Perhaps if Julie had gone back to the Victoria by taxi, she would have indeed made plans to return to England immediately. As it was she decided to walk. Strange how a chance decision can alter the whole course of one's life. As she walked her troubles were dispelled, or at least shelved, by the sights and sounds around her. Had she been a much-travelled person she might have been slightly blasé about green palms draped with rich golden clusters of dates, and vivid blue skies, and Arab gardeners, and pink stucco arches, but Julie was looking at them all with the thrilled wonder of someone in Africa for the very first time.
It occurred to her that she had never had the chance to look at Tripoli from a tourist's point of view. From the moment of her arrival she had started work at the oil company offices, and not long after had been whisked away into the desert. There had never been time to just soak up the city. Well, she had plenty of time now. She gazed thoughtfully at the huge Italian post office, and a theatrical- looking cafe. Would it be practical to stay over for a day or two? She had enough money for her fare home and a little over ... enough to see her by for some time at the Victoria rates of charges; say about a week, or at least three or four days. Well, why not? It would be such a waste not to do a spot of sightseeing now that she was here and she might never get another chance.
The thoughts of going back home to modelling palled on her more than she realised. She had never cared very much for her job and breaking away from the fashion world had been like a breath of fresh air. Nevertheless she must face up to the fact that with not much qualification apart from this short secretarial run, there was little chance of her obtaining another position abroad. That decided it. It would be foolish to hurry away without seeing anything.
So having made up her mind she set forth, a lightness in her step and a determination to see as much as possible.
She toured the streets jostling with Europeans, Arabs, olive-skinned Italians and ebony Sudanese. She saw whitewashed houses and smelled the sensual aromatic fragrance surrounding them, wandered along avenues heavy with the scent of jasmine and eucalyptus, and eventually ended up at the honey-coloured arcades that separate the Arab town from the new.
Here she found a labyrinth of dusty streets, courtyards, and private houses with heavy doors and latticed Turkish windows, and inevitably the souks or markets. These were colourful scenes of activity. Blacksmiths who really were black hammered away cheerfully. Goldsmiths with their long sensitive fingers weighed gleaming necklaces on minute pairs of scales, while their associates squatted beside the stalls, taking it in turns to brew strong tea.
Julie watched fascinated as flour-covered bakers in white tunics worked below street level in front of enormous brick ovens. The bakers didn't seem to mind the audience they attracted. They worked with a smile and sometimes sang a song. As people watched and waited expectantly they would proudly throw open a steaming oven door and display the bread cooked to a mouth-watering brown.
Julie was standing at the front of a dozen or more people, completely lost in the scene before her, when a light tap on the shoulder made her jump round in surprise.
"Dr. Rahmid! " Her delight at seeing at least one familiar face in a-H the crowds of Tripoli made Julie's eyes spring wide with pleasure. "You're still in Tripoli! I thought you might have left."
"Not yet. I must stay another week." He spread a hand with a resigned smile. "I am, as they say, killing time."
"Are you going back to India?"
"No." His reply was quickly emphatic, and then he added with an attempt at brightness, "I am the new ship's doctor on the liner Terrana. She docks on Friday."
"Why, that's wonderful!" Julie enthused, though she had a feeling that the doctor wasn't very thrilled at the idea.
"And you?" He raised an eyebrow in polite enquiry. "Are you enjoying leave from the oil company?"
Julie grimaced. "They decided to dispense with my services too. I've given myself a few days' grace before I return to England."
Doctor Rahmid looked as if he couldn't understand anyone lingering longer than necessary in North Africa, and Julie added a little sheepishly, "This is all so new to me. I'm ashamed to say I find it all quite fascinating."
It seemed improper to show any of the excitement that was bubbling up inside of her when the doctor looked so unmoved by it all. She turned to look again at the bakers, as his eyes roamed over the group of people.
"Where is your escort?"
"My ... escort?" Julie looked blank.
"You can't be wandering around the old town of Tripoli on your own?"
