"Maybe you've forgotten who I am." And then seeing that this had no effect, he shot a morose glance towards Julie. "If I go Julie goes too."
"She stays."
"Oh, I get it! Two's company and all that.... Funny, that's just what I had in mind."
Clay took his time straightening a rug with the toe of his shoe. He flicked a glance upwards.
"Miss Lambert is here to do a job. She has another week before her tour is up."
"My foot!" Alan sneered. He fastened a button of his jacket and thrust his tie in with shaking hands. His breath was coming quickly, and with the suffused colour of temper he looked about to burn up. "A unique idea of yours, wasn't it? Bringing a girl out here. Especially as the company doesn't allow female labour on the camps. Oh, I can go along with it, being a man of the world ..." the full lips were drawn back into a tight smile, "... but I wish to hell you'd do your own shopping around."
Clay lifted his head with a jerk. His face was grim, but he spoke with studied casualness, the tones underlined with sarcasm.
'I know it's difficult for you to visualise work in the sense of the word, but a lot of us have it to do, you know. Miss Lambert is doing a useful job until someone in your offices can come up with a replacement. She is a member of the staff here. No more, no less."
"Is that so? Then why, tell me, didn't she fly out in the company plane as all staff do? Why did you find it necessary to drive her the three hundred-odd miles yourself?"
"How and by what means I get personnel to my camp is none of your damn business!"
There was a moment when it looked like the two men would come to blows, and as Alan stepped angrily forward Julie held her breath. Clay stood rock still, his face a study in controlled anger. Suddenly a door opened and Mohammed shuffled sheepishly by, depositing Alan's bag discreetly at his feet. Clay lowered his gaze pointedly to the bag and Alan swept it up.
"I shall tell my father!"
"Go ahead."
He went through the door, slamming it with terrific force behind him. They heard him rev up the jeep he had driven over from the airstrip, and the next second he had roared away.
Julie relaxed with an inaudible sigh. She would have crumpled into a chair but for Clay's inflexible jaw. Pouring himself a drink, he tossed an offhanded glance in her direction.
"As I said once before tonight, it's time you were turning in."
Julie fled without a word.
She didn't see Clay at breakfast the next morning. Mohammed waited on her in his faultless smiling manner, and she was given to understand that the master had gone off to the oilfields early. And so it was for the rest of the week. She breakfasted alone, worked a full day in the office, with Hans' useful assistance, and mostly ate alone in the evenings. Sometimes she was invited up to the club veranda. There was a group of unattached males there who always welcomed her company.
The last day came, and towards evening Julie packed her belongings, suppressing all emotion. She took a last look around her bungalow, a section of air-conditioned comfort in the heart of the desert, to which she had grown ridiculously attached.
The men due to go on leave were in high spirits and several offered Julie a seat next to them to drive to the , airstrip. At the last minute Clay roared up in a cloud of dust and opened the door of his Land Rover. For one heart- leaping second Julie thought that he was going too, but one glance at his oil-spattered overalls showed he had come straight from the oilfields and was merely offering her a lift.
They drove to the airstrip in silence.
The men swarmed towards the plane like prisoners suddenly let loose, and Clay found her a seat next to a middle- aged, jovial-looking man. She later learned he was Ted Warner, a pipe fitter.
The propellors spun into action, and the men in boisterous mood let out a cheer. Clay came past her seat again. This time he dropped a hand lightly on her shoulder. The brown eyes lingered.
"So long, young Julie. Watch out for yourself!"
Julie forced a bright smile and nodded her goodbye. An ache had come into her throat so solid that no word could push past it.
So this was it. He was bidding her a polite farewell. He hadn't even bothered to put out tentative feelers as to whether they might meet again in Tripoli. But why should he? He was boss of an expanding oil camp. She had been merely an office assistant. He was grateful for her help in sorting out the chaos in the oil camp office, but he certainly wouldn't want to take it any further.
Being one hundred per cent oil man Clay Whitman would take care not to become too attached to any one woman.
The plane took off in a thunder of engines and loud guffaws from the men. Julie gazed down at the lion- coloured sand and the gas jets shooting flames into the sky.
Eternal fires, Clay had called them. Burning endlessly, day and night, week after week, year after year. A pain stirred in her heart. Was love like that? An unquenchable flame, burning ceaselessly on. The pain increased as the airstrip receded, and with a determined effort to stifle it Julie struck up a bright conversation with Ted Warner.
Resolutely she told her heart there was no point in it starting its own private eternal flame.
It was dark as the plane approached the lights of Tripoli bay. Like twinkling jewels they adorned the chest of the coast; a necklace of haphazard stones. Behind, as Julie looked back, was the vast inky blackness of the desert. The desert, with its metallic skies and blistering heat. The Tuareg encampments, the oases; the locusts and desert flowers, and camel rides at night. The wild music.
She strained her eyes for a last glimpse of the black expanse. The desert, a closed chapter in her life.
The plane circled and landed, and in a dream Julie made her way towards the Hotel Gerard. The hired car bumped along the dusty highway that separates the airport from the city of Tripoli, its ageing springs creaking painfully at every rise and fall. The night air was warm and clung like a gossamer shawl about her shoulders. Every now and then she saw the moon peeping through the wide fronds of the date-palms casting its fluorescent light on the squat dwellings that sailed by.
