Dark Enemy

by Anne Mather

  ‘Got indigestion?’ queried a voice close to her ear, and she almost dropped the tin at the sudden sound of those familiar sardonic tones. Her face suffused with colour and she just stared speechlessly at him for an awful moment.

  ‘Wh—what did you say?’ she asked at last, fumblingly replacing the lid of the tin.

  Jason straightened from his lounging position outside the vehicle and slid in beside her, forcing her to move across the seats to get away from him.

  ‘I said have you got indigestion?’ he repeated quietly.

  Nicola swallowed hard, replaced the tin on the shelf, and shook her head. ‘No. Why?’

  Jason studied her thoughtfully for a minute. ‘What did you imagine was in that tin?’ he asked flatly.

  Nicola lifted her shoulders uncomfortably, finding it difficult to regain her composure. ‘I—I didn’t think,’ she denied awkwardly.

  ‘Didn’t you?’ Jason was sceptical. ‘I think you did. I think you imagined it was some kind of narcotic. That was why you jumped so guiltily when I appeared.’

  Nicola didn’t reply and Jason lifted the tin into his hands, prising off the lid. He took her hand firmly in one of his and poured a quantity of the powder into her palm. ‘Taste it again,’ he said quietly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ Nicola endeavoured to sound indifferent.

  ‘Oh, but I insist,’ he commanded softly, and with ill grace Nicola obediently put her hand to her mouth, allowing her tongue to scoop up some of the powder. She got more than she had expected and it effervesced horribly on her tongue, causing her to cough and splutter.

  ‘Ugh!’ she gasped, brushing the rest of the powder on her palm out of the window. ‘It’s vile!’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jason patiently.

  ‘Bicarbonate of soda,’ she said, rubbing her mouth violently with the back of her hand. ‘That was a horrible thing to make me do!’

  Jason gave her a wry glance. ‘You think so? And what were your suspicions? They were pretty horrible, too, weren’t they?’

  Nicola bent her head. ‘Anyway, why keep bicarbonate of soda in the Land-Rover?’ she asked angrily, trying to cover herself.

  Jason shrugged. ‘It belongs to your friend Mannering. His stomach isn’t as strong as he thought it was.’

  Nicola compressed her lips. She had behaved very foolishly and he had every right to be angry with her. In future she must take care not to jump to such crazy conclusions. But Jason wasn’t finished with her yet.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘just why were you poking about in here when you thought I was asleep? What were you looking for? Something like you thought you had found?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’ Nicola would have slid out of the Land-Rover to get away from his uncomfortably penetrating gaze, but he caught her wrist.

  ‘What, then?’

  She fumed. ‘Oh, nothing, nothing! Do you mean to say you weren’t asleep at all?’

  ‘You woke me, clambering about,’ he replied evenly. ‘Come on, you might as well spill it. What did Mannering send you out here to accomplish? Does he suspect I’m mixed up in something like narcotics?’

  Now Nicola was really in trouble. ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ she cried, struggling to free herself. ‘You’re Sir Harold’s blue-eyed boy!’

  Jason frowned. ‘That description pleases me even less than the last one,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t figure you, Miss King, I don’t figure you at all! Okay, I’ll accept that you persuaded Mannering to let you come out here with Paul, that wouldn’t be too difficult to achieve from the way he regards you. What I don’t get is why you should come out here! What’s in this for you?’ A strange look came over his face. ‘Unless—unless you’re involved in the same business as I assumed you were accusing me of!’

  Nicola’s eyes were horrified. ‘How can you even think such a thing?’

  ‘You did,’ he reminded her. ‘Of me!’

  Nicola wrenched her arm free. ‘If you’re ready I’d like to go back to camp,’ she said coldly.

  Jason continued to regard her. ‘I bet you would,’ he muttered. ‘Okay, Miss King, now we know where we stand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know that one way or another you’re gunning for me. Well okay, two can play at that game. Just watch your step, Miss King. Or you may find the ground has been cut out from under you.’

