Olura Read Online Free Page A

active?’
    ‘Yes. But it’s an interest in humanity. And Olura, please, not Miss Manoli.’
    The musical name came very easily to my tongue. I had been repeating it rather too often in private.
    ‘There is so much I can do, you see,’ she went on. ‘It isn’t sensible that these fine men who are deciding the fate of a continent should have to put up at cheap joints
in Bloomsbury. It isn’t right that they should experience nothing between’—her words came tumbling out, and she had the grace to smile at herself—‘between chops and
chips and Lord Mayor’s Banquets. So I entertain them. I try to get for them everyone they want to meet—editors and tycoons and those horrible Public Relations Officers.’
    ‘I thought yesterday that you would be a marvellous P.R.O. yourself,’ I said.
    ‘Yes. Perhaps it does describe how I try to help the helpless.’
    ‘Which helpless?’
    ‘The emerging nations.’
    Oh dear and damn! That sounded like a prefect of seventeen at an English girls’ school or an American do-goodess of forty. Leopold Mgwana might find her wealth and enthusiasm useful, but
he wouldn’t like being described as helpless. He might even agree—if he ever drank more than tomato juice—that an African politician in London was a deal less helpless than the
unfortunate Minister of State who had to negotiate with him.
    ‘They must all think you are an angel,’ I said, getting safely on to more personal ground.
    ‘Yes?’ she answered coolly. ‘Do you?’
    That put me on the spot much too early. Her remark was ironical rather than inviting. At the same time I did not rule it out that she might be probing—with some enjoyment—to see how
much of a fool I was.
    ‘I might be doubtful about your technique of flying, but the wings are very lovely.’
    ‘A fairy in a Christmas pantomime?’
    ‘No. Lovely meaning lovable.’
    That kept it on a high plane, even if somewhat emphatic. What I was really thinking about—if it could be called drinking—was the fascinating effect of sun-flecked golden down on
untanned surfaces.
    ‘You don’t know me at all.’
    ‘But I want to. And if I sound patronising, it’s just my professional manner which I can’t help. It only means that I feel protective.’
    She was a bit doubtful about that one. I suppose a good many men had presented themselves as likely to protect her and her money.
    ‘What are you?’ she asked. ‘A barrister?’
    ‘A comparative philologist, with an interest in ethnology.’
    ‘Cannibals and canoes?’
    ‘No. My special subject is the peopling of Europe. Migrations and so forth. I have a theory—generally considered to be unsound—that evidence imbedded in vocabulary and grammar
is as significant as that of skulls, pottery and midden heaps. I know nothing about Africa south of the Atlas, but our interests touch in Algeria where the inhabitants had a lot more fun than they
do now.’
    ‘What sort of fun?’
    ‘Hunting over the great plains of the Sahara.’
    ‘You call that fun?’
    ‘Yes, if it means dinner for the family. No—with reservations—if it means killing for kicks,’ I answered boldly. ‘And I’ll bet you Mgwana agrees with
me.’
    ‘I do not always accept Leopold Mgwana’s tastes,’ she said rather haughtily, and rolled over on her back.
    So there I was in the dock alongside criminals like Masters of Stag Hounds! On the other hand, hadn’t there been a faint appeal to me to take Olura for what she was and lay off the
supposed public image of Miss Manoli? When again she rested herself on one elbow conversation was easier and more intimate—perhaps because it did not concern ourselves. She proposed to show
Mgwana as much of the Basque Provinces as could be seen in a long afternoon’s drive and wanted my advice on the route.
    I have put down all this because you asked me for the utmost frankness in explaining my relations with Olura and Mr Mgwana. And you are right. Considering that I had only