Danger By The Nile E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 364

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When Romina Huntley hears of her brother's death in Cairo, she is determined to travel there and find out exactly what happened. Not believing his death to be an accident, she embarks on a journey to Egypt with her brother's friend, Merlin Forde. Keen to leave quickly after making a fool of herself with the dangerously handsome Count Alexander Salvekov, her new travelling companion is less than happy to have her tag along. The search for the truth leads them on a dangerous quest from Egypt to Athens and back to Egypt again. Thrown into a global conspiracy, there is another brutal murder, an insidious drug ring and false impersonations, all of which become a part of Romina's life. In this exciting adventure which you won't be able to put down, can Romina survive and find the truth she seeks, and will that truth be the key to everlasting happiness?

Leseprobe

CHAPTER ONE

“No! No! Alex... no!”

The protest was not vehement, and the man, whose lips were very close to Romina’s, smiled a little smile of triumph before he answered,

“Why fight? You love me. I know you do. Stop fighting, Romina, and let us be happy. I will teach you what love really is – glorious, wonderful, overwhelming.”

The deep voice with its faint accent was hypnotic. So was the soft, experienced touch of his hands, and Romina felt herself drifting into a no-man’s land of warmth and feeling. She was too tired to fight any further. It was so much easier to let things take their course – to allow Alex’s voice to soothe her fears and her scruples.

A warm tide was sweeping her along. It seemed to her that his hands were like water rippling over the soft surface of her skin. His mouth no longer burned hers as it had done earlier. Now his lips seemed to linger possessively, sapping her strength and the last remnants of her willpower.

Quite suddenly, there was a clatter, sharp and decisive.

“What was that?”

Alex sat up abruptly, as if his body instinctively reacted to a signal of danger.

Romina raised her head. She was lying on a deep-cushioned, red-velvet sofa by the fire, and looking across the sitting room she saw that the door into the small hall was ajar.

“It must have been the letterbox,” she said faintly.

As she spoke, she somehow thought that she heard soft footsteps. They were running down the long corridor on to which the door of the flat opened. Or was she imagining it?

“The letterbox?” Alex repeated.

Romina looked up at him and realised how tense he was.

“Let me see what it is,” she suggested. He obeyed her without argument, moving off the sofa, and she swung her feet to the ground.

The soft diaphanous dress she had worn to represent a wood nymph was crumpled and disarranged. She dragged the pleated chiffon around her impatiently, feeling a sudden disgust with herself and her acquiescence to Alex’s love-making.

‘How could I have been such a fool?’ she asked silently.

Her head felt heavy and she was a little dizzy. It must have been the wine she had drunk at the ball. She usually drank very little but there had been a continual flow of champagne into her glass. She could remember telling Alex she did not want any more.

‘Why did I let him give me so much?’ Romina demanded of herself as she walked into the hall, which was only large enough to contain a chair, a gold console table, and a wire letterbox attached to the door.

She turned her head and looked back. Alex was standing in front of the fire, pulling into place the elaborate velvet and embroidered uniform he had worn for the ball. A Russian nobleman of the seventeenth century was how he had described himself and it was impossible to argue that he did not look outstandingly handsome and distinguished in the flamboyant, fur-trimmed coat and high red-leather boots.

“I was right,” Romina called, “it was a letter.”

“At this hour of the night?” Alex questioned.

Romina glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was nearly half-past two.

“How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “I never thought of that.”

She opened the wire cage and took out the letter. It bore her name in a bold, distinguished writing which she recognised only too easily. There was no stamp on it.

“It is from…” she began to say, and then checked the words, for underneath the letter was something else – a telegram. In its yellow envelope, it had not been so noticeable. The telegram must have been there when she came back to the flat, she thought. She had been too intent on listening to Alex and feeling his arm propel her eagerly towards the sofa in the sitting room, to notice it.

“You are lovely … lovely,” he had said. “I thought I should go mad with those people all around us. I was unable to touch you, to kiss you.”

She had been amused and intrigued by the passion in his voice and by the desire in his dark eyes. Now she felt a sudden shiver pass through her body. How could she have overlooked the telegram and what had it to say? She did not know why, but she had a definite foreboding that it contained bad news.

Slowly she opened the envelope.

“What is it? Who is your letter from?” Alex asked.

