by Anne Mather
Jason’s eyes darkened, and a thrill of excitement invaded her body, but as suddenly she was free and Graham Wilson was running lightly up the steps to join them, avid to know the reasons for the Sheikh’s visit.
Nicola left them, not waiting to greet Graham, and entered her office on trembling legs. Somehow, she felt sure that had Graham Wilson not broken up their confrontation, something momentous would have happened over which she would have had absolutely no control, and the realization was frightening.
CHAPTER FIVE
NICOLA did not see Jason again until the evening of the following day. She had wanted to see him to ask what she ought to wear for dining with the Sheikh, but he seemed to be deliberately avoiding her, and she hovered uncertainly between the usual pants and blouse she wore for working in, and a rather becoming dress and trouser suit made of navy Crimplene, trimmed with white braid.
Eventually she decided on the dress and trouser suit. After all, she could hardly go out to dine in the same clothes she wore every day, and besides, if the Sheikh did imagine she was interested in him as Jason Wilde had insinuated it wouldn’t particularly matter what she wore; the situation would be just the same. And she was feminine enough to want to look her best after so long in the same drab garb.
She brushed her hair until it shone, and secured it with a wide white band, and only applied the lightest of make-ups. She was aware she was sweating as much from nervousness as from the heat and applied an antiperspirant liberally. She spent a long time studying her reflection, trying to find anything that Jason Wilde might object to, but apart from his obvious objections to her whole appearance there was no especial thing he might disapprove of.
She was pacing about the verandah impatiently at six-thirty when the Land-Rover drew up, and Jason got out. Tonight, for the first time in their relationship, he was wearing a dark suit and a white shirt, and the formal clothes combined with his tan were quite startlingly attractive. Her stomach gave an uneasy plunge, and she began to wonder whether she had taken too much upon herself by imagining she could challenge a man like him.
He studied her for a moment in the light that was shed filteringly from the room behind her, and then said: ‘Are you ready?’ in a cool, indifferent voice.
Nicola compressed her lips for a moment, and then she said: ‘Yes, I’m ready. Do you—do you think this is all right?’ She indicated the navy suit.
Jason’s expression was slightly derisive. ‘I imagine so. At least I can’t accuse you of being scantily dressed.’
Nicola flushed at the mockery in his voice, and then switched off the lights and descended the steps to his side. He opened the Land-Rover’s door and she climbed inside wishing desperately that she had not agreed to this outing.
In the blackness of evening, with only a faint moon rising, the desert was wild and desolate, and Nicola felt a sense of relief that Jason should be her escort. He always seemed so dependable somehow, at least in matters of this sort. Emotionally he was enigmatic.
‘Is it far?’ she ventured when they had left the camp far behind and were climbing some kind of pass through hills which fringed the camp on this side.
Jason shrugged. ‘In miles—no; in time, about three-quarters of an hour.’
Nicola digested this, and then she said tentatively, ‘I—I—I’d like to apologize—for—for—precipitating this situation.’
Jason gave her a swift glance, his expression hidden in the gloom. ‘Indeed,’ he remarked uncompromisingly. ‘And what am I supposed to say to that? That’s all right, Miss King? Don’t think any more about it? You’re forgiven?’
Nicola sighed exasperatedly. ‘Any one of them would do,’ she said shortly. ‘Honestly, must we spend the whole evening arguing?’
‘No. We needn’t talk at all. I, at least, have things to think about. I don’t need conversation.’
‘But I do?’
‘You said it, not me.’
Nicola seethed and stared out into the darkness. Was there no getting near to this man? For heaven’s sake, Louise had made him out to be a man eager for the company of women, a man who seemingly had no morals, at least so far as married women were concerned. And yet with her, he seemed indifferent. Certainly he had shown no interest in her and their relationship had been stormy to say the least. She thought sinkingly that she might possibly be wise to give up the whole idea and return to England. Sir Harold wouldn’t object. He would merely sympathize with her in what he thought had been a lovers’ quarrel.
