TAWNY SANDS by Violet Winspear
Considering that she was an orphan with no background and no special aptitude for anything, Janna Smith seemed to be doing very nicely for herself, here on the glamorous Cote d'Azur as secretary/companion to a well-known lady author. But for secretary/companion, read dogsbody, Janna thought bitterly when her employer was being more than usually temperamental and unkind. All the same, did it really seem likely that Janna was doing anything to improve her situation by turning to a man of the world like Don Raul Cesar de Romanos as a way of escape? For Don Raul was also Raul Cesar Bey, grandson and heir of a Moorish Princess; his home was the Oasis of El Amara, and he wanted Jamila to accompany him there as his pseudo-fiancée. Wasn't she being incredibly foolish to launch herself into such an Arabian Nights situation?
printed in Great Britain
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
First published 1970
This edition 1970
CO Violet Winspear 1970
For copyright reasons, this book may not be issued on loanor otherwise except in its original soft cover.
ISBN 0 263 51520 6
CHAPTER ONE
JANNA had been working for Mildred Noyes for about eight months and though she found the lady author rather demanding, it was better than the daily plunge into the typing pool of a city office.
Mildred travelled around in search of settings and plots, not to mention characters for her books, and Janna had no family to consider and at twenty was free to roam, and to be at the beck and call of her Majesty Mildred, as the young secretary dubbed her employer after only a few days of knowing her.
At the present time they were booked in at a hotel on the Cote d'Azur and its mimosa-splashed walls were a thing of glory, screening the indolent guests who were stretched out in lawn chairs enjoying the sunshine.
Janna had been sent out to the post office. A manuscript had to be sent off to Mildred's publisher, and Janna was there to perform such tasks, not to mention that of sitting up half the night before to finish typing the passionate intrigue set in Ruritania. The novelist never asked Janna's opinion of a story. Mildred took it for granted that every female who read her books found them too enthralling to put down until the last word. She called them an irresistible form of escape, and they seemed for a large number of women to supply a secret hunger for romantic thrills.
Janna was not a girl to believe in romantic dreams; perhaps too much of her life had been lacking in love. She had spent the early part of it in an orphanage, and the latter part in an office overlooking Piccadilly Circus, where she had worked amid the din of clattering typewriters, and girls who talked of nothing but pop idols, clothes, and boy-friends.
The opportunity to work for Mildred Noyes had come about through an advertisement in an employment agency Janna passed each day on her way to a ham sandwich and a coffee in a Wimpy Bar. She had paused, read it, considered the salary—which was slightly lower than her one at the office—and had been seduced by the words 'required to travel as companion and secretary'. That had clinched it. Janna had a deep longing to see beyond the traffic smog of London and she had gone to the Hilton Hotel to be interviewed—among several other girls and women, and two young men—and had been selected for several reasons Mildred had not been shy about mentioning.
Janna was alone in the world. She had no boy-friends to pine after. Her typing was speedy and accurate, her legs long and slender, and her disposition shone out of her English blue eyes. She was a nice girl. Mildred had seen it at once Janna Smith was trained to obey, to be grateful, to fetch and carry, and not have ideas above her station. Nor was she glamorous enough to distract male attention from Mildred, who was partial to masculine flattery, though she never intended to marry again. The alimony from her ex-husband was too good to lose, and she enjoyed her freedom, and her fame as a popular novelist.
Having sent off the precious bundle of passion to London, Janna wandered into the hotel garden and sat down on some steps smothered in the velvety Côte d'Azur mimosa. Fluffy tiny balls of gold, not richly scented but giving off a sun-warmed smell of pollen and summer.
She let her fingers wander over the flowers and was enjoying these moments of relaxation when her attention was caught and held by two people talking together beneath some trees a few yards away from her. She knew herself to be hidden from the couple, a slight young figure in a pale lemon dress, lost in the mimosa, her fair hair in soft disorder about her sensitive face.
Her eyes took in with interest the silk, sari-like dress of the woman, whose companion was a man, conspicuously
tall and so sun-tanned and supple that she didn't think he could be a luxury-loving Frenchman. Janna stared at him, taking in his iron-grey suit and the air of dominance .with which he addressed the woman. The two seemed at odds about something, and the tall dark man was determined to have his own way. He reached for the woman's hand and several expensive-looking rings glittered on her fingers. He spoke decisively, and then quite clearly Janna heard him exclaim, 'Madonna mia!' Which was very Spanish, followed by words quite beyond her understanding.
She began to feel guilty, though she couldn't follow the conversation, and was about to move away when the lovely woman broke into sudden tears. They gleamed in her large, lustrous eyes, and then fell down her cheeks.
'Raul.. . Raul . . .' She spoke the name clearly.
Looking stern, he bent his tall head and kissed her ringed hand. Then the tall Latin, with the air of an autocrat and the stamp of a man of means, swung on his heel and strode in Janna's direction. She chose that moment to spring to her feet, and without intention she found herself face to face with him. He stopped, as if startled by her, a flash almost of recognition in his eyes. Then it was gone and he was raking her from head to toe with brilliant dark eyes. 'Your pardon, senorita.' He passed on his way, confirming by his manner of address that he was Spanish, and leaving her with a vivid impression of him.
