by Anne Mather
‘Ah, mademoiselle,’ he murmured. ‘It is a pleasure and a delight to see you. Where is Monsieur Wilde this morning?’
Nicola had the feeling that his question was slightly false, as though he already knew the answer. Of course, here, where the grapevine worked so vigorously, he would be bound to know that Jason was in London. A ripple of apprehension slid along her veins, and she answered:
‘My—my fiancé is not here. He left for London early yesterday morning.’
‘Indeed?’ The Sheikh inclined his head as though confirming her words. ‘He has gone and left his English rose behind?’
‘My—my work is here, ‘she said, managing to sound cool and businesslike. ‘Naturally, I am not a free agent. I could not accompany him.’
‘So?’ The Sheikh frowned. ‘I find this surprising. I should have thought the gallant Monsieur Wilde would not wish to leave his so-beautiful fiancée behind here, in such a dangerous place.’
‘Dangerous, Sheikh Mohammed?’
‘But of course. The desert is always dangerous. Besides, at any moment the camp could be invaded by hostile tribesmen. Without your fiancé you are at the mercy of all manner of dangers.’
Nicola decided he was deliberately trying to alarm her. She was beginning to understand Jason’s feelings towards this man, and so she merely smiled calmly, and said: ‘I think you exaggerate, Sheikh Mohammed, but it was kind of you to be concerned about my health.’
The Sheikh inclined his head, studying her thoughtfully. ‘And why has Monsieur Wilde gone to London, mademoiselle?’ he queried.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she returned smoothly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’
The Sheikh’s horse reared a little as he drew it back, and for a moment Nicola thought he meant to trample her underfoot, then the moment passed and she was free to enter her bungalow. Inside, she sank down weakly on to a chair. There was something about that man that alarmed her in spite of her imminent departure.
She stayed discreetly behind the blinds and watched the Sheikh and his retinue canter up the street towards the office building and she saw Graham Wilson come out to speak to them. She sighed with relief. At least Graham was still here, and he always seemed very reliable.
Later, after the horses’ hooves had pounded away, she drew out her suitcases and began to pack. It did not take her long. Most of her clothes had remained in the suitcases once she had learned that she was expected to wear trousers and shirts at all times. She stuffed make-up and toilet articles into a plastic bag, pushed sandals down into corners, checked that she had her money and passport and her return ticket to London.
She was about to go in search of Graham when there was a tap at her door. She called ‘Come in,’ and Graham himself entered the lounge, looking frowningly at her packed cases.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, at once. ‘You’re not leaving!’
Nicola nodded. ‘Yes, I am, Graham. Will it be possible to arrange transport to Gitana? I can get a flight from there.’
Graham flung himself into a chair and cupping his chin on one hand surveyed her broodingly. ‘I don’t know whether I ought to let you do this,’ he muttered gloomily. ‘Jason said nothing about you going back to London.’
‘What I’m doing has nothing to do with Jason Wilde,’ replied Nicola sharply. ‘I manage my own affairs, and I make my own decisions.’
Graham gave an exclamation. ‘You’re Jason’s fiancée now, remember.’
Nicola’s head jerked up. ‘Who told you that?’
Graham sighed. ‘Who do you think? Jason, of course.’
Nicola hesitated, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Oh, well, what of it? So far as he is concerned I’d as soon be in Timbuktu!’
‘I don’t believe that,’ exclaimed Graham. ‘Heavens, what’s a quarrel? Sarah and I have them all the time.’
‘Sarah’s your wife?’
‘Yes.’ Graham grimaced. ‘I wish she was here,’ he muttered. ‘I wouldn’t be arguing with her.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t help my problems.’
‘You have problems? Why? Has the Sheikh created a new crisis?’
Graham grinned. ‘You’re catching on fast, aren’t you, Nicola? Yeah, I guess you could say that. There’s some trouble brewing about the number of barrels the Sheikh is entitled to. Oh, it’s kids’ stuff. Not worth bothering about in the normal way. In fact, I’m pretty convinced the Sheikh only came here to make sure Jason was away, that’s what worries me!’
Nicola frowned. ‘But what could he do? I mean—well, Jason is bound to come back soon.’
