to explore the comfortable suite of rooms which had been put at their disposal.
Elizabeth had said it had all been too much, much too much, and she had pleaded exhaustion and a raging headache before taking herself off to seek the cool sheets of her bed. Consequently, it was Caroline who gave the children their brief but thorough wash, helped them into their pyjamas, and tucked them up in the twin beds in the room adjoining her own. And it had been Caroline who had been woken twice in the night—once when a particularly large species of moth had somehow invaded the children’s room, and secondly when David awoke, terrified at the strangeness of his surroundings.
But all that had happened several hours ago now, Caroline realised, as the heat of her room and the activity of her thoughts brought her fully awake. As yet, no one seemed to be stirring in the apartment, but the brilliance of the sunlight which was penetrating even the shutters of her windows was sufficient to arouse her to a full awareness of exactly where she was. And besides, there was a distinctly alien lack of inhibition about the noises coming from outside the hotel.
She thrust back the cotton sheet which had suddenly become too heavy on her slender limbs and slid out of bed. Her feet appreciated the coolness of the floor tiles as she went to the window, but when she thrust the shutters wide the heat caused her to draw back into the shadows as her eyes adjusted themselves.
Her windows overlooked the side of the hotel and immediately below she could identify the noises she had heard. Three stories below were the hotel kitchens and from there came the clatter of dishes and the shouted commands of someone in charge. Dustbin lids clattered as black-skinned houseboys in white shirts and shorts covered by long aprons came to empty rubbish, and an assortment of mangy dogs hung about the outer precincts obviously hoping for scraps.
Beyond the less salubrious environs of the kitchen yard a stretch of browned grass gave on to the road down which they had travelled the night before. Although there was quite a lot of traffic using it now it was a much more motley collection than Caroline was used to seeing from the windows of her London flat. There were carts and bicycles, fruit and vegetable drays drawn by oxen, and lorries and cars thickly smeared with dust. Although the road itself was smoothly surfaced, there were no pavements to speak of, just mud-baked paths at the side along which moved a steady stream of women and children. The women carried baskets of clothes or produce on their heads, and Caroline could only assume they were going to the market. This unsophisticated view of humanity went oddly with the skyscraper blocks of hotels and offices and other commercial buildings which formed the nucleus of this apparently thriving African capital.
Turning back into her bedroom, Caroline tried to dispel a sense of disappointment. After all, she had chosen to come to Tsaba, no one had forced her to do it, and just because it was far removed from the picturesque jungle clearing of her imagination it did not mean that she regretted coming. On the contrary, her surroundings were immaterial. She was here to do a job of work, and if by chance she should get to meet Gareth, well …
There was only one bathroom to serve the whole suite, so as everyone else seemed to be sleeping on Caroline made the most of it. She took a shower, smoothed a perfumed anti-sunburn cream into her arms and legs, and brushed her hair until it shone. Her hair was her best feature, she thought. Thick and lustrous, it swung in a dark chestnut curtain to her shoulders where it tilted under, curving confidingly under her chin in front. She was not unaware that amber eyes edged by long thick lashes and a wide, attractive mouth gave one a distinctly appealing appearance, but she had never considered herself beautiful. She was too tall, she thought. Girls who were five feet seven inches in their stockinged feet could never appear weak and clinging, and while she could get away with strongly coloured dramatic clothes, the envy of some of her friends, frilly, feminine garments did not suit her.
After her shower, she dressed in slim-fitting cotton pants in a rather unusual shade of lilac, and a sleeveless yellow tank top. By the time she returned to her room she could hear David and Miranda arguing and when she reached the door of their room Miranda burst into tears. As soon as she saw Caroline, she rushed across to her, wrapping her arms around Caroline’s thighs and clinging to her.
Caroline released the little girl’s arms and went down on her haunches beside her. ‘Now what’s going on?’ she asked gently.
‘She’s just a baby,’ remarked David, with all the disgust of a seven-year-old describing a five-year-old. ‘I only said there’d be spiders at La Vache!’
‘Oh, David!’ Caroline gave him an impatient look.
‘He—he didn’t just s-say that!’ stammered Miranda, drawing back to look with tear-wet eyes into Caroline’s face. ‘He—he said they’d—they’d be ‘normous ones and they’d—they’d come into my bed at night!’
Caroline rose to her feet and faced her eldest charge. ‘Oh, he did, did he? Well, that was clever of you, wasn’t it, David? Frightening a little girl. And not just any little girl. Your sister!’
David had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘It was only a joke,’ he muttered into the neck of his pyjamas.
‘And I suppose it was a joke last night when you woke up, terrified and shouting for Mummy?’
David hunched his shoulders. ‘That was different,’ he exclaimed, colouring, as Miranda’s eyes turned in his direction. ‘I—I had a nightmare.’
‘And don’t you think what you’ve been telling Miranda is enough to give her nightmares?’
‘I s’pose so.’
‘Right. Then let’s have no more of it.’ Caroline looked back down at Miranda. ‘All right now?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘But are there spiders at La Vache?’ she persisted.
Caroline sighed. ‘Miranda, there are spiders everywhere. There needs to be. They’re very useful creatures.’
‘How? How are they useful?’ David scrambled off his bed to come across and join them.
Caroline seated herself patiently on Miranda’s bed and was explaining the role of the spider to her intrigued listeners when a slim, negligée-clad figure drifted through the open doorway.
Elizabeth Lacey, Caroline’s employer, was almost thirty but looked younger. Small and vulnerable in appearance, she belonged to that breed of women who seem incapable of managing even the most uncomplicated of tasks, and Elizabeth traded on it. Caroline, who had known Elizabeth for several years before becoming her employee, knew perfectly well that should it suit her, Elizabeth could tackle anything; but as she had a husband who was susceptible to reproachful looks from wide blue eyes and who continually felt guilty that his work should constantly take him away from his family, she managed to avoid anything closely approaching exerting herself. In England, her mother was her standby, or unpaid housekeeper, thought Caroline with reluctant candour, but when it had come to leaving England, to spending several weeks in Africa, even her mother had drawn the line.
And that was where Caroline had come in. The spring term was at an end, she could afford to take a decrease in salary, it suited her to be out of touch for a while, and besides, Elizabeth’s husband worked in Tsaba.
Now Elizabeth flexed her neck muscles tiredly, and said: ‘What time is it? My watch hasn’t been adjusted yet.’
Caroline glanced at the broad masculine watch on her wrist.
‘A little after nine,’ she replied. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Hungry?’ exclaimed