Jason lit a cigarette and drew on it deeply, and Nicola wished he had offered her one. She had not thought to bring her own. But rather than ask she quelled the need that rose in her. However, Jason seemed to sense her restlessness, for he said: ‘At the risk of you imagining these are marijuana, would you like a cigarette?’
Nicola grimaced in the darkness and accepted one with ill grace. When it was lit, she turned sideways in her seat and studied his profile outlined against the lighter background of the velvety sky outside. She wondered what he was thinking about, what really stirred him. It was not too difficult to arouse him to awareness of her, but only by angering him. Was there no way she could appeal to him in a different manner?
Jason glanced sideways at her. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What are you thinking now?’
Nicola ran her tongue over her lower lip. ‘I was thinking about you,’ she replied provocatively.
‘Oh, yes?’ His voice had hardened considerably.
‘Yes. What makes you tick, Mr. Wilde? What goes on inside that cold brain of yours?’
‘In what way, Miss King?’
Nicola shrugged. ‘Have you ever been in love, Mr. Wilde?’ It was a daring question and one which she did not expect an answer to.
But Jason merely raised his shoulders in an expressive gesture, and said: ‘That’s a rather old-fashioned idea, isn’t it, Miss King? I thought your generation had thrown that sort of thing out of the window. I mean—being in love implies a permanent relationship. I thought that kind of union was out of date.’
Nicola controlled her temper with difficulty. ‘You talk about my generation as though it was different from yours,’ she said coolly. ‘Besides, I’m an old-fashioned girl. At least in so far as marriage is concerned.’
‘You surprise me. I should have thought a—well, satisfying relationship was far more important to a girl like yourself.’
Nicola pressed out the cigarette although it was only half-smoked. ‘You are the most despicable man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,’ she muttered angrily. ‘I can’t imagine how Louise—’ She broke off abruptly, and clenched her fists. Steady, she told herself chidingly. Don’t say any more!
‘You can’t imagine how Louise—what?’ He looked across at her, his expression hidden. ‘Made a fool of herself, perhaps?’
Nicola counted to ten. ‘I rather think you were the one who made a fool of my sister, Mr. Wilde,’ she said tersely.
‘Well, you think what you like, Miss King,’ he said curtly, ‘but believe me, your sister is not the sainted creature you seem to think her!’
Nicola glared at him. ‘You’re in no position to judge anyone!’ she countered angrily.
‘I’m not judging, Miss King! You’re the one who’s attempting to do that. I’m stating facts.’
‘As you see them!’
‘Well, I could hardly state them as someone else saw them, now could I?’ he questioned more mildly, and Nicola shifted in her seat so that she was looking out of the window again. ‘Tell me,’ he continued, ‘if you felt so strongly about your sister, why did you come out here, knowing you were to be working with me?’
Nicola decided it was time to cool the conversation. ‘I didn’t actually say that,’ she replied slowly. ‘You practically called my sister a fool. I could hardly ignore that.’
‘All right, all right. Leave it.’ He was beginning to sound bored.
Nicola moved restlessly in her seat. This was no good, no good at all. Her attempts at getting hi
m to talk more personally about himself only seemed to result in disagreements of one sort or another, and while they were disagreeing she was getting nowhere with him. Why couldn’t he have just been the sort of man who reacted favourably towards feminine provocation?
The headlights picked out the rocky terrain they were crossing, a barren area where scrub grass struggled for survival. The Land-Rover bumped and rocked alarmingly at times, and for a while Nicola became absorbed in her surroundings. Once she saw the glimmer of water in the headlights and glanced questioningly at Jason. Obligingly, he said:
‘That was a guelta—a rock pool. They spring up here and there—a necessary adjunct in terrain as bare as this. Early in the morning, and at nightfall, it’s the meeting place for the desert people. They bring their herds to water. Sometimes they bathe—wash clothes. The normal chores that women perform the world over.’
‘I’d like to come here in daylight,’ said Nicola. ‘Is it beautiful?’
