White Heat Read Online Free PDF Page B

doing, to a curious state of nervous self-consciousness at the back of which was an uneasy kind of guilt complex the moment he hove within sight, and her immediate reaction was to take to her heels in order to escape the silent censorship of his disdainful glance.
    Young men like Tom Paget — and by this time she had quite a little coterie of admirers who did their best not to let her out of their sight — thought her sweet and fresh and enchanting, and desirable without being in the least forthcoming. And amongst the older men who admired her — including the one who had once described her as a ‘pale peach of a girl’ — there was endless competition to be seen with her, or to do some little thing for her, or to be allowed to sit in a deck chair near her while she was reading a ship’s library-book.
    But Kent Willoughby was the one man who avoided her as if she had a touch of plague.
    He was unwilling, even, to go to her assistance when she needed it. When her pale blue headscarf blew out to sea and was lost to her for ever he was the one who was nearest to her and who could have prevented the loss if he had merely put out a hand. But the lean brown hand remained idly tucked away in his pocket, and his other hand grasped the stem of his pipe as he surrounded himself with a delicate aroma of skilfully blended tobacco.
    He did not even say he was sorry afterwards when she stood looking wistfully out to sea because the pale blue headscarf was an expensive one and was a birthday present from her father only a few months before he died.
    And when she went ashore at Capetown — alone because Mrs. Makepiece had been laid low with one of her migraine heads and could not accompany her, and the young men who usually formed her escort had already gone ashore because she insisted on remaining with her employer who finally decided she preferred to be left undisturbed in her cabin — he even failed to acknowledge her when they met by accident at the post-office.
    She was despatching a bundle of mail to England for Mrs. Makepiece, and her was sending a cable — also to England. They were not more than a few yards apart at one stage of these joint proceedings, and although he lifted his head and glanced at her he did not so much as indicate by the flicker of one of his very long and thick black eyelashes that he recognized her.
    Karin left the post-office and walked out into the blinding hot sunshine, and promptly lost her way. She had been warned not to venture even a foot or so from the main thoroughfares, and the shopping centre, but even so she took a wrong turning, and found herself lost in the maze of streets.
    She was not alarmed, for this was a modern port, and although there were undoubtedly corner s of it to which it would be most unwise for her to penetrate, the overall appearance of the shopping area was both colourful and reassuring. There were endless gift shops, and shops devoted to the trifles that appeal to women. There were also hotels and restaurants, gardens and flowers. And with a brilliant blue sky suspended like a canopy above the white-walled buildings, and sunshine streaking down like the thrust of a white-hot sword blade, there was unforgettable vividness and magic.
    Karin was standing wondering whether she ought to take a taxi, and looking very slim and noticeable in her crisp blue linen, when for the second time since their acquaintance had started to ripen — although the ‘ripening’ had not been of an order she would have chosen herself — she heard the voice of Kent Willoughby addressing her sharply at her elbow.
    ‘Haven’t you any more sense than to stand about alone in an unfamiliar port looking as if you wish to attract attention?’ he inquired bitingly. ‘If you do want to attract attention you’re going the right way about it!’
    Karin wheeled round and stared at him with wide open eyes. The linen was turquoise, and it made her eyes look slightly turquoise, also — particularly as