The Desert Castle (10 page)

‘
But there is something there
?
’
He hesitated.
‘
I can
’
t see Denise ever taking anything from you that you really want. She is a girl who has few friends amongst her own sex. Won
’
t you befriend her
?
’

‘
It takes two to make a friendship,
’
Marion reminded him tartly. She knew one thing Denise would take if she could and that was Gregory Randall, and he must be blind if he couldn
’
t see it
!’
Why don
’
t you ask Denise why she doesn
’
t like me
?
’
she added. He ought to know the answer to that too, she thought. Denise would never like any female who was living under the same roof as Gregory because as far as she was concerned life for women was a competition with man as the prize for the winners, and she couldn
’
t conceive that everyone else didn
’
t share her attitude.

‘
She
’
s afraid of you,
’
Gregory answered.
‘
She thinks you
’
re beautiful and clever, and that you haven
’
t got time for ordinary people like her.
’

M
arion could imagine her saying that. The impertinence of it might have amused her at another time, but not today. She knew then that Denise was her enemy, and she couldn
’
t remember ever having had an enemy before.

‘
She should talk to Lucasta,
’
she said wryly.

‘
She hasn
’
t Lucasta
’
s confidence, or yours either,
’
Gregory sighed.
‘
For all her father wraps her in cottonwool, she
’
s a very vulnerable person.
’

M
arion lifted an eyebrow.
‘
Sensitive,
’
she shrugged.

H
e ignored her obvious mockery.
‘
More young and defenceless. It would be easy to hurt her.
’

M
arion could only marvel at the blindness of men. In her book, Denise was neither young nor defenceless; she was as tough as old leather and in no need of anyone
’
s care and protection. Still, it was easy to see Gregory had swallowed the bait she had cast in his direction, hook, line and sinker. The only thing Marion couldn
’
t understand was why she should feel hurt on his behalf. She had no reason to suppose he deserved better treatment than he was likely to get at Denise
’
s grasping, possessive hands. Had he worried about Judith
’
s feelings back in London?

‘
Where is she now
?
’
Marion asked him.

‘
I persuaded her to go off with Lucasta and Gaston. The three-day week-end wreaks havoc with my work schedule.
’

M
arion gurgled with delighted laughter. Denise couldn
’
t come as high up on his list of priorities as she had thought if his work still came first with him!

‘
What
’
s funny about that
?
’
he demanded.

S
he shook her head at him, breaking into laughter all over again.
‘
Is the book going well
?
’
she asked in a trembling voice.

‘
No, it
’
s not! I came here to get away from people, not to have to entertain half the world every weekend
!
’

‘
My mother,
’
Marion told him gently,
‘
always says it
’
s a mistake to try to escape from the demands of other people. They
’
re more important than our own interests—most of the time.
’

H
is mouth clapped shut into its familiar disapproving line.
‘
Easy to say when you haven
’
t a deadline to meet,
’
he growled.
‘
Are you trying to tell me that I ought to give in to Denise
’
s demands
?
’

S
he couldn
’
t bring herself to recommend any such thing.
‘
Only you can answer that,
’
she managed to say.
‘
I
don
’
t know what her demands are
!
’

‘
And that makes a difference? Wha
t
about your own demands
?
’

T
hat shocked the colour out of her cheeks.
‘
What makes you think I would make any
?
’
she retorted.
‘
I
don
’
t want anything from you Mr
.
Randall.
’

T
he steely glint in his eyes disturbed her.
‘
Your very presence here makes demands
!
’
His expression relaxed into a smile of unusual warmth.
‘
It makes me think of all the other things there are to do besides shutting myself up and working.
’
He leaned back in his chair, watching the mobile features of her face as they reflected her uncertainty and the defensive reaction to his words.
‘
Have you ever heard of the mosaics of Mad
aba?
’

S
he nodded, because she had vaguely known that there was a sixth-century mosaic map of Palestine somewhere in Jordan. Her father had spoken of it warmly, she remembered, when he recommended that if she was interested in fine mosaics the best place to see the very finest was in the Bardo Museum in Tunis.
‘
Except for the Church of St
.
Saviour in Chora, in Istanbul.
’
he had added.
‘
But that is something else and not to be compared with what we usually mean by mosaic work.
’

‘
Doesn
’
t it depict Old Jerusalem
?
’
she said now.

