Stormy Affair

by Mayo, Margaret

  When he had satisfied himself he threw her from him so that she fell across the bed, on top of the dress that Fatima had so carefully laid out. 'I'll give you two minutes to get downstairs,' he said, 'and that dress will do admirably. It was for just such an intimate occasion as the two of us dining together that I chose it.'

  Again Amber felt near to tears. She could see what he was. trying to do. Each day now, if she remained, she would have to put up with these humiliating scenes until the final moment when she would irrevocably belong to him. That would be his biggest moment of triumph—when he could claim her body and she would be unable to do a thing about it.

  The dress, as she had guessed, was perfect if she wanted to play the part of a temptress, but under the present circumstances she felt nothing but embarrassment. Nevertheless she held her head high as she entered the dining room, trying to ignore the colour flaming in her cheeks. Her only consolation was in the

  thought that tonight she would run away. It had to be tonight; she could stand no more of these undignified scenes. This thought, and this thought alone, gave her the strength to get through the evening.

  Despite their tiring day and his marathon drive Hamed gave no sign of weariness. Indeed he kept Amber talking until well after midnight, almost as though he knew what she was planning. This did not surprise her. He had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts and although she tried to keep her attention on the conversation her eyes were frequently drawn to her wrist watch, a fact that did not go unobserved by her companion.

  When eventually he decided it was time for bed he walked upstairs beside her, kissing her long and completely outside her bedroom door. 'Goodnight,' he said pleasantly, waiting for her to go inside. A few moments later she knew what it was all about. A tiny click on the outside of her door made her frown and turn the handle. It refused to open. 'Hey,' she called, 'what is this? What have you done?'

  'A small bolt—just in case you should get any ideas,' came the smooth reply. 'Pleasant dreams, my passion flower.'

  Pleasant dreams indeed! Amber kicked the door angrily, forgetting for the moment that she had open-toed sandals and hopping about the room a second later nursing her injured foot.

  As soon as she had calmed down to think rationally, she smiled. Hamed thought he was so clever, but he had forgotten the balcony—she hoped. Tentatively she tried the door. It swung open as normal and she stepped outside. It was quite a drop, but she might just

  about manage it, if she was careful. He must have thought she would be afraid to try and escape this way. For the moment though she must pretend to be preparing for bed.

  It had been her initial plan to make sure Hamed was asleep before carrying out her attempted escape. She would not be able to do that now, but if she gave him an hour that should be enough. It was the longest hour she had ever spent, but she dared not go sooner in case she was heard.

  At half past one she stepped out on to die balcony and lowered her suitcase on an improvised rope from one of the sheets. She giggled to herself. It was like something out of a movie. Next, with two sheets tied together and fastened round the wrought iron she climbed over the railing and inch by inch eased her way down to the terrace. From here it was 'simple. Down the curved stone steps and—she stopped. The car had gone. This was something she had not counted on. But of course it would be in the garage. Mustapha or Rached had put it away. She ran round the house, stumbling in her haste and then almost crying in fury. The garage doors were locked. She leaned weakly back against them, fighting tears of rage, and wondering why she had not had the sense to check up on this aspect before.

  There was nothing for it now but to walk. It would take longer than she had planned and she might not reach the Sahara Beach before daybreak, but she had to carry on now.

  Her feet were sore and aching at the end of the first mile and her suitcase got heavier with every step. She had packed no more than a few clothes, enough to last

  her until she got home, but she knew she could not turn up at the hotel without a case. It would look very peculiar. And this was the only place she knew. There were hotels in Sousse, but at the Sahara Beach she had her friends, they would help.

  It took her nearly two hours to reach the main highway, her progress hampered by the rutted track, and if it had been any longer she doubted whether she would have made it. The stones had penetrated through her thin-soled shoes and she had blisters on her heels, and the suitcase felt as though it was filled with lead. But at least she had managed this far. She put down her case and sat on it, oblivious to the cold night air. It was bliss to relax.

