Read Online Hotel Mirador by Rosalind Brett - Free Book Online

of powerful overarm stuff and then a leap up on to the marble. His morning swim was as much of a business, apparently, as the hotel or his other interests.
    Determinedly, Sally backed into the bedroom and hummed to herself while she took a shower and dressed. She ate the usual light breakfast which was brought to the suite, and went down to the esplanade for a walk. She found some colonnaded shopping streets, covered souks which were crammed with men in robes and women who were only distinguishable from the men by their yashmaks. A little shy of buying from people who did not understand English, she returned to the Mirador and entered its emporium, a splendid store whose plate glass windows walled a tiled corridor on the ground floor. She bought white shorts and was politely warned by the assistant to wear them only in the hotel grounds, and she acquired several sports shirts in gay colors, a sun-frock, harlequin sun glasses, plaited straw slippers and a floppy straw hat. Extravagant for the first time in her life, she bought pretty white ear clips and a multicolored linen jacket she could easily have done without .
    The assistant promised to send the goods to her suite. “Number Seven?” he said with a bow. “I will charge them, mademoiselle.”
    “I don’t have an account with the hotel,” she told him. “I’d better pay you now.”
    The dark eyes looked comprehending. “You are the young lady from England? I have orders from Mr. Ryland that you are to buy what you wish, at no cost.”
    “But that’s impossible. I could send you bankrupt.”
    He smiled, lifted his shoulders. “I doubt that, mademoiselle. Mr. Ryland was emphatic.”
    For a moment Sally was tempted to tell him to return the things she had chosen to their shelves and hangers, and then she grew vexed again. Bother Dane Ryland!
    “Just give me a note of what I’ve selected and their prices,” she said. “I’ll deal with it later.”
    When her purchases were delivered to her room, Sally was enchanted with the effect of continental wear on her long-limbed English figure. The prices were steep, but the things were worth it; she would certainly pay for them herself.
    She put the goods away, took a long glance at her neat blue reflection in the mirror and picked up the lavender - colored telephone.
    “Reception? This is Miss Yorke. Will you arrange for me to have the car, please? Thank you.”
    Ten minutes later, hatless and carrying nothing at all, she got into the car and gave instructions. They were moving round the drive when she noticed the silver and blue creation parked in the middle of a line of more ordinary vehicles. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Does the big car belong to Mademoiselle Vaugard?”
    “But no,” he answered politely. “It is the private ear of Monsieur Ryland.”
    “And this one, that you’re driving?”
    “It is also monsieur’s.”
    Sally sat back. One for weekdays and one for best, it seemed. Or had Dane bought the silver and blue affair because it happened to combine Cécile Vaugard’s favorite colors? Maybe if she wore pink he’d turn up in a pink one! Strange to think that the woman lived here in the hotel but was seldom seen, though possibly Dane saw her fairly often. It appeared that, even if he wasn’t the marrying kind, he was as conscious as the rest of a beautiful woman. There were not so very many different kinds of man, after all!
    Determinedly, she took a lively interest in the tortuous streets and the hillside, which lay glittering under the sun. She saw a shrine that she hadn’t noticed yesterday, and a beautiful Moorish house, which must belong to some notability, possibly the Caid. Even speeding past it in a car, she could see pillars of bright mosaic tiles, and an expanse of sculptured stone above an elegant doorway. One day, perhaps, she would have an opportunity of looking over such a house. She hoped so.
    But as they turned on to the small drive outside Mike Ritchie’s