Read Online Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station by Dorothy Gilman - Free Book Online Page A

Iris’ clumsiness, and it was in the tone
of her voice now, a curious recklessness, a sense of trying too hard. There
is a suggestion of desperation here, she thought, and wondered why.
    Mr. Li interrupted her speculations with an announcement. Dinner, he
said, would be served in twenty minutes, and he pointed to the building where
it would be served, and for the evening, if they wished, they could stroll to
the People’s Park together while he and Miss Bai worked out their schedule for
Xian. Next he explained that there were no keys to the rooms at the People’s
Hotel—there was no need for keys—and he read out their room numbers.
    ”I don’t like there being no keys,” Jenny complained as they climbed the
stairs to the floor above.
    ”I think,” said Mrs. Pollifax, ”one has to bear in mind that the hotel
is run by the government, and there’s a soldier on duty at the entrance, and as
you can see,” she added as they reached the second floor, ”there’s a chap at a
desk to check people.”
    ”But there are so many workers here,” Jenny protested.
    Malcolm fielded that one. ”Plum job, my dear. If it even occurred to one
of them to steal something—doubtful—where would they sell it? Don’t be so
suspicious,” he chided, adding dryly, ”this isn’t America , you know. Who’s for that
stroll after dinner, by the way?”
    After one look at her room Mrs. Pollifax decided very firmly to opt for
the walk to People’s Park. She could not conceive of an evening spent in a room
so small, so unbelievably dark and hot,
with a tiny air-conditioner that made chuckling sounds when she turned it on.
She therefore set out with the others following dinner, and falling into step
beside Iris she asked how things
were going.
    Iris did not fail her. ”Oh isn’t it wonderful!” she cried turning
to face Mrs. Pollifax and very nearly falling over a stone in her path. ”I
asked Miss Bai what her first name is. I have it written down somewhere, but in
English it means Elder
Fragrance, isn’t that beautiful?”
    ”Really lovely, yes,” agreed Mrs. Pollifax, ”but I think you’d better
watch out for the holes in this sidewalk, Iris.”
    ”Okay. But what’s with this Peter Fox?” she asked. ”I sat next to him at
dinner and I don’t know when I’ve met anyone so grumpy—unless it was Stanley before he had his
morning coffee. Is he going to be a real wet blanket?”
    ”He may thaw, given time,” said Mrs. Pollifax generously. ”It seems his
grandmother gave him this trip as a present because she was born in China and can’t
come herself. I daresay he’d much rather be off backpacking somewhere with a
group of friends.”
    ”If he has any friends,” said Iris. ”Well, I can see how he feels, of
course, but if somebody gave me a present—any kind of present—you wouldn’t
catch me sulking like that. And a free trip to China—wow!”
    Mrs. Pollifax smiled faintly, noting the words if anyone gave me a
present, any kind of present, and reflected that Iris would be too busy
giving presents to receive any; the takers must flock to her like bees to a
honey flower. A pity, she thought, and said mischievously, ”George Westrum
seems very nice.”
    Iris warmly agreed. ”Oh, isn’t he? And I think”—she lowered her voice—”I
think he used to be an FBI man, isn’t that intriguing?”
    ”FBI?” repeated Mrs. Pollifax alertly. ”How very exciting!”
    Iris nodded. ”Now all we need is someone from the CIA.”
    ”Yes indeed,” murmured Mrs. Pollifax, without so much as a blink of an
eye. ”Quite horrid people, I’m sure.”
    ”Oh there must be some nice people among them,” Iris conceded
with her radiant smile and then, glancing ahead, ”Look—that must be the park.
We’re here! Except why are the others huddling around the gate?”
    ”Because it costs money,” shouted Malcolm, as Iris called out her query,
crossing the avenue. ”The real stuff. Either of you have any?”
    ”I have,”