by Isobel Chace
“I have booked you a room,” he told her. “I suggest you go and have a quick shower and then I’ll arrange for you to have something to eat.”
She nodded her head. She hadn’t realised that she was hungry, but now that he suggested food the mere thought of it made her feel faint.
“Have you — have you also booked a room for Beshir?” she asked him bravely.
He looked at her in surprise, as though he hadn’t expected her to be concerned about her chauffeur.
“I have,” he said quietly, and he gave her a gentle push in the back. “Go quickly,” he bade her. “You look like a lost child, without any make-up and with dust on your eyelashes.” He smiled in that sudden way he had. “A nice child,” he added with a laugh. “A job will be good for you. A little discipline is all you
need to make you into quite a nice person!”
And such was the chaos of her thoughts that her normally only too ready tongue couldn’t find a single word to answer him. Instead she fled across the garden, over the street, and into the hotel, without a single backward glance.
She felt better when she had washed and changed, and with her heart doing peculiar things at the thought of going downstairs to face him again, she made up her face with a lavish hand, eyeshadow, mascara — the lot! It made her feel very grown-up and sophisticated, but when she had finished she found she didn’t like it very much and took it all off again. Angrily she faced her reflection in the looking glass.
“So you look like a child, do you?” she addressed it crossly, and had to admit that, with her hair hanging in two plaits down her back, she didn’t look much older than a schoolgirl.
The second time she was more careful when she applied the eye-shadow and she was pleased with the result. It attracted attention to the luminous quality of her eyes, and she was pleased to notice that they were really a much better shape than were Chantal’s. With the ease born of long practice she switched her hair up into position and fastened it with a few pins. It gave her confidence to see her hair in its normal, staid style, and she smiled at herself. She certainly didn’t look a child now!
But if he noticed all the trouble she had taken he didn’t give any sign of it. He made her sit down at a table in one corner of the dining-room and stood over her while she ate the casse-croute he had ordered for her — an enormous torpedo sandwich, filled with tunny fish and pickles moistened with olive oil. He had ordered coffee for two, she noticed with relief, as she struggled through the enormous bread roll. At least she wouldn’t have to drink all that by herself also.
“Will that hold you until dinner time?” he asked her as she swallowed the last mouthful.
“It’s more likely to have sunk me by then!” she retorted.
He laughed with a singular lack of feeling for her sensibilities.
“It is foolish to go without one’s meals!” he told her sharply.
“Yes, Dr. Kreistler,” she agreed meekly.
He made an impatient noise and got restlessly to his feet.
Didn’t the man ever relax? With his hands in his pockets he stared moodily out of the window, before turning to face her again.
“Come,” he said. “Let us go out and walk around the streets. Hotels are boring places to be in, do you not agree?”
She was too startled to answer. Boring? No she had never thought of them as being that! She collected her handbag and smiled at him.
“Come on, then,” she agreed. “I’m ready.”
He led her rapidly through the narrow streets, stopping every now and then to point something out to her. Once it was the blue painted ironwork over a harem window; once it was young dried eucalyptus leaves that had been impregnated with D.D.T. and hung on a wall to keep the flies away; and once to point out the school where the young girls learned to make their famous carpets.
“Do you want to see inside?” he asked.
Katherine nodded.
She was surprised by the cool, clean buildings, where the giant looms stood in rows, tended by the little girls. In the morning, he told her, they now went to school, as their mothers had never done, but in the afternoons they learned the intricacies of their ancient trade, so that when they had passed their diplomas and married they could set up on their own and contribute towards the family wage.
He took her to see the famous mosques also — the Mosque of the Barber, where the friend of Mahomet is buried with three hairs of the Prophet’s beard, and the Grand Mosque, the Mosque of Sidi El Akbar, with its stolen Roman columns and enormous square. With casual hands he removed his shoes and stood by expectantly while she did the same, before taking her into the enormous prayer room.
“This is the only mosque I know where an infidel can do this,” he said with satisfaction, and wandered over to look at the elaborately carved Imam’s chair, completely forgetting all about her.
Katherine wandered round too, fascinated by the mats that were tied round the base of each column, carefully padding their hard edges against over-enthusiastic worshippers. But more than anything else she watched Dr. Kreistler padding over the rush mats, as pleased as any small child allowed to take off his shoes and spread his toes on something strange for a change.
She was footsore and weary when they got back to the hotel. It wasn’t that Dr. Kreistler had walked her so very far, but he had walked her so fast! And she should never have worn her best shoes, their heels were far too high for sight-seeing, as any fool could have told her!
It was only half-past nine when she went to her room for the night. She pushed back the shutters and found she could see straight into the courtyard of a house opposite. Two little girls were playing ball against a wall, one of them with her veil slung round her shoulders, the other in jeans, her discarded veil flung on to the ground. Katherine smiled to herself. The American influence had even reached the harem, she thought, and was glad.