‘I suppose there is beauty in everything if you look for it,’ he replied quietly. ‘To me the desert is beautiful—not in the way that England or Jamaica or even the Pacific is beautiful. They rely on water to add to their natural landscaping. Here the colours are brilliantly defined. The air is crystal clear—lucid!’ He sighed. ‘One can see for miles from the heights of these passes, over sand and rock and palm—to infinity.’
Nicola frowned. ‘I’m surprised you feel like that when you are in a way responsible for destroying the natural landscape,’ she said. ‘I mean—the oil fields are not pretty sights, are they?’
‘Oh, no.’ Jason nodded. ‘But without oil, these people will never achieve any kind of life for themselves. The nomads may not want the kind of life we would call civilized, but they should have the choice, the right to choose for themselves. Right now, these people are living in the way they have lived for hundreds of years.’
‘And oil makes a country rich?’
‘Financially, yes. They need schools, hospitals, social services! The wealth will pay for these things. Out here, children die from diseases they can neither diagnose nor treat. Simple things that our children would never succumb to. And there’s always the heat, and the dirt, and the flies. Killers in themselves.’
Nicola nodded herself. ‘And this Sheikh—this man we’re going to dine with—he holds the balance of power?’
‘At the moment. It’s a precarious position at best. Any one of a dozen uprisings could overthrow him. That’s why he wants to make his position secure before such an eventuality occurs.’
‘And Mustafa—the other Arab we went to see—where does he come in?’
‘He doesn’t. At least, he hasn’t much influence. You may recall I said that he and Mohammed had had a difference of opinion. Well, obviously, somehow the breach has been healed. It could be in one of a dozen ways. Mustafa is unpredictable—sometimes adversary, sometimes friend. If Mohammed has won his confidence then possibly he has supplied him with arms—who can say? It’s a complex business—and one which, thankfully, we don’t become involved in. So far as Inter-Anglia are concerned it doesn’t particularly matter who is in power, so long as we are allowed to continue drilling.’
They had descended to the plain now and soon they were approaching what appeared to be a small township. In the darkness, it had a romantic air, but Jason soon dispelled any romanticism that Nicola might be feeling.
‘This is Abyrra,’ he remarked laconically. ‘We don’t go into the town. The Sheikh’s residence is happily on this side. It’s as well for your sake. The poverty and squalor we might find would appal you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that the majority of the civilian population live in crumbling dwellings that provide no sanitation of any kind. Apart from a few huts, these buildings, and some haphazard shops there’s a kind of central square that serves as a kind of meeting place, and that is Abyrra.’
Nicola sighed. ‘Looking ahead—the white-painted buildings look rather attractive,’ she said.
‘Yes. But in daylight you would see that the white paint is flaking and daubed with mud and filth. Children have long since destroyed any remnants of past civilizations which might have been of interest to the archaeologist.’
‘You certainly don’t intend that I should find anything attractive here,’ she said impatiently. ‘Heavens, it can’t be that bad!’
Jason refrained from answering, and Nicola had the feeling that he didn’t much care what she thought. He had been stating facts, and whether or not she chose to accept them was of complete indifference to him.
They had turned up a rocky sweep towards a fortified dwelling on the outskirts of the community. Tall gates guarded an inner courtyard, where several uniformed guards were patrolling. Certainly there was nothing slipshod about the way they thoroughly examined the occupants of the vehicle, and then saluted when they recognized Jason. Another guard conducted them inside, leading the way along a corridor lit at intervals by huge burnished lamps. There was a faint smell of something like incense, and the coolness of the night air could not be appreciated in such a humid atmosphere. But at least the aromas here were not unpleasant, and Nicola looked about her with great interest. Here there was evidence of great wealth of a kind she had never before experienced.
