The Desert Castle (12 page)

‘
No.
’

That hurt more than anything else had done. She tried telling herself that he had his deadline to meet and that he couldn
’
t possibly spare the time to
indulge
her childhood dreams. He was more than doing his duty by taking her to Madaba.

‘
I
’
ll talk to Lucasta about it,
’
sh
e said.

‘
You won
’
t make me change my mind,
’
he told her, his voice hard with the dislike she knew he felt for her.
‘
Petra has long been my dream too, and I won
’
t allow you to spoil it
.
You might persuade Denise to fly you down there.
’

‘
I don
’
t want to go with Denise,
’
she said childishly.
‘
If Lucasta doesn
’
t want to go, I won
’
t go at all
!
’

‘
Then I wish you luck in persuading her,
’
he told her. But it wasn
’
t luck he was wishing her. He was hoping that she would never get there, though she didn
’
t stop to ask herself why. The tears burned at the back of her eyes. She had made a
mis
take in wanting to be friends with him. He was the most hateful creature she had ever met!

‘
You can
’
t stop me going
!
’
she challenged him, sure that he would if he could.

‘
I could, but I won
’
t.
’

‘
Just because I
’
m staying at your castle, it doesn
’
t give you the right to say what I can and can
’
t do
!
’

‘
You
’
re staying at the castle as my employee,
’
he reminded her with crushing emphasis.
‘
Paying your fare out here and your salary for the next few weeks means that your time belongs to me while you
’
re here and I intend to get good value for my money. Now, for heaven
’
s sake, let
’
s talk about something else
!
’

He sounded tired and irritable and for the first time she wondered if his book was going badly. Of course he wasn
’
t paying her any salary,
Mrs.
Hartley was doing that, but the temptation to point this out
to him was lost in her new anxiety about his work.

‘
Is that why we
’
re going to Madaba
?
’
she hazarded.
‘
Is there something about it in your book
?
’

His smile was bleak.
‘
Not really, though Madaba is a Christian city.
The
descendants of the Crusaders were moved there from near Petra. The most famous of the mosaics is in the Greek Orthodox church there.
’

‘
But if it isn
’
t in your book—
’

‘
I wanted to see your face when you saw the mosaics,
’
he cut her off abruptly. He pointed through the windscreen across the barren ground all round them towards a small town that hugged the brow of a hill on the horizon, its steeples and minarets poking up above the houses.
‘
That
’
s Madaba,
’
he said.

CHAPTER
V

The church looked quite ordinary on the outside. There was a concrete path that led up to the door which appeared at first to open on to a staircase and not into the church at all. Marion, already self-conscious in case Gregory should be disappointed by her reaction to the mosaics, turned an embarrassed face towards him and shrugged her shoulders. He pushed another door open beside her and smiled sardonically down at her. She felt completely witless and rather resented that he should have that effect on her.

She lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘
Are you sure this is the right place?
’

‘
I
’
ve been here before,
’
he mocked her. He allowed the door to swing shut behind them and led her firmly up the main aisle of the church. The Christian guardian of the church came puffing along behind them, followed shortly afterwards by a sergeant in the tourist police.

‘
A
hlan
was-sahlan
,
’
the policeman said to Gregory.
‘
Welcome, madame.
’

‘
A
hl
an bekum
,
’
Gregory murmured. He shook hands with both men, responding to their many questions about his welfare with evident pleasure.
‘
The policeman is a Moslem,
’
he said in an aside to Marion.
‘
The two men are forever arguing as to whether they can expect to see each other in Paradise.
’

‘
It
’
s true,
’
the policeman agreed, and smiled admiringly at her. He had the most perfect teeth Marion had ever seen, even in Jordan where nearly everyone seemed to have better teeth than most.

‘
I don
’
t think anyone will be left out,
’
Marion smiled back at him.
‘
Not even we women.
’

He laughed at that.
‘
It would not be Paradise without you,
’
he agreed lightly.
‘
Mr
.
Gregory would want to come straight back to earth if that were so
!
’
He
turned warm, teasing eyes on the man beside her.
‘
It
’
s the first time he has brought a young lady with him here.
’

G
regory turned away the implied question with a quick remark in Arabic. Marion would have loved to know what he had said, but nobody offered to translate for her benefit, and only the sly interest with which the guardian looked at her told her that it had been something about herself.

T
he mosaics weren
’
t kept with any particular care. The guardian kicked aside the grubby coverings and handed a long wooden pointer to the policeman to help him give his exposition. He didn
’
t hesitate to walk on the ancient map that was revealed to their gaze himself, and he was amused and showed it when Marion refused to follow his example.

