by Isobel Chace
“I wish you luck anyway,” she said bleakly. “I hope you get your heart’s desire.”
And she wondered why he smiled in quite that way.
“I haven’t entirely despaired,” he told her.
Katherine slipped out of the circle of his arms and glanced towards Chantal, who was sitting at the bar, sipping a drink with stony-faced indifference.
“Hadn’t you better dance with Chantal?” she suggested. “I’ll go and see if the management can find rooms for Guillaume and me tonight.”
“Very well,” he agreed. He lowered his head until his lips were on the same level as her ear. “But I choose my own partners. Remember that!”
She watched him go across to Chantal and seat himself on one of the tall stools beside her, ordering himself a drink. He looked handsome in his white evening jacket and black tie. It was funny, but she had never thought of him as being handsome before. It was his strength she had got to know, and his great love for all kinds and conditions of men. And his caustic impatience, that she had come to love. Yes, to love! And why not? She wasn’t ashamed of it.
She felt Chantal watching her and shivered again. She threw her a brief smile and turned away quickly. Guillaume would be back with the tickets soon and they would all want to eat, and before that, she had to make her own arrangements with the hotel. She couldn’t expect Guillaume to do everything; she owed him enough for being so willing to escort her back to Hammamet.
They could hear the beat of drums and the thin wail of the first experimental flute searching for a melody as they sat down to dinner.
“Oh, are they going to play?” Katherine asked eagerly.
Dr. Kreistler smiled at her.
“Only incidentally. They’re coming to provide background music for the snake charmer. He’s bringing his creatures in to show the visitors later on.”
Chantal looked pleased.
“I love snakes,” she announced calmly. “They fascinate me.
They look so wicked and spiteful and devil-may-care!”
“And are really quite ordinary beings,” the doctor put in, “looking for a warm place and a quiet life.” Katherine gave him a swift look of gratitude. She had never known any snakes intimately and as far as she knew she didn’t want to. She was terrified of all creepy-crawlies and she always had been.
“That’s true,” Guillaume smiled. “They are far more frightened of us than we are of them!”
Katherine was more than half convinced they were right when she saw the fakir who was going to show them the snakes. He was tall with a chubby face and a cheerful, half-embarrassed laugh that rang round the room at regular intervals. He dressed to the part, wearing enormous baggy camel-trousers and djella-bah that showed the signs of many a wash and long hours out in the desert. On his head he had tied a large cloth and had tucked the edges in behind his ears without too much success.
“Does he really charm snakes?” Katherine asked.
The men shook their heads.
“He has a very fine collection, though,” they insisted. And truth to tell she was rather glad. She thought it added to rather than detracted from his charm that his snakes didn’t do all the usual things. She would far rather see them, if she had to, being themselves.
She wasn’t quite so sure when he started to produce them, casually, out of the carpet bag that he slung over one shoulder.
“A viper!”
There were several high-pitched gasps from the women who watched him and a nervous giggle from a Chinese gentleman who was something to do with the United Nations.
The fakir slowly circled the room, going from person to person to show them the forked tongue and the soft, dry skin of the long, wriggling snake.
“You like it?” he asked Katherine.
She forced herself to look at it, but no, she didn’t like it! She felt cold with horror inside and could feel the colour draining out of her cheeks.
“Perhaps you prefer scorpions?” he laughed down at her. “I have many scorpions.”
“Perhaps I do,” she agreed readily, quite willing to say
anything to make him take the snake away.
Chantal pressed her hand against her arm.
“Why, I believe you are afraid of it!” she taunted in her sly, cool voice. “We can’t have that, can we, Guillaume? Tell him to bring out his scorpions next. They’re the cutest little things!”
The fakir dropped the viper on the polished floor and captured it neatly with a forked stick, dropping it back into its bag.
“Oh, let me see!” Chantal exclaimed. “Have you got another stick like that one! I should so love one! Look, Peter, he’s actually gone to the trouble of polishing it!” She wrenched it out of the Arab’s hand and sat down again, triumphantly waving it over her head. “May I have it? Please, may I have it?”
The fakir nodded, a little reluctantly, Katherine thought, and she felt rather sorry for him for having his hand forced like that. Her distaste for Chantal flared up again within her and she moved her chair surreptitiously a couple of inches away from her, then wished she hadn’t, for in doing so she had moved backwards as well, and in her lower chair she couldn’t see anything but the French girl in front of her.
The Arab slowly and impressively re-tucked in the ends of his headgear and bent down and opened a large wooden box he had with him. Out of it he produced a couple of small jars and spilled the contents out on to the floor. Two scorpions, completely different in size and colouring, faced each other and started curling up their venomous tails. The fakir separated them with the toe of his sandal and the larger of the two started laboriously to crawl towards Chantal’s chair.
The French girl watched it with horror in her eyes for a few seconds and then she waved the stick at it.
“Take it away from me!” she screamed. “Take it away!”
The Arab smiled and started towards it, but Chantal was quicker. She reached out with the forked stick and flicked it upwards straight on to Katherine’s lap.
