Margaret Pargeter

by Sanja

  If she had been puzzled before she was even more so when Jamila smiled mysteriously. 'Sidi Armel belongs to none of our tribes, mademoiselle,' she said quietly, her eyes suddenly curious on Ross's tear-streaked face.

  'And you can't explain? Or, more likely, you've been ordered not to!' Ross's voice was a mixture of weary indignation.

  Jamila composed herself with dignity. 'My master will tell you all you wish to know, I am sure. He merely said I was to help you dress for a journey.'

  'A journey?' As her pulse missed a beat, Ross felt herself go taut. By some devious twist of fate, in spite of what Jamila had told her, could it possibly be Freddy? When Armel had announced the arrival of their first visitors she had secretly hoped it would not be Freddy. To her terrible shame she had not wanted to leave Armel. This time she hoped fervently it was Freddy at last. After last night she only wanted to escape from Armel as soon as possible! 'Could it be my brother?' she breathed.

  'No,' her spirits sank as Jamila shook her dark head, 'it is not he, that I do know.'

  Sighing softly, she turned to search for something practical for Ross to travel in, and Ross knew that further questions would be futile. She would get nothing more out of her.

  It was scarcely her fault, Ross decided, a little later, that she could do nothing much about her appearance. Her eyes, though not swollen, looked heavy and her skin was so pale that against it her mouth seemed both bruised and red. Jamila had found her a thick white burnous to go over the top of the thin cotton trousers which were the best they could find. Ross longed for a pair of serviceable jeans, but her only ones had been torn beyond mending. Ready at last, she drew a quick breath and, after thanking Jamila quietly for all she had done, walked out into the sunshine.

  Feeling oddly shaken at the thought of yet another step into the unknown, Ross halted a short way from her tent hoping for a few moments alone to compose herself. But this, it seemed, was not to be granted.

  Seeing her stop, Armel ben Yussef left the man with whom he was talking and strode swiftly towards her, the sight of him, so tall and proud in his flowing burnous, as always affecting her disconcertingly.

  'You are ready?' His level glance went over her and she was left in no doubt he referred to her dress, not her inclinations.

  He stood close to her and owing to a distracted trembling in her limbs it took a great effort to lift her chin, but manage it she did even if she could not quite meet his eyes. 'Your message seemed to leave me no choice.'

  'Did Jamila say anything?' His voice was curt.

  'If you mean did she tell me anything, then the answer is no, monsieur. She is too well trained—too afraid of you, I expect, to disobey orders. She merely said something about your people coming to see you, and that I was to prepare myself for a journey.'

  'That was all?'

  'More or less.'

  He took no notice of the sudden despair at the back of Ross's clouded blue eyes. 'I am not going to enlighten you immediately, mademoiselle, but you had better know that my cousin has come seeking me. His mother, my aunt, is ill and has need of me. You will accompany us without delay.'

  'Your cousin?' Forgetting her own unhappiness in the face of his bad news, Ross gazed at him anxiously. 'I hope your aunt is not too seriously ill, Armel?'

  'I hope not,' he replied smoothly, as if acknowledging the inquiry of a distant acquaintance.

  On a wave of bitterness Ross swallowed, exclaiming irrationally, 'I never thought of you having a cousin—or an aunt!'.

  His lips stretched ironically, 'My cousin is the son of Caid Ahmed el Alim. His name is Moulay and he is used to a certain amount of adulation.'

  Startled, Ross's eyes widened with apprehension. How wrong she had been about Armel! She had thought of him as a wanderer, belonging to nothing or no one, a nomad living off his wits. And hadn't she been prepared to share that life with him without reserve, last night! Only she had never been given the chance, and now she knew at least one of the reasons why. He was related, by the sound of it, to some of the highest in the land. How he must have laughed at her while she had clung to him, laced her arms around his neck and almost begged him to take her. Her cheeks were already scarlet with mortification when she heard him add:

  'My cousin has a regrettable weakness for attractive young women. I must warn you not to be too responsive.'

