by Jessica Hart
Walking across the top of the plateau proved to be nearly as hard as climbing the gorge. It was flatter, but there was no path, and the ground varied from ankle- wrenching stones to flat, fissured rock and scattered boulders.
The sun was setting in a blaze of gold as Cairo trudged up a sloping seam of rock to where Max seemed to be standing at the edge of the world. His distinctive silhouette was sharply etched against the glowing sky, and in spite of her exhaustion she caught her breath at the sight.
When she reached him, she realised that they were standing on the edge of a wadi. Max pointed across it. 'See that tree over there? That's the camp.'
Cairo stared, speechless at the sight of the huge cedar, apparently growing out of nothing. After the unrelieved brown of the rocks she had been walking through all day, its green leaves seemed incredible. The fiery evening light suffused the air, softening the rocky landscape and touching the tree with gold.
'What a magical place,' she breathed.
Max glanced down at her. 'They say that tree is over three thousand years old.'
'But how can it live that long? There's no water, nothing.' For once Cairo forgot to be snappy with him.
'The desert used to be a much cooler, wetter place than it is now. When this tree was growing there was much more water around, and its roots are so deep now that when it does rain it can make the most of it.'
Cairo was silent as they climbed down into the wadi and up the other side, thinking of how much the world had changed since the tree had first started to grow. Now that the end was in sight, her exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, and the last yards seemed to take forever. This time, though, Max walked beside her, and when she stumbled and would have fallen he caught her arm in a hard grasp and held her upright. The jolt of feeling at his touch revived Cairo, and she stiffened her legs so that she could walk up to the tree on her own.
Max let her collapse under the leaves, too tired to do anything but stare blankly up at the swollen water bag which hung from one of the branches.
Made from an entire goatskin, it was hung up by its legs and dripped slowly on to the dusty ground.
'This is the camp used by tourists,' he said, nodding at some ragged canvas tents. 'Normally you have to stay in one of three designated areas, but as I'm working for the government I can camp wherever I need to.' He shot Cairo an amused look. 'Make the most of your last taste of civilisation.'
Cairo looked up at the skin and then at the tatty tents. Civilisation? She gave a weak laugh. 'What have I done to deserve all this luxury tonight?'
'I've arranged for my supplies to be brought up by mule,' said Max, unruffled by her irony. Much to her annoyance, he was looking as cool and fresh as he had nearly twelve hours earlier. 'It means I can come back here and stock up with food and water when I need to, instead of carrying it all up the gorge with me. They come a much longer route, so they're not here yet. We'll have some tea with the caretaker while we wait.' He walked off towards the tents, ordering her over his shoulder to .stay there, as if she were a dog.
She wouldn't have any trouble obeying that command, Cairo reflected wearily. She was so stiff and sore and tired that she couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to.
A few minutes later, Max reappeared with a grave, wizened old man who greeted Cairo serenely and calmly set about making them tea while Max talked to him. Cairo found his unhurried movements strangely soothing.
Sitting cross-legged by the fire, he brewed some tea and mint with a pinch of sugar in a blue enamel teapot. When it had boiled, he poured the tea back and forth between the pot and a small glass. His fingers were deft as he flipped the lid of the teapot to pour in the tea from the glass and then held the pot high to let a long stream froth into the glass again. At length he was satisfied, and handed them a glass each.
Cairo sipped at the tea curiously. It was deliciously minty and reviving.
'You must drink three glasses, and three only,' said Max. 'The first is said to be bitter, like life. The second is strong like love, and the third is sweet like death.'
His deep voice seemed to quiver against Cairo's skin. She was very aware of him. He sat cross-legged like the old man, his knee only inches from hers, with his back to the sun so that the slanting light glowed around him. His head was bent courteously towards the caretaker, and she was struck once again at how different he was with other people. How could the man who bandied jokes with smugglers or talked quietly with an old man be the same man who looked at her with such hostility, or kissed her with such savage passion?
