Rose of the Desert (18 page)

A car chauffeured by a tall Sudanese was waiting at the airport, and as they sped through the streets of Khartoum, Julie was aware of the roar of traffic, bright lights, and policemen. It might have been the heart of London but for the dark skins and occasional glimpses of the giant banyan trees. The hotel was surrounded by lawns and looked out on to the river, and from her room Clay pointed to a steamer in the distance.

"I thought the river would be the coolest way to travel through to Marubo. The rest, about forty miles, we'll have to do by road."

Julie dabbed at a bead of perspiration on her temple, and pointed to a white wedding cake of a building in the distance.

"It looks like some kind of palace."

"Good guess." Clay smiled down at her. "Would you like to go and see it? It's all right," as her gaze turned towards the children's room, "there's a Nanny with an Indian child in the next room to mine. She's promised to look in from time to time." He went to the door. "I'll see you in the foyer, as soon as you're ready."

Refreshed after a bath and a change of attire, Julie made her way down stairs. It seemed as though she had known Clay all her life, and yet this was the first time he had ever asked her to go out with him. Did he wish this was Tamara here with him now? Was he still hoping to establish a deeper relationship with the American woman when he got back to Tripoli.

Deep in her own thoughts, Julie moved with unconscious grace across the foyer, unaware that Clay's eyes were upon her. Her lilac chiffon dress, with the low halter neckline and billowing skirt, fluttered slightly under the whirr of the fans, a coil of flaxen hair swung forward over one shoulder. She was rather startled to see Clay step from behind the pillar. He took her elbow, saying rather brusquely,

"Shall we go?"

She noticed the wide bronzed neck under the open silk shirt, and the immaculate slacks, before being led out into the warm night air.

The palace was floodlit and the guards magnificent in their white uniforms. Julie gazed long and untiring at the scene, wishing she had a camera to record it all. Later they walked down an avenue where banyan trees met overhead to form an archway and past a bridge that led to the river. Clay led her to a softly lit garden where a scattering of people, mostly tourists, talked desultorily above the Sudanese music.

Clay ordered drinks, and turned to her with
a
suave smile.

"Any comments on your night in the Sudan?"

Julie lay back dreamily, the blue eyes aglow.

"None at all. I'm quite, quite speechless!"

With a wry smile he handed her a cigarette,

"You make me feel aware of my years. I can't remember my reactions at seeing these places for the first time."

She gave him a disbelieving look.

"I'd like to bet you were just as thrilled as I am now, but you would never admit it."

"No doubt, no doubt." He grinned and Julie saw the gleam of his teeth as he snicked out the lighter, and lay back to gaze at the stars. A few minutes later he got to his feet and murmured lazily,

"Let's go and test our reaction to the moonlight on the River Nile." Dryly he added, "I'm with you in this. It's the first time for me too."

With fluttering heart Julie allowed him to guide her along a rough path to the shore, trying all the time to ascertain his mood. He seemed genial but thoughtful, casual yet... determined. She wasn't sure if that was a mocking smile playing around the hard mouth, or ...

At the sight of the river she forgot everything. A gleaming silver ribbon, it snaked and misted away into the darkness like a pathway to Shangri-la. She gazed at the widest stretch, seeing it move swiftly but silently through the night…

"Romantic, isn't it... or are my reactions different from yours?"

Momentarily she had forgotten Clay's nearness, but when he spoke she had never been more conscious of the powerful set of the shoulders, the magnetism of his smile.

"It... it's beautiful." she hedged, not really seeing anything now but the dark face above hers.

"Romantic and beautiful." He glinted down at her. "With only the two words between us, let's just say it defies description, shall we ?"

Like a drowning woman Julie felt an urgent need to clutch at anything that would save her. In this case, conversation.

"I... never saw anything like it in Tripoli..."

"Tripoli?" With an almost inaudible sigh he added, "I'd forgotten it existed."

"Tamara got the job at the air base. She was very pleased. She came to see me before she went ..." Julie prattled, feeling the air less breathable with every second. "She wanted the job awfully badly."

