Hotel Mirador Read online

  At the moment, Sally was not impressed. Everyone knew that such palaces existed, and for her the Hotel Mirador was merely the place where she was to board while attending to Michael Ritchie.

  Her patient sounded as if he might be rather a problem, but then nearly all adults who had been crippled were a little difficult to start with. Actually, she found herself rather eager to meet the young man; he challenged. In his way, of course, Dane Ryland was an even greater challenge, because it had been quite obvious a few minutes ago that he was disappointed in Miss Yorke.

  Sally hadn’t wondered, back in England, what her employer would be like. She had seen the advertisement, felt that strange, urgent leaping of the heart when she had looked up the letter from Lucette which was postmarked at Tangier, and almost blindly written her application. Dane Ryland had stated, in a cool-toned letter, that she must present herself in London for an interview with a doctor who had been apprised of the details of the case. Within a fortnight, Mr. Ryland had engaged her and arranged for a London agent to send her an air ticket and French money. She hadn’t thought about him at all, personally; she had merely taken it for granted that, as he was an Englishman, he would be a conventional type. Which was silly, of course, because a man who left his own country to enter big business in a land like Morocco was very unlikely to be ordinary.

  She turned back and looked out at the vivid green of the palms, the darker green of flowering trees. The man had asked disturbing questions, had known at once that she was country-bred, and had even seemed certain of himself in suggesting that she came from a large family. He had expected her to show excitement over Shiran, had put on quite an aloof, arrogant stare when that other man, Monsieur de Chalain, had asked if he might dine with her.

  Dane Ryland, apparently, was something of an enigma. Well-bred and occasionally good humored, clever and possibly overwhelmingly proud of the fact that he had put himself at the head of the Hotel Mirador. He was as different as anyone could possibly be from the happy-go-lucky breed to which the Yorkes belonged. Which didn’t matter in the least. Sally would a million times rather be a Yorke than anyone else in the world!

  She thought, dreamily, of the lake on the farm, of warm summer Saturdays spent climbing the rocks and swimming; she thought of winter, and of snow on the rounded hilltops, of sheep warm in their fold, of the big kitchen where the Yorkes spent long evenings round the brick fireplace. It was a beautiful old farmhouse; what had Shiran to offer to take the place of such heart’s warmth? Nothing at all, and she wouldn’t mind saying as much to the big, self-made tycoon along the corridor! Having arrived at which decision, Sally went through to turn on the water above the pearly pink bath.

  When, she wondered, as she stepped into scented water and stared at pink walls, would she be able to get in touch with Lucette? A letter first, of course, and then they must meet, either here in Shiran or in Tangier. Though Tangier, she half remembered hearing, was a cosmopolitan city of vice and gaiety. Far better to insist on Shiran, though it was possible that Lucette would no more be able to travel south than to make the journey to England. What on earth could it be, this muddle that Lucette hinted at so volubly, yet would not explain?

  Sally towelled and got dressed, chose a plain white sleeveless linen. She used a dab of powder, a rub of lipstick, then went into the sitting room, where she paused to decide what to do. It was dark now, the sky beyond the balcony a velvety black spangled with stars. It would be good to have a walk down in that garden or on the esplanade, and while walking she could decide where to have dinner. Sally went from the suite and along the corridor to the wide ornate staircase which curved down to the ground floor.

  The vast vestibule spread cool and bright in front of her: the floor beautifully tiled in intricate patterns, the pink marble pillars meeting overhead in horseshoe arches, the reception desk curving away from the foot of the staircase and presided over by two white-clad receptionists. There was another pillared archway to the left, and beyond it the carpeted lounge, where the chairs were modern and gaily colored, its walls the pastel blue lined with gold which was uniform throughout the hotel. There were discreet servants galore. Quite a joint, thought Sally.

  She walked out between the spacious marble portals, stood on a terrace which ran the whole length of the front of the hotel; then she moved along it diagonally, so that she came to the ornamental parapet with its spaced urns of flowering plants. Here she paused, to take in the wide esplanade, the endless strip of grass on the other side of the road, the regimented palms which had flowering ginger bushes between them. At least, Sally thought it was ginger bush, though one couldn’t be sure in the darkness about a plant one knew only from picture books. Beyond the bushes stretched the sea, a murmurous nothingness sprinkled with silver coins.

  So this was Shiran. Vivid, brilliant, glittering even more at night than during the day. Surely one of the most attractive places in the world, yet Sally still felt no pull. I’m too earthy, she told herself contentedly; if I marry, I’ll go rustic in England for the rest of my life.

  Naturally, Sally couldn’t yet know that, once one has lived in and known the people of a place like Shiran, one is never the same again!

  At the end of the terrace she found a flight of steps to the garden, and she would have descended had not someone else been coming up them. She waited, and in a moment was face to face with Pierre de Chalain.

  He bowed charmingly, exuding wisps of French toilet perfume. “Ah, good evening, Miss Yorke. Surely it is not necessary for you to explore alone?”

