The Jewelled Caftan

by Margaret Pargeter

  'You have it right first time,' he assured her, smoothly arrogant. 'As for the rest, we shall see. Once you've got that far anything else will not prove too difficult. You can take my word for it.'

  'As I will never get as far as that I don't need such assurance,' she gasped.

  He merely smiled, apparently indifferent to the trouble she was having with her breathing. 'Unfortunately we must concentrate on the call I've just made. We might indeed be wiser to remove the obstacles one by one—and together. This way you will never feel you had no control over your own destiny.'

  Ross waited, her mind, as if slightly bemused, swinging, exactly as he dictated, back to Cynthia. 'What did she say?'

  'A lot I shan't repeat. After I had convinced her there was no possibility of my reversing the charges she quite let herself go.'

  She ignored his sarcasm, taking no comfort from it. 'Does

  she know where I am? What had she to say about Freddy?'

  'I gathered he has told her almost everything. Or at least his side of the story,' Armel added smoothly.

  Startled, Ross stared. 'Then he's been in touch with her? He's safe?'

  'Better than that, ma chere, he is with her!' Armel's voice came dryly.

  'Back home?'

  'Yes, girl. Several days ago.'

  Shock ran relentlessly all the way through her, bringing a cold perspiration to her pale brow. 'He must have given up trying to find me.'

  'I'm still doing my best to work out how hard he tried. Judging from the length of time he's been home he didn't over-strain himself.'

  There was nothing at the moment Ross could find to refute this, although she found it hard to believe that Freddy had simply gone off and left her with scarcely a backward glance! Unsteadily she asked, 'Why did he leave his two friends?'

  'They probably left him,' Armel replied cynically, his eyes on Ross's knuckles which showed white against the white towel she still clutched to her breast. Her bare, slender shoulders drooped, but she did not seem aware of it. 'They didn't strike me as being the type to hang around with anyone liable to hold them up. Probably your disappearance bothered them. They might have imagined some trouble with the police, and, if their reputations are anything to go on, they certainly wouldn't want that.'

  'I see—and so he went home.' Her voice came flatly, her face devoid of colour, reflecting her inner fears unconsciously. 'I've been all sorts of a fool, you don't need to tell me, but I thought . . . Oh, never mind . . .' With weary effort she tried to cast aside such useless regrets and form another query. 'Did either he or Cynthia say anything about my money, my return ticket, which was in my luggage?'

  'No.'

  'But Freddy must have known it was in the truck. How does he expect I'm to get back?' Much as she tried to keep it low her voice rose hysterically.

  'Calm down, cherieV As if he realised how near breaking point she was, he spoke with cool authority. 'I assured your guardian she could leave this to me, but I'm afraid I must tell you she doesn't wish you to return. Not to her residence at any rate.'

  'But why?' Bitterly shaken, Ross added, 'She couldn't deny I was extremely useful!'

  'Apparently she has found someone else to take over your duties, the daughter of some rich citizen who feels she must justify her existence by finding a job. Freddy discovered her. She appears, for various reasons, to suit them both.'

  'And she has taken my job?'

  'I'm afraid so, although you don't have to take my word for it. She is very eager, this relative of yours, to speak to you herself, just in case you don't get the right message, but I should advise you to let her cool her heels for a few days.'

  Numbly Ross lowered her fair head, missing the derision which, this time, was not directed against herself. She thought she knew of this girl Armel mentioned. She was the only child of wealthy parents and Freddy had been angling for an introduction for a long while. Cynthia, of course, would welcome her if there was money. She had too much of her own not to appreciate the worth of such a commodity. It was unlikely there would ever be any place for Ross again. Briefly she glanced at Armel again. 'What exactly did she say?'

  His mouth tightened. 'A very great deal. That she took you from an orphanage, brought you up, that you'd always been headstrong, difficult to handle. That you will no longer be welcome in her home. There were so many faults I began to doubt if they might ever be contained in one so slender body!'

