by Judith Gould
Tamara looked up with a startled expression. The man had appeared so soundlessly, so stealthily, that neither she nor Inge had heard his approach, and she was momentarily thrown, and dismayed as well, for she hadn't expected Brigadier Diggins to materialize virtually out of thin air.
From his expression, it was impossible to tell if he had overheard anything important. He clicked his heels together and gave a slight bow. 'Good evening, ladies,' he said pleasantly, tapping his riding crop against one thigh. 'I trust you are enjoying your stay?'
He had positioned himself cleverly, Tamara noticed, so that the sun shone from behind him and his face, under the tilted visor of his peaked tan cap, was in shadow, while hers was bathed in sunlight, every expression and nuance exposed. No, she must never, never underestimate him. He was very sly.
Raising her thinly plucked eyebrows, she said, 'Why, Brigadier Diggins! How nice to see you.' She favoured him with her best false smile. 'At last, someone who speaks English. As I was just telling Miss Meier, all the Hebrew and Arabic jabber has been driving me up the wall.' She gestured to an empty chair. 'Won't you join us for a glass of wine?'
'I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I was just passing through when it occurred to me how derelict I've been in my duty.'
'Derelict? I don't believe I understand.'
'I haven't been checking up on you as I had promised I would.'
She thought: Have I only imagined that someone has constantly been spying on us! 'You're a busy man,' she said. 'One can't expect you to be everywhere at once.' But that's exactly what I will expect from now on. Clearly, he has eyes everywhere.
He turned to Inge. 'And how are you enjoying your stay, Miss Meier?'
Inge gave him a bland smile. 'I rather like it here. More so than Tamara does, I am afraid.'
'I see.' He turned his attention back upon Tamara. 'Then that must be the reason you are staying on despite the fact that you're not totally enchanted? For Miss Meier's sake?'
Tamara forced herself to hold his gaze, knowing that if she lowered it she could not give credence to her words. 'Well, yes and no,' she said slowly. 'You see, I've been overworked for so long, and then the weeks it took travelling to get here have only exhausted me further. I'm afraid it's recuperation time for me. I really have little choice. Hopefully, the sea and the sun will revive me.'
'Ah. Then that will explain why you have not been going on more outings.'
So he has had people spying on us.' I am gratified to see that although you could not personally be beside us all this time, we have indeed been under your protection, Brigadier,' she said drily.
'As I believe I told you when you first arrived, you are a very important visitor.'
Is he sneering at me? 'I see that I am indeed fortunate, Brigadier. Everywhere I go, I seem to have a guardian angel. In Hollywood, the head of my studio was very protective of me, and here I have you. What more could a person ask for?'
'Caution,' he suggested. 'You have exercised it so far, and I am glad that nothing bad has befallen you. I hope the rest of your stay will be as uneventful.' He touched the gleaming visor of his cap and gave a little bow. 'Well, I really must be off. I hope I see you again soon.'
Tamara inclined her head. 'I'm sure you will.'
'And may I suggest you do try to do a little more sightseeing? It would be a pity if you didn't see more of Palestine. This is rugged but beautiful terrain. Ladies?' And with that, he spun around and marched off.
They watched him disappear around the corner of the hotel. Tamara picked up a teaspoon and toyed with it. Inge had been right. They really needed to go on more outings. Brigadier Diggins' sudden appearance had proved that they hadn't played tourist well enough to convince him that that was what they really were. If she wanted to throw him off her father's scent, they'd better throw themselves into the role, and with a vengeance. Maybe it would make time pass more quickly. Anything was better than this interminable waiting. Also, if they kept moving around, they would make things more difficult for Brigadier Diggins.
She felt Inge touch her arm, and she looked up.
'Are you all right?'
Tamara nodded. 'I'm fine,' she assured her, 'but I don't want to eat anything else. If we're going to start sightseeing, we'd best get to bed early.'
The sound.
