
. Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight before you go?”

She should have known it would come to this!
“
But Jacques,” she pleaded, “it’s too hot—”

His arms closed about her, drawing her tightly against him, and his mouth came down on her own. “
C
ome,
ma belle
, give a little! Have you never been asked for a kiss before?”

She gave way to his demands, almost wishing that it did mean something to her, instead of an endless waiting for it to be over. His hands slid up her back, pulling at the tight bodice of her gold dress. There was a ripping noise and she knew that the stitches she had so painfully put into it earlier had given way. With a gesture of annoyance, she pushed him away and examined the damage with her fingers.

“Did you have to be so rough?” she demanded crossly.

“But Bella—” His hands fell to his side. “For you, it was not romantic after all, was it? I did not frighten you?”

“Of course not!” Arab pulled at her dress again. “I’ve only had this dress a few days. You’d think it would hold together for longer than that! It would have done if you hadn’t tried to tear if off my back!”

Jacques stood and stared at her. “You believe,
enfin
—But no, it is incredible!”

Arab had the grace to feel guilty. “No, I don’t think! Only I
liked
this dress because—Oh well, never mind why! And the material has rotted and it won’t hold the stitches!”

Jacques grinned at her tragic face. “I understand perfectly,” he said. “This Lucien admired your dress, and that is a more important event than my kisses,
no?
And to think that I believed you when you told me he was insufferable and not the sort of man you could like!”

Arab strained her eyes in the darkness to see what he was thinking. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s half true!”

“Perhaps it is a little bit true,” he agreed. “It is possible to be afraid of what attracts you.
Mais
, I think there is a little happiness for you there,
ma belle.
He is no boy for you to cut your teeth on! You would be safer with me, even when I tear the dress off your back!” Aware that he was teasing her, she attempted a laugh, but it broke dangerously towards the end and sounded, even to her own ears, more like a sob of despair. “I don’t
like
him!” she insisted.

“No? Are you sure? Are you not a little cross that he does not see you as a woman? Poor little golden goddess! You will need more than a golden dress to compete with Mademoiselle Dark. She is clever, that one! With a few words you are a child in Lucien Manners’ eyes! You would do better with me!”

Arab sighed. “Yes, I think I would,” she said. “But I
can’t
!”

“Then there is nothing more but to take you home to bed!”

The lights were still on in the hotel garden. One or two couples were taking advantage of the warmth of the night to have a last dip in the swimming pool, while an African stood by patiently waiting for them to go to bed. Jacques guided Arab through the bar to the patio beyond.

“Goodnight,” he said very gently. “Take a little stardust to bed with you to make sure there are no nightmares.” He touched her on the nose with his forefinger. “And no worries,
hein
?”

She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. “Thank you, Jacques. Thank you for taking me to the dance, and thank you for understanding.”

He gave her a little push towards the stairs. “
Au revoir, mignonne.
For us both, tomorrow will be another day!”

She nodded gravely, knowing that he would not invite her to anything again. It was a poignant realisation that saddened her. Was it always going to be the same just because she had known Lucien Manners? She wouldn’t believe it! She couldn’t believe it! She took a last look at Jacques’ sober face and ran hastily up the stairs to bed, fighting with her tears as she struggled with the key in the door. The room was as hot as when she had left it and, pulling off her dress as fast as she could, she threw herself on to the bed and wept the tears of the young and the disillusioned.

By the time Sunday came, Arab had talked herself into a mood of quiet despair. She was sure that Sandra was right when she had described Lucien’s dance with her as a matter of duty, just as he had felt it his duty to rescue her from Sammy. If only, she thought, she had not worn those frayed jeans that day when she had gone to Mambrui, he might have gained another impression of her. But what was the use of useless regrets? It would have been worse still if she had never met him and had never heard his stories of the long ago past of the East African coast. That at least she would always have. The story of Cheng Ho would be with her for as long as she lived.