Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye Read Free Book Online Page B

her mind and couldn’t possibly go through with it, and once in the taxi and en route to the Air Terminal had made her take several sea-sick pills and swallow them down with rye whisky.
    She had been unable to eat any breakfast that morning, panic having deprived her of appetite, and the raw spirit, coming on top of a sleepless night and an empty stomach, had quietened her postoperative nerves and filled her with a pleasant glow of confidence which had lasted until the passengers bound for Nairobi were marshalled in the departure lounge, and she had found herself standing next to a slim, youngish-looking man with a thin, triangular, attractive face, observant brown eyes and a square, obstinate chin.
    Catching Dany’s eye he had smiled at her; a swift and singularly pleasant smile that she found it impossible to resent, and said: ‘I see that we’re both bound for Zanzibar. Have you ever been there before?’
    His voice was as irresistibly friendly and good-humoured as his smile, and Dany smiled back at him and shook her head.
    â€˜No? That’s a pity: I’d hoped to pick up a few pointers. This’ll be my first visit too. As a matter of fact, I never expected to make it. I’ve had my name down on half a dozen waiting lists for weeks on end, but all the Nairobi planes seemed to be booked solid. I’d almost given up hope when my luck turned — someone cancelled a seat only yesterday, and I got it.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Dany, jumping slightly. ‘H-how lucky for you.’
    â€˜It was that all right! I’m a feature writer. Freelance. My name’s Dowling — Larry Dowling.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Dany faintly. ‘A — reporter.’
    Mr Dowling looked pained. ‘No. Feature writer. Have you ever heard of a novelist called Frost? Tyson Frost? But of course you have! Well, he’s got a house in Zanzibar, and I’ve been commissioned by a newspaper and a couple of magazines to try and get a feature on him. That is, if he’ll see me. He’s not an easy man to get at, from all accounts. Still, I ought to be able to get something out of the trip, even if Frost won’t play. Might be able to do something on the elections down there. There’s a rumour that the local Moscow-Nasser stooges are making an all-out bid for control of the island.’
    â€˜Of Zanzibar? But it’s quite an unimportant little place!’ protested Dany, momentarily forgetting her own predicament in a sudden sense of outrage. Was there then no longer any lovely, romantic spot left in all the world that was free from squabbling political parties?
    Mr Larry Dowling laughed. ‘You know, there was a time when a good many people might have said the same of Sarajevo. But they learnt differently. I’m afraid you’ll find that in a world that plays Power Politics there is no such thing any longer as “an unimportant little place”.’
    â€˜Oh, no!’ said Dany involuntarily. ‘Why does everything have to be spoiled!’
    Mr Dowling lifted a quizzical eyebrow, but his pleasant voice was sympathetic; ‘That’s Life, that is. I didn’t mean to depress you. I’m sure you’ll find Zanzibar every bit as attractive as you expect it to be. I believe it’s a lovely place. Are you staying with friends there, or are you going to put up at the hotel like me? I hear there is ____ ’
    He broke off, his attention sharply arrested by the Vision at that moment entering the crowded lounge. A vision dressed by Dior and draped in mink, preceded, surrounded and followed by a heady waft of glamour and exceedingly expensive scent, and accompanied by a slim, dark Italianate young man and a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman with grey hair and cold pale eyes.
    Her entrance created something of a stir, and Mr Holden, also turning to look, lost a considerable portion of his bonhomie.
    â€˜Here come some of your step-father’s