  Nicola slid out of the vehicle. She was breathing swiftly and she felt a tenseness over all her body. She had made a complete hash of everything now. However would she be able to get close to him when he obviously despised her? And it was all her own fault. If she had only not attempted that amateur effort at detection, none of this would have happened. After all, it had been ridiculous. She had merely succeeded in making a fool of herself. She would have to use much more subtle methods if she was going to attract the attention of a man who was apparently bored with the obvious wiles of the opposite sex.

  * * *

  The drive back to camp was accomplished in silence and when he stopped outside her bungalow she couldn’t wait to get out and run indoors. She heard the Land-Rover drive away as she entered the living room and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. On the living room table a letter awaited her. Apparently the post had been collected from Gitana and delivered in her absence. She recognized Louise’s handwriting, and flopped down into an easy-chair to read it. She slit open the envelope and took out the note. It was little more, with vaguely derisory allegations towards George who had apparently been to see her. Nicola wondered why, but read on. The rest was concerned with Jason, asking how Nicola was getting on, and hoping she was successful in destroying him as he had destroyed them. She scarcely mentioned the children, and Nicola flung it to one side, not really in the mood for Louise’s recriminations.

  She went into the bathroom and took a shower before dressing in clean trousers and a more feminine blouse. She would have liked to have worn a skirt, just occasionally, but as she had to go to the canteen for a meal, she knew she mustn’t. Then she lit a cigarette and reviewed the events of the day.

  Why did she persistently allow Jason Wilde to get her back up? Instead of behaving like a tigress every time she tangled with him, she should allow him the advantage sometimes. A woman’s strength lay in weakness, and no man was completely immune to that, were they?

  Or was that merely wishful thinking?

  He was certainly like no man she had ever encountered before. In her experience men were reasonably uncomplicated beings, whose actions could be channelled by the cunning of their feline counterpart. To encounter a man who seemed capable of gauging her thoughts almost before she was aware of formulating them herself was unnerving, particularly as she suspected his expertise was the result of cold logical reasoning rather than any kind of foreknowledge of her affairs.

  The next morning after breakfast, she was on her way to the offices when there was a sudden thundering of hooves across the desert, and even as she stood on the steps of the building a cloud of dust heralded the arrival of a party of Arabs on horseback. They erupted into the camp looking picturesque and exotic in their flowing burnouses, their swarthy features darkened still further by the addition of beards and moustaches. They presented quite a startling spectacle to Nicola and she stood transfixed, watching them as they reared their mounts and wheeled about before halting in front of the office building.

  One of the Arabs hastily climbed down and ran to hold the horse of another who dismounted more ceremoniously. His horse was elaborately saddled with jewelled reins and tasselled trappings. He was rather magnificent, too, thought Nicola admiringly, with his glowing dark eyes and thin, aristocratic features. Rings sparkled on every finger, and a heavy beaten gold medallion hung round his neck. His robes were richly embroidered and his sandals were of plaited leather.

  If she was studying him, he was certainly studying her, and as she became aware of his scrutiny a wave of hot colour spread up her throat. With an uneasy feeling of having lingered too long she
swiftly turned to go, but his voice halted her.

  ‘Mademoiselle! Please, a moment.’

  Reluctantly she turned, and saw that he was smiling, revealing teeth vividly white in his dusky face. ‘Yes?’ she said, awkwardly, wondering what Jason Wilde would think if he came upon them now.

  The Arab swept her a bow. ‘Forgive me, mademoiselle, if my foolish eyes betrayed my amazement, but what is a beautiful English rose doing here in our arid desert?’

  Nicola swallowed hard. She didn’t quite know how to answer that. Fortunately, she was saved the necessity of having to do so, as familiar tones broke the silence that had fallen.

  ‘So, Mohammed! To what do we owe the honour of this visit?’

  The Arab turned and Nicola’s palms moistened uncomfortably. She was soon to find out what Jason Wilde thought.

  ‘Ah, Wilde!’ The Arab’s tones were smooth and honey-soft. ‘You did not tell me you had a new and quite unexpected member of your team!’

  Jason Wilde surveyed Nicola’s flushed face rather sardonically. ‘Perhaps that was because the last time I spoke to you I did not know myself,’ he replied, equally smoothly. ‘Miss King was as you said—an unexpected surprise!’