Romina did not answer him. She was staring down at the telegram in her hands, her face suddenly drained of colour.

“Romina, come back!” he commanded.

She must have heard him because she raised her head and looked across the intervening space. He was standing in the semi-darkness of the sitting room, the glow from the fire and the light of one small lamp illuminating his clear-cut features – the dark hair swept back from his forehead, the full sensuous lips.

She looked at him for a moment, and then as Alex asked impatiently,

“What is it? What is keeping you?” she went back into the sitting room.

“Get out!” she said. “Go – and go quickly!”

“Romina what are you talking about?”

He was obviously shocked and puzzled at the sudden change in her behaviour.

“You heard what I said,” Romina replied. “I do not want to talk. I do not want to explain. I just want you to go ... now!”

He looked down at her hands and saw she was holding a telegram and a letter.

“You have had bad news?” he asked. “And who could have put the letter in the box?”

“Never mind,” Romina answered. “Please do as I ask, and at once.”

Her voice had a sharp edge to it that told the man that there was no point in arguing. He picked up his coat from the floor where he had flung it as they entered the room.

“I will telephone you tomorrow,” he said.

“No, don’t do that. Please leave me alone,” Romina replied.

She did not look at him as she spoke, but turned her head away so that all he could see was the soft curve of her cheek and the dishevelled curls of her fair hair.

He moved towards her, hesitated a moment as to whether he would touch her, and then, resisting the impulse, walked from the room and into the hall. It was only when his hand was turning the handle of the Yale lock that he looked back.

“You have made me very happy tonight,” he said softly.

He heard the sitting room door slam as he let himself out into the corridor, and there was a frown between his eyes and his lips were set in a hard line as he walked down the thick carpet towards the lift.

Behind him in the room he had just left, Romina walked very slowly toward the fireplace and sat down in a low chair. She gazed across the hearthrug at the sofa with its crumpled cushions and then suddenly she bent her head and covered her face with her hands.

*

At ten-thirty the next morning the telephone rang in the office of General Fortescue. He lifted the receiver.

“I am engaged,” he said sharply.

“Yes, I know, Sir,” said one of his secretaries, “but I thought you would like to know that Miss Huntley is here and wishes to see you urgently.”

The General hesitated a moment.

“Ask her to come in,” he said at length, and put down the receiver. He looked across the room at a man leaning against the mantelpiece. “She must have heard.”

“I presume they would have wired his next of kin,” the man replied.

“Yes, I suppose so,” the General agreed.

The man at the mantelpiece straightened himself.

“Well, I had better leave you for the moment,” he said. “But there are still some things I wanted to discuss.”

“No, don’t go,” the General answered. “Romina may have something to tell us, one never knows.”

“I should think it is unlikely,” was the reply. He moved away from the desk just before the door opened and Romina was ushered into the office.

The General’s first thought was that he had forgotten how lovely she was. Then he realised that the black dress and coat she wore threw into relief the perfect clearness of her skin and the pale gold of her hair. He expected her to look unhappy, but he was rather surprised at the darkness of the lines under her blue eyes.

“I am sorry to interrupt you, Guardie,” Romina said as the General rose and kissed her cheek.

She and Christopher had called him that ever since they were children, and the General felt his heart twist at the pain in her voice and the unshed tears in her eyes.

“I was expecting you,” he said quietly.

“You know, then?” Romina asked.

“Yes, I know,” he replied.

“Who told you?” she inquired, and added quickly, “Oh, of course, you know everything. I only got the telegram last night. It may have come earlier, but I was not at home.”

“Who sent it?” the General asked.

“The British Embassy in Cairo,” she replied.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “They would have to notify them.”

“They?” she questioned and raised her eyebrows.

“I do not need to tell you,” the General said, his hand on her shoulder, “how sorry I am about this. I know, Romina, what it means to you. You and Chris were so close and fond of each other you might have been twins.”

“Don’t let us talk about it for the moment,” Romina said with a little catch in her voice. “I came to see you for another reason. I came to tell you that I am leaving for Cairo almost immediately. You see, I know there is something wrong. Chris did not die of dengue fever as they say here. I am sure of it.”

“What do you mean?” the General asked.

“I think he was murdered,” Romina said, “and that is why I am going to find out the truth for myself.”

“No!”

