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.A PRESENT FOR EVERYONE!Simon grinned as he read it and decided that in the circumstances it was aninvitation he could not refuse.The Christmas grotto took up one complete corner of the floor, and consistedof a hardboard cave enclosed by cardboard cutouts of a fairy castle.Thechildren handed their money to a bored-looking girl dressed as a pixie in abooth at the castle entrance and then walked up to where Santa sat on hissleigh in the entrance to the cave.Everything had been covered in tinsel andPage 44ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlartificial snow and the result was obviously approved of by the line of eagerchildren queuing at the pay booth.After their brief chat with FatherChristmas the children left by a one-way turnstile at the side of the cave.The Saint walked around the grotto and leaned against the wall beside theturnstile where he could watch the Santa at work.Close to, he looked ratherless imposing than when seen from outside the grotto.Simon had no ideawhether there was a regulation height for Santas but, had there been, this onewould definitely not have measured up.He was little more than five feet four,and despite the bulging padding beneath his tunic quite clearly of slim build.The tunic hung loose about the shoulders and the trousers bagged at the knees.After going to so much trouble to make the grotto look attractive, it seemedstrange that the management had not paid the same attention to its starattraction.But it was not the clothes or the physique which made the Saint seyes narrow with suspicion as he scrutinised the man.It was the face.True,the cheeks were the required rosy red, but the grease paint looked as if ithad been applied with a trowel.The hood of the costume hid the forehead, andthe fake cotton-wool eyebrows and luxuriant white beard contrived to concealeighty per cent of the face.But there was no hiding the eyes, which weresmall and dark.He looked for final confirmation at the hands, but they wereencased in thick knitted woollen gloves.The Saint smiled thoughtfully as he nevertheless penetrated the disguise.Santa was not a he but a she.3The girl soon became aware that she was being watched.She pulled the hoodfurther down over her face and shifted sideways on her sleigh so that as muchof her as possible was hidden from him.Using her body to mask the gesture,she waved to the pixie in the pay booth.It was obviously a prearrangedsignal, for the assistant immediately closed the gate leading to the grottoand hung a notice on it promising that Father Christmas would return in thirtyminutes.Santa jumped nimbly from the sleigh and with the pixie hurriedtowards a door marked Staff Only.The Saint skirted the grotto wall and followed.He was just in time to seethe pixie disappearing into the lavatory a few yards along the corridor, whileSanta darted through a door marked rest room directly opposite.Simon paused for a moment to be sure that the corridor was not about to beused by other members of the staff, who might be curious as to his presence,before he opened the rest-room door.The girl was standing in the middle of the room.She had pulled off the falsebeard and eyebrows.She still wore the boots and red breeches, but the furtrimmed tunic had been discarded and thrown across a chair on which alsorested the cushion she had used to pad out her figure to the requiredtraditional plumpness.He smiled with open approval. Darling, he murmured, you can come down my chimney any night of the year.Page 45ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlShe was young, trim, and beautiful, small-featured under the now ridiculousruddy make-up.Straight black hair slid past slender shoulders.Her eyestransmitted that combination of mystery and innocence which is the birthrightof so many Eastern women.She snatched up the tunic and clutched it modestly to her chest. Go away, please, she blustered indignantly. I have to change. Carry on, he said coolly. I won t watch.He made a play of turning and closing the door and studiously averting hisgaze to give her time to pull on a sweater snug enough to emphasise the charmshe had already glimpsed.He read the fire regulations pinned to the wallbeside him while she exchanged the boots and breeches for a pair of shoes anda skirt.At last he turned and appraised the result. Well, it certainly beats the Father Christmas costume, he said.She tried to hide her embarrassment by dabbing cold cream on her face andscrubbing it with tissues to remove the grease paint.The skin that itrevealed was the colour of honey and as smooth as silk.She looked at himsullenly and spoke with a defiant edge to her voice. What do you want?The Saint perched himself on the corner of a table.It was a good question,and one to which he did not have a ready answer.He toyed with a number ofpossible replies before deciding on the most direct approach. I m curious about why Wakeforth s employ a Miss instead of the usual Mr.Claus.Not that I m complaining, you understand just very interested. Shehesitated, as if she considered telling him to mind his own business, butsomething in his casually confident attitude told her he would not be soeasily dismissed. If I told you, would you tell the manager? I never tell on a lady, he assured her, and added: Especially when I knowher name.His friendly tone and lighthearted manner, as much as his words, seemed toprovide the reassurance she was seeking. My name is Chantek Alam. And mine is Simon Templar, he responded with a smile. I must complimentyour parents on such an apt choice of a name for you. The Saint s knowledgeof the Malay language was not comprehensive, but he remembered enough fromearly adventures to know that Chantek means beautiful.For the first time her tenseness began to dissolve. Thank you. Now, do I get my explanation? I am a student at St.Enoch s fromSingaporeand I am working here during theholiday.That is all.Page 46ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlSt.Enoch s was unique inCambridgein those days for admitting both male andfemale students. But not as Father Christmas, said the Saint.Chantek shook her head. No, as an assistant in the doll department.At that moment a rasping snore reverberated through the air.Chantek walkedacross and pulled aside a curtain which cut off one corner of the room, toreveal a day bed on which was curled the slumbering form of a portlywhite-haired gentleman of pensionable age
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