H
e gave a wry smile.
‘
If you can spare the time, would you like to go and see it this afternoon? We could go on to the Dead Sea afterwards.
’

‘
Could we
?
’
she hesitated.
‘
Shouldn
’
t we go tomorrow when the others can come too
?
’

‘
And listen to Gaston whispering sweet nothings in Lucasta
’
s ear
?
’

H
er eyes opened wide.
‘
Oh dear, I do hope not. Should I speak to her, do you think
?
’

‘
What about
?
’

M
arion stumbled, not knowing how to put it.
‘
Would
Mrs.
Hartley consider Gaston a suitable friend for Lucasta? She
is
only seventeen.
’

‘
Quit worrying, Marion. You
’
ll only make a fool of yourself if you try to put Lucasta on a leading-rein. Do you want to come with me this afternoon or not
?
’

‘
Yes,
’
she said.

S
he had forgotten that he had said he was coming
to
see the results of her morning
’
s work after lunch and she couldn
’
t think why he followed her down the long corridor that led
to
her room.
A
light remark might have relieved the atmosphere, but she couldn
’
t make her brain think
of
anything
except
the way he towered over her as he
walked
beside a
nd to
wish for the
millionth
time since
she
had grown up that she
were tall
and dignified, and
didn
’
t
have to skip along
beside him, employing three steps for
every
two of his.

W
hen she opened the door her eyes went straight to the little
houri
she had treated. Her timidity was as familiar as if it were her own.

‘
What made you begin with her
?
’
Gregory asked, moving in close to look at the little figure the better.

‘
She appeals to me,
’
Marion confessed.
‘
I felt as though I knew her as soon as I saw her.
’

G
regory looked amused.
‘
That
’
s hardly surprising,
’
he said drily.
‘
She
’
s a favourite of mine too.
’

M
arion picked up a brush and touched the
hour
i
’
s
robe with a loving hand.
‘
None of those soldiers are going to get her! They
’
ll have to make do with a
ll
the others
!
’

H
e laughed. He was closer to her than she had thought and she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She put the brush down hastily, self-conscious in a way she had never been before. It was fortunate that he didn
’
t want to watch her work, she thought. She
’
d be too nervous to do a thing!

‘
Funny you should say that,
’
he said.
‘
When I first came to see this place I noticed her at once. It
’
s a good thing she
’
s shy, I thought to myself, because that one has to wait for me! Most certainly, those brutish soldiers are not going to have her
!
’

‘
You
’
re much less brutish, of course,
’
Marion murmured with a smile. It was quite a thought to think of Gregory Randall making love to anyone as timid as— the little
houri,
for example. Indeed, she wished the thought had not occurred to her at all, for she had been much better off without it. Yet she couldn
’
t help remembering how warm and firm his lips had been against hers at the airport and she felt a gust of feeling within her that was as real as a body-blow to her solar plexus.

‘
P
erhaps not in intention,
’
he said with a mocking amusement that made her hope earnestly that he couldn
’
t read her mind.
‘
She looks very kissable to me.
’

‘
No better than any other pin-up, in fact,
’
Marion
said, disappointed in him.
‘
I think she
’
d be better off with an appreciative soldier, who
’
d see her as a person, not a sex symbol.
’

‘
She might like being kissed,
’
he objected.
‘
Don
’
t
you?
’

H
er
experience was much more limited than she wanted to admit, especially as kisses were considered such common currency nowadays. She pinned a smile to her lips.