"But I am. And enjoying every minute of it!" There it was again. This ridiculous schoolgirlish delight, quite unsuppressable ... though by now Julie didn't care. She wasn't sure, but it seemed that something of her own effervescence was reflected in the dark eyes of the doctor. He replied with a sedate half-smile,
"I cannot permit you to walk around alone. Would you consider accepting my offer as escort while I remain in the city?" Julie was touched. In his rather stilted way the doctor was offering his companionship in spite of his own indifference to sightseeing. She accepted with a smile.
"I promise not to wear you out!"
"I do not wear out easily." The doctor actually grinned and Julie allowed him to take her arm lightly. Who knows, she mused, that grin might even develop into a laugh be-fore the week is out. Judging by the droop of his shoulders and the slackness in his step he could do with it.
It was inevitable that with so much time spent in Dr. Rahmid's company she should eventually learn the reason for his passive outlook on life. On the third day they visited the Roman ruins a few miles from Tripoli. She had gazed entranced at the mile-long avenues of cypresses that led to the ruins, held her breath at the scene of the great theatre, which was reputed to hold five thousand people, its giant pillared structure forming a permanent backcloth. Now they rested on a crumbling stone, the rich flame limestone of the town a vivid contast to the turquoise sea beyond.
The doctor was as usual pleasant, but withdrawn. He gazed straight ahead. It was as though he wore an invisible pair of blinkers and could only see wherever he chose to direct his gaze. Julie looked at him for a long time and then said suddenly without thinking,
"Tell me, Doctor, why can't you go back to India?" He turned his head quickly towards her. The slender body straightened and the shoulders squared as though the mention of his own country had suddenly infused life into a drooping frame. Surprisingly he smiled.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, because you're obviously pining for home .,, Bombay, isn't it? ... and yet you can't seem to get far enough away. I mean, this job as ship's doctor ..." she trailed off, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry for prying ... it isn't any of my business."
The doctor showed no annoyance.
"Please do not apologise," he said gently. "And call me Gopal. You used to do at Guchani." He sighed, the smile disappearing from the smooth features. "You are right, of course. There is no place I would rather be than home in India."
"Then why ..." Julie couldn't contain herself.
He shrugged, staring ahead,
"I am the only son of a prominent medical family. My great-grandfather was a surgeon, and my father, as his father was before him, is Chief Medical Consultant at a Bombay hospital ... and I," he finished with a slight curl of the lip, "after following in their footsteps, collecting valuable experience abroad, will soon be a ship's doctor."
"You don't like being a doctor, do you?"
"No."
The reply was so coldly emphatic she was bound to add,
"You hate it, don't you?"
"Yes, I hate it. But I shall do it." His smile towards the horizon was bitter.
"I bet your father doesn't know how fed up you are," Julie said perceptively, and as he looked at her quickly she continued earnestly, "If you've never given him an inkling how you feel, how can he know you hate it so? Keeping a stiff upper lip simply because generations of Rahmids were
doctors isn't going to make you a success. I'm sure if your father knew, even guessed how unsuited you feel to the profession, he wouldn't push you."
The doctor drew in his lip,
"From the moment I was born my father had decided on my profession. It would hurt him to learn that I was a failure."
"It would hurt him even more to learn that you were a very bad doctor ..." She drew in a quick breath aghast at her own clumsy choice of words, but the doctor grinned.
"It is true. I am a very bad doctor, but I have always managed to hide it from my father. When I was younger I studied hard, worked well, not too unhappily because I thought that my job would ..." He shrugged, at a loss for words, and Julie dropped in helpfully," ... grow on you?"
He nodded. "Is that how you say it?" There was a silence in which he stared out to sea, and Julie knew a deep compassion for the young Indian. Unselfishly he had allowed himself to be thrust into a profession he was wholly unsuited to, simply because he thought it was expected of him. She read something else in his face at that moment. It prompted her to ask softly, "There's a girl, isn't there ?"