Katherine froze. She knew it was the only thing to do. The beast was already sufficiently frightened to sting anything with which it came in contact, and all she could do was to give it very little opportunity to sting her. It was Peter Kreistler who removed it. He took it away in a cloth and returned it to the angry and now sullen fakir.
“It was her fault!” the Arab said furiously. “Why did she do this thing. Does she hate so much that she must kill?”
Katherine gasped and she turned swiftly to Chantal. What a terrible accusation to make! But the other girl was now quite cool again. Her pale blue eyes met Katherine’s inquiringly and then she smiled enigmatically.
“Were you very frightened?” she asked curiously.
Katherine felt suddenly calm and more relaxed than she had done all day.
“Not very,” she said slowly. “Were you? It could have been a nasty incident.”
Chantal stood up leisurely and smiled again.
“But not an accident, darling,” she drawled softly, and with a light laugh, made her way towards the bar.
Dr. Kreistler brought the Land Rover to the front of the hotel and opened the door for Chantal to get into the front seat. Katherine stood on the concrete step to the hotel and raised her hand in farewell. Her head was aching and her knees felt weak and decidedly wobbly. It was funny really, she had thought that her heart would break when it finally came to the time when she had to say goodbye to the doctor, and all she could feel was an overriding sense of relief that he was taking Chantal away.
He came up to her, his shoes crunching on the loose chips on the road. He put up a hand and touched her cheek gently with his firm, capable fingers.
“Look after yourself, my dear,” he said.
“I will!”
He smiled at her.
“I hate to see a good nurse go, but I think you will be safer at Hammamet.”
“Far safer,” she agreed.
“So you think it was deliberate,” he said thoughtfully. He
shrugged his shoulders with an impatient movement. “I’ll see you when I come north?”
She nodded. She couldn’t do more. All she could think was that he was glad to be rid of her rather than to think anything unpleasant about Chantal. But then he hadn’t heard her say it hadn’t been an accident, so how could he possibly know?
The Land Rover moved forward and was soon lost in the enveloping darkness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GUILLAUME looked remarkably cheerful in the morning. Now that he had made up his mind to go back to France he was a different person, and a much more likeable one.
“The train leaves in half an hour,” he warned her. “Do you think you can be ready?” His blue eyes twinkled outrageously at her. “I know what women are! he went on. “Never on time! Always in a hurry!”
“Nurses are always on time,” she retorted. “They have to be.”
Guillaume shook his head sorrowfully.
“Nurses are the worst of all. In their private lives they are always late. I have-noticed this fact often. Perhaps it is because they have to be on their toes all the time in the hospitals.”
A glint came into Katherine’s eyes.
“Half an hour, did you say? I’ll be there, waiting on the platform. But will you be? You haven’t shaved yet!”
He felt his rough cheeks with an offended air.
“A nice girl wouldn t have noticed,” he rebuked her. Katherine smiled and stood up, leaving her napkin in a heap on the edge of the breakfast table.
“Perhaps not,” she agreed dryly. She might not have noticed either if the sun had not been shining right in across his face. He was so fair that his beard was scarcely noticeable — not at all like Peter Kreistler, whose lopsided face with its bushy eyebrows was altogether more definite.
Guillaume stood up too.
“Now, now,” he said gently. “Don’t brood!”
Katherine made a quick little apology and started on her way up to her room, but she couldn’t help wondering whether Guillaume knew that his sister’s action had been quite deliberate. She hadn’t tried to kill her exactly, but she certainly wouldn’t have been sorry if she had come to any harm. They were queer people, these de Hallets, with their bitter selfishness and their cruel ways. Even Edouard had expected to be treated differently from anyone else she had ever nursed, but she had managed to like him all the same. It was only Chantal that she both feared and disliked — and it wasn’t any easier because she was also jealous of her and she had never known jealousy before, nothing like this blinding, scorching emotion that left her feeling both empty and unattractive.
She packed away her night things with trembling hands and went down to the hotel entrance to wait for Guillaume. He came, hurrying, with odd bits of his clothing creeping out of his suitcase and his raincoat tossed over one shoulder.
“We’ll just make it!” He grinned across at her. “Just as well too, for these trains only leave twice a week.”
“Oh, come on!” she said impatiently. She had a sudden, awful fear that they really would miss the train and that she would have to go back to Sidi Behn Ahmed.
But the train was still waiting at the small terminus. It was a long collection of open wagons with the single passenger carriage stuck on at the end almost like an afterthought. Most of the open wagons were empty, waiting for their heavy loads of phosphates that they would pick up at Gafsa and carry laboriously northwards to Sfax and Tunis.
Guillaume produced their tickets and they climbed aboard the old-fashioned carriage on to the open verandah at the back. The guard carried their luggage into one of the compartments and accepted his tip with a calm dignity.
“We leave in two minutes, sir,” he said respectfully.
And rather to everyone’s surprise they did leave exactly on the hour appointed and began the long haul north.