  'You're detestable!' She could actually feel the heat in her face.

  'You didn't think so when I held you, just a. few hours ago!'

  His expression made her drop her eyes in confusion as she recalled his hard searching hands, his sensuous mouth. 'No gentleman,' she cried wildly, 'would ever refer to such a thing—nor blame the innocent party !'

  His eyes continued to mock her. 'No innocent would have behaved as you did in my arms. Your nails left some very interesting marks on my shoulders, and not because you were trying to get free.' His glance smouldered with a narrowed satisfaction, a hint of threat. 'You escaped lightly last night, girl, but do not try me too far. There are plans for my cousin which do not include girls like you, and I do not intend my aunt should be further upset. In fact, should you give any trouble I will take steps to see no one is left in any doubt as to whom you belong.'

  Ross's throat was too tight to allow her to reply. There was only her whitening face to express her feverish shock.

  Armel went on coolly, not obviously bothered too much over her anguished silence. 'About the manner in which you arrived here—I have told Moulay much the same story as I related to our friends last night. I have merely added a few brief details as to how I found you. There is no need to elaborate. You will simply agree that you were not well enough, after your short skirmish with the nomads, to go on with your brother, and it was wiser to rest here until he returned. Such an explanation is quite feasible and respectable, you will find. If you act with some circumspection people will accept it without question. Otherwise, I'm afraid, I can't help you further.'

  'Armel. ..!' In suddenly overwhelming despair his name seemed drawn from her lips, but whatever she had been going to say was frozen at birth by the coldness of the look he slung at her as, grasping her arm, he drew her ruthlessly over the sand to meet his cousin.

  Moulay el Alim, when Armel introduced them, stared at Ross with undisguised admiration. Fie did not resemble Armel gready and she felt a sense of relief. Moulay was darker. Whereas Armel's face was tanned to a smooth hard brown, his was definitely swarthy, and his eyes were black. Yet they were both tall and broad and from a distance, Ross thought, one might easily be mistaken for the other.

  Moulay bowed low over her hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss it lightly. Obviously practised in the art of pleasing a woman, he did nothing to frighten her. 'So this is why you choose to linger long in the desert, cousin?' he teased Armel. 'Who could blame you 1'

  Fie spoke so charmingly, and in her own language, that Ross found she could take no offence. Indeed the warmth of his eyes was so comforting after Armel's harsh handling of her torn emotions that she could not resist the temptation to ignore the censure in Armel's face and smile back at Moulay warmly. 'I owe Sidi Armel a lot, monsieur,' she flushed, 'but I can assure you he does not linger in the desert because of me.'

  'Sidi Armel!' Moulay's teeth gleamed white, with more than a flicker of amusement.

  Ross's long lashes flickered uncertainly. 'I am very sorry you bring bad news of your mother,' she said hastily as Armel stood grimly not speaking, leaving her to flounder. As an apparent stranger her position might make such a query too pertinent, but she had no means of knowing.

  Moulay did not seem to think so, however. It seemed the sort of politely solicitous remark he expected. He continued to smile on her approvingly. 'My lady mother is sometimes foolish, I'm afraid, and while as soon as the good physician's back is turned she forgets to carry out his orders, immediately she feels ill again she shouts for him!'

  And everyone else, apparently, Ross thought, wondering what manner of woman this aunt of Arm
el's was. Unless, of course, she was seriously ill and wished to have her family around her. Aware of Armel's darkening expression, she felt a little ashamed of her uncharitable conclusions and asked quickly, 'How long will it take to reach your father's home, Sidi Moulay?'

  'Several days, I'm afraid. His kasbah is deep in the desert, and, as you must know, our desert is not like your Hamp- stead Heath.'

  'With luck we might shorten this time,' Armel suggested, before adding on a note of growing impatience, 'if we leave right away. If not, then you could add another week.'