The shout seemed to echo round the walls, and for the first time since she entered the room Romina turned her head and saw that she and the General were not alone. A man was standing in an alcove beside the door so that he had been behind her as she entered, and she had no idea he was there. She took a quick glance at him and decided she disliked him. He was thin and wiry, with dark hair, and the look on his face was decidedly cynical, if not sardonic.

“Who is this?” she inquired.

“I’m sorry, Romina, but I have not had a chance to introduce you. This is Merlin Forde, a very old friend of mine and also a friend of Christopher’s.”

“I have never heard my brother speak of you,” Romina said almost accusingly.

“Nevertheless,” Merlin Forde answered, walking towards her, “we were good friends. We were at Oxford together and have met fairly frequently since.”

“It is odd that he has never talked about you,” Romina said. “I knew all his friends.”

“Perhaps he had his reasons,” Merlin answered. “But I assure you that I am extremely upset at the news of your brother’s death. Christopher was a splendid fellow.”

“Thank you,” Romina said with a faint inclination of her head.

Then she turned her back, somewhat pointedly, Merlin thought, and said to the General,

“You see, Guardie, I have reasons for believing that Chris may have been murdered.”

“What makes you think such a thing?” the General asked.

“I had a letter from him,” Romina answered.

“A letter?”

It was Merlin Forde who spoke, not the General, and there was a sudden note of excitement in his voice.

“When did it arrive?”

Romina looked at him with dislike.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but I would really like to speak to my guardian alone.”

She saw Merlin Forde’s eyes turn towards the General and a look passed between the two men that she did not understand.

“I want to know what is in that letter,” Merlin Forde said almost beneath his breath.

Romina threw him a look of disgust. At the moment she hated all men with a bitterness that seemed almost physical.

“Sit down a moment, Romina,” the General said gently. “I want to talk to you.”

“Alone?” Romina inquired.

“If you insist, after what I have to say,” he answered.

He glanced again at Merlin Forde and then held out a chair for Romina next his own, sat down himself and took her hand in his.

“Merlin was indeed a friend of Christopher,” he said, “and just before you arrived, I had told him of your brother’s death. Like you, he jumped to the conclusion that it was unnatural. He had already asked me if he could go out to Cairo to investigate the matter. So you see, my dear, that he is vitally interested in anything you may have to tell us, anything that may give us some idea as to what happened to Chris.”

Romina glanced at Merlin Forde suspiciously.

“Is he one of your men?” she asked. “Do you really trust him?”

She spoke as if she would be surprised if the reply was in the affirmative.

“I have known Merlin as long as I have known you,” General Fortescue replied, “and I would trust him with anything – my life, if necessary.”

Romina gave a little shrug.

“Very well, then,” she said. “I suppose he can listen.”

She bent her head and opened her handbag. Merlin Forde withdrew discreetly towards the fireplace. The General sat back impassively in his chair.

Romina took out the letter she had received the night before.

“This came last night,” she said.

“By post?” the General inquired.

“No,” Romina answered. “It was put into my letterbox at two-thirty almost exactly.”

“How do you know? Were you up at that time?”

Merlin’s voice from the fireplace made her turn her head sharply.

“Yes, I was,” she answered. “If you want to know, I had been to a fancy-dress dance.”

“Were you alone?”

The question made her stiffen as if she resented the impertinence of it.

“I cannot see that that is any of your business,” she replied.

“I was only wondering who else was there when the letter arrived at such an unlikely time,” was Merlin’s answer.

She hated him for being so perceptive as to realise that there was something strange about the delivery of the letter, but she had no intention of satisfying his curiosity. Besides, the very thought of Alex made her feel sick inside.

She drew the closely-written pages out of the envelope. Then, to her surprise, the General asked gently,

“Was anyone with you, Romina?”

“Yes, there was,” she said almost defiantly. “Someone who brought me back from the dance. He ... I ... asked him in for a drink.”

She felt the colour rise in her cheeks as she spoke and hoped that the man standing at the fireplace had not noticed, while she loathed him for having caused her embarrassment.

“Do I know him?” the General asked. “What is his name?”

“I expect you have heard of Alexander Salvekov,” Romina answered lightly. “He is to be found at every party.”

She was aware that once again the General looked towards Merlin Forde. But he merely said in a noncommittal voice,

“I have heard of Count Salvekov. He is frequently in the newspapers.”

