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

Lash’s secretaries, for she made no further inquiries. But something in Dany’s gaze had evidently annoyed her, for she looked down again at the sleeping Lash, and then lightly, but very deliberately, stretched out one slender white hand and smoothed back an errant lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.
    It was a sweetly possessive gesture that spoke volumes — and was intended to. And having made her point, Mrs Gordon smiled charmingly and went on down the aisle to the ladies’ room.
    Dany subsided, feeling shaken and unreasonably angry, and unnerved by the narrowness of her escape. What if Mrs Gordon had asked her name, and she had said ‘Kitchell’? What would have happened then? But you aren’t Ada Kitchell. I know her. How would she have answered that? Two redheaded secretaries, both with the same name, would have been difficult to explain away. Unless they were sisters ____ ? If Mrs Gordon questioned her again she would have to be Ada’s sister. Lash should have remembered that Mrs Gordon had met his ex-secretary, and warned her of it.
    She turned to look at him again, and apprehension gave place to that entirely illogical anger. She reached out and pushed the lock of hair over his forehead again. That, thought Dany, will show her!
    The stewardess dispensed tea, and the two Colonial gentlemen in the seat behind woke up and embarked upon a long and dogmatic discussion of the race problems in Kenya. The thin Arab whom Dany had first seen in the hall of the Airlane — or possibly in Market-Lydon? — passed down the aisle, and one of the men behind her lowered his voice and said: ‘See who that was? Salim Abeid — the chap they call “Jembe”.’
    â€˜Believe you’re right. Wonder what he’s been doing over in London?’
    â€˜Being made much of by our messy little Pro-Reds and Pink Intellectuals, I suppose. Can’t think why we allow that type of chap to go there. They’re never up to any good, and they never get any good — the Reds see to that! Swoop down on ’em like vultures the minute they land, and cherish ’em and fill ’em up with spleen, and educate ’em in subversion.’
    â€˜I’ve always heard,’ said the other voice, ‘that he’s an able feller. They say he’s getting quite a following in Zanzibar.’
    â€˜So I believe. Which is Zanzibar’s bad luck! That place has always seemed to me a sort of peaceful oasis in a brawling desert of politicians and power-grabbers. But Jembe and his ilk are out to change all that if they can. Ever noticed how for all their bellowings about “Peace and Brotherly Love” the average Red is eaten up from nose to tail with envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness? Their gods and their gospel are hate and destruction, and Jembe is typical of the breed. At the moment his target is the British, because that is a sitting duck these days. But he’s a Coast Arab, and if ever he should manage to get us out he’ll turn his followers on the Indian community next; or the Parsees — and then the Omani Arabs — and so on. There must always be an enemy to kick, so that he can keep hate alive and profit by it. If Zanzibar is a little Eden, then Jembe is the serpent in it! Did I ever tell you…?’
    The speaker lowered his voice again as the subject of his remarks passed again on his way back to his seat, and thereafter made no further mention of Zanzibar or of the man he had referred to as ‘Jembe’.
    The daylight faded, and Dany drew up the blind and found that they were still flying over the sea. She wished that she had something to read. Or someone to talk to. Anything to soothe her jangled nerves and keep her from thinking of Mr Honeywood — and of murder. The couple behind her, having exhausted politics and settled the fate of Kenya, had advanced — loudly — to the unnerving subject of air