  The tall Arab smiled embracingly. ‘So! But not an unpleasant surprise, eh, Wilde? She is—perhaps—a friend of yours?’

  Nicola stiffened as Jason gave a sharp denial. He was so cold, so unfeeling. He didn’t care what this other man thought so long as he was not personally involved.

  ‘I repeat, Mohammed, what brings you here?’ Jason was getting impatient now.

  But the Arab was unalarmed. ‘Do not disturb yourself, Monsieur Wilde. Naturally I desire an introduction to your—er—assistant.’

  Jason thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his cotton trousers. ‘Very well,’ he agreed chillingly. ‘The Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed—Miss Nicola King!’

  ‘Enchanted, mademoiselle!’ The Sheikh saluted her by touching his chest, lips and forehead with his fingers, and then taking her hand he raised it almost to his lips. ‘And may I ask how you are liking our country?’

  Nicola glanced at Jason, noticing his cold expression. ‘I—I like it very much,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I didn’t realize the desert could have such beauty.’

  The Sheikh looked pleased. ‘Is that so? Then I am delighted. Even though I am sure the desert could never equal your own beauty, Mademoiselle King.’ Nicola linked her fingers together rather awkwardly. She was wholly unused to such florid compliments and didn’t quite know how to answer them. So she merely smiled, and began to wish the Sheikh would state his business and go.

  Jason studied her expressive face emotionlessly, and then said, with perspicacity: ‘I have the feeling you knew Miss King was here before you arrived, Mohammed.’

  The Sheikh turned to the tall Englishman with an urbane smile. ‘Ah, Wilde, you are astute! Am I so transparent? Yes, of course, I knew. My friend Mustafa was at pains to inform me.’

  Jason’s brows drew together. ‘Mustafa? I might have known.’ Then he lifted his shoulders. ‘But I understood you and Mustafa were having what you might call a little disagreement.’

  Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed looked rather amused. ‘We were. We were, Wilde. But our differences have now been settled. And after all, why should you be allowed to keep such an advent to our lives such a secret?’

  Jason gave Nicola a killing glance, and she shrank back against the support of the building. ‘It’s no secret, Mohammed,’ he snapped. ‘As you can see, Miss King is here to work, and for no other reason.’

  The Sheikh looked sceptical. ‘Nevertheless, one cannot work all the time, Wilde. We should like you to bring Miss King to dine with us.’

  Jason shook his head bleakly. ‘I am afraid Miss King is much too tired at the end of the day to want to go visiting, Mohammed. I’m sorry.’

  Nicola’s relief at Jason’s command of the conversation evaporated in the heat of the anger he aroused in her at the way he so carelessly dismissed her opinion. He might at least have had the decency to ask her. In consequence, she spoke hastily, and without much forethought.

  ‘On the contrary,’ she contradicted him. ‘I should love to dine with the Sheikh. I’m not always tired, Mr. Wilde. In fact I’m getting quite used to the climate.’ The bombshell exploded, she was immediately contrite, and was overwhelmed by apprehension. What if Jason took her at her word as he had done before and agreed to her dining with the Sheikh—but alone! Then she would really be in trouble, for even she realized the dangers in that. Swallowing hard, she dared hardly look at Jason, and her cheeks burned as the Sheikh said: ‘You see, Monsieur Wilde, sometimes even you can be mistaken. It is natural that you should feel responsibility for the mademoiselle, but as you can see she is more than capable of speaking for herself.’

  ‘I would agree with you there,’ remarked Jason, his tones icily polite. He looked at Nicola’s bent head, and the penetration of his gaze caused her to glance up at him uneasily. ‘Well, of course, if Miss King feels the need for more social contact I will not stand in her way.’

  Nicola’s heart plunged. ‘But—but naturally the Sheikh’s invitation is—is for us both,’ she stammered, even while anger at his actions simmered inside her.

  Jason’s eyes were challenging. ‘My time is not my own,’ he replied suavely. ‘I have work to do in the evenings which precludes—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Nicola burst out, before she could prevent herself. ‘That is—you—you know very well I couldn’t possibly—go—go alone.’ Her breast heaved with suppressed emotion, and she felt an immense urge to slap his mocking face.