There was silence for a moment before the General said,

“The letter from Chris that is what is important, isn’t it?”

Romina took a deep breath. She had to steady herself to fight back tears that pricked her eyes at the sight of her brother’s writing. She had to force herself to focus on the words he had written so light-heartedly only a few days ago. She read aloud,

Rom, darling,

I am keeping my bargain and writing to you as I promised. There has been rather a gap between this letter and the last, but I have been madly busy and in hiding. I have stumbled on something wildly exciting, and I think, although I can hardly believe it is true, that I have got the story of the century in the bag. Anyway, expect fireworks and the falling of many dignified heads, for this is something really BIG!

“He has written ‘big’ in capitals,” Romina broke off to explain. “He has underlined it three times.”

Neither of the men spoke, and she continued,

I am sending this to you by a friend whom I can trust and there are not many. At the moment, I don’t even trust the Post Office. Be kind to him if you happen to meet him – his heart is pure gold.

Expect me when you see me and I don’t want the red carpet and a brass band to meet me at the airport!

Bless you, darling, and take care of yourself.

Yours,

Chris.

Romina’s voice broke a little on the last words, and then her little chin went up as if she defied herself to break down.

The General put out his hand.

“May I see the letter?” he asked.

Romina passed it across the desk to him.

“There is an address at the top,” he said.

“We know it!” Merlin said.

“It is pleasant all the same to know that our informants did not make a mistake,” the General replied.

“Is that all you have to say?” Romina enquired, a passionate note of protest in her voice. “Can’t you see that whatever Chris had discovered was dangerous?”

The two men didn’t answer and she went on,

“I have warned him often enough that he would go too far in his search for a story. Or was it that? Was he working for you, as well?”

She asked the question sharply, and the General’s eyes met hers frankly.

“Not directly,” he replied. “Chris would not work for me directly and I didn’t want him to. As you know, he liked being a writer and a journalist. He wanted to be a freelance so that he could roam over the world finding a story here and a story there. And I never interfered.”

“But he brought you back information?” Romina inquired.

“Yes, and very useful information it often was,” the General said. “But primarily he wanted to write – he wanted to discover news. The job he did about the arms to Cuba had nothing to do with me.”

“But he often reported to you, all the same,” Romina insisted.

“I can say he told me many things I wanted to know,” the General replied.

“Well, then, what had he discovered this time?” The General spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“I only wish I knew,” he said.

“But you must have some idea,” Romina told him. “He saw you before he went to Cairo.”

“Yes, he saw me, but he did not tell me what he expected to find or, indeed, what he was looking for,” the General answered. “He only said he had a hunch there was a story in the East, perhaps a number of stories, and he was going there just to have a ‘look-see’.”

“He told me the same thing,” Romina said.

“What was his bargain with you?” Merlin Forde asked.

“It was a private pact we had,” Romina answered. “He promised that he would write and tell me what he was doing.”

“In exchange for what?” Merlin inquired.

It looked for a moment as if she would not answer him, and then she said in a cold voice,

“If you must know, he had spent a great deal of money on his last trip to Cuba. Our trustees, of whom Guardie is one, are not particularly pleased when we overspend. So, I lent him what I could spare until next quarter’s allowances come in.”

“If he had told me,” the General said quickly, “he could have had all he wanted.”

“That is exactly why he did not bother you,” Romina answered. “And it did not matter one way or another, I had quite a lot of money in the bank as it happened.”

She looked down, and continued,

“It gave me an opportunity to extract from him a promise to write to me. You know how much I disliked his disappearing over the horizon and not having the least idea where he was.”

The General spread the pages of thin paper out in front of him.

“No code, I suppose?” he said. “You did not have any way of communicating secretly with each other?”

“I wish we had,” Romina answered. “Chris never talked about anything until, as he put it, he had it ‘in the bag’. That is why I know that he must have been absolutely sure of what he had discovered to write this.”

She broke off to point to a page of the letter spread out in front of the General and read aloud,

“Expect fireworks and the falling of many dignified heads.”

“What does that mean? What can he have found out?”

“What do you think, Merlin?” the General inquired.

“It could be so many things,” Merlin Forde replied. “Illegal arms, slave traffic, dope! The East is full of stories, and Chris might have got on the trail of one – or even a few of them.”