It was completely dark by the time a jingle of harness and the sliding sound of hoofs on rocks announced the arrival of Max's supplies. Cairo was beyond feeling hungry by then, but Max made her eat some of the couscous he heated up on his stove.
'It's all right,' she said when he offered her a tin bowl of the steaming stew.
'I've got my own food.'
'Don't be ridiculous, woman,' said Max irritably. 'You've got to eat something.'
'I'll have a biscuit.' She tugged the battered packet out of her rucksack. They looked stale and dry and unappetising.
'A few biscuit crumbs aren't going to get you very far.'
'I'm not that hungry. I'm too tired to eat much anyway.'
Max banged a spoon into the bowl and shoved it into her hands. 'I don't care how tired or hungry you are. You're going to eat,' he said forcefully. 'If you don't eat properly, you won't be able to walk, and I don't want to deal with you fainting with hunger halfway across the plateau.' He paused. 'Of course, it's just occurred to me that I could leave you here and send you down with the mules...'
'No! I'll have some.' Having got this far, Cairo was damned if she was going to allow herself to be sent back down without completing her job. She inspected the contents of the bowl dubiously, but when she tried it she found that it was deliciously spicy, and realised that she was ravenous after all. She cleaned the bowl and handed it back to Max rather guiltily. As there was only one bowl, he had to wait until she had finished before he could have his own meal. 'Thank you,' she said humbly.
Afterwards, Max made coffee and they shared the enamel mug, passing it wordlessly between them. Every time Cairo's fingers brushed against Max's on the handle, something within her would tighten dangerously. Nobody had ever had this effect on her before, especially not someone she disliked so intensely, and it made her feel edgy. Cairo put it down to exhaustion and the alien surroundings. It was very dark, and only the distant murmur of voices from the men by the mules reminded her that she and Max were not the only people in the world.
Max seemed quite unperturbed by her presence. He sat resting his arms on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together, gazing thoughtfully out into the darkness. Cairo watched him covertly. It was that quality of self-containment that was so naggingly familiar, she decided. Perhaps not precisely familiar, she amended to herself, but somehow recognisable. This lurking sense that she had met him before was beginning to annoy her. It had happened too many times for it to be explained by a mere trick of the mind.
Somehow, somewhere, she had come across Max—or someone who was very like him.
'Have you got any family?' she asked him, breaking the silence.
Max turned his head to look at her. She half expected him to be as brusque as when she had asked him about his work, but he said only, 'A sister. Why?'
'It's just that I keep getting this weird feeling that I know you. I wondered if you had a brother I might have met somewhere.'
'No, there's just me and Joanna.'
'Joanna's your sister? Maybe I've met her.' Sometimes brothers and sisters could look quite different and yet share certain family characteristics. 'Is she like you?'
In the flickering firelight, Max looked almost amused. 'No. If anything, she's more like you.'
'Me?' Cairo echoed in astonishment.
'Oh, she doesn't look anything like you. Joanna's pretty in a quiet sort of way, but she certainly doesn't have your flam
boyant style. She doesn't have your confidence either, but you're alike in other respects. You're both city girls, for a start. She can't understand why I choose to live in the desert any more than you seem to. Joanna's idea of the outdoor life is sitting on a terrace, with perhaps the occasional trek all the way across the pavement to the car.'
'I'm not like that!' Cairo said indignantly.
'Aren't you? I can't see you going out for a bracing walk in the country when you could be in some overheated shop or restaurant.'
'Well...' Cairo tried to remember the last time she had even been to the country, let alone for a walk. 'I don't need to go for a walk,' she said at last. 'I take plenty of exercise. I go to the gym every day at home,' she added proudly.
'Still safely inside,' he mocked. 'I don't know why girls like you and Joanna are so afraid of fresh air. You seem content to live in a completely artificial environment.'
'Rubbish!'
