Read The Devil at Archangel for Free Online

startled disbelieving gaze flew to his face.
    'Poor Sort-of-Secretary. Expecting to be another rape statistic when
    all they wanted was your money!'
    Their eyes met and held. To her horror, Christina realised she was
    near to tears. The, shock of her recent experience coupled with this
    incomprehensible attitude on the part of the stranger who had aided
    her was having a devastating effect on her emotions. More than
    anything else, she wanted the refuge of her hotel room.
    'I didn't know what to think.' She lifted her chin with unconscious
    dignity. 'Situations like this are rather new to me. Now, if you could
    show me the way to the Beauharnais.'
    'Just follow the scent of affluence,' he advised sardonically. 'Actually
    you're not too far away. You want the next left turning, and the

    second right after that, but unless you know them these back streets
    can seem like a maze. Next time you want to play tourist, stick to the
    boulevards. At least the people you meet there will know the rules of
    the game.'
    With a brief nod, he turned away and continued on down the street.
    Christina watched him go, aware that her heart was thumping in an
    erratic and totally unprecedented manned She told herself that she
    was glad to see him go, to be free of that disconcerting silver gaze and
    bewilderingly barbed tongue. She was thankful that he had not
    offered to accompany her to the hotel, she told herself defiantly, and
    if he had done so, she would have refused his offer.
    No matter how odd his manner, his directions were reassuringly
    accurate, she found a few minutes later as she emerged into the square
    and saw the opulent colonial lines of the Beauharnais confronting her.
    She quickened her steps, instinct telling her that Mrs Brandon's rest
    would have ended long ago and that her absence would have been
    noticed.
    She crossed the trottoir quickly, swerving between the laughing,
    chattering groups of people making a more leisurely return to the
    hotel for dinner, followed by an evening's entertainment. For a brief
    moment she felt envy stir within her. Her time here was So brief, and
    tomorrow she would set out for a very different existence on Ste
    Victoire, with no very clear idea what, if anything, she had to look
    forward to. She shook her head impatiently, tossing back her hair.
    She mustn't think like that, she chided herself. It was the chance of a
    lifetime, and she was just allowing the afternoon's experience to upset
    her unduly. After all, here she was back safe and sound, with only her
    pride bruised a little—and that was a condition she had learnedto live
    with.
    As she approached the hotel's imposing portico, she noticed that a
    group of tourists had gathered at one side of it, and were obviously

    watching something that was taking place in the shade of one of the
    tall columns which decorated the entrance.
    She hesitated for a moment, then deciding she might as well be
    hanged for a sheep as a lamb in the matter of lateness, threaded her
    way through the group to see what was interesting them all so closely.
    It didn't at first glance seem to be too impressive. A tall, lanky Negro
    with grizzled hair was crouching on the ground, tossing what
    appeared to be chicken bones in front of him. In front of him, a
    matronly-looking woman with blue-rinsed hair was also crouching,
    oblivious of the damage the dusty ground wasdoing to an expensive
    suit. As Christina paused, she got to her feet, brushing her skirt
    almost absently, an expression of mingled alarm and delight on her
    plump good-natured face. She took the arm of a well-dressed man
    standing behind her and they moved away. As they passed her,
    Christina heard the woman say, 'But that was truly amazing, honey.
    He knew everything ...' Oh, she thought, as comprehension dawned, a
    fortune-teller.
    Momentarily, she lingered, waiting to see who his next client would
    be from the laughing jostling little throng that surrounded him, but no
    one seemed very willing to