out the rest of the guests.
Millicent Kittredge, a frequent visitor at the hotel and leader of innumerable tours of the river, moved along the dock giving orders to the waiting porters. She often recommended tourists to Alex’s hotel. For a price. Well, that was okay. Whatever it took.
Millicent was followed by Father Theroux, Porte Ivoire’s mission priest. Alex let his eyes drift along the dock until he sighted the blonde again. He got a sensual pleasure from resting his gaze on her cool beauty. The ache inside seemed to dissipate as he drank in her long, lean form.
Reluctantly, he went back to his survey of the other passengers on the debarking plank. Suddenly he sat up straighter and planted his feet on the porch floor. Betty Weston! Now, that was a surprise. He hadn’t seen her since...well, for a long time. And she wasn’t alone. A muscular young man walked down the plank beside her. Alex smiled knowingly. Betty wouldn’t be without the companionship of a man for long.
The last passenger off the boat was another familiar face, whom Alex glanced at briefly. Maurice Longongo was a minor government official and major pain in the ass. He was probably checking up again on some imagined violation of an obsolete law that he suspected Alex of breaking at the Stanley Hotel. Frowning, Alex looked at the man again, trying to read his body language. Trouble with the government was to be avoided, especially now.
Alex unwound himself and got up. As he descended the veranda steps and strolled toward the dock to meet the passengers, soon to be guests at his hotel, his pace was leisurely and his demeanor casual. His eyes were on the blonde. She looked hot but not frazzled and perspiring like the others. In fact she seemed to glisten in the midday sun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent bearing down on him like a locomotive. He stepped under the shade of a palm tree and waited. Millicent wore a large straw hat, and her stocky form was encased in what Alex called the Colonial costume, khaki safari jacket and trousers.
He leaned forward as she approached and gave her a kiss, knocking her hat slightly askew. “I see you’re still dressing the part, Millie.”
“Good for business,” she replied in her crisp British tones. “The tourists expect it, but Lord, it’s hot! We’re going to be with you a little longer than expected,” she added. “I’m told that the engine is totally out of commission this time, and the captain has to radio Brazzaville for a part.”
Alex grinned. Bad news for the passengers was good news for his pocketbook. Besides, he could use the extra time for his own purposes. Concealing his thoughts, he said, “It amazes me that people still book passage on that old tub.”
“Ambience,” Millie replied. “Tourists want to experience the real Africa.”
The other passengers began to straggle along the path toward the hotel. “Who’s the blonde?”
“I thought you’d notice her,” Millicent said with a knowing look in her pale blue eyes. “Her name’s Dana Baldwin. She’s an American. A professor.”
He looked past Millicent to the dock. The woman was having trouble with her luggage, and Louis was there to give assistance.
“How did you get away so fast, Millicent? All the other passengers seem to be stuck down there searching for their baggage.”
“You haven’t noticed in the past, Alex? I have a deal with the captain and his crew. They locate my things for the porters.”
“Of course. How stupid of me,” he said with a laugh. “I should have known you’d have an angle. Now about the blonde. What’s her name...Dana? How’d she get hooked up with your tour?”
“On a whim. She was spending the summer at some kind of language institute in Tangiers. She’s fascinated with this region of the Congo and has an obsession with the Pygmies. I told her, of course, that we weren’t trekking inland, only doing the river cruise. No Pygmies at all. Just hippos, chimps, the odd leopard on the bank and, of course, my wonderful birds.”
“Of course,” Alex said, mimicking Millicent’s speech. An expatriate British citizen, she’d turned her love of nature into a business and was an avid bird-watcher.
“Dana was determined to come along. Said she had a real need to see the area.”
“Hmm.” Alex was watching Dana at the wharf and wondering about her.
Millie removed her hat and fanned herself rapidly. “Forget it, Alex. She’s just an overzealous language teacher with no hidden agenda.”
“Maybe, but you know my philosophy, Millicent. People have only two reasons for traveling to this part of Africa, and that woman is no exception. Either she’s running toward something...or away from it.”
“You’re far too cynical,” Millie chastised.
“Porte Ivoire will do that to a person.”
“Why don’t you get out?”
“You know why, Millie. I can’t find a buyer for this damned hotel.”
“But you have other irons in the fire, don’t you, Alex, other schemes and deals?” Behind thick glasses, her blue eyes were inquisitive.
“Here come the guests,” Alex said, ignoring her question. “Time to play the gracious host.”
Alex and Millicent watched the commotion at the dock as Father Theroux, surrounded by a phalanx of villagers, turned in the opposite direction, toward his mission, while the others trudged toward the hotel.
Moments later, Betty Weston swept by, eyes cold, head high. “My usual room, Alex?”
“Check with the desk clerk, Betty. You’re first in line so you can have any room you want.” The muscular young man with her shot Alex a dirty look and followed after Betty.
Millie raised her eyebrows. “Cold shoulder, eh?”
“Icy, I’d say. I wonder why the hell she’s here.”
“Free-lance journalists are always on the lookout for a story,” Millie told him. “I ran into her in Brazzaville. Told her I had some magazine contacts in London eager to buy pieces about wildlife along the river. I assume the boyfriend, Yassif, is for recreational purposes.”
“And to put me in my place.”
“Did she succeed?” Millicent asked.
Alex laughed. “I’m just relieved that she has someone to occupy her time.” He was still watching the wharf. “Wonder what’s keeping Louis and the American?”
“Be patient, dear boy.” Millicent started to turn toward the hotel, but Alex stopped her. “Stay and introduce me, Millie. And nicely.”
“If you insist.” Millicent stepped off the path into the shade of the trees. “But let me remind you that it’s too late for ‘nice.’ She’s heard all about you. Remember that we’ve all been together for days on the boat. The talk—”
“Gossip, Millicent.”
“Talk, Alex. You can’t spend years behaving badly and not expect stories to get around. Your reputation precedes you.”
*