‘I know. But compared with him, I’m pretty poor stuff. Hell, the Sheikh knows that. It will be in his interests to incite unrest while Jason is away. While Jason is here he finds his hands more or less tied.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself so much,’ said Nicola, shaking her head. ‘I’m sure you’re just as capable as Jason Wilde.’
Graham shook his head. ‘No, I’m not, and old Mohammed knows it.’ He got to his feet. ‘Look here, you’re not serious about leaving, are you? I mean—well, at least stay until Jason returns. That way it’s his responsibility, not mine.’
Nicola shook her head. ‘I don’t want to see Jason again, right now,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Graham. I suppose you’ll bear the brunt of this, but at least let me make up my own mind.’
Graham sighed. ‘Well, I can’t exactly forbid you to leave, can I? As for transport, I guess Ali could drive you out to Gitana. He has Jason’s Land-Rover while Jason is away. All the other vehicles are in use. Except that car of Paul Mannering’s, of course.’
‘Well, I’d rather not be responsible for that,’ said Nicola, with a smile. ‘The Land-Rover will do fine. If Ali will take me, of course.’
‘Oh, he’ll take you if I ask him. But look here, Nicola, can’t I persuade you in any way—’
‘No, I’m sorry, Graham, but I want to go home. I’ve had enough of deserts and Sheikhs and oil-wells for the time being.’
‘All right, all right. I’ll go and see Ali about the Land-Rover. You probably won’t get a flight out of Gitana right away, you know.’
‘I know. But there’s bound to be one tomorrow, or the next day. Either way, I’ll manage.’
‘Well, okay.’ Graham looked reluctant, but there was nothing more he could say. He left to see about the transport, and Nicola gathered together her things and took a last look round the bungalow. It wasn’t that she was nostalgic, or anything. It was just rather depressing to know that everything she had planned for had fallen so flat.
However, when Graham returned he had some bad news for her. ‘The Land-Rover’s developed an oil leak,’ he said. ‘Ali’s working on it at the moment. He doesn’t know how long it will take to fix.’
‘Damn!’ Nicola flopped down on to a chair. ‘How long does he think?’
Graham shrugged. ‘Not long, he hopes. He said he might have it fixed by lunch time.’
Nicola grimaced. ‘Oh, well, I suppose that will have to do. That means I’ll definitely not get a flight before tomorrow.’
‘That’s right.’
Nicola shrugged. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I ought to be thankful it’s not more serious,’ she said. ‘Thanks for telling me, Graham. Do you need my help this morning?’
‘If you like.’
She nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll come over.’
The morning passed quite swiftly, and Nicola ate lunch with Graham in the canteen, listening to his conversation about his family back in Birmingham. He became very enthusiastic when he discussed his three children, and she envied him his apparent lack of problems.
Afterwards she walked across to Jason’s bungalow and found Ali wiping his hands on an oily rag. He beamed when he saw Nicola.
‘It is all fixed,’ he announced proudly. ‘There will be no more trouble!’
Nicola pondered the wiseness of making such a sweeping statement, but she smiled and nodded, and said: �
��Have you eaten? Or are you ready to leave?’
‘Ali is not hungry,’ he replied firmly. ‘Where are your suitcases?’
‘They’re at the bungalow. I’ll get them.’
Ali shook his head. ‘I will get them,’ he said, pointing to himself ostentatiously. ‘Are you ready?’
Nicola glanced round. ‘I’ll just tell Graham Wilson we’re leaving,’ she said, and Ali nodded his agreement.
It was strange how much of a pull leaving actually was when it came down to it. Perhaps it was because in spite of everything she had found a certain satisfaction in challenging Jason Wilde, and Castanya would always be synonymous with him. There was an awful empty feeling inside her when she contemplated his reactions when he found she had gone. Perhaps she had beaten him after all. At least he would be unable to come back and make mincemeat out of her as he no doubt expected to do.
The road to Gitana was flat and uninteresting, mile after mile of rough track edged by scrub grass and desert, undulating into the far distance. To the left rose the mountain range which she and Jason had crossed to reach Sheikh Mohammed’s dwelling, while to the right lay the pipeline, like some ugly snake on the sand.