'It's not rubbish. You expect electricity at a flick of a switch, water at the turn of a tap, you go everywhere in cars, individual metal boxes that seal you off from the rest of the world. It doesn't really matter to you what the weather is like. All you care about is what you're going to wear. Will it be the silk dress or something you can wear with a jacket?' He mimicked an agony of indecision, and Cairo gave an uncomfortable laugh. He reminded her all too clearly of the days when she had had nothing to do but wonder what to wear.
'Are you like this with Joanna?'
'Like what?'
'You seem very critical of her lifestyle—not to mention mine. I hope she tells you what you can do with your opinions!'
Max gave rather a twisted grin. 'That wouldn't be Joanna's style. She wouldn't dare, and I suppose, because I know that, I don't criticise her.'.
'You don't seem to have had any of those inhibitions with me,' Cairo pointed out tartly.
'You're more than capable of standing up for yourself,' he said with a hint of amusement. 'I haven't noticed you not daring to answer back.'
'I don't suppose anyone ever answers you back,' Cairo grumbled. 'In fact, there probably isn't anyone to answer you back out here. No wonder you don't like anyone disagreeing with you. You're far too used to having your own way.'
'Funny, I would have said exactly the same thing about you,' said Max, a touch acidly. 'You've been pampered and indulged all your life. You're like some hothouse plant that can't survive out of its carefully controlled environment. A breath of cold air, a nasty brush with the real world, and you're lost. You don't stand a chance in a harsh environment like the desert.'
'Perhaps,' said Cairo. 'But here I am.' She tilted her chin and her defiant eyes met his across the fire.
'Yes,' Max said slowly, as if the idea was new to him. 'Here you are.'
There was an uneasy pause. Cairo dropped her gaze, unable to look at him any longer. She felt as if she had stepped on to suddenly shaky ground without being sure why.
'Er—where do I sleep?' she asked awkwardly. Anything to break the silence.
'In the tents?'
'If you want, but I suggest you sleep with me,' said Max, and Cairo's nerves jerked at the image his words conjured up.
'With you?' she squeaked, and Max lifted an eyebrow.
'There's no need to carry on like an outraged spinster. I wasn't about to suggest a night of unbridled passion,' he said drily. 'You're already an object of much speculation among the men, and I'd advise you not to spoil the impression that you're my woman by going off alone, that's all.'
Cairo bit her lip. She found the thought of sleeping near him infinitely disturbing, but she could see that his suggestion was a sensible one. 'Where are you sleeping, if not in the tents?' she asked at last, trying to sound reasonable.
'Right here.' Max untied a sleeping mat from the top of his rucksack and tossed it down by the fire.
'What, on the ground?'
'Yes, on the ground,' he confirmed with exaggerated patience. 'What were you expecting? A five-star motel?'
'I don't know... I hadn't thought...' Cairo stood irresolute. 'A tent, perhaps?'
She glanced over her shoulder to where she could just make out the shape of the tents behind the tree. 'Why don't we sleep over there?'
'Because I like to sleep under the stars. I don't like a roof over my head, it makes me feel trapped.'
Cairo looked at him curiously. Trapped? It was a revealing choice of word.
'You must have to sleep under a roof sometimes. How do you manage when you're in England?'
'I'm not neurotic about it.' Max shrugged. 'But given the choice, I'd rather sleep outside than in.'
'That's all very well when you're on your own, but what about when you're with other people?'
'Like you?'
'No, I meant... someone closer. A wife, for instance,' she suggested.
Max glanced at her as he unrolled his sleeping bag. 'I'm not married.'
'But if you were?' Cairo persisted. 'Would you drag a wife up here and make her sleep under the stars?' * 'Most of the time there isn't anywhere else to sleep,' he pointed out. 'You seem very concerned, Cairo. What does it matter to you what my wife—admittedly a very unlikely eventuality—would have to put up with?'
Cairo could feel herself flushing, and was glad of the darkness. 'It doesn't matter,' she said,, studying her hands. 'I was just curious about whether you imagined yourself spending your whole life alone out here. Don't you miss your family and friends?'
