Leslie Charteris - The Saint 49 Count On The Saint

“Slamat datang,” she said.

“Slamat, chantek,” he said, using her name as the compliment that she deserved.

There was nothing Dickensian about her perfume, which harmonised perfectly with the exotic cooking smells that came to his nostrils.

She ushered him into a large living room where the white walls were hung with brightly coloured paintings. On the table in small bowls and platters was set out a fascinating variety of mysterious preparations.

He turned to her and smiled.

“This is Christmas dinner?” he said.

Chantek returned his smile.

“That’s right,” she replied. “ My kind of Christmas dinner. I hope you like rijsttafel. ”

Her costume and the spicy aroma of the feast she had prepared matched his recent thoughts of warmer, lazier climes so perfectly that for a moment he was speechless. She looked at him anxiously, worried that he might be disappointed by the surprise.

The Saint’s smile broadened. He picked up a glass of wine from the table and raised it in a toast.

“Darling,” he said, “it’s the crowning touch to one Christmas I’ll never forget. Someday they’ll write a song about it. I can almost hear it — ‘Some En-Chantekd Evening...’ ”

Original outline by Donne Avenell

Developed by Graham Weaver

Original outline by Donne Avenell

Developed by Graham Weaver