Strangers in Company Read Online Free PDF Page A

with short-cut silver hair, under the kind of Panama hat favoured by American tourists. “I’m so sorry.” She moved back a little, but he waved her on.
    â€œLadies first.” His was the American voice of the airport. “Frankly”— his smile eased the deep lines of a tanned face—“I don’t think hurrying’s going to get us anywhere. We’ve lost that splendid girl, did you notice? She went off like a bat out of hell when the bus stopped. Well, we’re late, of course. But poor Mr. Cairnthorpe.…”
    â€œUseless,” said Stella.
    The scene in the lobby of the Alexander confirmed her words. It might be late for the Greek girl, but it was veryearly for the hotel, and an aged night porter was on duty at the desk. He spoke no English, and Cairnthorpe, it appeared, no Greek. A total impasse had developed, with Cairnthorpe trying various pronunciations of the magic words “Mercury Tours,” none of them successfully. Around him, the other members of the party sagged in anxious exhaustion. The few seats had been appropriated by the first comers; the others were rapidly filling the small lobby to overflowing.
    â€œHell and damnation,” said the American. What on earth was someone like him doing on a tour like this? Now Marian watched with awed amusement as he contrived to make his way, courteous but firm, forward through the depressed crowd. Arrived at the desk, he spoke, loud and surprisingly bullying, in German. “The manager. Send for him at once.”
    The night porter looked at him with intense dislike but lifted the telephone on the desk and spoke rapidly in Greek. “She comes.” He ignored Cairnthorpe and spoke, now in German, to the American, still with dislike, then detached himself from the whole affair by producing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and poring over the hotel ledger.
    â€œThanks,” said Cairnthorpe, a little breathlessly. “Stupid of me; I never thought of German.”
    â€œThey don’t like it,” said the American. “But it works.”
    It did. A door at the back of the lobby had opened to reveal an enormous black-clad lady of some age, who came through the crowd like a frigate to confront Cairnthorpe by the desk. “But you are a day early.” She reached over the desk, produced a file, opened it and handed him a piece of paper. “See. Here it says April fifth. And today it is the fourth.”
    â€œOh, my God,” said Cairnthorpe.
    â€œWe were given the wrong date.” She shrugged, her motherly smile for Cairnthorpe alone. “But what matter? Since it is our first booking, all is ready. I, Anastasia, am always ready. So: welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” She moved with heavy grace round to the back of the desk,said something in quick Greek to the night porter and turned a page of the huge ledger. “Names and passports, please. We will pretend that it is already tomorrow.”
    What followed was, inevitably, a muddle. She could not pronounce the English names: Cairnthorpe, quite naturally, could not connect names with faces; it took a very long time to get the rooms allocated. Marian waiting passively in a corner, where at least she had found a pillar to lean against, found herself wondering if, by any chance, the blonde Greek girl had known what was going to happen and had made good her escape before it began.
    â€œIf they’d only keep quiet.” Beside her, Stella was still, perceptibly, simmering with rage. And, of course, she was quite right. The tired chorus of grumbles made it difficult for people to hear their names when they were called. Now, at the third try, the name “Eeltong” was heard and recognised.
    â€œAnd about time, too.” Mrs. Hilton bustled forward to accept the key. “And what about our baggage, eh?”
    â€œIt comes.” If Mrs. Hilton was buxom, Anastasia was statuesque. “You will go to your room, please, and