The doctor turned to her, resentfully at first, and then a sheepish look crept into his eyes.
"Does it show so very much ? Yes, there is a girl. Nidja is an art student. She plans to open an art shop in Kalabud Road ... that's an exclusive shopping area in Bombay."
He ran a brown finger along a crack in the stone they sat on. "I used to paint quite a bit during my holidays."
"And I bet that's what you like doing best," Julie guessed shrewdly. Doctor Rahmid's indifferent shrug was betrayed by the longing in his eyes and Julie's smile was incredulous.
"But, Gopal, Tripoli is a veritable paradise for artists, and yet you've been walking around with your eyes shut."
"I dare not look at it from a painting point of view," the doctor smiled, "but if Nidja were here ... a paradise ... well!" His words were spoken too deeply to sound trite. He stood up and stretched to his full height, the brown eyes thoughtful.
They wandered down the path and Julie pressed home, hoping she wasn't going to deprive the world of another Louis Pasteur.
"When I was in London working as a model and hating every minute of it, I stopped one day in the middle of pulling up a zip. Life's much too short, I thought, to be doing a job you don't like."
The doctor dropped a hand lightly about her shoulders.
"That is one piece of philosophy I never read in my medical books!"
They laughed together. The doctor's step was definitely lighter.
The next day Dr. Rahmid had work to do at the medical centre where he was staying until the Terrana docked. Julie decided to look up Tamara. She went down to the block of flats owned by the oil company and knocked on the white door in the corner of the courtyard. There was no reply. It was only after some moments of pacing that Julie realised today was a working day. Of course Tamara would still "be at the offices. She retraced her steps, annoyed with herself for forgetting that other people had jobs to do even if she was free to roam about in the sunshine.
A phone call to the oil company offices, however, proved fruitless also. She was informed that Miss Stevens had left their employ some time ago. Julie was about to put the receiver down when the voice at the other end called in some urgency.
"Miss Lambert? Oh, Miss Lambert, thank goodness, I thought you'd gone! Mr. Whitman has been enquiring after you ... would you like us to get in touch with him?"
"No!" Julie made a feeble attempt to camouflage her slightly panic-stricken reply with a tacked-on "... er, thank you."
"Very well." A voice of cool surprise preceded the click of the receiver.
Clay here in Tripoli?
Julie couldn't explain the painful pounding of her pulses, unless it was a decided fear of Clay rushing to gloat over the predicament she found herself in.
Well, he wasn't going to get any help from her!
Pushing all thoughts of the oilfield boss from her mind, she studied ways of spending the day. It might be an idea to sample the beach. In fact judging by the blue of the sea, and the warmth of the sun it was the idea. She chose a dress of copper linen with white beach hat and sandals and pushed a two-piece bathing suit and bathrobe into a straw beach bag. She had learned that the beaches were more or less split up into three. The first was used mainly by the local Arab population. The second was predominantly Italian, and the third attracted British and American personnel, for it bordered on the American air base.
A decrepit bus offered its services from the central piazza in town to the third beach, and after being tossed and bounced along the three-mile strip of coastal road Julie arrived at the terminus glad that she had made the effort.
The sand was soft and almost bone-white. There were open-air restaurants, bathing, cabins, and several colourful sun umbrellas for those who preferred the shade. Facing the sea on the other side of the unpaved road was a golf course with one or two figures in the distance. Julie changed in one of the bathing cabins and went to purchase a cool drink to take with her to one of the beach umbrellas. Maybe after an hour with a book she might even stir herself to take a dip in the sea. It looked too blue to be true.
She saw a sign in English, advertising refreshments, and walked towards it. Almost there, a group of men swung through the door, and she stood to one side until the way was clear. They seemed in no hurry and hung around the entrance talking and laughing until eventually a woman appeared. Elegant in white, a large straw hat framing dark reddish tinted hair and smooth tanned features, she smiled, showing small even teeth. A pair of expensive white sunglasses rested on a thin aristocratic nose. Julie recognised Tamara immediately.