There was no need to try and commit his face to memory. As she lingered there in the mimosa she saw again his black and disturbing eyes, the finely sculptured nose with its tempered nostrils, the firm mouth and jaw. The face was a little cruel . . . a lot of it passionate with some suppressed emotion, such as would be present if such a man was not given the free rein that handsome, arrogant, supple creatures demanded.
He reminded her, somehow, of a panther in a cage.
But she mustn't linger here, thinking such nonsense about a total stranger. Mildred would rouse soon from her siesta
and wish to dictate notes about the new opus. She had a fertile imagination and it seemed that the South of France had given her the idea for yet another of the romances her many fans clamoured for. She had said at luncheon in the Seascape Room that Janna must be prepared for a lot of work; that it was no use letting herself be beguiled by the sun and the sea.
She had said it rather smugly, as if Janna were her personal captive, chained to that cream and scarlet monster of a typewriter with its matching tape recorder. Mildred had the voice of an actress, and she loved dictating the thrilling scenes that had earned her the title of Empress of Emotion.
Actually she was one of the least emotional people Janna had ever met, who only warmed up and sparkled in the presence of a good-looking man. Had she noticed the tall Spaniard yet? He might—from his dashing looks—have stepped straight out of the pages of one of Mildred's novels.
In the week that followed Janna was kept so busy that she barely had time to catch her breath. She began to rise very early and to take
a solitary stroll along the harbour while everyone still slept, including Mildred with her insatiable demands. When Janna wasn't at the typewriter or the post office, she was arranging her employer's hair, massaging her feet, or creaming the lines from the large face that had once been attractive, in a rather flamboyant fashion.
Mildred still looked striking when she was finally ready for an evening at the Casino, or on the yacht of a wealthy acquaintance, and being fond of imperial colours she thought Janna too terribly plain in her pale blue dress, or her velvet slip and white blouse.
At dinner the other evening Janna had been mistaken for a relative of Mildred's and invited to join a party on one of the yachts. 'This is my secretary !' Mildred had sharply dismissed Janna, and for the past few days the girl had been served her meals at an alcove table all alone, while Mildred lunched and dined with friends.
Not that Janna minded. It was peaceful to sit alone, where
she could gaze out of the window, or look around for the two attractive Latins and wonder if they were lovers.
It was strange they never appeared. Perhaps they ate in their suite because they wanted only to look and speak to each other. Or had they booked out of the hotel and returned to Spain?
Janna smiled to herself. She was becoming almost as curious about other people as Mildred, and each new face seemed to fit into the plot of a story. She was intrigued as to why that handsome Spaniard had made that lovely woman cry . . . love, she had heard, was not always a tender emotion, and he had looked shaken when Janna had popped out of the mimosa. His dark eyes had looked directly into hers, and she shivered in retrospect. He had looked every inch the son of a proud Iberian family, one accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. A man not to be denied once he had set his mind on something. A man who didn't care to be defied . . . by a woman.
Never before had anyone haunted Janna's thoughts as that dark stranger seemed to. While living and working in London she had gone out on few dates. She found young men of her own age rather too brash and obvious; all they seemed to want was to dance to loud music, and to kiss and cuddle in the back row at the cinema. Their gauche and tedious company had not inspired Janna to want more of it.
For so long an unloved orphan, Janna was a girl with a secret longing. If and when she fell in love, she wanted it to be with a real man, who said wonderful things to her, and made her feel cherished.
Early on Sunday morning, with a week's hard typing under her belt, Janna arose early and decided to stroll along the beach to where the sea was blue and creamy. Only a few fishermen were about as she made her way towards the shimmering water, where bronze-red nets were spread over the cobbled sea-wall. Small boats were beached there, giving off a salty tang of fish and sun-dried planking.
It was a gorgeous morning, and it felt 'so good to be young
and alive; so pleasant to walk alone and to feel the sudden crunch of sand under her sandals, and to hear only the calling of the birds as they flew over the blue water. Her name on Mildred's lips was becoming rather hard to take. The further away from England they travelled, the more demanding and bossy her employer became, as if she believed that she had bought a slave for ten pounds a week.
The only compensation was this place in the sun, the beauty of beach and sea, the splendour of mimosa and rustling palmettos. Janna wished herself a painter—if only of boats—and picking up stones she began to play ducks and drakes, skimming the white pebbles out on the rippling waves. She hadn't yet had time to buy a swimsuit; though she couldn't swim it would have been nice to splash about in the waves.
She saw that someone was taking advantage of the empty sea this early morning. A dark head bobbed out there in the blue, and a pair of tanned arms swung in rhythm as the swimmer began to make for the shore. It was a man, lean and strong in the water, with something so familiar about him that Janna stood transfixed, the stones falling from her fingers, a band of nerves tightening about her throat. Nearer, and then even nearer, until he began to tread water. A gasp escaped her. She broke out of her trance and fled away up the beach, her cheeks tingling with shock, and her heart pounding with excitement. So the Spaniard had not left the Cote d'Azur! He was still around. He liked to swim early, and quite obviously he hadn't expected a girl to be on the beach this morning.
