Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

coolest clothes she walked out to the
grape arbor to sit down and face her day. Putting her head back she gazed into
the tightly laced green leaves above her and at the clusters of pale green
seedless grapes grown in Turfan, Mr. Li had said, for fifteen hundred years.
Presently a door in the long line of rooms opened and Malcolm emerged, glanced
around, and strolled over to join her.
    ”I scarcely recognize you without a wet towel around your head,” he said
dryly.
    ”After breakfast,” she promised him.
    He nodded. ”Breakfast in that incredibly hot little room with two fans,
one of which doesn’t work, and George Wes-trum manages to find the only place
where the working fan stirs any air.”
    ”Courage,” she told him, ”it’s only half-past seven. Except —where is
everyone?”
    Two doors opened simultaneously: George Westrum emerged from his and
Iris from hers; they smiled, greeted each other and walked together toward
them. Jenny came next, followed by Joe Forbes, and then Peter hurried out
looking surprisingly fresh and bright-eyed. They sat or sprawled under the
grapes, their conversation desultory and idle as they waited for Mr. Li.
    He joined them looking both serious and somewhat anxious, so that their
greetings did not extract from him his usual beaming smile.
    ”What’s up for today?” asked Forbes.
    Mr. Li nodded. ”We spend most of today in Turfan, of course. This
morning we visit the Thousand-Buddha Caves, also an ancient tomb, and following
lunch we look forward to Jiaohe—ancient city—and then return to Urumchi.” He
hesitated and then turned to look at Peter. ”You were not in your room last
night, Mr. Fox.”
    Mrs. Pollifax’s heart skipped a beat. Oh dear, she thought in
dismay.
    ”I beg your pardon,” Peter said coldly.
    ”You were not in your room all night,” Mr. Li repeated firmly.
    ”And how the hell would you know that?” asked Peter, rallying, while the
others listened in astonishment.
    ”Because I looked in—there are no keys, as you know. I looked in and
went back many times to look. You were not in your room all night.”
    Mrs. Pollifax thought, I’ve got to stop this; I’ve got to think of
something...
    ”I don’t know what business it is of yours,” Peter told him.
    ”It is the business of myself and China Travel Bureau,” he said
formally. ”I am responsible. You were not in your room, you were not anywhere
in this compound. I have to ask, where did you go? ”
    They had all frozen into a tableau staring mesmerized at Peter, who
stared back at Mr. Li; they had been made uncomfortable by some unknown quality
in Mr. Li’s voice, and by the rising suspense of a long silence that Iris broke
at last by speaking.
    ”Actually,” said Iris in a calm voice, ”Peter spent the night with me.
In my room. All night.”
    Every head swiveled toward Iris, and George Westrum gasped. Mrs.
Pollifax looked quickly at Iris and then her glance moved to George who was
staring incredulously at Iris, his mouth open; she saw that his face had turned
white, as if he’d been struck. How strange this is, thought Mrs.
Pollifax, all of us simply sitting here and watching.
    Peter said, ”Iris—”
    ”It’s quite true,” she said with a lift of her jaw. ”He was with me.”
    George leaned forward, his eyes cold with anger and disgust. ”You slut,” he said, biting the words through his teeth and he rose to his feet and stalked
out of the arbor, his back rigid.
    His words seemed to reverberate, or was it the hate behind them,
wondered Mrs. Pollifax—oh those tight thin lips, she thought, this had been
there all the time. Even Mr. Li looked stricken. In an embarrassed voice he
said to Peter, ”If that is—I didn’t—”
    Malcolm said pleasantly, ”Surely it’s time for breakfast now, don’t you
think?” He stood and walked across the arbor to stand casually behind Iris’
chair, and Mrs. Pollifax loved him for this. Iris herself sat very still, a
flush on either cheekbone, her head high.
    ”Yes indeed,” said Joe Forbes, as if coming out of a trance, and jumped
to his feet.
    Iris looked around, her face without expression, her glance resting
lightly on Mrs. Pollifax, and then she too stood up.
    Jenny, staring at her, said, ”Well of all the—!”
    Mrs. Pollifax heard herself say firmly, ”I think we’ve had enough.”
    Jenny gave her a hostile glare and turned to Joe Forbes. ”Poor George,” she said dramatically.
    ”Poor Jenny,” he said lightly. It