  After a few minutes she made herself get up. She reckoned it had to be at least twenty miles to the Sahara Beach, but with any luck she would see a taxi or a bus before she had gone too far. In another hour or so it would be light—her chances of getting a lift then would be much higher.

  There were no lights along the road, and no footpath, but the night was clear and there was sufficient light from the moon to see where she was going. Day broke in a haze of red and gold, but Amber was too tired to appreciate it, trudging mechanically along, making herself walk, knowing that if she stopped she would never get going again. Was it worth it? she asked herself time and time again. Wouldn't it have been better to go through with the whole affair? She loved Hamed, even if he did not love her. Would it be sufficient? But her answer had to be no. Marriage could never be one-sided.

  When a horn blared and a car pulled up at her side

  she turned in relief. It was a taxi—a dusty white Simca —with a driver who looked at her in open admiration. At any other time she would have refused to climb in, not really feeling that she could trust the fellow, but now, footsore and weary, she did not hesitate.

  In no time at all they were at the Sahara Beach. She paid him cheerfully, although it seemed to her an extortionate sum, and almost ran inside the building. It was like coming home again after a long absence and she could hardly believe that it had only been four days since she was last here.

  She ignored the curious looks bestowed in her direction, waiting impatiently at the reception desk until someone appeared. The bad news was like a blow. They had no vacancies. Every room was full. 'But I was here a few days ago,' she insisted, 'surely you've still got my room?' But no, it had been taken and there was no chance of another one becoming vacant. They were heavily booked for the whole winter through.

  Amber turned away, her shoulders drooping, despair in every line of her body. Would it be worth trying the airport to see whether she could get her flight altered? She was supposed to be going home in two more days anyway and had hoped to spend this time here with her friends. On the other hand, it could be for the best. If she got a flight today there would be no chance then of Hamed finding her, for wouldn't the Sahara Beach be the first place he would look? She had not thought of this before. It had been the only place she knew where there was someone with whom she could talk.

  A few minutes later she was through to the airport, but again her hopes were dashed. They had a flight

  tomorrow but not today. Would that be any good to her? She said it would, but the problem still remained what she was going to do with herself until then.

  She sat down on one of the deep low chairs in the large reception area, watching the holidaymakers walking to and fro, each intent on doing whatever it was they had planned, each. with their own circle of friends. Only Amber was alone—tired, weary and half afraid.

  Hoping that Nicolette would pass her way she remained there for one hour, maybe two, she did not know. She seemed to be losing all sense of time. A hand urgently shaking her arm aroused Amber from sleep. She opened her eyes wide with alarm, at once thinking that it was Hamed come to take her back, and relieved to find that it was Nicolette.

  'Amber, what are you doing here? You look frightful. What has happened?'

  'I've run away,' she said simply.

  'From your handsome Arab friend?'

  Amber nodded.

 
; 'But why? We were given to understand that you had agreed to marry him. We thought it rather sudden—but falling in love is like that, isn't it?'

  'I suppose so.' Amber felt too exhausted to answer all these questions. She just wanted somewhere to rest. She looked round. The man behind the desk had disappeared. `Do you think I could come up to your room?' she asked Nicolette. 'I haven't slept all night and I'm absolutely worn out. My old room's been taken and they have no more vacancies.'

  `But of course. We will put a "Do not disturb"

  notice on and you can sleep all day. No one will know. Are you hungry? Shall I bring you some breakfast back?'

  Amber shook her head. 'I'm not hungry, just tired.'

  It was absolute bliss to wriggle between the sheets and close her eyes and within seconds she was asleep. Until late afternoon she slept and when she awoke for a few seconds she felt happy. Until she remembered, then it all came flooding back. Her flight from Hamed's house—the long, painful walk. She wondered what his reaction had been when he found her missing. Whether he was searching for her now or whether he had decided she was not worth the trouble. He could be here in this very hotel. She ought to have warned Nicolette not to say anything. All she could do was hope the other girl would have the sense to keep her presence here a secret. She had been too tired to tell Nicolette the real reason for running away, intending to tell her later when she had had a rest, not realising that she would sleep for so long.