  Decisively ignoring her, he set about giving orders to this effect, leaving Ross gazing after him, the hurt in her eyes causing those of the man who stood watching her to narrow speculatively over her young, transparent face.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ross was surprised to find they were to travel by camel. Noting Moulay's expensive apparel, the impression he somehow gave of unlimited affluence, she had expected Land- Rovers, even a helicopter. But Armel, when she had the opportunity of asking him about it, merely laughed.

  'One can't do exactly as one feels inclined. As I've told you before, we have frontiers. Apart from these the Sahara is very difficult terrain. Being so vulnerable to strong winds it is constantly changing. Overnight the wind can whip up mountains of sand a thousand feet high and veritable craters in ground which on the previous day might have been perfectly level. Even Land-Rovers with sand wheels still have their limitations under these conditions, and horses, too, have obvious drawbacks.*

  'But you use horses yourself,' she pointed out.

  'Yes, because they are ideal for my purpose.'

  Ross thought it might have been nice to have known what his purpose was, but knew better than to ask. Up on her camel she felt rather like a boat on a rolling sea, if she did soon get the hang of it. If it hadn't been so hot she might even have enjoyed the experience. Perched, as she was, about seven feet from the ground, she had a much better view over everything than she had ever had before. Armel rode by her side and his camel, although appearing a beast with a discontented nature, obviously knew better than to challenge the man on its back.

  Ross, though grateful in a way for his close company, found it disturbing, especially each time he turned his haik- bound head to ask if she was all right and his eyes lingered for several intent seconds—probably, in spite of her. determinedly airy reply, to see that she was in no danger of being a nuisance by falling flat on her face, Ross decided bitterly,

  not enjoying the curling sensation inside her each time she met his considering glance.

  They rode on through the heat of the day, when the sun was so fierce it reduced the power of thought to the absolute minimum. The motion of the camel, which Ross eventually got used to, made her feel slightly sick. This, combined with the heat, brought on a kind of stupor that caused her to be more aware of bodily discomforts than those of the mind. For a while she half closed her eyes, giving in to the lassitude rather than fighting it, until slowly it began to leave her.

  When she had first travelled the desert with Freddy and his friends, from the back of their truck, the never ending sand had seemed only monotonous. Now Ross found she was discovering a beauty in it that she had not previously noticed. The simple, uncluttered lines had a purity, a wonderful clarity of colour that she guessed would never be found elsewhere. Many places in the world might be beautiful in the usual accepted way, but none could be as breathtaking as this.

  From the pommel of her camel saddle, under the immensity of the desert sky, the bare rocks and flowing sands formed landscapes of stark but wonderful simplicity. A silent emptiness, strikingly beautiful, space which seemed to stretch interminably to the needle-etched line of the horizon. There were mirages in every direction with the clear water of tree-lined oasis pools floating with tantalising inducement whichever way Ross looked. A large tree offering much- longed-for shade changed into one of short stunted growth as they drew nearer, and a huge rock, offering much the same facilities, she was puzzled to find was only a small stone.

  While the pure white light of noon seemed to strip away every vestige of colour, the softer shadows of approaching evening provided relief from the harshness of the day. It brought new depth to the blueness of the sky and the vast, yellow sands. As the sun went down the horizon turned to purple and red, with clouds gathering low against the skyline. Thrilled, Ross pointed these out to Armel, but he said they were too thin to provide rain, if this was what she hoped for.

  Ross, who could at that moment think of nothing nicer, merely shook her head.

  By the time they made camp beside a small oasis, the moon had risen. Swifdy, by its light, a fire was built and two tents were pitchcd a short distance away. One, Ross was grateful to be told, was hers. As the other was only large enough to accommodate one, she wondered whether it was Armel or Moulay who chose to sleep out beneath the stars. Moulay had with him what appeared to be a small army of men, one of whom proved quite a remarkable cook. While the fare was not so varied as that of Armel's camp, it was substantial and good. Afterwards she felt tired but content.