Like a pebble tossed into a placid pond, it send out widening ripples that radiated outward until it reached down, down, down into the slowly swirling depths of her dream. Against her will, she found herself drifting up through its successive layers of lulling tranquillity. She lay motionless on her side, one hand flat on the pillow, under the right cheek of her face. Her forehead furrowed with anxiety; her eyelids fluttered.
Crr-eak, the sound encroached again.
Her eyes flew open, but the primeval instinct which had alerted her to possible danger immediately made her close them to mere slits and kept her from sitting up. A smothering fear grasped her and cut off her breathing as effectively as a pair of strangulating hands wrapped tightly around her throat. With a supreme effort she pushed the fear back far enough to keep it from suffocating her.
Crrr-eeeak.
From somewhere behind her, she thought. Her heart rose in her throat. It was definitely not part of the dream. It was the very real, very furtive creaking of a floorboard and the shallow exhalation of a human breath. Someone was trying to sneak up on her.
She lay motionless, terrified, and held her breath, waiting. When the sound came again, it was closer . . . much closer. Just then, a gust of wind came up. It stirred the curtains and they suddenly billowed toward her like two surging plump white ghosts. She nearly fainted from terror.
She slowed her breathing, giving herself a moment to try to pinpoint the exact location of whoever was in the room with her. That way, when she leapt out of bed, she would know exactly which way to run.
For escape she must: it was a matter of self-preservation. The sooner she was out of this room, the safer she would be. At least she did not have far to go. Inge's room was right across the hall. Just twenty short steps.
Shakily, she bit down on her lip. She had waited long enough. Her hands crept to the covers. Now!
Taking a deep, slow breath, buoyed by the steady rise of her adrenaline, she flung aside the covers and leapt from the bed.
The moment her left foot hit the floor, she put her entire weight on it; before the other could find purchase, her body was already spinning in a 180-degree pirouette. She skirted the bed and, oblivious of anything in her path, flung herself straight for the door—and into the arms of a shadowy apparition. He jerked her backward.
She started to scream, but a rough hand clapped over her mouth, cutting off her breath and the sound with it. Her eyes were wild and her body twisted violently. For a moment she struggled against him, her nails clawing frantically at the arm in front of her, but it was futile. He was much too strong for her. Her shoulders slumped in resignation.
'I will remove my hand only if you promise not to scream,' a strongly accented voice whispered harshly. She cringed. She could smell his perspiration, and each word he spoke was a puff of warm breath against her neck. 'Do you understand? One sound, and I will be forced to gag you, yes?' His English was fluent, but as was the case with many multilingual people, he ended the declarative sentence with a question.
For an instant a challenge flared in her eyes, then died. Slowly she nodded.
He removed his hand, but kept it poised in front of her mouth.
Her eyes, long adjusted to the darkness, did not need the help of light to see that he was over six feet in height. She could make out little of his face, other than the whiteness of determined eyes. His features were hidden in the shadows.
Who was he?
Before she could gather up the courage and ask, he answered the question for her.
'My name is Dani ben Yaacov. I have been sent to take you to your father.'
Chapter 24
Once he was convinced that she wouldn't scr
eam, he stepped away from her, crossed soundlessly to the window, pulled closed the wooden shutters, and drew the curtains quietly. For a moment the room was thrown into a pitch-black void. Then he switched on the glaring overhead light.
She realized with a start that she was wearing only a filmy nightgown. Snatching the blanket off the bed, she clutched it in front of her, her breasts heaving, her breathing laboured. Her eyes were wide with surprise and her dishevelled hair hung limply over her face. Adrenaline still pumped with a pulsating roar through her veins. It made her feel she could slay giants.
Without warning, the shrew in her whirled on him, her eyes shooting lethal daggers. 'How dare you!' she hissed furiously, advancing threateningly toward him. She flung an arm in the air. 'Sneaking into my room without warning while I'm asleep! You very nearly frightened me to death! I thought someone was coming to—'
'—ravish you.' He seemed to find her discomfiture amusing. 'Perhaps another time, when we are not so rushed.'
