Dark Enemy

by Anne Mather

  ‘So I noticed,’ remarked Nicola, nodding. ‘Our plane came down there. We drove through the town. It’s a little like Port of Spain, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve been to Trinidad?’ Graham sounded surprised.

  ‘Just a couple of months ago. With Sir Harold.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I didn’t realize—’ Graham broke off his train of thought. ‘Tell me, Miss King, how did you persuade our chairman to allow you to come out here?’

  Nicola smiled. ‘That’s my secret,’ she replied evenly. ‘How about you? How long do you expect to be out here?’

  ‘Until the pipeline’s working. Right now it’s barely a third completed. That’s Jason’s problem. The local Sheikh is making things pretty difficult for us.’

  Nicola nodded. ‘I see. What do you think Paul will have to do?’

  ‘Mannering?’ Graham shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably Jason will fix him up. Does he like getting his hands dirty?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’ Nicola was brief, and then they had reached the bungalow where Jason was living.

  ‘Here we are,’ called Graham, mounting the steps ahead of Nicola, and leading the way into the lounge.

  Jason Wilde was lounging in a chair, a glass of lager in his fingers, and he glanced up wryly at their entrance. ‘You’re a little late for dinner, Miss King,’ he remarked sardonically.

  Nicola, who was feeling ravenously hungry now, felt furiously angry. She was sure he was well aware of her emptiness, and had deliberately eaten early to force her into waiting until their interview was over when she would have to go to the eating place where all the men would be gathered.

  However, she was an adept at concealing her feelings, and she replied, quite coolly: ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr. Wilde. I can wait until later. Perhaps Mr. Wilson would be so kind as to bring a tray to my bungalow?’

  Graham was about to accept this proposition when Jason got broodingly to his feet. ‘My men are not waiters,’ he said harshly. ‘You can go, Graham. I can handle this.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, sir!’ Graham turned and left them, with a slightly regretful glance in Nicola’s direction.

  Nicola managed to retain her calm expression, while inwardly she seethed. Obviously the task she had set herself was going to be far more difficult than even she had imagined. Back in London, planning this situation, she had vaguely imagined that after his initial annoyance Jason Wilde might conceivably come to appreciate her presence, but apparently she had underestimated him. He was far more calculating than she had thought. Hard all through, like steel. And then she remembered Louise, and her own determination hardened to match his.

  Even so, it was impossible not to appreciate the man himself. She could easily see why Louise had been so impossibly infatuated with him. He was so much different from George, or Michael either, for that matter. Not that she, personally, found his raw masculinity appealing. There was something primitive about him that stirred the basest emotions inside her, and she realized she would have to work hard to achieve any kind of victory with him. His height immediately put her at a disadvantage, and the width of his shoulders owed nothing to artifice. But it was the hard, uncompromising features, and the thick hair that grew low on his neck and was repeated in the brown muscularity of his arms and chest that gave one the impression of leashed virility, and brutal strength. She shivered suddenly, hoping this task she had set herself would never get out of hand. Somehow she had the feeling that if it did she would be unable to control it.

  Then she chided herself. Was she such a coward? Was she to give up simply because the task was proving more complex? She must think of David and Goliath; or Samson and Delilah, her subconscious taunted her mockingly. A smile curved her mouth unwillingly, and then she saw his eyes darken angrily.

  ‘What is amusing you, Miss King?’ he asked, in a hard tone. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the prospect of several weeks under conditions intolerable to most women would appeal to a butterfly like yourself!’

  ‘A butterfly?’ she exclaimed, in annoyance. ‘I’m no butterfly. I have to work for my living.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Jason’s expression was derisive. ‘And how well do you know Sir Harold Mannering?’

  Nicola stiffened. ‘As well as any secretary knows her boss,’ she replied.

  ‘Is that so? Then how come you were able to persuade him to let you come out here? I mean—that’s no mean achievement.’

  ‘I don’t like your insinuations, Mr. Wilde.’