He walked across to the desk and stood looking over the General’s shoulder.

“I suppose Salvekov did not read this letter?” he asked casually.

“Of course not!” Romina answered. “I would not have shown it to him – he only knew a letter had arrived. And I did not open it until after he had left.”

“And the telegram?”

“He did not see what was in that either. I – I just asked him to go.”

Romina knew that Merlin Forde’s eyes were watching her as she spoke, and she could not prevent a faint patch of colour from creeping into her cheeks.

‘Damn him!’ she thought. ‘What business is it of his? How dare he look at me like that?’

Because she was uncomfortable, her voice was almost aggressive as she said,

“Well, I am leaving for Cairo tonight or tomorrow morning, as soon as I can get on an aeroplane.”

“You will do nothing of the sort!”

Merlin Forde’s exclamation was so positive that she looked up at him in astonishment.

“You will only make things more difficult,” he stated. “I’m going to find out more of Chris’s death, and I’ll let you know as soon as I can, exactly what happened.”

The ways he spoke, as if she was a misbehaving schoolgirl, took Romina’s breath away. To give herself time, she bent forward and took up the pages of her brother’s letter and put them back in the envelope. Then she said quietly, in a firm voice,

“I’m afraid, Mr. Forde, I am not in the least interested in your movements. I am merely informing my guardian that I am leaving for Cairo.”

“But I have told you that is something you must not do,” Merlin said.

Romina looked at the General.

“I shall stay at Shepheard’s,” she said. “If you want to get in touch with me, that is where I shall be for the next week or so, at any rate.”

“Now listen to me,” Merlin Forde interposed. “The one thing we do not want at this moment is to let anyone think that we suspect that Chris did not die naturally. The General, as he will tell you, has already been in touch with the British Embassy. They were informed of Chris’s death by an Egyptian doctor who attended to him – and we have learned that he was buried yesterday.”

“Then when did he die?” Romina asked.

“According to the doctor, four days ago,” Merlin replied. “It was not reported immediately because they did not know his nationality.”

“That is ridiculous!” Romina retorted. “No one would be likely to mistake Chris for anything but an Englishman.”

“I wonder…” Merlin said enigmatically.

“You mean he might have been disguised?” Romina asked. “Yes, of course! I had forgotten. It is just the sort of mad thing Chris would do – pretend to be an Arab. He was very amused that no one recognized him in Bombay when he was disguised as an Indian. But that was a long time ago.”

“I think Chris has used quite a lot of disguises one way and another,” Merlin Forde said. “But the danger with a disguise is that once anyone penetrates it, they are quite certain that you are out to make trouble.”

“What makes you think that Chris might have been disguised when he was in Cairo?” Romina asked.

“Only that he changed his address recently and moved into a much poorer quarter of the city,” Merlin Forde replied.

“Who told you that?” Romina asked. “Surely not the British Embassy?”

“No, it was somebody I spoke to on the telephone this morning,” Merlin replied. “He had seen Chris about a week ago, just before he came home.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“No, because he did not speak to Chris. He only happened to recognize him in a café in a rather disreputable part of Cairo and followed him back to where he gathered Chris was staying.”

“But why didn’t he speak to him? Chris might have told him something.”

“He was just interested because he recognised Chris,” Merlin told her. “It is one of the rules that our men do not interfere unless they are asked to do so.”

Romina clenched her fingers together.

“If only Chris had not been so independent,” she cried. “Sometimes I used to ask him if it was wise to take unnecessary risks he went right up to the front line in Korea. But he would not listen to me. I think it was danger that attracted him more than anything else.”

“Of course it was,” the General agreed. “Your brother was a very brave young man and in some ways a rather stupid one. He would not listen to me either. I talked to him often enough.”

“Well, I am going to find out what happened,” Romina said. “I am not going to sit down and let him be murdered in cold blood. And I want to finish the job he started.”

“But you can’t,” Merlin Forde said, and he thumped the table with his fist. “You are a woman. What do you think you are likely to discover?”

“Women have managed to do a number of good jobs before now,” Romina retorted angrily. “Why, some of the best spies in the war and the bravest people in the resistance movement were women, weren’t they, Guardie?”

“They were, indeed,” the General agreed. “I think you owe the opposite sex an apology, Merlin.”

