him, wrapping himself completely in his burnous.'
The moment had gone. Amber felt disappointed. 'I wanted to get up early this morning and see the sunrise,' she said.
`You would have been unsuccessful. I had the same thought myself, but it was too cloudy. In fact I walked out here hoping the clouds would shift.'
That must have been when she was dreaming about him. If he had invited her to go with him it could have come true. There were no clouds about now. The sky was a true clear blue, the sand warm beneath their fingers, but all too soon it was time to go.
Hamed helped her to her feet and held her hand as they slithered down the sand dune, but once they were on level ground he let it go and climbed up on to his camel without bothering to see that she was all right herself.
On the homeward trek he was once again morose and silent and this time Amber made no attempt to draw him into conversation. There seemed little point when he so clearly did not want to be bothered. It hurt, for her love grew with every hour that passed, until the thought of parting from him was as painful as though he was a living part of her.
Back at the hotel they collected their cases and set off on the long trip back. In Gabes Hamed branched off to their right and Amber knew that this was not the way they had come. 'Where are we going?' she asked, her voice sounding curiously stifled in the stillness of the car.
`To Matmata—you have heard of it?'
Amber had, and had in-fact intended taking a trip F there from the Sahara Beach to see these troglodytes
who lived in holes in the ground. She had been fascinated when she first heard of them and excitement caused her now to say, 'The pit people? Oh, lovely, I didn't realise we were so near.'
Hamed smiled at her exuberance, for a brief space forgetting his ill-humour. 'You are perhaps beginning to realise that my country is a land of contrasts. You have seen the olive groves and the oases, the cities and the desert, and now you Ire about to see this strange lunar-like landscape where people have lived in underground dwellings for over two thousand years.'
'I heard that the authorities have tried to persuade them to move into more conventional type houses?'
Hamed nodded. 'It is true, but they prefer their way of life, and who can blame them? Their homes protect them both against scorching summer days and freezing winter nights. They are as comfortable as you and I and probably happier.'
Amber agreed on this last score, knowing that unless by some miracle Hamed returned her love she would never again realise true happiness.
They drove along a smooth straight road passing a seventh-century shrine of Sidi Boulbaba, Barber to the. Prophet Mohammed, and a small would-be museum which Hamed told her had been awaiting inauguration for at least ten years. They passed some barracks and two wartime bunkers and a small settlement of white logements, before rising into the Mountains of Matmata.
Here were peaks and domes as well as eroded gulches, and in almost every hollow was a few palms and a dwelling. The path rose steeply, twisting and turning through the rose-coloured mountains until
suddenly they rounded a bend to find a view of the Ma tmata Valley.
It was a scene Amber would not forget in a hurry. The broad expanse of sand was covered with crater-like pits, while above, white mosques and new homes somewhat marred the effect.
Hamed parked the car, brushing away the touts who instantly came to try and sell their souvenirs. He seemed to know where he was going and Amber followed as he strode towards an archway cut into the side of the hill. They went through this tunnel-like entrance and she found herself in a courtyard about twenty-five feet in both diameter and height. The blue sky was their roof—and even a few leafy trees grew there.
A well-built woman of indeterminate age came forward, smiling broadly and shaking Hamed's hand—obviously she knew him very well. They spoke in Arabic, but Amber's attention was taken up by the woman herself, not their conversation. She was dressed in a gorgeous red mellia, a sari-type garment wound round the waist and held over the bust with two silver pins that caught the end below her shoulders like dungaree braces. Her blouse was white and lacy, and over her hair, which was dyed bright orange, was tied a purple silk scarf. Her face was lined and her eyes a surprising blue.
`Bournaouia says we are quite welcome to look around her home,' said Hamed, taking Amber's hand and leading her forward.
The trees in the courtyard had surprised Amber, but the rooms that led off were even more astonishing. In the bedroom the beds were scooped out of alcoves in
the wall, and in the kitchen was a stove with provisions piled neatly either against the wall or on shelves dug out of the walls themselves.
'I wonder why they chose to live like this in the first place,' she said, completely spellbound by the comfort and cleanliness of it all. She had expected nothing like this. Inside it was like a real home. The walls were whitewashed, and there were handmade rugs on the floor. It was cosy and comfortable, everything you could ask for.
'Some historians say that the Berbers built them to escape their enemies,' replied Hamed, 'but a more likely explanation is that the stone is too soft to build with, so they dug into it and as you can see the result is surprising. Their homes are more sophisticated than some of the people living on top. The women work hard, though, very often having to walk seven or eight kilometres for food.'
A knotted rope helped the pit-dwellers up to the next 'floor' where there were store rooms for cereals or olives. Amber was fascinated and when she was offered a cup of tea she had no thought of refusing. The liquid was thick and black and like nothing else she had ever tasted, but she drank it politely, and shook hands with Bournaouia before leaving, asking Hamed to express her thanks for allowing them to see over her house.