  Soon after they had arrived she had been brought a pitcher of water. There was not a lot, but it had been enough to allow her to wash away the dust and sand. Much refreshed, she had dried herself quickly, regretting that she had no change of clothes. It made her realise, not for the first time, how desperate was her situation, and she resolved to speak to Armel about it if she got a chance. It was no joke to be lost in the middle of the Sahara without a penny to her name. She would have to borrow, find some means of getting home as after they reached Caid el Alim's kasbah, Armel would no doubt be too occupied with his own affairs to give hers another thought.

  As she did not want to think of the time when ,she would not see Armel again, she had hastily dealt with her hair and left the tent. Her hair had gleamed like liquid gold in the moonlight and she had felt the eyes of many of the men resting on it as she had eaten. Moulay had seemed absorbed, and startled by its pale beauty even though she had knotted it discreedy at the back of her head. He had not seen it before as for her journey she had worn a thick veil.

  'A madonna,' he had said, disregarding Armel's cold stare, holding her hand much longer than was necessary after he had guided her to her place for supper. 'Such wonderful hair, Mademoiselle Lindsay, is enough in itself to enchant a man. I could wish sincerely that Armel had not found you first.'

  Her face flushing deeply, she had not dared look in Armel's direction. So sensitive was she to his every mood she could almost feel his disapproval. Not even when he had laughed carelessly and said, 'You'd better remember that, cousin !' had she been able to do more than stare down at the plate of food before her and tremble.

  She was trembling slighdy now as she approached him. The camp was quiet, the men having retired some distance away and Moulay having gone with one of them to inspect a camel. Rather nervously Ross came to where he lounged contemplatively in the shadows, and asked him about Freddy.

  'I know you won't want to listen, but he really won't know where to find me,' she muttered, imagining a little belligerence might impress him more than tears.

  He turned to her savagely, his eyes questioning her wavering defences without pity. 'Do you actually wish him to find you, Rosalind? You seem too intent on enjoying yourself in the desert.'

  'I don't know what you mean.'

  'I do have eyes,' he snarled. 'I warned you about Moulay. Why in God's name did you smile at him when he mentioned your hair? He's impressionable 1'

  'So you told me.' Ross was bewildered, defensive, running a gamut of emotions. 'More than you are—I realise,' she cried bitterly.

  'I'm more than ten years older. He is barely twenty-six.'

  Recklessly, because his unfair suspicions hurt, she exclaimed, 'Many men in my country are married long before this age, monsieur 1'

  'And girls of your age too,' he agreed suavely. 'How is it you have escaped this questionable fate, Miss Lindsay? With your part
icularly loving nature . . .'

  'I've never met a man I've wanted to marry!' she interrupted, trying to insert this small piece of information sharply but only succeeding in choking. 'There are other things in life besides the acquiring of a husband,' she finished sullenly.

  'Perhaps you're too choosy,' he mocked, 'or is it your boyfriends who are?'

  Her lips quivered as his taunting tones seemed to bring actual pain, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he could wound her. For a long moment he regarded the pale, stubborn face before him, then said heavily, but with quiet emphasis, 'Moulay's bride has already been chosen. She happens to be a girl from a family with a good measure of royal blood in their veins, as has Moulay's. It would prove a great blow to his parents if anyone was to upset these plans at this stage, and I should hate to feel even indirectly responsible.'

  'Responsible?' Ross could not bring herself to believe what it seemed he was trying to tell her. She must have the wrong impression.

  'By bringing you along when I should have left you in camp. By being over-concerned that you might come to some harm should your brother's reprehensible friends find you again. For putting temptation in Moulay's way.'

  Did it really matter how much more he flung at her? The agony that was tearing her apart could not be worse. 'I don't know why you should be so apprehensive about me,' she whispered, her pulse racing at the dark condemnation she could detect in his face through the grey moonlight. 'I think you exaggerate greatly. Moulay has only known me a few hours!'

  'And I hear how already you are so easily using his name, while not even yet, after so many weeks, can you bring yourself to speak mine naturally. And haven't I seen how he looks at you for much longer than necessary, as if he would like above all things to know you better 1'