“All right, I apologise,” Merlin Forde said impatiently. “But for God’s sake, stop Miss Huntley making a fool of herself and rushing off to Cairo with a flaming sword in her hand and giving everyone a chance to cover up their tracks and disappear.”

His words made sense, and if Romina had not been so angry she might have listened to him. As it was, he had annoyed her and aroused her temper so that now nothing he could say would alter her decision.

She rose to her feet.

“I am afraid we must agree to disagree,” she said. “Guardie, darling, I will keep in touch with you. If I want your help, I shall not hesitate to ask for it.”

She pulled her coat around her and started to put on her gloves. As she did so, she heard with a sense of satisfaction, Merlin Forde saying in an urgent whisper to the General,

“Stop her! You have got to stop her!”

The General looked up at him and then at Romina. A faint smile curved the corner of his lips.

“One minute, Romina,” he said. “When you arrived just now, Merlin was talking to me about going to Cairo and wondering what would be the best method, from his point of view.”

He hesitated before he continued,

“You see, Merlin has no particular standing as far as the ordinary authorities are concerned. While you, as Chris’s sister, have every right to ask questions as to where and how your brother died.”

“Naturally,” Romina agreed. “That is how I see it myself. Therefore, there is no need for Mr. Forde to put himself out. I will go to Cairo, and I will let you and, if you insist, Mr. Forde know exactly what I discover.”

There was a note of triumph in her voice, and she felt she had scored once and for all over the detestable young man who had made her feel so uncomfortable.

“At the same time,” the General went on as if she had not spoken, “I cannot help feeling that you will be fobbed off with a lot of plausible answers and will find out very little on your own.”

“It is not going to be easy – I know that,” Romina told him, suddenly serious. “But I will do my best to act intelligently.”

“I do not think you will get very far,” the General said gently. “Therefore, I am suggesting that we come to a compromise. Why don’t you both go together?”

“Together?” Romina cried, and she saw the look on Merlin Forde’s face was one of sheer astonishment.

“Yes,” the General answered. “Why don’t you go out as tourists? Cairo is very pleasant at this time of the year – and you could be – let me see – brother and sister, having a holiday together. Why not?”

“Why not?” Romina exclaimed furiously. “Because…”

The protest she was about to make died away on her lips. It struck her suddenly that, distasteful as the suggestion might be, it was eminently a sensible one.

If she was to discover how and why Chris had been killed, nothing else mattered, not even the unpleasant Mr. Forde.

CHAPTER TWO

Romina propped her suitcase open on the arms of a chair and looked in the wardrobe to see what she should take with her.

She avoided looking directly at Chris’s suits, which she had pushed to one side when she came to stay in the flat. This was his room, but she preferred it to the small, narrow bedroom that he kept for his friends. Her eyes were tense and there was in her heart an ache that was physical in its intensity as she realised that Chris would not come back. Never again would she see him laugh or hear the clink of the ice as he shook her a special cocktail of brandy, orange juice and Cointreau.

“This is gut rot!” he would grumble. “Why don’t you have a whisky and soda?”

“I hate whisky!” she would retort. “I’m not the whisky-drinking type – hard-riding and hard swearing.”

It had been a joke between them that although she looked so fragile and feminine, she was really almost as tough as he was and quite as quick when it came to intelligence. She could out-ride, out-ski, and out-walk every other woman he knew – and, more importantly, she could keep up with him. That had been one of the things which had made it possible for them to work together.

Romina had given up her flat as she found it cheaper and more convenient to move into the one Chris used when she stayed in London. She was determined to keep the house in Hertfordshire that was home to both of them. It was where they had been brought up, and Romina and Chris had refused to sell it, even when advised to do so by their trustees.

“It may be too big and expensive but we love it,” Chris said positively, and finished the argument.

Most of Romina’s clothes were in the country, and she decided that she would just have to make do with what she had at the flat and buy a few things when she reached Cairo. She pulled open a drawer and started to take out her nylon nightgowns and lace-trimmed slips.

She packed automatically, her mind on Chris – remembering the things they had done together and how they had always laughed at danger. What could have happened? Would she ever know, even with Merlin Forde to help her? Was there any likelihood that they would find out the truth?