  ‘Don’t you? How terrible!’ he mocked her. ‘But then a woman in your position hasn’t much chance of retaliation, has she?’

  Nicola’s fingers stung across his cheek almost before she could prevent them, and Jason caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘Don’t you ever dare to do that again!’ he muttered savagely, ‘or I may forget that whatever your designation I am a gentleman, and respond in kind!’

  Nicola was trembling, and she wrenched her wrist away shakily. ‘Then—then don’t say things like that!’ she snapped angrily. ‘You’ve absolutely no evidence on which to base remarks of that sort!’

  ‘Haven’t I? Well, I have the evidence of my own eyes, and you’re simply not the kind of woman to come out here for no reason.’

  ‘I—I have a reason. I’m to help you—and keep an eye on Paul.’

  ‘Very neat.’ Jason turned away, walking to the drinks cabinet and selecting a bottle. After a stiff whisky, he said: ‘Okay, we won’t argue about your relationship with Harold. Quite frankly, I’m too tired to attempt to sort it all out. But I have my opinions. You wouldn’t deny me them?’

  Nicola did not reply, but merely shook her head. As her temper subsided she felt annoyed with herself. She rubbed her wrist that pained a little. This would never do. She couldn’t have Jason Wilde imagining she was some kind of easy woman. That wasn’t at all the image she wanted to create. And somehow no matter what his own morals might be she could not see him finding a woman like that attractive. No, somehow she had to assume a much less aggressive personality. But how? How?

  She considered reverting to woman’s oldest weapon, tears, but then decided against it. Somehow she didn’t think they would wash with Jason Wilde either.

  Now he said: ‘Can I offer you a drink? It’s the least I can do.’

  Nicola bit her lip. ‘Just a fruit juice, please,’ she said quietly, and suffered the look of scorn that crossed his face before he turned and supplied her with an iced lime and lemon. Just then Ali appeared in the doorway, his huge dark eyes widening when he saw Nicola.

  ‘Is there anything you want, sir?’ he asked importantly, but Jason merely shook his head. However, Ali was not one to waste his opportunities, and he looked questioningly at Nicola as he said: ‘Perhaps the lady would like something to eat, sir? Or has she already eaten?’

  Jason’s eyes darkened, and then, before he could reply, Nicola said: ‘Why, how charming of your—er—houseboy, Mr. Wilde. And how thoughtful, too. Particularly as you were so disappointed that I arrived late for dinner.’

  Ali grinned. ‘I will get the lady some curry and some fruit, yes?’ he asked, looking at Jason. ‘And perhaps some good coffee!’

  Jason gave an exclamation, and then shrugged. ‘Oh, do what you like,’ he muttered broodingly, and Nicola hid a smile. She seemed to have scored at last.

  ‘May I sit down?’ she asked, subsiding on to a chair without waiting for his agreement. ‘These are quite comfortable bungalows, aren’t they? I mean—air-conditioning and so on. Not exactly what you’d expect to find in the middle of the desert.’

  Jason leaned against the drinks cabinet, surveying her intently. ‘Just what did you expect to find, Miss King?’ he asked lazily.

  Nicola sighed, and lay back in her chair. ‘I thought we’d agreed to stop this baiting,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you travelled much, Mr. Wilde?’

  ‘I imagine you would think so,’ he returned broodingly. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Since coming to work for Sir Harold, yes
,’ she answered. ‘We went to South America in March, and Trinidad in August. This is my first visit to the Middle East.’

  ‘And what do you think of it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Primitive—but with definite possibilities.’

  Jason shook his head. ‘How old are you, Miss King?’

  ‘I’m twenty-four, Mr. Wilde. How old are you?’

  Jason was taken aback. ‘Thirty-seven,’ he replied shortly.

  ‘And you’ve never got married?’

  She saw a strange look cross his face. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘How about you?’

  Nicola sighed. ‘I was engaged once. It was broken off a year ago.’

  ‘Is that so? About the time you came to work for Sir Harold, in fact.’

  ‘Sir Harold had nothing to do with my broken engagement,’ she replied, rather shortly, and realized he didn’t believe her.