Soon the Hotel Gerard came into view, and at the sight of the neat white building, with its rising lawns and terraces overlooking the bay, her heart lightened. Here at least was civilisation. Her apartments were the last word in luxury, and though later she would have to go in search of more modest accommodation, why shouldn't she take advantage just for tonight? Paying off the driver, she visualised her evening's relaxation. A tepid bath, and then she would slip into one of the delightfully frilly housecoats that had been taboo at Guchani. She would eat privately on her own balcony and gaze down on the wide promenade that led to the harbour.
Suitcase in hand, she climbed the steps to the subdued lighting of the foyer.
The olive-skinned young man at the desk she recognised as the one who had received her on her arrival from England.
"Hello, Cesare! I'm back."
She smiled a greeting and dumped the suitcase down at her feet. The young man turned abruptly, his smile appeared slightly tremulous. Jerkily he reached for her key, but before his hand reached it he turned again and beckoned a page. A whispered conversation followed with Cesare tossing her an apologetic smile at intervals, and then the page boy was sent scurrying off.
Julie waited patiently for her key, but Cesare had returned to fiddling with the end of his pen. She heard the click of a door and sensed rather than heard the manager's footfall on the sumptuous carpeting.
He was like an older edition of Cesare with a twitching smile and an uncomfortable stance. As he stood facing her he seemed at a loss for words and then burst forth in a flood of meticulous English.
"Ah, Miss Lambert! So you have returned to us, hah? We did not expect you would be gone so long. A month, is it not? A thousand pities we have had to let your apartments to another party."
Julie smiled a little in relief.
"Well, of course I couldn't expect you to keep them vacant all this time. When I left we had
an understanding that I could book in again when I arrived back from Dawah, and I'll be only too glad to take other accommodation."
"I don't think you understand, Miss Lambert." The manager's smile was set. Coming down the stairs she saw her travelling bags in the hands of a porter. "We simply don't have any other vacancies."
"Are you really full up?"
Julie's grey eyes were wide and incredulous, and they must have searched the manager's face just a little too intently, for he turned quickly away.
"Mr. Moore instructed us that you would wish to settle your account at the earliest possible convenience, so if you would follow me to my office ..."
"Why yes, I'll straighten up now with you if you like, but ..." The mention of Alan's name had set Julie's mind racing. What had he been up to? She had told him she would want to pay the hotel bill herself, but there was something else here. She was quite prepared to bet that there were a dozen or more apartments vacant, yet the manager had told her they were full up.
Why? Was that on Mr. Moore's instructions too? How petty could you get? He must have known that she would easily find alternative accommodation, but had considered it worth it to know she would suffer the humiliation of being literally turned out of a reputable hotel.
The oil company had obviously strong connections in the city. No doubt Alan had traded on this to hint to the manager the mysterious absence of clientele at the hotel if he failed to conform.
Leaving the manager's office, she was convinced that the most of her surmisings had been correct. The man in there fidgeted with a peevish embarrassment and seemed not a little relieved to see the back of her.
Julie stepped out into the night and found her suitcases on the pavement. So this was yet another side of Alan she had been unaware of—a childish desire to play tit for tat. Gazing along the dimly lit road, she knew an uneasiness at being deserted without accommodation so late at night, and a realisation that it had been foolish to come to these strange shores of North Africa purely on the strength of Alan's friendship.
A horse-drawn cab turned the corner and ambled towards her, and Julie stepped forward eagerly to catch the driver's attention. Thank heaven for transport, no matter how dated! Her spirits sank, however, when she saw the cabby already had a fare, and the next second she was surprised to see the stocky figure of Ted Warner stepping down. He gave her a harassed smile.
"You disappeared from the airport so fast I lost track of you." He turned a disgusted glance on the cab. "This was all I could get, but I guess I could have walked quicker."
"Well, I don't know why you're here," Julie marvelled, not bothering to keep the relief out of her voice, "but am I glad to see you! Can you give me the name of a reasonably priced hotel? I'm afraid I'm ... slightly stranded."
Ted let his eyes wander slowly over the batch of suitcases, and then pushed his linen trilby to the back of his head.
"I don't know what goes on, but Clay anticipated something like this. Good job he told me to see you fixed up before I left." He began to push the suitcases towards the cabby. "It's too late to do anything about a hotel now, but you're welcome out at our place if you care to. It's a goodish way out of town, near the American air base, but I know May will be glad to have you. Janet, that's our youngest, is away at school, so we've got a spare room. You can stay as long as you like."
The cabby, an aggressive-looking type in a knitted skull cap, climbed down indolently- from his seat and studied the suitcases. Julie looked without seeing, for her mind was still labouring over Ted's first sentence. He had as much as said that Clay knew she would be tossed out on her ear tonight. How it infuriated her to know that he was far more familiar with Alan's idiosyncrasies than she was; even though he must have had only the briefest contacts with the son of the oil magnate. Clay Whitman had a remarkable talent for making her feel ridiculously naive even when he was three hundred miles away.