She grimaced as she thought of the journey that lay ahead. What could be more disagreeable than to be saddled with a man whom she already disliked – a man with whom she felt she had nothing in common? But even going with Merlin Forde was better than not going at all – and above all things she wanted to get away from London at the moment. Her thoughts slid away from the reason for this, and it was almost a relief when the doorbell rang.

She glanced at her watch, and wondered who it could be. It was half-past twelve. Mrs. Robins, who looked after the flat for Chris, had already gone and there was no one else to answer the door. The bell rang again impatiently, and Romina crossed the small hall and opened the door. A youth stood outside, holding in his arms an enormous basket covered with white paper, which she recognized as coming from a very expensive Mayfair florist.

“Miss Ro-Romeena ’Untley?” he asked, mispronouncing her Christian name.

“Yes.”

“Sign ’ere.”

He thrust the book towards her and she scrawled her signature. Then he put the heavy basket into her arms.

“’Bye, ’bye,” he said cheerily, and went down the corridor whistling.

Romina carried the flowers into the sitting room and set them down on the low coffee table that stood in front of the fireplace. For a moment she just stared at the wrappings, and then almost roughly she ripped them off. They had covered a basket of purple and white orchids – a magnificent, incredibly expensive gift. Attached to the handle of the basket was an envelope. Romina detached it and opened the small, tightly-closed envelope with fingers that seemed suddenly stiff.

The name on the card inside leaped up at her, and above it was a message,

In sweet memory of a very wonderful evening, to the most attractive girl in London.

Romina stood very still. She felt as if the message seared its way into her mind and made her feel more humiliated than she had done before. It was not his fault – it was hers. She should have known better. She should have had more self-respect.

“I hate him!” she said aloud – but she knew it was herself she despised.

She took the card, tore it into a dozen small pieces, and threw them into the fire that Mrs. Robins had lit. She looked down at the orchids. There was something lush and exotic about them – something that reminded her of Alex’s experienced, sophisticated kisses, of his hands caressing her, of the deep insistent note of passion in his voice…

With a little sob, she picked up the basket and threw it across the room – threw it with all her strength so that it bounced against the wall near the window and tipped over, the orchids spilling out on the carpet and lying there in a distorted way as if their curved and parted tongues protested against such treatment.

Without looking at them again, Romina turned and ran from the room back into the bedroom.

‘I must get away,’ she thought. Alex would be ringing her, she was certain of that. He had talked of their dining alone together that night, and she knew he would expect her to be eager to accept his invitation.

‘I must get away ... I must get away...’ The refrain repeated itself like the sound from the wheels of a train.

She started to pack without worrying whether her things would be creased or what she should take. And then the doorbell rang again. She stood still, her heart thumping. Could he have come to call on her? She looked at the time it was only twenty minutes to one. It was very unlikely that he would call without telephoning – then again, he might have rung when she was out. But nothing had been said about lunch. She could not risk it – she could not open the door and find him standing there with that smile on his lips, that look in his eyes. It would make her feel cheaper than she felt already.

The bell rang again. It must be Alex, she thought. And yet he would be very unlikely to stand outside a door that had not been opened almost immediately in welcome. Perhaps it was another message from him? With an effort, she pulled herself together and walked into the hall again. She had an absurd desire to shout and ask who it was. Equally absurdly, because she knew she was being theatrical and foolish, she opened the door just a crack.

‘If it is Alex, I shall close it quickly and refuse to talk to him,’ she thought.

But it was not Alex who stood there. It was Merlin Forde.

“I began to think I had come to the wrong place,” he said.

‘What do you want?” Romina asked. “I thought you were going to telephone to tell me the time we were leaving.”

“May I come in?” he asked mildly.

She realised how rude she was being and felt apologetic.

“I – I am sorry,” she answered. “I am not thinking very straight this morning.”

“No, of course not,” he said in a voice that was unexpectedly sympathetic, and she knew he thought she was referring to her unhappiness over Chris.

Because she was embarrassed at her behaviour, she was brusque.

“Come in, if you want to,” she said, “but I have only just got time to get my things packed.”

He shut the door behind him and put his hat down in the hall. He was not wearing a coat, she noticed, although the wind was cold.

He moved into the sitting room before she remembered the mess she had made with the orchids. She saw him glance at them, then look away.

“Will you have a drink?” she inquired. “Whisky, or a cocktail?”

“Whisky, please.”