"Julie! Honey!" Tamara swept off her sunglasses. "Where on earth did you drop from?"
"Hello, Tamara." Julie smiled shyly, for the men had clustered round her with friendly grins. "I came on the bus."
"She came on the bus "
American accents were unanimously incredulous that anyone could be willing to subject themselves to such torture, and Tamara explained lazily,
"Don't mind the boys, honey, they're from the air base. Everything there centres around cushioned luxury."
"I'll drive you back to town when you're ready to leave," said one thickset young man eagerly.
"Hey, wait a minute! I saw her first!" Another, taller, with a cheerful scowl, quickly took charge of her beach bag, while a third turned a proprietorial arm around her waist and led her away, murmuring, "Don't listen to them, Julie baby. My car sings like a bird, I only just bought it."
Julie smiled, already caught up in the friendly relaxed American bonhomie. There were no formalities here of introductions or invitations. She was just Julie to them, and they took it for granted that she was now in their party. Julie herself had to admit that their company was lively and entertaining if a little boisterous.
There were games in the sea with a giant beach ball, and races along the beach. Tamara, slim in a white swim suit, reached languidly for the ball whenever it was lobbed her way in a minute game of baseball. Later when the girls were relaxing in the sun Tamara asked,
"When did you get back to Tripoli ?" '
"A Jew days ago." Julie drew on a cigarette. "I lost my job, you know."
"I know. I was there when Alan Moore got back from Guchani. There was some talk of you disobeying instructions." Julie opened her mouth to comment heatedly and Tamara slanted her a humorous glance,
"Don't bother. I can guess what the instructions were ... I saw something of the Moore legend while he was in town. Say, something puzzles me, though." She wriggled a painted toenail. "I thought you and he were ..."
"It seems I'm the only one who didn't think he and I were ..." Julie grimaced. "Alan was just a friend, barely that ... although I admit he did try to rush our friendship along into something more, or would it be less permanent."
With a half smile Tamara replied,
''I'd say you did well to keep out of his way, child."
"I'm sorry about the job, though. I would have liked to have stayed a little longer in Tripoli. What about you?"
"My job, you mean?" Tamara lifted one winged eyebrow. "Well, let's face it, honey, it wasn't me, was it? Sat poker-faced behind a typewriter, copying dreary notes— ugh!" She shuddered and stretched languorously in the hot sand. "No, I've got a much more interesting scheme up my sleeve, if I can pull it off. Or perhaps I should say if I'm a good security risk. I'm being vetted for a job at the air base."
"I hope you're lucky," Julie said sincerely.
"So do I," Tamara commented drily. "I've always been a sucker for soft living. Incidentally, what happened to the suite at the Gerard?"
"That folded up too," Julie laughed. "My rooms at the Victoria are just a weeny bit more austere."
"But more in keeping with your bank balance. I know. Don't tell me. You and I are riding the same rocky road, honey. I booked in there last week."
Julie sat up in surprise.
"But I haven't seen you there."
"Ah no!" Tamara's orange lip curled beneath the sun glasses. "I've been using up some of that good old American hospitality while filling in miles of forms. Now ..." she sat up rapidly as the ball bounced a bit too near for comfort, "it's back to Victorian austerity tonight. All I can do now is sit and wait."
The men obviously thought that Tamara had been out of it long enough, for they claimed her as umpire to one of their games. There was a subdued attractiveness about her that seemed to appeal to all men. Probably, Julie thought, watching her now, because she retained a surface of friendliness and sincerity, without really giving anything of herself. It was as though she was keeping the inner woman of Tamara Stevens strictly for Tamara Stevens, and all deep-felt emotions were firmly sealed within the double coating.
She would never be the clinging type, and this was probably another point in her favour. Not all men wanted to become emotionally involved with an attractive woman; they often only sought her company as a boost to their own vanity, and as Tamara could talk intelligently on almost any subject, and was never stuck fast for a witty rejoinder, her popularity was assured.
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