  “I quite like being alone, monsieur.”

  “You English are very strange. I have known my partner for more than four years and still I say it—you are very strange. If it is a stroll you are in need of, permit me to accompany you through the gardens. I would feel happier.”

  “Can one come to harm so close to the hotel?”

  “But no, of course not. It is merely that you are young and alone ... and a woman.” Again the wide, kindly smile. “I am of an age to be your uncle, mademoiselle. You may trust me.”

  “I shall be happy to trust you, monsieur.”

  “Bon. Then let us walk. The steps are shallow and there are six of them. I was about to go in and instruct someone to replace the electric bulbs in the torches here at the steps. They must have been removed this morning while repairs were taking place, and the maintenance man has omitted to finish his job. However, so long as they are replaced before the diners come for their evening promenade...”

  He cupped her elbow until she reached the path, dropped his hand and walked at her side. He was still on the same subject.

  “I was not here when the repairs were made, or I would .have seen to it that the lights were in order. Mr. Ryland is very impatient of errors, you understand, and he takes it for granted that every workman is capable of finishing his task completely. I, who have managed this hotel ever since it was rebuilt under his direction, know that most of us are fallible. That applies also to myself.”

  “It makes you human, monsieur. I’m one of those people who have to learn by experience, too. It’s a little hard sometimes, but when you do succeed you feel wonderful!”

  “Indeed,” he said appreciatively as he glanced at her bloomy skin, her smiling red mouth and piquant profile, “you must have succeeded very often! You have a serene look, Miss Yorke. You are unspoiled, and I should say that you are generous and considerate.” He paused. “There is someone I would very much like you to meet. I felt it up there in Dane’s room when I first met you, and that is why I asked if we could dine together, but as you are not yet dining in public we must defer this important occasion.”

  “Oh, but I think I will dine downstairs. I’m not used to eating alone. At the Beckmoor we—the staff—used to have our meals at a long table.”

  “You liked it there, at the Home?”

  “I loved the children, but the Home itself is rather drab. I’m hoping they’ll have me back—they’ve given me my holiday plus a lea
ve of absence.”

  He was still looking at her in the darkness—weighing her up, she surmised. And wondered why. His next remark was unilluminating; he seemed to have changed the topic.

  “In any language, home is where the heart is, mademoiselle. My heart is here in Shiran. I have lived here most of my life. It will surprise you to learn that I married an English woman.”

  “Really? And yet you still think the English are strange?”

  “It was twenty-seven years ago, and she died only fourteen months after our marriage. She was unusual,” he said with sad whimsicality, “but I loved her. Now I have only our son.”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Ryland said you’re a family man.”

  “Tony is twenty-six.” He waved towards the formal gardens at the back of the hotel. “You will like to walk here in the daylight. There is a pool full of tropical fish, also some fine gardens seats, a number of rare trees. And there is the lawn where our guests sunbathe and sit under umbrellas, drinking whisky and American soft drinks,” he ended with a touch of wry humor. “Shall we now go to dinner? I will advise you what to eat.”

  The dining room of the Hotel Mirador was on a par with everything else in the place—spacious, pillared, heavy white linen on the table, which were set with immaculate glass and silver. And numerous dark-skinned waiters under the eye of a shrewd French maître d’hotel. Pierre de Chalain seated Sally at a table for three near the wall and ordered a light wine from the hovering steward. Then, from the menu, he chose Crème Maroc, Sole Brunot and Steak Charpentier. Brunot and Charpentier, he informed her, were military men who had to be honored whenever they brought a party to the hotel for dinner. If mademoiselle would look down the dining room to the right, she would see two large tables decorated with orchids; they were prepared for this evening’s military party.

  “Do you often give functions for celebrities?” she asked. “I arrived during a garden party held by someone called the Caid.”

  He nodded. “The Moors like to hold their festivities either in a vast empty room or in the garden.” He spread his hands and smiled. “As you see, we could not' be more prosperous. And it is all due to Mr. Ryland.”

  She gestured youthfully. “It’s not so difficult to have material success when you give everything to it. Maybe he never thinks of anything else but making money.”

  “No,” Pierre said gently. “Money does not mean a great deal to Dane. He likes success, to have the reins of several businesses in his hands and to be responsible for all the people involved. In the matter of the Mirador he set himself a goal, and achieved it. It was the same with the phosphate mine, and I am hoping it will be the same with a date plantation which I am half inclined to purchase.” He smiled. “You will not be interested in such things. Tell me what you think of the Crème Maroc.”

  The soup was excellent, and she told him so. They went through the courses, Sally inquisitively attempting a small portion of each. When dessert was placed on the table, she said she would prefer to have coffee upstairs in her room.

  “I’d like to take my time over it and read a book.”

  “So you read!”

