Rose of the Desert (12 page)

"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."

Julie nodded and sighed,

"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.

Julie stood up at last and brushed the sand from her tanned limbs, unaware of the picture she made. The pale yellow of her swim suit almost matched the corn silk of her hair, and thick-fringed lashes above the wide-set eyes held a dusting of gold.
The
game looked about to break up and as the group started to drift towards her Julie gazed round at the view generally.

The sea was still as blue as it had been on her arrival and there were more people dotted along its edge. The golf course was deserted now, the two men who were playing must have finished their ...

With a sharp intake of breath Julie swung her head back towards the sea. The big man striding away from the course had he seen her? She turned to smile casually at the approaching group. The sight of that figure had sent her heart careering down hill, but she must strive to look normal.

"By the way," Tamara asked, the hazel eyes glinting beyond her, "what was the job like out at the oil camp?"

"Oh, just routine." Julie brushed imaginary grains of sand from her wrist.

"Uh-huh ... and what was it like working for the rugged Clay Whitman?"

"Just like any other job ... just routine." For the life of her Julie couldn't bring her mind to dwell upon those four bitter-sweet weeks. She preferred to pass it off with a shrug of the slender shoulders.

"Well, don't look now," Tamara murmured with throaty humour, "but guess who's heading this way? Mr. Routine himself!"

"
G
OOD
afternoon, Miss Lambert."

Looking athletic in tee-shirt and slacks, Clay greeted her suavely. The smile was very white if a little hard.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Whitman." Politely Julie made the introductions, and Tamara, offering her hand, dropped a smile.

"We
have
met briefly. When you stepped in on Julie's initiation to North Africa."

"Ah yes. The Kitty Kola, wasn't it?" Clay held on to her hand.

"I can assure you the grass is still growing green and strong where you flung the fire-water ... a very mild concoction, I might add, of the genuine thing."

Clay nodded, flicking a smiling glance across the top of Julie's head. "Still, the inexperienced must sometimes be protected from even mild concoctions, wouldn't you say."

"Are we still talking about liquor?" Tamara's glance slid lazily down the length of him, and Julie intervened a little sharply,

"If you two don't mind I think I'll go and change." She turned towards the bathing cabins and Clay said briskly,

"I need some cigarettes. I'll walk with you." They walked for s
ome
moments in silence before Clay said, "I've been having a game of golf with Ted Warner."