It was a long and tedious journey, passing first through the phosphate belt and then through the endless steppe-lands towards Sfax and the miles and miles of olives. El Djem, the third biggest Roman arena in the world, caused some excitement as they went past, but otherwise there was very little to see that was new to them. At another time Katherine would have enjoyed the experience, but in her present numbed state, nothing seemed very important, and she had quite enough to do, trying to keep reasonably cheerful for Guillaume’s sake.
It was a matter of relief all round when they finally arrived at Hammamet and were able to shake the dust, out of their clothes and wash their hands and faces that had been covered by a film of grey dust from the loading of the phosphates.
Feeling a good deal fresher and more normal, Katherine stepped out of the station and waited for Guillaume to find a taxi. A few seconds later they were heading through the small town and out towards the fruit estate. The green of the trees and the strong, vivid colours of the masses of flowers were strange to her eye after her weeks in the south. Even the wild flowers seemed exotic and almost as though there were too many of them.
They came to the wrought-iron gates of her own house, and Katherine gazed at the long drive, lined with trees, with a new pleasure. The perfection of the house and grounds no longer overawed her. She was glad to be there now that she knew that Chantal was somewhere else. It felt like home.
It was lonely at first when Guillaume had left for Tunis as the first stage of his journey to France. Katherine went from room to room and planned the few small changes she would make in their furnishings, trying to pretend to herself that she hadn’t already reached the first stages of boredom. There was nothing whatever for her to do in the house; there was a large and very capable staff that took care of all the housework and the cooking. Respectfully, once a day, they would ask her to approve the menus, and then everything would go on as before with clockwork perfection.
On the third day Brahim came up to the house. Katherine saw his tall, patriarchal figure from the window and went running down the drive to greet him. He salaamed magnificently from his great height, and she felt she ought to curtsey or do something equally formal in response, but in fact she offered him her hand and left it at that.
“I came to greet you home,” he said gravely.
“How nice of you,” Katherine responded warmly. “I was worried by the salt you said was getting into the water.”
He looked at her solemnly, saying nothing. Katherine flushed slightly.
“There were one or two other reasons as well,” she found herself confessing, “but that was the most urgent.”
“Of course,” he agreed gently. “Will you come and see the orchard concerned now?”
Katherine nodded eagerly, pleased to be doing something positive, and they set off through the gardens towards the enormous orchards beyond.
“How’s the money going?” Katherine asked. “I want to be able to
tell Monsieur Verdon when I see him that we have at least been
able to make a start.” Brahim looked far into the distance, his face calm and
undisturbed.
“We shall start building next year if all goes well,” he said calmly.
Katherine’s eyes shone with excitement.
“Really? But that’s wonderful! How have we managed so quickly?”
He smiled at last, transforming his whole face into a mass of happy wrinkles.
“One can only spend money once,” he said reasonably. “A few prudent economies and it begins to add up in the bank. Young Monsieur de Hallet wrote to me and told me he would have no further need for his allowance. This was a good thing. We only have the one drain on our resources now, and that too will not last for ever.”
No, Katherine thought with surprised displeasure, she couldn’t see Dr. Kreistler accepting money from anyone on behalf of his wife. She would have to live on his income or do without. She wondered briefly how Chantal would like that, and felt a certain grim amusement as she pictured her reaction. She doubted if Peter would give her many nightdresses like the one Ali had so admired. Peter was essentially practical and he
would expect his wife to show the same sense of proportion. She gave a little giggle, and Brahim looked at her inquiringly.
“It was nothing,” she said hastily. “Just a thought.”
An answering gleam of humour came into his eyes.
“It is ever so with women,” he said, totally without patronage. “The sense of the ridiculous is ever with them. With my wives, I no longer ask what it is that amuses them.”
She laughed, uncertain as to whether she had been thoroughly snubbed or not.
“Your wives?” she asked at last, rather uncertainly.
It was his turn to laugh.
“I have two wives,” he said quietly. “It is no longer legal to marry two women, but I have been married many years to both my wives.”
“And are they good friends?” she couldn’t resist asking.
He laughed again.
“Of course! On these occasions it is the man you must feel sorry for. Most women have a very good understanding, one with another!”
Katherine chuckled, liking him more than ever.
“I should like to meet them one day,” she said, “when I know a little more Arabic.”
Brahim nodded.
“They will be honoured.” He walked briskly through one of the gates that opened in the earth walls that divided one orchard from another. It was a sad sight that met their eyes. The fruit stood out on the bare branches of the trees, a few to each branch, small and withered. Brahim picked up a couple of the fallen leaves in his hand and rubbed them between his palms. “Salt,” he said, “is our big enemy in this country.”
Katherine looked at the devastation around her and sighed.
“What can we do about it?” she asked helplessly.
“We shall have to close the spring,” Brahim replied. “There is some reason why it should suddenly become saline. Perhaps some other stream has crossed its path. We do not know. We must dig and find out, or maybe we must call in the experts so that they can tell us.”