  However, Ali returned just then with a faultlessly laid tray containing a delicious-smelling dish of chicken curry, and another containing an assortment of citrus fruit. A jug of coffee completed the meal, and Nicola smiled at him gratefully.

  She glanced at Jason. ‘What is your man’s name? I’d like to thank him.’

  But Jason didn’t have to answer. Ali was perfectly capable of doing that for himself. ‘I am Ali, miss,’ he said, bowing low. ‘And it was my pleasure to prepare a meal for so beautiful a lady as yourself!’

  Nicola smiled, offered her thanks, and then endeavouring to ignore Jason applied herself to the food. The curry was very hot, and Jason remarked, rather mockingly:

  ‘Ali makes the food so hot that the climate seems cool by comparison.’

  Nicola nodded, taking several gulps of the lime and lemon to cool her mouth. However, it was very enjoyable, once she was used to the spiciness of it all, and she cleared her plate, and ate some grapes and an orange to finish. As she drank her coffee, Jason Wilde offered her a cigarette which she gratefully accepted.

  ‘What are you going to give Paul to do?’ she asked then.

  Jason shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Something energetic, I think. To take a little of that pugnaciousness out of him!’

  ‘You don’t like him—why?’

  ‘I neither like nor dislike him. He’s merely an example of the futile waste of youth.’

  Nicola lifted her shoulders. ‘Were you never young?’

  ‘Not as young as him, no!’ Jason flung himself into a chair. ‘As you’re here, Harold says I have to use your—er—secretarial talents.’

  ‘I know. I don’t mind. I like working.’

  ‘You amaze me. Who did you work for before you joined Inter-Anglia?’

  ‘A small advertising company. I was the secretary there.’

  Jason bent his head, digesting this information. Then he said: ‘Anyway, as you are here, I think I ought to warn you that this is not England, and the customs of this country have, to a certain extent, to be adhered to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Nicola frowned.

  ‘I mean that there are a number of Arabs working on the site. Their encampment is beyond the camp. You’ll see it in the morning. They live there with their wives and children. It’s their normal life. They’re naturally nomads. But their women are protected to a far greater degree than are ours. And you being here might cause a positive furore when the Sheikh gets to know.’

  Nicola smiled. She couldn’t take him seriously. ‘The Sheikh,’ she echoed softly. ‘How romantic!’

  Jason stared at her angrily. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t get any ideas in that direction! Sheikhs are not romantic figures of the mid-twenties movie screen. They are men, like other men, and most of them consider European women self-seeking and virtueless!’

  Nicola’s eyes widened. ‘You certainly paint a very depressing picture, Mr. Wilde,’ she remarked dryly. ‘However, I can take care of myself, so I shouldn’t worry unduly.’

  ‘I don’t,’ muttered Jason vehemently. ‘Believe me, my only anxieties concern the rig and the pipeline, not your person! What you do, and the outcome of your actions only concerns me in so far as they affect my schedule here.’

  Nicola felt anger overtaking all other emotions. She had never met a man who was so infuriatingly indifferent to her.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, getting to her feet, ‘I should like to go to bed now!’

  Jason rose too, regarding her with eyes that held a tinge of sardonic amusement. ‘I should,’ he replied, nodding. ‘Tomorrow will be a long day. We rise here about five-thirty, and work starts at six-thirty. Think you can make it?’

  His tone was derisive, and she stiffened. ‘Oh, yes, Mr. Wilde,’ she replied tautly, ‘I can make it.’

  ‘Good. I’ll have Ali escort you back to Caxton’s bungalow. At least I can’t have Sir Harold accusing me of allowing you to wander unescorted about the camp!’

  ‘That won’t be necessary!’ snapped Nicola, even as she knew she would not be able to distinguish which bungalow was hers. But her temper had got the better of her, and she could not restrain her retort.

  Jason half-smiled, rather unpleasantly. ‘Is that so?’ he drawled. ‘Okay. Good night, Miss King. Sleep well.’

