A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,21
and was as safe as a vestal virgin, especially in my company. I had several friends with Sapphic proclivities, but I never joined them. I always liked to be the prettiest one in the bed, so I stuck solely with men. Of course, Misha had come damned close to beating me on that score. He had had the face of a Renaissance angel. I always suspected that was one of the reasons our marriage had failed.
“You were the smart one,” she told me, staring into the contents of her glass as if she wasn’t entirely sure where the gin had come from. “I should have got it over early. Now it’s too late. Things have probably grown shut. You know, inside,” she wailed, commencing to weep into the bread basket. “And you don’t even feel the sin of it, do you? You don’t even care that it’s so wrong, so criminally wrong.”
She continued to sob. I rose and slid my hands under her arms and hefted her up. For her bulk, she was surprisingly light on her feet. It was almost like handling a child, and she curled into my shoulder as I helped her to her bedroom.
“You’re tight, Dora. No more gin for you.”
She nodded and immediately groaned. “Why does this hotel have spinning rooms?”
“I think it came with the gin, darling.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
I pulled the covers to her chin and turned out the light. “Nighty-night, Dodo.”
“Oh, I’m not sleepy,” she announced before turning over and promptly letting out a howler of a snore.
I returned to the table and pushed the food away. I poured myself another gin and lit another cigarette. After a minute I got up and turned out the light and stepped out onto the private veranda. It was late, and Nairobi had settled into the uneasy sleep of a town that straddles the edge between here and there. I could hear an animal cry in the night, a shriek that unsettled my blood. The moon was waning, but the stars shone high overhead, slanting silver light over the slumbering town. Somewhere nearby a monkey chattered in the trees and a drunk was singing a maudlin song in mournful French. I ground out my cigarette and took in a deep, long breath, drinking in Africa, strange and wonderful Africa. And as the stars winked out, one by one, I took myself off to bed and slept the dreamless sleep of a traveller.
5
The next morning I woke to find Dora creeping around the suite, finishing the packing. She looked like hell and moaned gently from time to time as she folded and organised. The porters brought breakfast and I helped myself to the full English while Do sat nursing a weak cup of coffee, a wet handkerchief tied about her brow.
I shook my head. “Do, I hope you’re not going to be difficult in Africa.”
“Difficult?” Her voice was hollow, as if she were speaking from a great distance.
“You take things too seriously, you always have. You ought to have some fun here, kick up your heels a bit. You’re only young once, you know.”
I dunked a bit of toast into my egg and Dora’s face went green.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I ought to go see about the bags.”
She fled with the handkerchief pressed to her mouth and went down to supervise the loading as I finished up, taking my time with a second cup of tea. I stopped by registration to settle the bill and collect a packed lunch basket. A charming young man in livery trotted out to the curb with the hamper and added it to the mound of baggage piled on the walk. Parked next to it was an absolute heap of a vehicle. It had clearly started life as an ambulance and God only knew what sins it had committed to have fallen so low. It was pocked with rust and scarred with solder marks from where fresh bits of scrap metal had been used to bandage its wounds.
As I watched, the driver jumped out and began to instruct the porters on where to shove the bags and I recognised him instantly. He was wearing exactly the same clothes as the day before, which didn’t surprise me. He had probably slept in them. I stepped up and fixed my brightest smile.
“I didn’t realise you offered chauffeur service,” I said sweetly.
He turned and pushed his hat back a little with his forefinger. “Only one service of many, Miss Drummond.”