There was also a troglodyte hotel, converted from a set of pits, but Hamed allowed her no more than a cursory glance. He seemed anxious to be on their way. Amber had found it a very satisfying experience and said as much to Hamed as they drove back to Gabes for their lunch.
'Has your opinion of Tunisia now changed?' he asked, 'or are you still against making it your home?'
Amber had grown to love the country and its people and knew that even if she did not stay here now she would return one day for another holiday. But what to say in response to Hamed's question? She could not say, 'I would love to live here and marry you, but only if you say you love me. If you don't there's no point.' At least she still had sufficient pride to avoid the humiliation such a statement would cause. She could imagine Hamed, those deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners with laugher that held no humour, his lips turning up at the corners, but not smiling. He would say, 'Why is love so important to you, my passion flower? Is it not enough that I have found you sufficiently attractive to ask you to marry me?' He would never admit that he loved her—for the very simple reason that he did not. She doubted him capable of ever truly loving anyone. He enjoyed playing at love but without ever totally committing himself. When she realised he was still waiting for her answer, she said, 'I loved your country from the first moment I set foot in it, but my home is England. I could never truly belong here.'
He frowned. 'I do not think you are being fair to yourself. You are all the time fighting the tide of emotions that threaten to take over. Would it be so bad, loving me? Why don't you let yourself go and give yourself a chance to see that I am not the ogre you make out?'
'And then let you cast me aside when you've satisfied your—your lust?'
Hamed's lips thinned. 'You still insist on believing Rafika.'
`What other proof have I?' snapped Amber. 'Besides, right from the beginning I knew what you were after. And when you failed, when your outsize male ego had a shock, you thought up another way to make me' your bed companion. I wonder, would you really go through with a wedding ceremony just to satisfy your perverted little mind?' As soon as the words were out she wished she could retract them. She hadn't meant to say that, but he infuriated her, always insisting that she was
afraid to reveal her true feelings. The more so because he was right!
For a few long seconds there was silence, a dreadful silence, a silence so tangible that Amber felt that as soon as either of them spoke it would shatter into a myriad tiny pieces. All that could be heard was Hamed's deepened breathing. He was angry, rightly so, and fighting for control. She waited with bated breath for her retribution which must surely come. He would never let her get away with that.
`You think I wouldn't?' he ground out slowly. 'You think that even I would never have the nerve to go that far?'
He trod on the brakes and pulled into the side of the road. Then he turned towards her, reaching out to twist her head towards him, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw. The stormy depth of his eyes held a threat that made her tremble beneath his touch. 'How well do you know me, my passionate little friend? How well?' He shook her until her teeth rattled. 'Not well enough, I'm afraid. Our wedding has already been arranged. Four days from now you will be my
wife, and there is nothing you can do about it.'
Amber stared at him in horror, unable to believe that she had heard correctly. 'You're a beast I ' she cried at last, desperately pounding her fists against his chest. 'You're odious and I despise you! '
His voice became dangerously calm. 'Then it will be my pleasure to teach you to love me.'
'Never, never in a thousand years—and let go of my face, you're hurting!'
'I want to hurt you,' he rasped, 'as your words hurt me. I want to beat you until you are begging for mercy.'
'Then why don't you?' she flung back. 'Go on—I may as well find out now what type of a—husband you're going to be—a taste of what the future holds in store,' and before she could control them tears raced down her face—tears of anger against this barbaric man, and tears of sorrow for the love he had just killed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AMBER thought the tension had been bad between them before, but it was even worse now. Hamed drove the Mercedes fast and furiously, not even stopping for lunch, passing through Gabes without a thought that his passenger might be hungry. Not that she was. The thought of food choked her, but the least he could have done was ask.
She sat back, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as though fearing for her life. But it was not Hamed's driving that bothered her, it was her own present unbearable situation. She had had no idea that Hamed had actually set a date for the wedding. It had been a tremendous shock, and now her mind whirled round in circles trying to see some way out. She had never really thought he was serious, believing that as soon as he tired of her he would let her return to England. Now she knew differently, and her only way out of the situation was to run away.
There was no way that she was going to marry a man who had hit her! She raised tentative fingers to her cheek. It still burned from the imprint of Hamed's hand. She had taunted him, but it was not until she felt his hand against her cheek that she had believed he would carry out his threat. She refused to consider that it might have been to stop her hysterical outburst.
After that Hamed had started up the car again and since then he had not spoken. Her tears of anger had
turned into tears of self-pity until finally they stopped altogether. She was aware that her face must look a sight, but Hamed had put her handbag in the boot together with their cases, so there was no way of repairing the ravages of her tears.
Their journey back would take several hours, for she knew it must be at least three hundred kilometres. It would probably be dark. Perhaps as well, since she could go straight to bed. After a day spent with Hamed - in this intolerable atmosphere it would be a welcome relief to be alone.