Idly she yawned and pulled the curtains, shutting out the little scene. She was glad that she too was feminine and found herself blushing. Well, Dr. Kreistler had thought so anyway, hadn’t he? She eased her shoes off her aching feet and knocked the two heels together, tapping out a tune of her own making to herself. She had got to know Dr. Kreistler quite well that evening, she thought, and all that she knew of him she liked. He was nice! Really nice! And she was glad she was to have his company during the long drive south the next day.
She felt again his fingers as they had brushed her face when he had said goodnight to her, dismissing her as though she really was no more than a child. She had liked the way he had done it though, and tomorrow — She froze. Whatever was she thinking of? A few kind words and her wits were scattered in the silliest, most feminine way! Dr. Peter Kreistler had Chantal to say goodnight to, and he probably did it very thoroughly too when he was staying up north, at Hammamet! He wouldn’t just flick her cheek with his fingers! And he certainly wouldn’t refer to her as a nice child in need of discipline.
With a little sob, she pulled off her clothes and dropped them on the floor, jumping into bed and pulling the bedclothes right up over" her head.
CHAPTER FIVE
KATHERINE awoke to hear someone pounding on her door.
“Oui,” she called out sleepily. “Entrez!” But whoever it was had already gone. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just six o’clock. The first stirrings of the day could be heard out in the streets and she could hear the faithful being called to prayer, in the modern way, over a faulty microphone that sounded out across the city. It was, she supposed, time to get up.
It took her only a few minutes to wash and dress and pack the few things she had needed for the night, and then she hurried downstairs to breakfast. Dr. Kreistler was already there, impatiently glancing at his watch as though he were already in a hurry to be gone. Katherine took her seat beside him, hiding a smile of amusement. Really, he had the energy of three men, and expected everyone else to be the same. He probably did the work of three men too, and thought it quite normal. She wondered whe
re he had trained and what he had specialised in, but didn’t like to ask him. She was already beginning to think of his work as a dangerous topic, and she had absolutely no intention of quarrelling with him today!
When the coffee came it was hot and good and the rolls that went with it were crisp and still warm from the oven. Katherine ate her share in silence, aware at times of his eyes on her but not knowing what to say. One way and another she was glad when the meal was over and she could disappear to get her luggage down from her room.
When she got down to the hallway again, Beshir had already driven off and there was only the doctor’s Land Rover standing in front of the hotel, the dark green khaki covered with a thick layer of dust that had collected into patterns on the canvas seats and roofing. Katherine brushed it off as well as she could, but it was a hopeless task, the dust settling again as fast as she could remove it.
Dr. Kreistler watched her in silence for one long, impatient moment.
“Oh, get in!” he said at last. “A little dust won’t hurt you. It will be worse once we leave the good roads.”
Chagrined, she bit her lip, and stepped up into the Land Rover, sitting down quickly on the hard, unsprung seat.
“I would much rather have travelled in the minibus,” she complained. “At least in it one had some protection against all this!” She waved her hand round, pointing at the piles of dust that had collected in every corner.
Dr. Kreistler chuckled.
“I don’t suppose you’re nearly as fragile as you suppose!” he retorted. “And I like to have you under my eye where I can see what you’re up to!”
Just as though she was, in very truth, a child! She stowed her handbag away on the central seat and crossly surveyed the scene in front of her.
“And don’t drink the water anywhere south of here!” he added crushingly. “I don’t want you down with dysentry as well as everything else.”
“I’m not a complete fool, Dr. Kreistler,” she said primly. “I shouldn’t dream of drinking any water unless I knew where it had come from.”
He sprang up beside her and she was suddenly very glad of the empty seat between them. It gave her a sense of distance that she was beginning to appreciate.
“Is that so?” he drawled. “Well, see that you stick to your good intentions, Miss Lane!”
She had not realised before how intensely she disliked being addressed by her surname — especially by Dr. Kreistler! He made it sound as though it had two syllables, ending it with an insufferable finality that irritated her more than she could say. She glowered at him, but he didn’t even notice. He merely shoved the gear lever into the right position, depressed the clutch, and drove, as though the gates of hell had opened up behind him, straight out of the city.
Katherine found it safer to hook one hand round the edge of her seat and to hang on. She was terrified of being thrown right out of her perilous perch and there seemed to be nothing between her and the road that flashed past beside her. But she soon discovered that Dr. Kreistler might drive fast but he also drove well, with a fierce concentration that somehow enabled him to avoid all the worst of the ruts and the bumps in the road.
“Which way are we going?” she asked after she had suffered in silence for as long as she could bear.
“Via Sbeitla. There’s a map in the pocket just in front of you if
you want to have a look.”
The idea of her coping with a map as well as everything else struck her as funny, and a little gasp of laughter escaped from her. He gave her a suspicious look and slowed down considerably.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I am apt to forget that most people find it necessary to become acclimatised to my driving.” He gave her another quick, reflective look. “Chantal won’t even travel in the same car as me,” he went on, his voice rough with amusement. “She wouldn’t even in Tunis, if you remember?”
Katherine did.
“It isn’t the speed exactly,” she explained. “It’s the lack of protection.”