  She climbed out of bed and washed and changed and was sitting before the dressing table brushing her hair when Nicolette entered. `Ah, you look much better,' exclaimed the French girl. 'I was very worried about you.'

  'I'm fully recovered now,' smiled Amber, 'except for my poor feet. Have you any plasters I can put on these blisters, then perhaps I can put my shoes on?'

  Nicolette had brought up some sandwiches wrapped in a serviette and Amber ate ravenously. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she last had any food and she was starving. Once she had eaten she began to talk, telling Nicolette about the way Hamed had

  virtually abducted her and then declared he intended marrying her. 'I didn't believe him at first,' she said, 'but now I know it's the truth. In four—no, three days' time I'm due to become Mrs Hamed Ben Slouma. He won't take no for an answer. What else could I do but run away?'

  Nicolette shrugged and spread her hands in a typical Gallic gesture. 'But I thought you loved him—and he you?'

  Amber looked sad. 'I do love him—but—he doesn't love me. He's just making use of me. And I couldn't stand that—that's why I must get away. I've managed to change my flight to tomorrow, but I need somewhere to stay tonight. Do you think we could get away with me staying here?'

  'Why not?' said Nicolette easily. 'I'll smuggle you some more food up. No one will know.'

  'And Nicolette,' said Amber urgently, 'if Hamed should come looking for me, don't give me away?'

  'I think you've got him wrong.' Nicolette shook her head sadly. 'I'm sure he's not_ that type of man, but your secret's safe with me.'

  'Thanks a lot,' smiled Amber, knowing how difficult it was for the French girl to understand how she felt, for hadn't Nicolette had a crush on Hamed herself? Would she not think it incredible that anyone should want to get out of marrying such a gorgeous man?

  Nicolette spent the evening with Amber and they shared the bed, laughing a lot trying to push each other out. Amber felt much better now and the next morning was almost her usual self again.

  Her plane was at lunchtime, so as soon as she had

  eaten the rolls, once again secreted in by Nicolette, she left the hotel and caught the bus to Monastir airport. Nicolette wanted to come with her, but Amber preferred to go alone on this last leg of her journey.

  Waiting about at the airport worried her and she frequently looked about for the tall distinguishable figure of Hamed, convinced he would come and really surprised that she had got this far without any sign of him.

  When the announcement came over the loudspeaker requesting the passengers for the London flight to assemble in the departure lounge she began to hurry along with the rest of the crowd, wondering why she did not feel as happy as she should have done. Surely she did not regret running away? She knew without a shadow of doubt that their marriage would be doomed. For a few fleeting months maybe they would be happy, but after that, when Hamed tired of her, what then? Amber wanted happiness for the rest of her life—not a brief interlude and then heartbreak. She had done the right thing—she had.

  Soon she was walking across the tarmac. The huge white plane was waiting—waiting to take her back to England with its green and tranquil fields—England where she had always been happy, where she would once again find happiness.

  But would she?

  The question rose before her eyes in big capital letters. Would she find true happiness?

  She stopped dead in her tracks, oblivious that she had caused a minor pile-up behind her. She couldn't do it! She loved Hamed too much—she wanted him—on whatever terms.

  Spinning round, she ran back into the building. She felt suddenly vibrantly alive—all the numbness of the last thirty-six hours had disappeared. There was an eagerness on her face as she hailed a taxi, disappearing only momentarily when she realised she could give the driver no address, but as soon as she mentioned the name Hamed Ben Slouma it was like a magic word, because the driver nodded and smiled and beckoned her to get in. It would cost a small fortune, travelling so far in a taxi, but she did not care. Speed now was the essence, before she lost the courage it would need to admit that she had made a mistake.