Ali was vociferous, talking about the job he had just done on the Land-Rover, the heat, and the possible date of completion of the pipeline. His chatter helped to dull the ache she was beginning to feel in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered how long it would take them to reach the coast. Finally he said:
‘Mr Jason is not going to be pleased that you have left the camp, Miss King.’
Nicola’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, no?’
‘No. I told Mr. Wilson this also. I am not at all sure whether I ought to be the one who is taking you to Gitana. Things will not go well with me if Mr. Jason is angry.’
Nicola smiled. ‘I’m sure you can handle it, Ali,’ she replied easily. ‘You seem capable of handling most things.’
‘Yes, but Mr. Jason is different,’ insisted Ali, with a slightly mournful expression. ‘He can be very angry.’
Nicola grimaced. ‘I know. Never mind, tell him it was all my fault.’
Ali raised his eyes heavenward. ‘I do not think that will matter to Mr. Jason. I will be wrong just the same.’
Nicola frowned. ‘It’s rather late to have this attack of conscience, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I mean, you didn’t seem at all concerned back at Castanya.’
‘It was the oil leak,’ he said, screwing up his face and nodding. ‘Yes, most definitely it was the oil leak. I was so pleased to have fixed it, I forgot everything else.’ Nicola chuckled. ‘Oh, Ali,’ she exclaimed, ‘you are a fool!’
Ali grinned tentatively, as though trying it out, and then his dark face creased into laughter. ‘Yes, yes, I think that is what I am,’ he chortled.
After that they were silent for a while, each busy with their own thoughts. They were approaching a kind of pass between two outcrops of rock, and the heat was intense. Nicola fanned herself rather languidly, wishing she had had the courage to ask Ali to travel at night.
‘Could we stop for a while?’ she asked, wiping her forehead with her handkerchief. ‘I’m roasting.’
Ali shrugged, looking about him thoughtfully. ‘This is not a good place to stop, Miss King,’ he said doubtfully. ‘These rocks can be the hiding place for bandits.’
‘Bandits!’ Nicola ridiculed the idea. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are you scared, Ali?’
‘Me scared? Ali scared?’ Ali stuck out his chest. ‘Ali is not scared of anything.’
Nicola looked exasperated. ‘Well, then?’
Ali hesitated, and then, just as Nicola was about to command him to stop, they both saw the body of a man lying on the road in front of them. Ali swung the wheel of the Land-Rover as though to bypass the body, but Nicola looked horrified as his actions revealed his intention.
‘You can’t just drive past!’ she exclaimed. ‘Heavens, he might be ill—or needing water or something. Stop at once!’
Ali slowed but he did not immediately stop. ‘I would rather not, Miss King,’ he insisted. ‘The man will survive. The sun will be going down soon. He will reach water, if indeed he is needing it.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous!’ snapped Nicola angrily. ‘You simply can’t leave a man lying in the middle of the desert alone like that!’
Ali was forced to bring the car to a halt. ‘He may not be alone,’ he hissed at her dramatically. ‘I tell you there are bandits around here.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ exclaimed Nicola, and slid determinedly out of her seat.
She walked back to where the man lay. He was lying on his stomach, and seemed completely unconscious. She knelt down beside him and gently turned him over. He looked harmless enough, although there was something vaguely familiar about his features. She frowned. She was imagining things. She didn’t know any Arabs to recognize any of them.
She stood up and beckoned Ali, who had remained cautiously by the Land-Rover. ‘Bring the water bottle,’ she called. ‘Quickly!’
Ali stared at her, looked as though he was about to object, and then with a muttered curse leant inside the vehicle and retrieved the plastic water container. Looking about him apprehensively, he made his way to her side, and bent down beside the Arab. As he did so, the Arab’s fist shot upwards in a brutal movement, his blow all the more severe because it met Ali’s head as it was in the process of coming down. Ali’s neck cracked alarmingly, and with a groan he fell to one side.
It had all happened so unexpectedly that Nicola did not have time to make any kind of defence. As Ali fell the Arab sprang to his feet and grasping her arms imprisoned them behind her back.