He appeared to find this reasonable, for he nodded and said briefly,
“It’s quite safe really. Relax a bit and you’ll find you quite enjoy it.”
She tried it and found that he was quite right. Besides, at rock bottom she was pretty sure that she could rely on him not to do anything that would endanger anyone else’s life. He had the right hands, she thought. Strong, gentle hands that she had liked the feel of against her face. She looked down at her own hands and blushed. No, she told herself firmly, he would not think the same about hers.
She had thought the steppe lands were poor, but she was soon to realise that they were comparatively rich. They were being reclaimed and planted with eucalyptus trees first, because they didn’t object so strongly to the salt, and then with olive trees and other crops. It was planned too to shade the long miles of the roads with handsome trees to make driving more pleasant for the tourists and other travellers. Sometimes they would pass a water barrel being hauled along by a mule with a man sitting on the top, going on his rounds to give the trees their weekly watering.
But soon the land was to deteriorate still further until the soil was little more than sand and the olive and eucalyptus trees gave way to the wild esparto grass that was casually picked by the passing Bedouin and sent to the paper mills all over the world.
They passed in turn an agricultural school, a flock of wild pigeons, and yet more saplings, protected from the sun by little shelters of palm-leaves. They crossed some of the dry river beds too, the rains of a few weeks earlier now no more than a memory and a few damp places in the sand below them. It was hard to believe that these same beds had been swirling torrents of water such a short time before, but the occasional washed away bridge bore silent witness to the force of these short, violent storms that occasionally swirled through this near-desert.
Dr. Kreistler would drive the Land Rover straight into the wadi and out the other side with the same fierce concentration he brought to everything else. It was left to Katherine to close her eyes to shut out the terrifying drifts of sand that lay to either side of the temporary pass, a pass so narrow that it didn’t seem possible that anything as wide as the Land Rover could possibly cross over it.
But she became accustomed to the ordeal in time and even began to enjoy it. There was something satisfying about the miles of yellow sand and the terra-cotta mountains slashed by vivid purple shadows, or the wide, flat and completely white salt lakes that would fill with water every winter and dry out every summer, useless, as even the salt was not gathered for export.
They drove straight through Sbeitla, leaving the ruined Roman city to one side and dodging the multitude of little boys who tried to sell them Roman coins for whatever they could get.
“Can you wait until we reach Gafsa before we stop for some coffee?” Dr. Kreistler asked her.
She stirred herself out of the silent reverie she had fallen into.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
He gave her a quick smile of encouragement and she smiled back. She could feel the hot sun on her flesh and she dreaded to think of how burnt she would be when the sun went down and she would feel the full effect of its heat against her tender skin.
More alarming still was the sudden change in the weather. The sky was still the same steely blue above them, but all round the horizon it looked a dirty yellow and thick with dust.
“Are we going to have a storm?” she asked fearfully.
He laughed.
“A very little one! More dust, I’m afraid. It’s just the wind playing with the loose sand.”
It made for a grim few miles of driving, though. There was sand everywhere, blowing across the road, in their hair, in their
eyes and, worst of all, in their mouths, gritty and particularly nasty between their teeth.
Dr. Kreistler threw her an anxious glance every now and again, but Katherine was accustomed to being uncomfortable and she knew how to ride out such a situation, letting the worst of it
blow over her head, and not making a fuss about the inevitable.
“I have some chocolate,” he said at last. “If you would care to look for it in my pocket.”
She felt shy and rather ridiculous going through his pockets. He seemed to keep the oddest things in them anything from a piece of string and a safety pin to a single, rather elderly potato that was showing every sign of sprouting in the near future.
“It must be on the other side,” she told him.
He slowed down, put a hand in his pocket and tossed it over to her. She ripped open the paper and returned half of it to him.
“Good?” he asked her.
She laughed.
“The sand makes a novel filling,” she said.
It seemed no time after that that they came into the outskirts of Gafsa, an ugly little town in the centre of the phosphate belt. All the streets were garlanded with flags in readiness for Independence Day and the people had come out in a body and stood in clusters on the edge of the road, their excitement so great that it was almost tangible in the sand-filled atmosphere.
“Do you want to stop?” the doctor asked her.
‘What’s happening?” she countered. But there was no doubt that she wanted to stop. She was half out of the car before he had even parked it off the road, and had joined the crowd, her eyes alight with eager anticipation.
“What is it?” she asked a man she found beside her.
He stood back to allow her to pass to the front so that she would have a better view.
“It’s a fantasia, madame,” he replied. He pointed out across the sand into the grey-yellow dust. “Look over there!”
The Bedouin horsemen came pounding down towards them, their rifles blazing and their horses responding to their lightest touch. They looked magnificent in their long white burnouses, their extravagantly embroidered belts and shoulder straps, and the
long drapes of green and scarlet that flew out behind them from the back of their saddles.
They came to a resounding halt within a few feet of the crowd and steadied into a sober walk as the band started up with pounding beat and ear-splitting trumpets and bagpipes.