Her temper was like an explosive charge. 'You . . . you s-sneaking snake!' she stammered shakily. 'You f-furtive, cowardly, yellow-bellied, skulking—'
'Ah, such colourful adjectives. You show an artful command of the language. Your father was right—you really are a fine actress.'
She flushed under his calmly contemplating gaze. 'Is that all you have to say for yourself? You gave me the fright of my life and—'
'You look so beautiful when you are angry. Yes, it really does suit you. It brings out the emerald fieriness in your eyes and darkens the freckles on your nose.'
'F-freckles . . .'she managed hoarsely. She could only stare at him. He lounged against the wall with such casual ease and looked at her so calmly through indolent, half-lowered eyelids dark with bristly lashes that her rage simply died. The fight seemed to go out of her—almost of its own volition—and her gesturing arm dropped futilely to her side. But her eyes were still locked to his.
Why am I staring at him? I can't tear my eyes away from him.
Whatever it was, something about him had disarmed her completely. His lopsided, gleaming smile that showed off his lupine incisors and dimpled his chin along with his cheeks? Or that catlike sparkle in his tawny eyes while he stared so deeply, so acutely, into her that for a moment she felt his gaze actually reaching into her soul? Whatever it was, some omnipotent force had reached out, cast a spell, and taken charge of her emotions. She was entirely helpless against it.
There was nothing studied about him; he was the real thing, the man the movie idols sought to emulate. She guessed him to be twenty-eight. His sun-darkened face was all cheekbones and angles, and his chin was strong and cleft, like a well-designed piece of structural architecture. His hair was thick and black, curly and unruly. His mouth was sensuous and cruel, and only his nose saved him from arrogant handsomeness; it was superbly sculptured, aquiline without quite being Roman, and so high-bridged it seemed to begin between his dark eyebrows. For all the sparkling, mischievous humour of his big eyes, a sadness lurked behind them—a vulnerability that seemed at odds with his inborn self-assurance. She sensed that he was a man of many layers, that one had to peel them back, one by one, in order to extricate, far beneath the surface, his true being.
She was completely nonplussed. There was something about him that picked at her heartstrings as sharply, as seductively, and as effectively as a fingertip plucking a perfectly pitched harp string. The thrilling vibrations coursed through her with tuning-fork precision, rippling up and down her spine, unearthing long-buried desires, and arousing passions she had not felt even when she had first met Louis.
She tried to tear her eyes away, but they were locked to his. He was as keenly aware of her as she was of him. Despite his casual demeanour, he was mesmerized with her. His eyes looked lazy, but the pupils were aware that their lives had somehow changed.
'We do not have time to waste.' His voice was muted by the roaring in her head. 'The sooner you are dressed, the sooner we can leave.'
She kept the blanket pressed in front of her, knowing she was acting coy, ridiculously modest. She was wearing a nightgown, after all.
She didn't let go of the blanket, but she found the strength to speak. 'You'll have to wait somewhere else if you want me to get dressed.'
He shook his head. 'I took a big risk just coming here. I do not think it wise for me to wait outside. It would attract too much attention, yes?'
Oh, but he was sly, with an answer for everything.
'The bathroom!' Damn her voice! It was shrill, sharp, reedy. 'It's . . . it's only two doors down, on the left. Lock the door and no one will see you in there.'
His smile widened and he did not move.
'I'll be ready in five minutes,' she said quickly. 'Now, go. Go!' The words were a groan of torment.
He hooked his thumbs in his trouser belt, 'I think you are trying to get rid of me. You are frightened of me, yes? Or just shy?'
'Shy. I'm very shy.' She took a deep breath. 'As soon as I'm ready, I'll go across the hall and tell my friend Inge I'll be gone. Then I'll tap on the bathroom door and get you.' She tried to sever the gaze between them. But it held. She counted silently to herself and with an effort wrenched her eyes away from his on 'three'. She turned away, stepping toward the wardrobe. 'Where are we going, by the way?'