  'I see.' Ross's small white teeth bit painfully on her full lower lip, but she felt nothing, the hurt inside, which she had thought she had long been immune to, returning to torment her.

  'Talk about it,' Armel commanded, instantly perceptive. 'How long were you in this orphanage?'

  'Until I was seventeen.'

  'From when?'

  'From when my parents died, when I was ten.'

  Armel frowned sharply, as if doing some quick calculations of his own. 'Why did you need to go there at all ? Why did you not go immediately to this Cynthia?'

  'Because she had a business to run. I expect because she was always so successful she had no time to spare .. .' Ross paused, then went on. As Armel seemed intent on uncovering everything she might as well tell him briefly what he wanted to know. There was nothing remarkable or even very unusual about her story. She made short work of it, finishing after a very few minutes. She gave only the bald facts, so numb that it no longer seemed important what he thought, yet unable to look at him when it was over to see a condemning expression.

  'So,' he said eventually, breaking his curiously taut silence, 'you must now put all this behind you. There are certain matters, but as I have used almost all my present supply of restraint, I will not immediately pursue them. As a fully trained secretary, personal assistant and everything else, you will be invaluable here for the time being. After you have saved a little money from your earnings you may decide for yourself what you wish to do. I am sure you wouldn't wish for a loan that you perhaps could never pay back.'

  Tears stung Ross's eyes. His sympathy was like a mirage; it never really existed. 'I shouldn't trouble you at all! I'm sure my half-brother will send me as much as I need, now that he knows where I am.'

  'Then shall we say until this happens?'

  'Just so long as you realise,' she whispered, still reluctant to believe Freddy would do nothing to help her. She blinked away her tears furtively before looking at Armel again. 'You sound very sure I will be accepted here.'

  'Why not?' his broad, heavy shoulders lifted. 'My aunt is almost recovered, but must obviously cut down on her, acticities. She has a great deal of correspondence over which

  she likes to keep busy. You will help her with this.'

  'Will it be enough? I am used to long hours, monsieur, and dislike being idle, whatever your opinion of me.'

  'You will rest first, you need it,' he rejoined sternly, unimpressed. 'If you find you still have time to spare I have a lot of work myself that needs expert attention. You can save me the bother of sending out for a secretary. Not many are so very willing to bury themselves out here.'

  While she was pondering this Armel stood up, a quick lithe movement of his powerful body. 'I must go now, Rosalind,' his voice lightly mocked her mental turmoil. 'I think perhaps I have outstayed my welcome as it is.'

  Ross said bitterly, 'I can't deny you've given me plenty to think about!'

  His sensuous lips sneered, 'And you don't love me for it, eh, ma chere? Well, I should advise you to sleep again and not waste any more valuable hours fretting about your so solicitous relatives.'

  All Ross could think about as he made sharply for the door was something to wear. 'My clothes?' she cried weakly, unable to envisage facing anyone else in a towel.

  'Don't worry,' he paused briefly by the door, looking back. 'I will send your maid with some, and a more suitable robe. Mon dieu, ma chere,' he declared, with an ironic twist, 'if I must continue to supply you with so many clothes, you might well be my wife 1'

  Ross's breakfast was brought
to her the next morning quite early, as if Armel had known she would be awake and hungry after failing to eat her supper. The maid also brought a selection of clothes, similar to those Ross had worn at the oasis. On her tray was a note containing a short message from Armel saying she was to stay in her room until he came for her.

  Why did he insist she must not move without him? Unhappily Ross regarded her coffee and fresh, hot croissants with a diminishing appetite. She had a frightening feeling she was a prisoner again, for the third time since she had set foot in this country. She could almost have crept back to bed and wept, if her tears had not all been shed through the night into her pillow. While she resisted the temptation to do this, there was no evading the fact that each time she tried to escape she merely finished up in a worse position than before.

  For a time, after she had toyed with her breakfast, she sat still, trying to think, then trying not to. Restlessly she choose a suitable caftan, wondering, as she had done previously, where it had come from. The size and colour was exactly right, it might have been made for her, moulding her figure as it did so closely. Suitably dressed, she now wondered where Armel had got to. Why, if she was to work for his aunt, was he not here explaining the precise nature of her duties? If his aunt was still ill, of course, she might not want her immediately, but he had said she could do something for him.