  In a remarkably short time they left the main highway, bumping and shaking along the dirt track almost as though the driver was aware of her urgency. Amber strove eagerly for her first glimpse of the elegant white villa that would soon be her permanent home. Her heartbeats quickened alarmingly the nearer they got and when at last the house came into sight she almost lost her nerve and asked the, driver to turn round. But she knew this would solve nothing and when she finally alighted, her fingers trembled as she pulled the necessary number of notes from her purse.

  Then she was alone.

  Slowly she walked beneath the cloistered terrace, unable to stop herself from looking up to see whether her makeshift rope was still there. It wasn't. Hamed had had it removed—but he had made no attempt to find her! Did that mean he did not care? That he had shrugged philosophically and said, 'Oh, well, it would have been an enjoyable experience but there will always be someone else.'

  This last thought was too painful to bear and her

  face crumpled—her new-found eagerness disappearing, leaving her a subdued drooping figure standing before the great door. Had she the nerve to go through with it?

  The matter was taken out of her hands when the door swung open and Mohammed appeared. His cheerful face was the welcome she needed and her spirits revived as he stood back for her to enter. 'Oh, miss, tafdddal, we have all been so worried. Shall I tell—'

  'Wait!' Amber put her hand on his arm. There was something she had to know first. `Was—was—Hamed —Mr Slouma—worried? Did he try to find me?'

  The boy shook his head. 'He shut himself in his study. He has been there ever since, refusing to eat or see anyone. I will tell him you're here.'

  'No, let me surprise him.'

  Mohammed nodded happily. 'That is a good idea, but I must tell Fatima. She will be so pleased.'

  Amber did not bother to knock, gently pushing open the door and stepping inside. She had never been into his study before and her first impression was of dark heavy furniture—an oppressive room—but her eyes were drawn inexorably to the figure sitting at the desk, his head bowed in his hands. He looked a beaten man and although Amber was not entirely sure that she herself was the reason compassion welled up inside her, as well as her own overpowering love. As her feet flew across the floor she asked herself how she could ever have thought she could live without him. How she could have doubted her love.
r />   Only when she touched his arm did he look up—and the pain in his eyes was such that a sob broke in her throat. 'Oh, Hamed, Hamed,' she cried, flinging

  her arms round his neck, `I'm sorry!'

  `For what?' he asked blankly, pulling away from her embrace as though it embarrassed him, and rising to stand by the window, gazing out across the distant fields of olives.

  His rejection disconcerted Amber and for a fleeting second she wondered whether she had been wrong to come back. But then the true reason reasserted itself and she knew she must confess. Now was no time for false pride. If he still rejected her, after her admission, then that would be that—at least she would know in her own heart that she had tried. She would be able to live with herself without constantly wondering if they might have made a go of marriage if only she had told him she loved him.

  So she followed him across the room, standing close behind so that she could feel his warmth. 'Hamed,' she whispered, 'I couldn't do it. I—I love you too much. I know you don't love me.' Once she had started she could not stop, the words came tumbling out. 'But it doesn't matter. I don't care anymore. I just want to belong—to feel your arms about me—to—to share your bed. Oh, Hamed, I'll marry you, I will, I will,' and then, bitterly ashamed, she turned away. It had had no effect. Hamed's rigid back was still turned even after her impassioned outburst. Her vision blurred with tears as she groped for the door. The quicker she made her exit the better. She had made a fool of herself—a complete and utter fool. Whatever had possessed her to think she could appeal to this man? He cared for no one but himself, least of all her.

  'Amber, wait!' His voice reached her as she lifted her hand to open the door.

  She paused but did riot turn. What he had to say could be said to her back. Whatever it was it would be sure to hurt.

  'Come here.'

  This time there was no note of authority in his voice. It was a plea which she could not dismiss. Slowly she swung about. He was looking at her now and there was a new light in his eyes. He held out his hands and she walked towards him unable to look away.