"I know. Though I don't see why she and the Major- just didn't get hitched, but she's a careful girl, is our Tamara.

"So you knew about the Major?"

He slanted her a grin. "Tamara asked my advice."

"And what did you tell her?" Julie asked, feeling the suffocation creeping in again.

"I told her ..." Clay's eyes bore into hers with calm intensity, "to grab the guy while she had the chance." She attempted a smile, but that look was so soul-searing she had to turn her face away.

So Clay knew about Tamara's love life, and was apparently unmoved by it!

For the first time since the death of Lynn and Steve, Julie was able to probe beneath the dull ache and find the words that Clay had uttered to her that evening.

Life goes on ... and we will have to start thinking about ours.

Could he have meant?... dare she hope?... Supposing it had never been Tamara? Supposing there had never been anyone else but...

As the realisation hit her she swayed a little, unaware that she had whispered his name aloud ... the blue eyes were liquid as she turned them up to his.

The brown eyes as though waiting suddenly snapped fire. Hoarsely Clay swept her into his arms, burying his lips in her hair. "Julie my dear ... my darling ... let me hold you just once ..."

She felt the hardness of his body as his mouth found hers, and from then on nothing seemed to matter except the kisses which he drained from her as though he would never take his fill.

The world spun by, and she thought of love, its devouring intensity, its rapture… Had Steve and Lynn once felt like this? The thought of their children sleeping alone in a strange hotel made her push gently at the hard chest.

"Clay," she asked a little shakily, "do you think the Mayhews will take to Janet and Mark?"

He watched her face intently. "Are you reminding me of a job still to do?" and then with a frustrated brush of a hand through his hair he sighed heavily. "You're right, of course. The children must come first."

With an arm about her shoulders he led her back towards the hotel.

The steamer that was to carry them to the nearest point to the borders of Marubo was called the
Djirjaj
after a village along the Nile. It was a sizeable craft with blunt ends, and the paddle that propelled it was at the stern. Julie noticed with surprised pleasure the very high standard of the first-class cabins. As an Arab dropped the suitcases, she saw a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a wash basin, electric fans and a bed for herself and bunks for the children. She found they could walk straight out on to a deck hung with mosquito-proof netting. This offered a wonderful view of the river ahead, and also life in the third and fourth-class quarters below. Here was a colourful scene of Arabs and Negroes sprawled on the iron decks amongst their various sheep, goats and hens.

It came as a slight shock later to learn that most of the livestock was food for the journey. The natives skinned and cooked along the way and the animals grew more and more depleted.

For all its size and modern appearance the
Djirjaj
didn't make very fast progress. Clay estimated its speed at about four knots. Julie didn't mind. She was convinced this was the way to travel in the heat of Africa. There was no dust, no lurching motion, no noise except the rhythmic beat of the engines, and the gentle swish of water against the side of the boat. Also, unlike the monotony of sea travel— which Julie had never actually experienced but could appreciate—the river banks were a constant source of interest.

She was able to take her fill for the next couple of hours, for after much trotting and jumping from one end of the deck to the other Janet and Mark had flopped thankfully into their bunks. Clay worked in his cabin over endless forms and documents concerning the children and their journey.

Julie saw the parched soil and skeletal plants gradually give way to green savanna, and then a sprinkling of trees that reminded her of an English parkland. Whenever the boat passed a village, conical roofs of the huts were visible^ and an occasional spindly-legged Negro standing at the water's edge. Where the gleaming coins of sunlight were showered on the water, she kept a sharp lookout for crocodiles and hippopotamus. Clay had told her they frequented these waters. She wasn't particularly disappointed at not seeing any.

Towards evening Mark developed a temperature. He refused his food and dozed fitfully in his bunk, crying at intervals. He hadn't settled down when Julie was almost ready to go to bed, and not liking the look of the fiery red cheeks, she went for Clay.

He had to bend his great height to the lower bunk and after looking Mark over and coaxing him to swallow something from a glass he stretched up with a drawn smile.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about. Just that he's a bit young to be making this kind of trip. I've given him something to cool him down and probably by morning he'll have slept it off."