  Then, as though relenting, Jason smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. He turned to the Sheikh. ‘Is Miss King correct? Does your invitation include us both?’ The Sheikh made an expressive gesture. ‘But of course. Consider my house honoured to welcome you. As Miss King says, she does require an escort.’

  Jason nodded. ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. Then I shall expect you both—let me see—would tomorrow evening be too soon?’

  Jason shook his head, and Nicola did likewise, and the Sheikh nodded briskly and turned to his retinue. The Arab who had assisted him to dismount rushed forward to help him into his ornate saddle, and with another of those sweeping salutations they wheeled their horses and were gone.

  In the ensuing dust-storm they created, Nicola turned away to mount the steps to the office door, but Jason moved more swiftly and was there before her, preventing her entrance. Nicola looked at him, more than ever aware of him as a man, and the awareness brought with it a weakness which assailed her body unwillingly, destroying the defences she might raise against him.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Not another argument. I know—I know I spoke foolishly, but you deliberately attempted to humiliate me and I couldn’t stomach that!’

  ‘I? Humiliate you?’ Jason stared at her incredulously. ‘My God, I really think you mean that!’

  ‘I do!’ Nicola pressed a hand to her throat.

  ‘You have no conception of what you’ve done, have you? You don’t care that you might have jeopardized the success of our development here?’

  Nicola gave him an exasperated look. ‘I think you’re exaggerating everything out of all proportion,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Do you? Do you really? All right, all right. I’ll try and explain. Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed is one of those men that you can find in any walk of life—a natural trouble-maker. Our being here in Abrahm is a precarious situation. At any moment the Sheikh could find some stupid, senseless reason for forbidding the company the rights here. Right now his hands are tied. This is a friendly country—friendly towards the West, that is—and Mohammed hasn’t the power to change his allegiance even though he might want to. But if he could find something—some small reason why he should forbid us the rights then he would be free to follow whatever course he chose. All this trouble we’ve been having—these unnecessary delays in the pipeline – they all ad
d up. They’re costing the company plenty, and all the time the Sheikh hopes we’ll jack it all in and clear out—giving him a free hand. But we aren’t so easily put off, as he’s discovered, and gradually we’re beginning to make headway, with or without his connivance. And now you come here! Threatening to ruin everything! Hell, Mannering must be off his head! I’m convinced he lives in a dream world! Haven’t the board any notion of our problems? Does Mannering imagine all these delays we’ve been having are justified? Does he really believe Mohammed cares a damn about his people?’ He raked a hand through his thick hair. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

  Nicola had been listening intently. When Jason spoke to her like this—treating her as an individual—she found her antipathy towards him disappeared almost completely. It was difficult to remember just why she had come out here; difficult to ignore the sense of his arguments. She had to force her tone to remain light as she said:

  ‘Even so, my dining with the Sheikh is hardly going to create an international incident.’

  Jason gave her a disgusted look. ‘I don’t think you’ve understood a word I’ve been saying!’ he muttered savagely. ‘But don’t come crying to me when you find the Sheikh is not one of your prissy English boy-friends!’

  Nicola’s eyes mirrored her distress for a moment before she hastily disguised it. ‘You love hurting me, don’t you, Mr. Wilde?’ she muttered, in a muffled voice, brushing past him so that he was forced to stand aside to let her into the building.

  But he caught her wrist and looked down at her with eyes that burned brilliantly with his anger. ‘You are an irresponsible minx, without the sense you were born with,’ he muttered violently. ‘My God, you’ve come out here, secure in the knowledge of Mannering’s patronage, imagining that you can say and act as you like and there’ll be no comeback. Well, let me tell you this, Miss King, we are all men here, with the usual sensual needs, and as Castanya is many hundreds of miles from London, I should guard your tongue or you may find you have more to worry about than the Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed!’

  Nicola struggled to free herself. ‘You’re not really threatening me yourself, are you, Mr. Wilde?’ she sneered. ‘I thought you had oil in your veins—you work so mechanically!’