Nicola gave an involuntary scream, and almost as though called by her protest, several more Arabs appeared from behind the rocks, leading horses. And then Nicola realized why the Arab who had lain prostrate on the ground had looked so familiar. He was the man who had assisted Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed to mount and dismount from his horse.
‘Are you mad?’ she gasped, trying to free herself. ‘What’s the idea?’
The man, who had been holding her securely, handed her over to one of his colleagues, and came round to face her. ‘We are not mad, Miss King,’ he said, in perfect English. ‘It is at the orders of Sheikh Mohammed that we have apprehended you here. Do not be alarmed, however. We mean you no harm. But we have been instructed to escort you to our master.’
‘To Sheikh Mohammed?’ Nicola exclaimed, an awful sense of fear overwhelming the anger she had first experienced.
‘Yes, that is so.’
Nicola looked down at Ali, who was slowly coming round. ‘But I’m on my way to Gitana. I—I leave for England tomorrow.’
‘I cannot discuss anything with you, Miss King,’ replied the man suavely. ‘It is not my concern. I have my orders, and they will be carried out, of this you can be assured.’
Nicola needed no reassuring on that score. With Ali almost helpless, and her own predicament even worse, they didn’t stand a chance. ‘Wh-what about Ali?’ she managed to whisper.
‘You mean this man?’ The Arab kicked Ali with a careless foot. ‘Do not alarm yourself on his account. He will be accompanying us.’ Then he uttered something in the fast Arabic Nicola had heard some of the men about the camp use, and one of the Arabs went to climb into the Land-Rover, and starting its engine, drove it up to them.
The Arab who was holding Nicola urged her not ungently into the vehicle, the back this time, and then he and the Arab who had done all the talking climbed in beside her. Ali was lifted unceremoniously and dumped in the back too, on the floor, and as the vehicle began to move one of the men secured his wrists and ankles with a strong cord.
Nicola sighed. She was helpless and pure unadulterated panic was threatening to grip her being. She could think of no reason why Sheikh Mohammed should seek to kidnap her like this unless he had plans for her which she would personally find repulsive. And the chances of their whereabouts being discovered were slight
indeed. Ali would not be due back from Gitana for at least twenty-four hours, and even then it was doubtful whether a search party would be mounted immediately just to search for one errant Arab servant. And in any case, a lot could happen in twenty-four hours.
The Land-Rover jerked and bumped uncomfortably over roads that were never meant for engine-driven vehicles. The heat in the back of the vehicle was stifling, and that combined with the smell of the men’s sweaty bodies was enough to nauseate Nicola had not her own precarious situation instilled her with enforced strength. Once Ali looked up at her and said: ‘I’m sorry, Miss King,’ in his peculiarly educated tones, but he only got another kick for his trouble and Nicola refrained from answering him in case it caused him more bother.
The journey seemed endless, and she realized they were heading towards Abyrra. Her heart sank. She remembered the Sheikh’s residence, the thick walls, the airless atmosphere, the guarded courtyard. Once there her chances of escape would be slight indeed.
The Land-Rover halted at the gates of the Sheikh’s dwelling, which Nicola could see now resembled a kind of palace with its cupolas and minarets. The Arab urged her out again, and she jumped down on to the sand, wondering why the Land-Rover was not taking them to the courtyard at least. But that much at least became evident. After they had alighted, the Arab who was driving drove off, accompanied some distance behind by one of the riders who had followed them back over the mountains.
‘The vehicle will be found abandoned,’ explained the Arab as Nicola stared at the disappearing cloud of dust. ‘It would not do for tracks to be found here, Miss King. Now come, the Sheikh is waiting.’
Nicola hesitated. ‘Ali—’ she began. The poor man was lying inert on the sand, unable to move from where he had been thrown.
‘He will be attended to. Come,’ retorted the Arab imperiously, and Nicola was forced to accompany him. Her nerves were stretched to fever pitch, and she felt sick with fear. She who had always imagined herself the mistress of any situation had now found herself wanting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE Sheikh Abi Ben Abdul Mohammed awaited her in his conference chamber, lounging lazily on his cushions studying a problem set out on a chess board in front of him. The chessmen were made of ivory and in spite of her predicament Nicola could not help but admire the intricacy of their design. He looked up at her entrance and a smile enveloped his dark face.