  Yet, although she was curious about Armel ben Yussef's work, the thought of being with him daily seemed more than she could bear. What did she really know of him? If Moulay's marriage was already arranged, how about Armel? He was quite a lot older than Moulay. Wasn't it more than likely he, too, was committed, or had commitments somewhere which she knew nothing about? When his arms were around her she could convince herself she didn't care. He might, when the mood was on him, hurt her, but no other man had made her feel as he did. No other man was ever likely to while she loved him so desperately. Last night, when he had taunted her about being his wife, she had almost whispered how much she loved him. If he had shown the remotest signs of tenderness she had the most frightening suspicion that she mightn't have minded what he thought. It was only when she was away from him that she felt grateful for the cool streak of sanity she was still able to display, the cold light of reason that showed her clearly he was not for her.

  Armel didn't arrive and Ross could easily believe he had forgotten about her. After months in the desert he no doubt had much to see to. The view from her window went over the gardens, the outer ramparts to the mountains beyond. She saw the road descending to the valley from the narrow, lower plain on which the asbah was built. The sun struck rock and cliff to shades of pink, ivory and ochre, glancing off the bare stunted cactus trees and hotly dispersing any furtive shadow lingering beneath them. She had not realised the sun could be so relentless until she had come here. Yet hadn't she grown fond of it, learnt to enjoy its warmth while acknowledging its power, in this tropical land, to wither much of what it touched? Only men who were equally powerful could withstand it. Thinking at once of Armel, she shuddered.

  Turning with a jerk from the window, as if burnt by even the thought of him, she decided hastily that she could stay in her room ho longer. It was well past mid-morning, he wouldn't come now. Cautiously she opened the door and slipped out.

  Armel had given her to understand, the evening before, that she had been put near the family quarters as there was no other guest staying at present. There was no one around but not wishing to disturb anyone she went carefully. Nobody, she felt sure, would object to her going down to the gardens, but it could be embarrassing to bump into a member of the family she did not know. Because of this she avoided the main staircase, certain there must be other ways of getting below. Turning left instead of right, she went off on what she only intended to be a very small journey of exploration.

  She did, in fact, get quite a way, further than she realised. Several of the doors were ajar, opening on to what appeared to be empty rooms, and her confidence grew as no one disturbed her. Then suddenly to her dismay a woman, obviously another servant, called her.

  'Mademoiselle 1' Slightly breathless, the woman caught her up. Ross stopped nervously and turned. 'Mademoiselle Lindsay?' the newcomer asked softly, and when Ross nodded, said, 'My lady saw you passing by and would like very much to speak with you.'

  Such gentle, soft-voiced courtesy was scarcely to be withstood, yet uncertainly Ross hesitated. Who was 'my lady' ? In the Near East, she had read, a man might have many

  relations living in his household. Lone sisters, aunts and elderly parents were never left simply to fend for therrselves,. and a house this size could probably accommodate vast numbers. They would hardly be noticed. Whoever wished to speak to her must be one of these, she decided. Someone with little to do, consumed by a little harmless curiosity?

  Nodding, Ross returned the servant's tentative smile, and went with her.

  With her first glimpse of the apartment, however, realisation flooded Ross that here was no set of rooms belonging to a poor relation. Here there was understated opulence, reflecting the grandeur she had seen downstairs. The beauty of the rooms, the furniture, the skins and rugs on the floor, the gold-threaded drapes, made her catch her breath. So confused was she that she might have turned and run if it had not been for the woman who walked towards her as she stood slightly dazed by the entrance.

  The woman, too, made Ross catch her breath. She was beautiful, was Ross's first thought. About the same height and size as herself, she was dressed simply but smartly in a silken caftan. Her hair was dark, coiled at the back of her smooth head, and she was skilfully if discreetly made up. She wasn't so very young any more, possibly in her sixties, but her beauty was of the kind that would be ageless.

