Oriental Hotel by Janet Tanner Page B

said.
    And on that summer afternoon, in the heart of the Gloucestershire countryside, it seemed that the years were rolling away, bearing her back through timeto another life when she had been young, frightened yet determined, and alone amid the ravages of a war-torn world.

Chapter Five
    â€˜I’m sorry, Mrs Sanderson. It is quite out of the question for you to return to Hong Kong. This is wartime. You simply cannot go rushing about the world as if you were going to a tea party.’
    Frederick Langley, Vice-Consul at the British Embassy in Cairo, leaned forward over his elegantly padded desk, his rotund face pink and exasperated.
    â€˜I would have hoped I had made myself clear by now,’ he added, glaring accusingly at the young woman who sat opposite him.
    â€˜And I hoped I had made it clear that I am not rushing about the world, as you put it. Can’t you understand? I just want to go home!’
    With a decisive movement she snapped her crocodile clutch-bag down on the table and almost unconsciously he priced it. Expensive, like the matching crocodile pumps and deceptively simple dress of blue shantung silk. Expensive, like her gold jewellery and the sapphire that sparkled above the wedding ring.
    But even he, sceptic that he was, had to admit that the first thing one noticed about Elise Sanderson was not the trappings of wealth but her face: features finely chiselled and tanned to a warm gold beneath the crowning cap of honey-coloured hair; beautiful amber eyes and a mouth which though softly curving seemed somehow oddly determined. Just now the eyes were narrowed, desperation making them sparkle behind their fringe of thick, dark lashes, and the mouth was set in a firm line. Looking at it, Frederick Langley sighed.
    Why in heaven’s name had he joined the Diplomatic Service, he wondered. As if it were not bad enough to be banished to an arid, Godforsaken country like Egypt where the heat, the dust and the flies made it a full-time occupation to hold on to a modicum of good temper, in addition he was expected to deal with foolish expatriates who could not, or would not, understand the simple facts he had to set before them.
    It was 1941 and the world was at war. England and Germany were bombing the hearts out of one another’s cities and most of Europe was occupied by Hitler’s armies. Here in North Africa the Italians had chanced their arm, attempting to invade Egypt, though General O’Connor had been ready for them and was pushing them westwards towards Cyrenaica; while in the Far East, Japan was an ever-constant threat.
    Already the Japanese were in China; if they decided to move, the whole of Malaysia would fall to them and the first place to fall would be Hong Kong.
    The Government had realised this. They had begun evacuating women and children the previous summer and sending them to safety in Australia; although public outcry had caused the evacuations to halt, the Secretary of State for the Colonies was adamant that it was not safe for those who had left to return.
    Yet however often he explained the situation to her, Elise Sanderson refused to understand and his patience – never his strongest quality – was fast running out.
    Frederick Langley sighed again, mopping at his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief and composing himself for another onslaught.
    â€˜Mrs Sanderson, Hong Kong is greatly at risk from invasion by the Japanese and the women and children were evacuated for their own safety. You must realise …’
    â€˜But the evacuations have stopped now.’ The young woman leaned forward, one small tanned fist pressed on the padded desk top. ‘And in any case, I wasn’t evacuated. I left of my own accord, for personal reasons, before the evacuations started.’
    â€˜And now, for personal reasons, you want to return.’ Langley’s face assumed a bland, disapproving look.
    At some time during one of their interminable interviews he felt