He moved towards the fire, holding out his hands to the blaze.

“This is Chris’s flat,” he said, making it a statement rather than a question. “Why are you staying here?”

“I live in the country,” Romina answered. “I gave up my place nearly a year ago. Chris is so seldom in London that it was ridiculous for us to be paying for two when one would do quite well.”

She handed him a whisky and soda.

“Thank you,” he said. “I came to tell you that our plans are changed.”

“Changed?” Romina asked sharply. “I must warn you that nothing you will say will prevent my going to Cairo, whatever you decide to do.”

“No one is trying to prevent you,” Merlin answered. “But I have had a talk with the General. I think I have put forward a far better scheme than he suggested.”

“Does he think so?” Romina asked sarcastically, thinking this young man was bumptious and over-sure of himself.

“He does, as a matter of fact,” Merlin replied.

Without being asked, he sat himself in an armchair by the fire, and Romina was glad that he had his back to the orchids.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I have thought things over,” Merlin began, “and I don’t think we are going to get very far as ordinary tourists. To begin with nobody – neither friend nor foe – is likely to get in touch with us. Secondly, one of our people in Cairo is already ferreting out all that can be discovered from the quarter where Chris was living.”

“I wish he would leave it alone,” Romina said angrily. “I want to see for myself. I do not want strangers covering trails and making it difficult before we arrive.”

As she spoke she realised that what she was saying was rather silly and ineffectual. Of course, someone experienced was likely to find out – far more than she could ever do.

And because she did not want to appear too foolish, she said quickly,

“All right – forget what I said and go on.”

She saw a glint in his eyes, and he continued,

“I have therefore suggested something to the General that I believe may get results if we are lucky. But it means an added amount of danger as far as you are concerned.”

“I am not interested in danger,” Romina snapped. “I want to find out what happened to Chris.”

“You certainly have his tenacity – whether it is a good thing or bad I would not know.”

“Tell me your new plan,” Romina suggested, feeling that she could not bear to be either praised or censured by the self-assured young man sitting opposite her.

Merlin sipped his whisky.

“In the late editions of the evening papers,” he said, “it will be announced that a Greek-born millionaire Nickoylos has arrived in London from America to make an offer to one of the big gambling combines in the West End. The press will hint that the offer is in the region of half a million pounds.”

“Who is he?” Romina asked. “And where does he come into the story?”

“You see him sitting in front of you,” Merlin replied with a grin.

“You?” Romina cried. “But why? What is the point?”

“I thought you would ask that. Mr. Nickoylos is going to have quite a sensational past. In fact, to put it bluntly, he is going to sound somewhat of a cad and an adventurer.”

“But is anyone going to believe this?”

“They certainly are,” Merlin answered. “Nickoylos has booked a suite at the Savoy – and Lucien, who as you know owns most of the gambling halls in London, has already received an offer.”

“Suppose he decides to accept?” Romina asked.

“Negotiations take a long time,” Merlin answered. “Besides, unfortunately Mr. Nickoylos has to leave London tomorrow morning for Cairo.”

“I see...” Romina said slowly. “You are building up a new character, someone who will be of interest to the people in Cairo who may be responsible for Chris’s death?”

“Exactly,” Merlin replied. “The more disreputable he seems, the more likely that ‘birds of a feather will flock together’. Remember your nanny teaching you that?”

“Where do I come in?” Romina asked quickly.

“Where do you think?” Merlin said? “You are Nickoylos’s girlfriend.”

He allowed the information to sink in for a second before he went on,

“Now it is up to you whether you can act the part. We cannot afford to slip up – you know that better than anyone ­­– and I presume you know the type of woman who would interest a man like Nickoylos?”

“Flashy, common and, I imagine, very young,” Romina said slowly.

“You are cleverer than I thought,” Merlin approved.

She flashed him a glance of dislike before she said,

“I suppose I could do it. I shall want the right sort of clothes.”

“I have thought of that,” Merlin broke in. “You will arrive at five o’clock this afternoon from New York. You have a slight American accent, but undoubtedly you started life in Manchester.”

“I think it is rather risky,” Romina said, feeling that somehow, she must find fault. “It would be quite easy to check that I had not arrived at London Airport.”

“But you will,” Merlin answered.

The smile on his lips made her think that he was delighted to be able to contradict her.