From beneath her lowered lashes she stole a glance at the man at her side. He drdve the car with grim determination, his hands firmly on the wheel, his face set in stern lines. Amber doubted he was even aware of her regard.- He had shut himself away in a world where she had no part. She wondered how long this would last, whether he would perhaps keep it up until their proposed wedding day. If she was still here! With a bit of luck she would be back in England.
What would be the best way to escape? she wondered. It was very rarely she was left alone, as she had already discovered; her only chance would be at night when everyone was asleep. Even then it would be difficult. The road from the house to the main highway was several miles of dirt track—she would never manage that carrying two heavy suitcases. Even if she left her clothes behind she would still have a long way to walk. Hamed's house was-situated roughly halfway between Sousse and Tunis, she knew that much, but exactly where she had no clear idea, and the little villages they passed through were not exactly the type of places she could go for help.
Perhaps she ought to risk telephoning for a taxi, but even so, without the address she would feel an idiot. She wished now that she had kept his business card instead of tearing it up in temper.
One other route open to her would be to take Hamed's car—if she could find out where he kept his keys—then, once he was asleep, she could make her getaway in style. This latter idea seemed the most favourable, and satisfied that she had now sorted things out Amber settled back into her seat, her eyes closed once again.
She dozed spasmodically for most of the journey, tired after her restless night, but not wishing to sleep deeply, thus leaving herself in a very vulnerable position. Hamed's mood frightened her. Oh, very often he had been displeased, but never as coldly furious as he was now.
They stopped once, a very short stop in Sfax, but he did not ask if she was hungry, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they had eaten nothing but a couple of rolls early that morning.
Amber was relieved when they at last turned off the main road on the last stage of their journey. When he pulled up outside the house she watched carefully to see what he did with the keys, delighted to see that after opening the boot he put them back into the ignition. It looked as though it was all going to be easy.
The heavy studded door opened as they approached, little Mohammed beaming at his master and relieving him of their cases, trotting upstairs with them without having to be told.
Amber made to follow. She was stiff and tired and looked forward to a soothing bath to wash away the
grime of these memorable two days.
'Just a minute.' Hamed's voice grated into the empty hall.
Amber turned slowly; glaring defensively into the solemn brown eyes that looked at her coldly.
'If you are thinking of trying to run away I should forget it. Dinner will be served in one hour. Please make sure you are here.'
She tightened her lips and swung away without bothering to answer. How had he known? By what uncanny method had he read her thoughts? But she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. She would be polite enough this evening, if that was what he wanted. She would give no indication that she was in a hurry to return to her room ready to make her plans for her escape that very same night. He must never guess.
The Slouma household ran on smoothly oiled wheels. By the time Amber reached her room Fatima was already unpacking and had the bath running.
'You had a good time?' she nodded, as though it was a foregone conclusion. 'But I expect you are glad to be home.'
Home! The girl spoke as though she was already married to Hamed. But Amber smiled agreeably, realising it would not be wise to arouse even Fatima's suspicion that things were not all they should be.
It was bliss to soak in the scented water, to just lie there and let all her cares and worries float away, and she realised with a twinge almost approaching sadness that she would miss all this. These last few days had been a taste of heaven. She had tasted life as it might have been married to Hamed, living in a sun-kissed land with all the luxuries his wealth could afford.
She still loved him, despite what had happened this morning. She knew that now. She would probably love him for the rest of her days. It was not a thing that could be shrugged to one side because something went w
rong. It was a coveted part of her, to be kept in a secret place and only looked at when she was alone.
At that point Fatima knocked discreetly on the door and called, 'You will have to hurry, miss, if you don't want to be late for dinner.'
Roused out of her daydreams, Amber towelled herself dry on one of the fluffy jade towels, wishing she had had time to wash her hair, but resigning herself to the fact that a good brushing would have to suffice.
Fatima had already put out her dress. It was one of the new ones Flamed had bought, a silky cream strapless gown that she knew would follow her curves with more than a hint of sensualism. She couldn't possibly wear that. What would he think-that she had changed her mind as he was so determined to marry her and thought she might as well make the best of it? No chance. She was searching through her wardrobe with nothing on but her briefs when she heard Fatima behind her. 'Oh, Fatima,' she said, without turning, 'I couldn't possibly wear that. Hamed doesn't like me in anything revealing.' It was the best excuse she could think of on the spur of the moment.
'On the contrary,' came the voice of the man himself, 'I like you just as you are—and what could be more revealing?'
Amber pulled a dress from the rail and held it up in front of her before spinning round to exclaim furiously. 'You don't own me—not yet—so get out of here!' She did not like the way he was looking at her, his eyes devouring her body, insolently moving over every inch. He stepped forward and ripped away the protecting dress, allowing his .fingers to brush her sweet-smelling skin, lingering on the smooth creaminess of her breasts.
'I shall enjoy possessing you,' he whispered harshly, his hand moving abruptly up to her hair and pulling back her head so that to move would cause pain. His lips parted hers in a ruthless savage kiss—punishing her, yet at the same time igniting the passion she so desperately strove to deny.
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