'A little ways from here, to a kibbutz named Ein Shmona. But please, do not tell your friend. The fewer people who know—'
'The safer my father will be. How long will I be gone?'
'A day or two. Three at most.'
'What do you suggest I take?'
'Pack a small case with essentials. Only what is necessary, and dress casually. It is rough terrain.'
She nodded, focusing her eyes safely, far above his. 'Now, go . . .' she hurried toward the door and opened it. For a moment he did not move, as though challenging her to throw him out. She waited, the colour flooding her face, but she did not move either. Then he puckered his lips, tossed her a silent kiss, and slipped soundlessly down the hall.
She closed the door and leaned back against it, heaving a deep sigh of bewilderment. She felt curiously unsteady, at once exhilarated, agonized, and drained.
She shut her eyes and shook her head as if to rid it of his image, but something told her that the mind pictures would continue to appear of their own accord, no matter how hard she tried to erase them or how far away from him she tried to flee.
'We are approaching Ein Shmona now,' Dani said finally as they crested a particularly steep incline after an exhausting all-night drive. Tamara sat forward to catch her first glimpse of the desert community her father had helped found. In her mind's eye she could already imagine it. Dusty, sparse, and deserted, like some frontier town in a western movie.
But then the narrow road curved through one last cleft in the neolithic cliffs and they came out of the mountains. Below, arid hills dipped to the almost flat stony desert.
'There it is!' Dani said, and Tamara followed the direction of his finger. She caught her breath. Any doubts she had been entertaining were dispelled forever. This was a far cry from the frontier town of her imaginings. Seen from the hills above, Ein Shmona was carefully laid out in a perfect circle, with a cluster of gleaming houses in its centre and a lush patchwork of fields of various hues of green radiating outward in a cartwheel pattern.
It cannot be, she told herself. It goes against all laws of nature. This lush agricultural community simply can't exist in the middle of the desert. It's a mirage, or my imagination, or some trick.
But as they approached closer, she realized Dani had been right: life really had been breathed into the desert. It was blooming riotously.
He dropped her off at her father's house. It was on the outermost rim of the circularly laid-out community, at the edge of a field of lettuce and green beans. She noticed that the buildings out here were much farther apart than those in the centre of the wheel. Obviously this house, like the others edging the perimeter of the community, was part of the first
line of defence. The nearer one got to the centre of the kibbutz, the more protection would be afforded from hostile Arab raids. That was where the school, child-care centre, community hall, infirmary, and livestock sheds were located.
The house was a flat-roofed, unpretentious cottage built of pinkish-white rough-hewn stone blocks. The front door was thick and heavy, unlocked, and Dani held it open for her. He made a point of staying outside.
'Please wait inside,' he said, handing over her small Vuitton overnight bag. 'Your father should be arriving shortly.'
Inside, despite the scorching heat outside, the house was deliriously cool, like a shadowy cave. The thick stone walls did a good job of insulating it. Sunlight slanted in through the closed wooden shutters over the small windows, throwing thin shafts of brightness across the floor and up the opposite wall.
This was where her father lived.
She hesitated for just the barest fraction of a second. Then, despite harsh admonishing from her conscience, she snooped.
Ever since meeting him in California, she had wondered how her father lived: whether he was comfortable or lived Spartanly; what colours he liked; what books he read; from what he derived his strengths and his pleasures. He was still a vast mystery to her, and she was determined to learn everything about him. And what better way to know a man than to investigate his lair?
There were two rooms, the larger of which she had entered upon coming in. To one side of the front door was a coat rack from which hung various hats, and on the other, a little age-speckled mirror. Directly above the threshold was a small silver mezzuzah.
Eyes roving, she turned a few slow circles, not wanting to miss anything. The rough stone walls had been smoothly stuccoed and then washed with a hint of the palest pink, and the overhead timbers were exposed and white, giving the low ceiling an airiness it would otherwise not have had. A dried garland of grapevines hung along the central crossbeam.
