Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye Page A

And anyway, what of it? He was probably staying at the Airlane. You were. I was. And so, as it happens, were Elf and that slick owner-driver. And we’re all flying to Nairobi. Why not him?’
    â€˜But suppose he recognizes me? I was standing right next to him!’
    Lash turned and surveyed her with a distinctly jaundiced eye, and remarked caustically that it was extremely doubtful if her own mother would recognize her at the moment. To which he added a rider to the effect that if she was going to lose her nerve every twenty minutes she had better give up the whole idea after all and run off back to her Aunt Harriet, as he did not fancy the prospect of being saddled with a spineless and probably inefficient secretary who suffered from frequent attacks of the vapours. A trenchant observation that acted upon Dany’s agitated nervous sytem with the bracing effect of a bucketful of cold water, and stiffened her wavering resolution. She cast Mr Lashmer Holden a look of active dislike, and preceded him into the aircraft in chilly silence.
    No one had questioned her identity, and if there were any plain-clothes police among the crowds at the airport she did not identify them. The stewardess said: ‘Will you please fasten your seat belts,’ and then they were taxi-ing down the long runway. The propellors roared and the airport slipped away from them: tilted, levelled out and dwindled to the proportions of a child’s toy. They were safely away.
    â€˜Well, it seems we made it,’ remarked Lash affably, unfastening his seat-belt and lighting a cigarette.
    He accepted a cup of coffee from the stewardess and added the remains of his flask to it. He seemed surprised that there was no more.
    â€˜Why, hell — I only filled it half an hour ago! No — I guess it must have been earlier than that. Oh well, plenty more where it came from. Happy landings! How are you feeling, by the way?’
    â€˜Sleepy,’ said Dany.
    â€˜That’s odd. So’m I. A very good night to you.’
    He settled himself comfortably and was instantly asleep, and Dany, looking at him resentfully, was annoyed to find that her own head was nodding. She had no intention of wasting her time in sleep. This was her very first flight, and although the circumstances under which she was making it were, to say the least of it, unusual, she was not going to miss a moment of it. Soon they would be passing over the Channel. France … Switzerland. Looking down on the snowy peaks of the Alps. On the Matterhorn and Mont Blanc. Over the mountains to Italy. No, of course she could not sleep …

4
    Dany awoke with a start to find the stewardess once again urging her to fasten her seat belt. ‘We shall be coming in to land in a few minutes.’
    â€˜Land? Where?’ inquired Dany dazedly.
    â€˜Naples. Do you think you could fasten your friend’s belt? I don’t seem to be able to wake him.’
    Dany performed this task with some difficulty, Mr Holden remaining immobile throughout. He did not even wake when the plane touched down, and the stewardess gave up the unequal struggle, and in defiance of regulations, left him there.
    Dany climbed over him to join the other passengers who were being ushered out into the dazzling sunlight of the Naples aerodrome, and feeling quite incapable of any conversation, affected not to see Larry Dowling, who had given her a friendly smile as she passed him.
    A curious mixture of lunch and tea was served in the dining-room of the airport, but Dany was in no mood to be critical, and she ate everything that was placed before her, surprised to find herself so hungry. Prompted by caution she had selected a table as far as possible from her fellow passengers, and from this vantage point she studied them with interest; realizing that among them, still unidentified, were two more guests bound for Kivulimi. Tyson’s sister, Augusta Bingham, and her friend Miss — Boots?