  To Ross's surprise she approached with her hand outstretched, her manner most friendly. 'You are Mademoiselle Lindsay?' she exclaimed. 'I saw you passing and could not resist sending my nurse after you. I am Armel's aunt, Yvette. You met my husband, the Caid, when you arrived. I am sorry I was not there to welcome you.'

  Ross's wide glance of swift surprise was not, she hoped, impertinent. 'I'm sorry,' she breathed, unsteadily, 'I'm afraid I didn't realise, madame. I didn't expect .... I mean, Armel, that is,' she corrected hastily, 'Sidi ben Yussef told me you were ill and I thought you would be in bed.'

  Madame appeared to find nothing strange in Ross's confused, unfinished remarks. She smiled quite sympathetically, as if something faintly amused her. 'Of course, my child, you are naturally perplexed, and with just cause. Come,' she released Ross's hand and stepped back, waving her imperiously into an elegant drawing room, 'you must take coffee with me. A few days confined to my rooms and I am bored to distraction.'

  For several minutes she chatted gaily in French, then changed into English which, like Armel's, was accentuated just enough to give it an added attraction. 'Armel has explained how you were parted from your half-brother,' she said, on a more sober note. 'It is a great pity, as he is so much older and more travelled than you, that he didn't plan your itinerary more carefully.'

  As Ross was unaware of the exact context of Armel's explanations she could only remain' silent. 'You are very kind, 7nadame, to take a complete stranger into your home,' she heard herself saying diffidently.

  'Oh, as to that, Mademoiselle Lindsay, I can only say I have complete faith in my nephew's judgment—and my own eyes. He would never bring me someone who is not wholly acceptable.'

  What did she mean by that? On the face of it there was nothing but warm politeness, yet underneath Ross sensed subtle undertones which disconcerted. She said, unconsciously defensive, not hearing the slight tremor in her voice, 'Thank you, madame, but I should not have come if your son had not sought out Sidi ben Yussef in the desert. I'm afraid there wasn't time to make other arrangements.'

  'And I'm so glad, mademoiselle,' the other woman smiled warmly. 'Armel tells me you are willing to stay on a while to help with my correspondence until I get a little stronger. This has already made me feel much b
etter. It also made me very curious to meet you.' She picked up the coffee pot while regarding Ross keenly. 'You are a pretty child. I think I shall enjoy having you around.'

  Ross felt her cheeks flush as she again murmured polite appreciation. There was a faint bewilderment in her eyes as she watched the nurse firmly take over the pouring of the coffee and listened to the short ensuing argument which Madame appeared to lose. Obviously the nurse was a privileged member of the household. Somehow Madame looked different from the usual Moroccan lady. She shared their elegance, but there the similarity ended. Ross had never known her before, yet she seemed in some inexplicable way to be familiar.

  'I hope I shall be able to fulfil your requirements, madame,' she continued rather helplessly, when the nurse passed her refreshments and moved away. 'I'm afraid,' she confessed in a dismal rush, 'Sidi ben Yussef told me to wait in my room.'

  'Do you always call him that?' Madame glanced up from her coffee idly, not obviously quelled by the thought of her nephew's possible displeasure. 'Hasn't he explained about his name, or did you not come to know him well enough?'

  Ross looked quickly down at her cup, having the sudden impression that this woman, like her devious nephew, was capable of probing, if unobtrusively. 'He did once ask me to call him Armel,' she admitted cautiously.

  'And you found this difficult, ma chcret Just as he can be a very difficult man ...' Her deep sigh seemed to speak of past conflicts. 'Occasionally I even fail to understand him myself, but this was not quite what I meant. I think if you are to stay and work here that you should know who he really is.'

  'Really is, madameV Ross felt her fingers curling tightly into her palms. 'I'm afraid I don't understand,' she whispered, trying to speak normally but failing oddly.

  'My nephew's real name is Guerard, child. Armel Guer- ard, and he is French. He is also a well-known surgeon.'