  Nicola stared at him. She ought to have known he would take every opportunity to humiliate her. Collecting her handbag, she walked to the door, but before she could pass through it, Jason said:

  ‘Wait! I’ll walk with you.’

  Nicola stared at him, unwillingly aware that in other circumstances she would have found him very attractive. There was something about the huskiness of his voice and the lazy, panther-like way he moved that made her intensely conscious of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ was all she said now, and preceded him out of the door and down the steps to the packed sandy earth of the track.

  They walked in silence, and when they reached her bungalow, he merely said ‘Good night,’ before walking silently away. Nicola watched him go, his hands thrust into the pockets of the close-fitting cream pants he was wearing, his dark head bent as he seemed deep in thought, and then she hastily ran up the steps and into the bungalow.

  She shook off the feeling of apprehension that had suddenly engulfed her. This task she had set herself seemed suddenly frightening, and she realized it was a combination of the isolation, and the night, and the man himself that was responsible for her sudden indecision.

  Her clothes were still in the two suitcases she had brought with her, but apart from drawing out a pair of nylon pyjamas, she didn’t bother to unpack them, and after undressing merely cleaned her teeth before climbing wearily into the hard narrow bed. Actually, though, after a time, she realized the bed was quite comfortable, and the heat which had abated had left her glad of the warmth of the blankets. She snuggled her chin beneath the covers, and closed her eyes. But sleep was elusive. So many things had happened, and her mind buzzed with ideas and speculations, most of them centring on the man she had come out here to find, Jason Wilde.

  Thinking of him brought thoughts of her sister Louise, and she wondered rather anxiously how she was getting along in the flat without her. Still, she had little Jane, and Tony, and the part-time job that Nicola had found for her. It was strange how Louise, six years her senior, should always arouse this feeling of responsibility inside her. Maybe it was because Louise always seemed so helpless, so totally incapable of fending for herself. That was why Nicola felt such anger towards Jason Wilde. He must have known how helpless, how defenceless, Louise was, and yet he had used every trick in the book to make her infatuated with him. Why couldn’t he have chosen a woman more fitted to his personality? Someone who when discarded would not have fallen apart so completely.

  Nicola rolled on to her stomach. Oh, yes, Jason Wilde had a lot to answer for, not least being the destruction of her own happiness. She punched her pillow. She would not think of it. She would not think of him. She had spent too many nights lying awake thinking of this affair.

  An unearthly roar broke the stillness, and she sat up, sweatin
g, staring into the darkness. What on earth had it been? Then she relaxed as realization came to her. Jason had said the Arabs were camped just outside the limits of the oil company’s colony. Doubtless they would have camels. She had heard the noise camels could make in the streets of Gitana.

  She lay back again, forcing her mind to be blank. But it was no good. Too many thoughts came to plague her. She wondered how long she would be forced to stay out here, how long she would be allowed to stay. Sir Harold had said he himself would come out later, to see how Paul was progressing, and to visit the local sheikh. This would be the man Jason Wilde had spoken of. Nicola wondered what manner of man he was. Might it be possible to use him in her efforts to discredit Jason Wilde?

  It was much too early to tell. She would have to wait and see. A good tactician never acted without being completely in possession of the facts of the situation. For the present she would do the job she had been employed to do and then…. She sighed. Anything might happen. And as a kind of bonus there was the undeniable excitement of life in this desert outpost. How could anyone sleep with so many possibilities before them?

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE following morning Nicola awakened early, disturbed by the sound of someone banging on the mesh of her window. She slid tiredly out of bed, and peered round the thin curtains which she had drawn the night before. Graham Wilson’s cheerful face gazed back at her.

  ‘It’s six o’clock,’ he said, grinning. ‘Jason said you’d want to be up and about.’

  Nicola hid a grimace. ‘He would,’ she said, unable to prevent herself, and then smiled. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilson. What do I do about breakfast?’

  Graham put his hands on his hips. ‘Jason said I was to take you to the canteen. He said the men would have to see you sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner.’