'My friends are here,' said Max. 'And as for family... well, there's Joanna, of course, but she leads such a different life. I just don't fit in there any more. I don't think I ever did.' He stared into the flames. 'Sometimes I imagine myself living in a nice house like hers, going into work every day, sitting in some office week after week, and I come out in a cold sweat at the very thought. So yes, I suppose I do see myself staying out here—or somewhere like here.'
'Don't you ever get lonely?' she asked.
He seemed to have forgotten she was there, but at her question, he looked across at her with a sardonic expression. 'What a feminine question! Don't you mean, why don't I get married?'
'Well, why don't you?'
'Because the only females I ever seem to come across are more at home in nightclubs than lying under the stars,' Max said flatly. 'If I marry anyone, it'll be a girl who can cope with the desert, who loves it as much as I do, not one who's forever pining for the comforts of home.'
His eyes rested on Cairo disparagingly, and she ruffled up, certain that he was thinking that she was exactly the type of girl he would least like to marry. Well, he needn't think it bothered her! She didn't have the slightest desire to spend her life in a place like this. Max could sneer all he wanted at his sister's house, but Cairo would have given anything to have been there now. It would be clean and warm. There would be electric light, and a bed with a mattress and sheets. All they had here was the flickering light of the fire and a sleeping mat to lay upon the stony ground.
'You'd better get some sleep,' said Max abruptly, as if regretting having said as much as he had. 'You've a long walk in the morning.'
'Can't I wash first?' Cairo asked, glad of the change of subject.
'You can if you're prepared to make do with a wet cloth. There's no bathroom en suite, as you can see.'
Cairo was grimy with dust and sweat, and there was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to be safely at home in her clean blue and white bathroom with its deep bath and soft towels and comforting clutter of jars and bottles on the shelf below the mirror, but she took the flannel Max handed her with only a tiny sigh.
'Where shall I go?' she asked, looking round her.
'What's wrong with here?'
'I'd prefer to take my clothes off in private,' she said coldly.
'I'm sure you would, but if you wander around in the dark with no clothes on, you're likely to tread on a scorpion.'
'A s-scorpion?' Cairo echoed uncertainly. 'Are there really scorpions around here?'
; Max gave a grim smile. 'And snakes. And spiders. And, like most creatures of the desert, they come out at night, so I'd be careful where I was treading if I were you.'
Cairo glanced nervously about her, half expecting to see swarms of creepy-crawlies lurking at the edge of the firelight. Suddenly the darkness didn't seem quite so invitingly private.
'Look, stop dithering around,' sighed Max at last. 'If you're going to wash, wash—but don't use too much water.' He thrust a container of water towards her, adding sardonically, 'I'll be a gentleman and promise not to look, but for God's sake get on with it. You're not the only one who wants to get to bed.'
He turned his back ostentatiously to face the fire, and Cairo seized the opportunity to pull her make-up bag out of her rucksack. She was glad she had brought it along now! At least she was able to clean her face properly.
She retreated to the shadows, very conscious of Max's proximity, but was so desperate to wash that she stripped off her clothes and did the best she could with the flannel.
'Haven't you finished yet?' demanded Max as she was rubbing moisturiser into her legs.
'Don't look round!'
'I'm not going to look round,' he said, exasperated. 'I just wondered what you'd found to do with that flannel that could possibly take you that long. It's obviously far more versatile than I ever gave it credit for!'
'I like to feel clean,' Cairo explained, wriggling into a T-shirt. It was long and loose and fell halfway down her thighs, and she was glad Max had left her something clean and comfortable to sleep in.
She-could practically hear him rolling his eyes. 'I don't know why you're bothering. You're only going to get dirty again tomorrow.'
Cairo ignored him. His perfect woman might not care whether she washed or not, but she wasn't in the running for that role anyway, and it would take a lot more than Max Falconer's disapproval to interrupt her beauty routine.
Unrolling her sleeping mat, she laid it out near Max's^-but not too near—with a show of unconcern. She would take his advice about not sleeping on her own, but she didn't want to get too close. She had had enough of Max Falconer for one day!
