Strangers in Company Read Online Free Page B

you like to see?” Marian offered to pass the map to Stella, who shrugged it away with daunting rudeness. “At least we’re nearly there.” She unfolded the map and handed it back, reminding herself unhappily that she was not supposed to involve Stella with other people. It looked as if this were going to be a more difficult task than she had understood.
    â€œOur name’s Hilton,” said the black and scarlet woman, confirming this. “Like the hotels, but not so rich.” She had said it many times before. “What I always say”—she was cheering up as they neared their journey’s end—“is that on these tours you’ve just got to introduce yourselves, or you never get to know a soul.”
    â€œNo. I mean, yes. I’m Marian Frenche, and this is Miss Marten.”
    â€œI thought she wasn’t your daughter,” said Mrs. Hilton at Stella’s back.
    The bus swerved formidably across the traffic and turned left. Alexander Avenue. Marian was relieved to see that street names were given in both Roman and Greek lettering. “I wish I could read Greek,” she said as the bus began to slow down.
    â€œYou won’t need to, love,” said Mrs. Hilton comfortably. “It’s all in English, too.”
    The Hotel Alexander, it turned out, was not actually on Alexander Avenue, but tucked away on a side street that led up towards the tree-covered hill that was identified, without enthusiasm, as Lykabetos by Mrs. Hilton. “No chance of a view of the Acropolis from here.” She got up as the bus stopped and began to push her way forward down the aisle. Following, her husband had one quick, apologetic glance for Marian. He was a small, neat man, half a head shorter than his buxom wife, with a face that should have been roundly cheerful, but was scored with deep lines of anxiety. Following in his wife’s ruthless wake, he cast more glances of apology to right and left.
    Feeling sorry for him, Marian turned to see her own companion staring at her with frank dislike. “Honestly!” She reached into her bag, produced cigarettes and a lighter and lit up with one of her quick, cross gestures. Then, belatedly, “Sorry! Have one?”
    It was a challenge and must be accepted. “Thanks. But I think I’ll wait till we get out of here.”
    â€œYou’ll wait some time.” Some sort of blockage had developed up at the front of the bus, and the aisle was crowded with waiting figures, frozen in curious, awkwardpositions, cluttered with small baggage. “God,” said Stella, “what in the world made me think I’d like a bus tour?”
    Since Marian had been thinking very much the same thing, she did not try to answer, but sat staring out past Stella at the Alexander Hotel. It looked promising, she thought, from what she could see; clean and new-painted in the morning light. There were window boxes along its front, filled with gay, unidentifiable flowers. “It looks nice,” she ventured pacifically.
    â€œNice!” Stella’s anger overflowed suddenly. “And this is a nice bus, and what a lot of nice people we are, this nice morning.”
    Marian managed a laugh. “You’re quite right. It’s a terrible word. I used it in an essay once, and my tutor made me read
Northanger Abbey
before I wrote another one.”
    â€œOh, God, Jane Austen,” said Stella.
    People were moving down the aisle again. Stella stubbed out her cigarette as ruthlessly as she had lit it, and Marian wondered whether, in fact, she disliked them as much as she herself did. “Let’s get out of here,” said Stella. “I’m getting claustrophobia.”
    And that, Marian thought, meekly rising to get their coats and hand baggage from the rack, was all they needed. She turned without a word and found herself blocking the way of a tall middle-aged man, whose bushy black eyebrows contrasted strangely