  “Well, naturally.” Sally liked the man, but she couldn’t quite make him out. He seemed anxious to keep her here, yet several times he had been approached by a waiter with a message. “If you’re needed in your office, monsieur, I’m quite ready to leave.”

  “But there is no hurry.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the wide entrance to the dining room, got' out cigarettes. “You smoke, mademoiselle?”

  “I do, but not now, thank you.”

  “Then, perhaps...”

  He had again cast a hasty look towards the entrance, and this time his expression cleared and he half rose. A slender young man of infinite grace was coming towards them. He was black haired, beautifully tanned and incredibly handsome in the Latin style, but his eyes were so light in color that Sally instantly labelled them golden. He was smiling, showing good teeth, and looking as if he found most things highly amusing.

  “So you come at last,” said Monsieur de Chalain severely. Then, in the next breath, he melted. “You can explain later what has kept you. Mademoiselle,” to Sally, “I present my son, Antoine. Tony, this young lady is Miss Sally Yorke; she comes to give treatment to Dane’s cousin.”

  Tony de Chalain lifted a black eyebrow. “Well, well, a girl from England. I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Yorke.”

  “Sit down, Tony,” said his father with a touch of irritation. “Drink a little wine, and then you must escort mademoiselle to her suite.”

  “Before I eat?”

  “Certainly before you eat. We have dined already. You may dine later.” Pierre had remained standing. He bowed to Sally. “I feel I can no longer leave my duties. Many thanks for your company at dinner, Miss Yorke. Goodnight.”

  She answered him, and as the man moved away she looked at his son, who was seating himself opposite her at the table. She felt laughter in her throat, for he was grinning and a wicked gleam danced in his eyes.

  “The old chap’s transparent, isn’t he?” Tony said calmly. “He’s never before hung on at the table for me. While I’m in Shiran I come and go here just as I please. Do you mind having me thrust at' you?”

  “Is that what’s happening?” she asked vaguely. “I don’t get it.”

  “Never mind—it’s extremely pleasant. Are you sure you can’t eat a second dinner?”

  “Very sure. What exactly is your father trying to do?” He gave her a smile which was as gentle as Pierre’s but more knowledgeable. “You’ll find out'. I must say he knows how to pick ’em. You’re quite a looker—in a frighteningly natural fashion. May I call you Sally?”

  “If you like. Why does naturalness frighten you?”

  He groaned. “Don’t take me up on things I say, there’s a sweet. I’ve a French father and dark looks, but I haven’t the Frenchman’s turn of phrase. I was educated in England.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  “I’ve been staying forty miles away, at El Riza. My father drove down to see me a couple of days ago and we came here together late this afternoon. The poor old chap takes life heavily.”

  “That’s no way to speak of your father!”

  Her tone surprised him; he widened his eyes at her. “He said you were different, and you are. Oh, yes,” as it was her turn to look astonishment, “he’s already told me about you. Met you in Dane’s office, apparently, and was instantly floored. Yet I shouldn’t call you a dish for a Frenchman. It’s that scrubbed, honest look about you that must have nailed him.”

  “You’re a very odd person, Monsieur de Chalain!”

  He laughed. “Just Tony. Tony, who never sticks to anything for more than a few weeks, who needs a wife who is steady and strong in spirit, but young and tender enough to rouse his protective instincts and be a good companion as well as a firm guide. Recognize yourself?” Sally sat back, appalled. “Oh, really, you’re going rather far. I’m quite certain your father thought nothing of the kind!”

  “You don’t know my father. You don’t know me, either.” Tony drank some wine, rested both hands in front of him on the table and leant towards her, confidingly. “It’s only fair that you should understand the set-up. I’ve been living with a family in El Riza—the son is my friend. They have vineyards and olive groves, and for some time I’ve been helping out—much to my father’s disgust. He’s been trying to persuade me to work here in Shiran, but I’m not interested in commerce. I haven’t been here for some weeks, because each time I showed up it was a signal for the old man to press home the necessity for a career. Well, in the end he came to me—and several things merged. I want a business of my own—a date plantation.”

  “He mentioned something about it,” she said. “Mr. Ryland is to be consulted, isn’t he?”

  Tony nodded, sceptically. “But he won’t touch it. Dane can pick up a lame proposition and make it tick in no time, but I can’t see Mm doing it for me. After all,
philosophically, “I’ve never given him reason to believe I’m worth it—so you couldn’t blame him for turning me down, could you?”

  “Have you already found a plantation?”

  “Yes. It’s gone wild and the dates have deteriorated, but there’s no doubt that with cash it could be made into a first-class proposition. My father is willing to use most of his capital to purchase the property, but the administration and improvements would have to be covered by as much again. If Dane backed it and floated a company, the thing would succeed.”

  “Like this hotel?”

  “That’s right. You should have seen this place five years ago!”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about it.” Sally smiled and gave a small shrug. “Well, I hope you’ll get your plantation, some way or other. I must go now.”

  “Not yet. You haven’t told me anything about yourself!”