As they stepped out into the night, the air was weighted down with heat. The sky was red and the river glowed like molten metal. Julie watched the fireflies dance beneath the acacia trees that lined the shore, her eyes troubled.

"What's wrong?" Clay eyed her.

"I was thinking ... what if the climate doesn't suit the children? Heat like this could ruin their health. Already it's . . ."

"Stop stretching your nerves over them, or you'll end up the same way as Mark." He added in less stern tones, "I'm told that the area of Marubo is the nearest one can get to the English climate. Don't forget it's in the mountains. You. can't judge anything by this lot ... this is pure Sudanese heat and it's likely to stay with us for some time yet, at least until we get away from the river." He gave her an encouraging smile and went back to his cabin.

As Clay prophesied, Mark was his old self the next morning. In fact he and Janet were unusually energetic and Julie had a hard time of it curbing their enthusiasm for games that covered the whole length of deck. Perspiring freely, she finally got them interested in watching a game of chequers being played on a large colourful board by two Arabs down below. After their mid-day meal they tumbled into their bunks, exhausted from the heat, and Julie was able to wash and change and take her place at the rail.

They had stopped at a village and Julie liked to watch the commotion of passengers coming and going. A group of warriors joined the motley crowd embarking, their spears held high glistened in the hot sun. When all was clear, a blind ill-looking man was carried up the gangplank on a stretcher, and the very last man to come aboard was a tall imposing figure with white silk caught at one shoulder in a gold clip, and a coloured strap stuck with feathers around his black forehead. He must have been some kind of chieftain, for he was led with great reverence to a first-class cabin.

These had been slowly filling up along the way, and now in addition to the new arrival they held a family of Indians travelling through to Uganda, a Sudan river agent journeying to take up a new post, and a missionary and his family, with whom Julie had had several interesting conversations since they boarded. They were due to leave the steamer at the next stop and travel overland to some remote missionary station at the mouth of the river.

By the fourth day the crowd down below had thinned out considerably at stops along the way, and the rest had taken to fishing to pass the time. Clay leaned nonchalantly over the rail beside Julie, giving a detailed description of each species, while Janet and Mark watched fascinated through the mesh of the rails at the strange fish being brought in.

"That's a Nile perch, similar to the salmon in flavour ... he'll have to watch that one, it's an electric catfish and packs a powerful electric shock." The owner of the line hastily cast this back into the water. "Balloon fish over there ..." Several of these flopped about on the deck and blew themselves up into hideous-looking footballs.

That afternoon the steamer arrived at Annaya, the nearest point to Marubo, which was seventy miles away. Clay swung down the gangplank with Mark in his arms and Julie followed holding Janet's hand. The luggage was trundled noisily in the rear.

Facing the quay was a mosque built out of multi-coloured stones, and ahead a street of open-fronted stalls were loaded with groceries and provisions. A young Sudanese in a neat suit stepped out from the bustle and pumped Clay's hand vigorously. He flashed a smile towards Julie.

"Glad you got my message, Habib," Clay was saying.

The young man gave a pleased nod, and led them to a sturdy-looking vehicle with a tropical roof, and large Dun- lopillo seats in the back. Clay opened the rear door and dropped Mark in with a smile.

"Sit tight, old son, we're almost there."

He helped Julie in and swung Janet in beside her, while Habib stored the luggage in the back. After perusing a map that the young man had produced, Clay slid behind the wheel and pressed the accelerator.

"Two hours should do it... three at the most," he said buoyantly over his shoulder. "Habib tells me it's a good road for most of the way ... there's a customs house just this side of the border, after that it's plain sailing."

He swung away from the quay, saluting the waving Sudanese. Ahead was a backcloth of blue and violet mountains and already the car was climbing. With every mile the air grew fresher, and the children must have noticed an end to the enervating heat, for they perched on the edge of their seats and chatted happily about inconsequential things. Julie too noticed a lightness about things and found herself singing snatches of song beneath the hum of the engine.