"It's very kind of you, Ted ..." she kept the irritation out of her voice with effort ... "but I wouldn't want to impose. After your being away so long I'm sure your wife is looking forward to being just a family for a while. I would be a bit of an intruder ..."
Ted shrugged a denial, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he agreed, and she didn't blame him in the least. A thought struck her.
"Come to think of it, I remember the name of a hotel. The Victoria ... it's over a restaurant, what's the name of it? The ... Mehdel. That's it, the Mehdel restaurant. Do you know it?"
Ted nodded his head dubiously.
"I know it. It's not far from here. And the Victoria's above it, you say?"
Julie nodded. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. It's probably just what I'm looking for Dr. Rahmid told me he stayed there before he went out to Guchani."
"Well, if you think it's all right we'll give it a try." He helped her into the cab and gave instructions.
"I'm sure it will be," Julie smiled. "And thank you once again, Ted, for your kind offer."
She sensed a happy relief creeping over the man next to her, and could only sympathise that Clay Whitman was his boss. Poor Ted had obviously left Guchani with strict instructions not to start his leave until all duties were performed. Not that Clay concerned himself unduly about Julie's warfare. He just wanted to have the last word, and to let her know that he knew she was paying for possessing an all too trusting nature.
Well, thank heavens he wasn't her boss any longer, and what she did now was entirely her own affair. The sooner she broke off all connection with the oil camp the better, and to start with she would pick her own accommodation here in Tripoli.
The Victoria Hotel was delighted to receive her, and after seeing her safely booked in and the last of her luggage deposited outside her door Ted bade her a somewhat hasty goodbye and strode quickly away.
The entrance to the Victoria was not as impressive as the Hotel Gerard, but once upstairs one came upon gleaming marble corridors and alcoves bright with flower-filled vases. The rooms were spacious and clean and bathrooms plentiful. Though the food was mainly Italian there was a short English menu to refer to. Most important of all, the costs were moderate and well within Julie's means. With the salary she received from the oil company there would be an ample margin for saving.
Come to think of it, she mused, unpacking the next morning, the offices had better be her first port of call. Though she was officially on a fortnight's leave there was still the formality of reporting back, and of course, picking up her pay cheque. She smiled wryly to herself. With most of her capital gone on the Hotel Gerard bill, and a holiday of two weeks coming up, a little ready cash would come in handy.
She stepped out into the morning feeling reasonably light-hearted—who wouldn't with a sky so blue, and the sun shining warmly down? The street cries and donkeys braying were soon in the background as she made her way to the promenade. Here there were palms and gardens and fine white buildings, and the crescent-shaped harbour gave way to a wide sweep of beach. Julie took a deep breath. One thing was certain. She wouldn't have missed this trip to Libya for anything. Feeling extravagant, she hailed a taxi and asked for the Dawah Oil Company offices.
The building that always reminded her of military headquarters soon came into view and Julie found herself looking forward to a renewed acquaintance with the other secretaries. Though she hadn't been there long enough to make any close friends apart from Tamara, the girls had been agog at her transfer to the oil camp, and had begged her to let them know what it was like on her return. She smiled to herself. After the all male company at Guchani the girls were going to make a refreshing change.
Once again there was an unpleasant surprise in store.
On entering the building she was directed to a narrow corridor on the right. There she found a glass window in the wall. She tapped and after giving her name was duly handed a large envelope. In it were the various personal belongings from her desk, her pay cheque, and a polite note of dismissal. Within five minutes she was back outside on the
pavement, drawing in her lower lip and cursing her own stupidity. Of course Alan had meant what he said. He had given her the sack! She ought to have known that as he personally applied for the position for her, he could just as easily terminate it.
Was that how Alan operated? The girls of his choice could have any job, providing they were reasonably capable at it, and always providing they kept within his favour. ... Julie felt her cheeks burning as she hurried along the pavement. How could anything that looked so innocent in London turn out to be so ... unclean ?
How many girls like herself had found themselves stranded in a foreign country, simply because they refused to toe the line? She took a deep inward sigh. Not many. Most girls would have weighed up the situation pretty thoroughly before deciding, especially as there was a booking at the lush Hotel Gerard thrown in. But not Julie. She had sailed in, wide-eyed and innocent, totally oblivious to anything but the fact that a friend had found her her first position abroad.
No wonder Clay had looked on her with so much distaste that first day on the terrace. Little had she known, but she had been playing the perfect role of an Alan-type girl-friend.
She slowed her step a little as a thought struck her. Did Alan's father know how he was using the firm? She could get in touch with him and . .. but what good would that do? Besides men usually turned a blind eye to that sort of thing.
She stopped to have a cool drink at an open-air cafe and a long think on the situation. The fact would have to be faced. She was without a job, and had very little money. The obvious sane thing would be to get straight back to England. She could of course look for another situation here in Tripoli, but she hadn't the faintest idea how to go about it. Nor did she know anyone well enough to approach. There were the papers ... but supposing she chose something that turned out to be in undesirable quarters?
No, that was out. She was far too much of a coward to , go wandering round alone. And then there were the language difficulties.... So back home to England it wouldn't have to be.
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