his person.
He was tallish and slimly built, and wore an old trench coat that was black with rain. His looks, Lou felt, were unimportant on such a night.
He gave her a weary smile. “ I ’ m human—just about . The name is Greg Allwyn. May I come in? ”
She stood aside, clutching her dressing-gown tightly below her throat. “ I think you ’ d better. Take off your coat and leave it just inside the door. Would you like some coffee? ”
He looked at her, gave a tired laugh. “ You sound like England. May I have a spot of whisky in it? ”
“ I think there ’ s a little. ” Lou poured, watching him. “ Have you been ill? ”
“ Not desperately—just a bit seedy. ”
“ Should you be out on a night like this? ”
Again, in spite of himself, he grinned. “ You ’ re a real breath of home, and unusual with it I turn up in the middle of nowhere and you treat it as if I ’ ve taken shelter on my way up the street . This is quite near the Mulera plantation, isn ’ t it? ”
“ It is Mulera. ”
“ Is it, though? ” The information apparently gave him pause. “ Is this the manager ’ s house? ”
She nodded. “ Sit down and drink the coffee or you ’ ll get the shivers. Where are you making for? ”
He drank and put down the cup, lowered himself to a chair. “ This house, as a matter of fact . I thought it would be empty. ”
Lou stood back from the table and regarded him; under his tan he was pale, and his movements had the slackness of more than normal tiredness. “ Are you the new manager? ”
“ That ’ s the general idea. Three months ’ trial. I ’ m not due here for nine days, but I was footloose and decided to come. ” His light brown glance rested on the youthful curves of her face. “ Do you have a father or someone around? ”
“ Someone, ” she replied guardedly. “ Did you come by car? ”
“ Only as far as the river. The road is awash and I walked the rest of the way. ”
“ The river? ” she echoed. “ I don ’ t even know it ”
He shrugged. “ That ’ s how a good many of the rivers are in Africa; they only show in the rains. ” He pushed a hand over lank hair which now looked the color of old rope. “ I ’ ll have to think this out . Don ’ t let it worry you. ” His tone put Lou at ease. She went quietly along to the bathroom for a towel, brought it back and put it in his hands.
“ Dry your hair and take off your shoes. It ’ s only about ten, so we should be able to send a message to Mr. Gilmore. One of his servants lives in the quarters at the back and I ’ ll get hold of him. ”
“ Oh, no, ” he said hastily. “ I won ’ t let Ross Gilmore know I ’ m in the vicinity yet If the house had been available I ’ d have been happy to get dug in and familiarize myself with the plantation, b ut as things are he ’ s not likely to welcome me. ” He thought for a moment “ Do you have a spare room? ”
She shook her head. “ Afraid I can ’ t offer you the empty bedroom. ”
He looked past her, at the open doorway to the corridor, raked back his drying hair, “ Do you live with a brother? ”
Lou studied him. Now, his hair was lighter, the color of damp sand, and consequently the brown eyes appeared darker. His features were thin and good, but his mouth had the slant of disillusionment and about his eyes the skin was lined. He looked thirtyish and thoroughly seasoned; one might have said the same of Ross Gilmore, but in Ross the experienced look had vitality and keenness. Greg Allwyn carried a faint air of ruin about him but even so he was attractive. When he felt thoroughly well he was probably very aware of his good looks.
Carefully, she explained her position. He listened, nodded when she mentioned the Westons and was silent for a moment when she had finished. He began to look a little better, less grey about the mouth and slightly more alert. His eyes had the kind of smile she had seen once or twice in men who knew a great deal about
He was tallish and slimly built, and wore an old trench coat that was black with rain. His looks, Lou felt, were unimportant on such a night.
He gave her a weary smile. “ I ’ m human—just about . The name is Greg Allwyn. May I come in? ”
She stood aside, clutching her dressing-gown tightly below her throat. “ I think you ’ d better. Take off your coat and leave it just inside the door. Would you like some coffee? ”
He looked at her, gave a tired laugh. “ You sound like England. May I have a spot of whisky in it? ”
“ I think there ’ s a little. ” Lou poured, watching him. “ Have you been ill? ”
“ Not desperately—just a bit seedy. ”
“ Should you be out on a night like this? ”
Again, in spite of himself, he grinned. “ You ’ re a real breath of home, and unusual with it I turn up in the middle of nowhere and you treat it as if I ’ ve taken shelter on my way up the street . This is quite near the Mulera plantation, isn ’ t it? ”
“ It is Mulera. ”
“ Is it, though? ” The information apparently gave him pause. “ Is this the manager ’ s house? ”
She nodded. “ Sit down and drink the coffee or you ’ ll get the shivers. Where are you making for? ”
He drank and put down the cup, lowered himself to a chair. “ This house, as a matter of fact . I thought it would be empty. ”
Lou stood back from the table and regarded him; under his tan he was pale, and his movements had the slackness of more than normal tiredness. “ Are you the new manager? ”
“ That ’ s the general idea. Three months ’ trial. I ’ m not due here for nine days, but I was footloose and decided to come. ” His light brown glance rested on the youthful curves of her face. “ Do you have a father or someone around? ”
“ Someone, ” she replied guardedly. “ Did you come by car? ”
“ Only as far as the river. The road is awash and I walked the rest of the way. ”
“ The river? ” she echoed. “ I don ’ t even know it ”
He shrugged. “ That ’ s how a good many of the rivers are in Africa; they only show in the rains. ” He pushed a hand over lank hair which now looked the color of old rope. “ I ’ ll have to think this out . Don ’ t let it worry you. ” His tone put Lou at ease. She went quietly along to the bathroom for a towel, brought it back and put it in his hands.
“ Dry your hair and take off your shoes. It ’ s only about ten, so we should be able to send a message to Mr. Gilmore. One of his servants lives in the quarters at the back and I ’ ll get hold of him. ”
“ Oh, no, ” he said hastily. “ I won ’ t let Ross Gilmore know I ’ m in the vicinity yet If the house had been available I ’ d have been happy to get dug in and familiarize myself with the plantation, b ut as things are he ’ s not likely to welcome me. ” He thought for a moment “ Do you have a spare room? ”
She shook her head. “ Afraid I can ’ t offer you the empty bedroom. ”
He looked past her, at the open doorway to the corridor, raked back his drying hair, “ Do you live with a brother? ”
Lou studied him. Now, his hair was lighter, the color of damp sand, and consequently the brown eyes appeared darker. His features were thin and good, but his mouth had the slant of disillusionment and about his eyes the skin was lined. He looked thirtyish and thoroughly seasoned; one might have said the same of Ross Gilmore, but in Ross the experienced look had vitality and keenness. Greg Allwyn carried a faint air of ruin about him but even so he was attractive. When he felt thoroughly well he was probably very aware of his good looks.
Carefully, she explained her position. He listened, nodded when she mentioned the Westons and was silent for a moment when she had finished. He began to look a little better, less grey about the mouth and slightly more alert. His eyes had the kind of smile she had seen once or twice in men who knew a great deal about
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