She reached the shelter of a beached boat and stood there with her back to the sea, catching her breath. She had the other day likened him to a panther. Now she knew why ! He was as lean, active, and as rippling with tight-coiled muscle as one of those superb jungle creatures. Nor had he the least sense of shame; upon noticing her, he had not retreated back into the cover of the waves but had continued towards the beach, bronzed from his throat to his
heels, naked as a statue of Apollo in a pagan garden.
He must have left his towel and his clothes behind one of the rocks. He must also have been a quick dresser, for Janna was about to depart for the hotel when footsteps crunched the sand behind her and a voice spoke.
`So we meet again, senorita, to startle each other.'
She swung round, aware that colour had stormed into her cheeks at his approach and his remark, spoken in faultless English with a certain emphasis on the sibilants.
`I ... I thought I had the beach to myself,' she managed to say breathlessly.
`I thought the same thing of myself.' A smile glimmered deep in his black eyes; he was fully aware that she had seen him clothed in nothing but his wet, bronzed skin. Clad now in a cashmere sweater and black corded slacks he retained his look of litheness ... and a certain danger.
`Do you swim, senorita?' With a lazy air, his black hair agleam from his swim, he took a cigarette case from a pocket of his slacks and flicked it open for her.
`No, I don't swim, or smoke, thank you.'
`Ah, an old-world girl in a very sophisticated land.' He didn't take his eyes from her face as he applied his lighter to his cigarette and let smoke trickle from his nostrils. Seen this close his face was even handsomer, yet not in a film star way, or in any way that was conceited or aware. It was a fine Latin face, but with nothing actually kind about it. His smile was not out to charm her. She felt instead that he mocked her a little for being a non-smoker, a girl who didn't swim, and who blushed to see a man as naked as Adam.
`You are a guest at the Splendide, is this not so? I have seen you with a stout woman who wears the most atrocious clothes. Somehow she does not look like your mother. An aunt, perhaps?'
He quirked a black eyebrow, and Janna couldn't help smiling at his description of Mildred, who thought herself attractive to good-looking men.
`Mrs. Noyes is my employer,' she explained. 'She is a famous novelist and I take her dictation and type her stories for her.'
`Ah, so.' He lifted his cigarette and drew on it lazily. 'She looks, this woman, as if she could make a lot of noise.'
His quip was too much for Janna and she had to laugh. Mildred would be so put out to hear this striking man making jokes about her, but Janna had known from the start that he was rather cruel. Had she not seen him make a woman cry?
`You seem so different from the lady of romance,' he drawled, revealing that he had more knowledge of Mildred than he had pretended. 'I could not imagine much fun for you in her employ. She looks very bombastic, and you are a slight young thing who might not be able to resist the weight of her self-importance.'
`Oh, I don't know' Janna was confused by his reference to her figure, and a little annoyed. She had chosen of her own free will to work for Mildred, knowing she would have to put up with a certain amount of domineering, but she wasn't quite as down-trodden as this man implied. `I enjoy the travelling part of the job. Two months ago we were in New York and that was very exciting.'
`You met some young Americans and had an enjoyable time, eh?'
`Well, not exactly. I had my work to do, but from the hotel window '
`From behind the bars of your cage you watched the parade go by,' he cut in. 'You had to stay behind to make music on t
he typewriter while Mildred made her noise and danced all over the feet of the charming men of America.'
`She is my employer. She pays me to do the horse work,' Janna protested. `I'm not a social companion.'
`You are not a horse, senorita, though you might be likened to a shy young filly who longs to kick up her heels.' `How dare you!'
He laughed as he caught the blue flash of her eyes. `Do
you ever manage to get away in the evenings, or are your escapes confined to the dawn hours?'
`It isn't any of your business, senor.'
`I am making it my business, senorita. I should like to take you out one evening, if the dragon in green will release you from your work to give me the pleasure of your company.'
`Oh.'
`Oh,' he mimicked, widening his own eyes. 'Have you no dress, no dancing shoes, no will to defy the dragon?'
`She doesn't lock me in.' Janna smiled nervously, and felt the dark fascination of his eyes, their assured dominance. 'I just can't understand why you should want my company. It's usually my employer who receives the invitations.'
`Your employer is hardly my type.' His teeth snapped whitely on the words.
`I don't think I'm your type, either.' Janna was innocent about worldly men, but she knew one thing—they became that way through knowing worldly women. 'Besides, there is your wife
`My—what, senorita?' His voice sank down, velvety and dangerous.
`The lovely dark-haired woman I've seen with you.'
`Rachael is not my wife.' He laughed, mocking Janna. `She is my cousin, and only that by marriage. Now she is widowed.'
`Then the other day ?'
`Must I give you a family résumé before you will accept an invitation to dine?'
`I'm sorry to sound impertinent,' she blushed again, `but I can't understand—I am not asked out by men such as yourself '
`Then where have you been hiding, senorita?'
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