They were conducted to a huge chamber ornately decorated with silken hanging tapestries, the floor strewn with skin rugs and soft cushions. There was a carpet of an oriental design into which Nicola’s feet sank, and reclining on a kind of dais before a low table absolutely groaning under the weight of the food upon it was the Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed. He was dressed tonight in a rich silken robe, edged with scarlet thread, while several necklaces of gold and jewels adorned his neck. Rings sparkled on every finger as before, but Nicola was sure they were not the same rings as she had seen the previous day.
He rose adroitly at their entrance, and came to greet them, his eyes surveying Nicola thoroughly, taking in every detail of her charming appearance. The penetration of that look caused Nicola to feel that every inch of her body had turned a brilliant shade of tomato, and she had the feeling he was mentally taking her apart, examining every limb, every muscle, with an educated eye. As though she were a contender for his harem, Nicola thought incredulously, and felt the first twinges of alarm slide along her spine. She glanced at Jason and found his eyes upon her too, a strange gleam in their depths, and immediately felt slightly reassured. She stepped a little closer to him, and when the Sheikh took her hand to draw her to his table she felt an awful sense of reluctance to leave Jason’s side.
But after all, it was not so bad. They were joined at dinner by the Sheikh’s eldest son, a young man who was introduced as Victor. He was about eighteen, Nicola thought, and the Sheikh proudly explained that he was to go to Oxford the next year to complete his education. Unlike the Sheikh, Victor wore European clothes and seemed eager to learn as much as he could about the European way of life. He knew the names of some of the popular artists of the day, and Nicola could talk quite naturally to him, finding relief in his uncomplicated conversation.
The meal was long and varied. Some of the courses she could not even put a name to, but she recognized a pilaff of goat’s meat, and chorba, which is a sort of macaroni stew, and which she had already tasted back at the camp. There was cheese, and fish, nuts and dates, dishes of fruit preserved in syrup which was delicious, and aromatic continental coffee.
Afterwards, when the servants had cleared all but the fruit and dates from the table, the Sheikh summoned a troupe of dancers who, together with three musicians, performed a rather unrhythmic shuffle around the centre of the floor. The music, strange and unmelodic, did not appeal to Nicola, and she was quite willing to lounge on her cushions and listen when the Sheikh spoke to her.
‘Tell me,’ he said softly, ‘what do you think of my humble abode?’
Nicola glanced at him, and then shrugged. ‘I am sure you are aware that your abode is anything but humble,’ she repl
ied easily. ‘And I must admit I think the decorations are quite exotic.’
‘Hmm.’ The Sheikh drew on the cigar he was smoking. ‘Do you like Abrahm, Miss Kang?’
‘Quite well,’ she answered. ‘I’ve never been to Africa before.’
‘But this is North Africa—and quite different from Central and Southern Africa, you will find,’ said the Sheikh smoothly. ‘Here, our civilization can be traced back thousands of years.’
Nicola nodded. ‘I should imagine this whole area provides historical interest for museums and archaeological institutes the world over,’ she agreed. ‘Nowadays people are beginning to realize that only from the past can we learn about the future.’
The Sheikh looked pleased. ‘That is indeed an astute observation from one so young, Miss King,’ he said, studying her more intently. ‘There are so many people who believe our future lies in the stars—in the outer limits of endless space. This I cannot accept. Here, within our own sphere, lie all the answers to the mysteries of life. It is all written, and there is no escape from destiny, fate, what have you.’
‘You’re a fatalist, Sheikh Mohammed.’
‘But of course. Still—enough of the past, let us concentrate on the present. It is not every day my house is honoured by the visit of such charming company.’ Nicola smiled. The wine she had drunk with the meal and afterwards had relaxed her somewhat and she felt less embarrassed by his flattery. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said.
‘Kind? No. Truthful, mademoiselle, that is all. It is so delightful to see a fair complexion after so many dark ones. Tell me, from whom did you inherit this honey-gold hair?’
Nicola’s cheeks coloured. ‘From—from my mother, I suppose,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘She was much fairer than I.’
‘Blonder, perhaps, fairer—no!’ The Sheikh’s dark eyes were intent. ‘I find you quite enchanting, mademoiselle. You must come here again. I desire your company.’