L
arge portions of the map had been lost over the centuries. Some of it had fallen victim to the rebuilding of the church, some of it had been to
rn
up to be used for something else. Only recently had the value of the mosaic been fully recognised not only because it was a thing of beauty in its own right, but because the Greek place-names had revealed the whereabouts of many places whose exact location had been long since forgotten.

T
he most famous portion was Herod
’
s Jerusalem, complete with the seven city gates and maze of tiny streets all faithfully reflected. Above it was the River Jordan, optimistically filled with fish which have certainly never seen the light of day in its saline waters, which led into the Dead Sea. There were Bethany, and Bethlehem; Calvary and the Mount of Olives; the Sinai Desert and even Cairo straddling the River Nile.

‘
Does it come up to your expectations?
’
Gregory asked her.

S
he squatted down on an island of concrete and examined the chips of stone with care, noting how they had been placed in position, here to make the leaves
of a palm-tree, there to form the letters of a place name.

‘
It
’
s fantastic,
’
she said.
‘
I wish it were complete.
’
Her joy in it was written clearly on her face and she had forgotten that she had meant to draw a decent veil over her emotions when Gregory was anywhere on the horizon. She laughed up at him, her mobile features alight with sheer delight
.
‘
Was it you who told my father about the mosaics here
?
’

‘
It may have been,
’
he admitted.
‘
It
’
s earlier than the period I
’
m interested in, of course.
’

S
he chuckled.
‘
It
’
s too late to pretend that yon haven
’
t very catholic interests, Gregory Randall
!
Oh, thank you for bringing me here
!
’

H
is smile wasn
’
t disapproving at all.
‘
I haven
’
t finished with you yet,
’
he said drily.
‘
There are some very creditable floor mosaics in the museum, but well have a cup of tea first at the Rest House.
’

‘
Isn
’
t it a pity to go inside
?
’
she
objected.

‘
We can sit in the garden if you like, but the sun will feel hotter by the Dead Sea. It
’
s always warm down there.
’

B
ut it seemed a shame to Marion to waste a moment of the sunshine. She was still at the stage of hoarding up the sunny hours as though there
might
not be any more on the morrow. It was warm now, but it was still winter and it had to rain sometimes, even in Jordan.

T
he man who ran the Rest House was plainly devout
.
He held his prayer-beads in one hand, feeding than through his fingers two at a time, even when he talked. He turned off the radio as soon as they came in,
humming
happily to
himself.

‘
If you wait a few minutes I
’
ll make you something to eat,
’
he almost pleaded with them. To have no more than a cup of tea was a slight on his hospitality. Surely they would wish to consume something more
than
that?

‘
I
’
d really like a fresh orange-juice,
’
Marion
smiled
at him.

The beads flashed through his fingers faster than ever.
‘
I will bring some
Kanafa
for you also,
’
he insisted.

M
arion looked enquiringly at Gregory.
‘
It
’
s a kind of cake, filled with white cheese and served with a hot syrup, and sometimes with nuts as well. It
’
s a speciality of Nablus. Khazim came originally from there. It
’
s delicious,
’
he added, nodding his consent to the man.
‘
You
’
ll like it.
’

M
arion did, as she had liked all the food which had come her way in the last week. She found it pleasant, too, to sit on a crumbling wall in the garden of the Rest House and wonder about the mosaic floor at her feet that was beginning to break up in the open air.

‘
This is better than working,
’
she
said
to Gregory. In that moment she wasn
’
t frightened of him at a
ll
. Indeed, his presence warmed her and made her feel at one with the whole world.

‘
Much better. Are you going to swim in the Dead Sea
?
’

S
he shook her head.
‘
I mig
h
t paddle to find out what it
’
s like.
’

‘
Are you always so cautious?
’

S
he laughed.
‘
I like to keep well within my depth,
’
she confessed.
‘
But I don
’
t mind if you want to swim.
’

‘
You can
’
t sink in the Dead Sea,
’
he comforted her.
‘
I wouldn
’
t let you drown in any circumstances, but you don
’
t have to worry in water that
’
s twenty-five per cent saline.
’

S
he gave him a curious glance, wondering if it were only the Dead Sea he was talking about
‘
It
’
s easy for you to talk,
’
she said.
‘
It would have to be pretty deep for you to get out of your depth
!
’

‘
You might enjoy the excitement of coming out to my level
?
’
he suggested, smiling.

B
ut she was less than convinced.
‘
I
’
ll think about it,
’
she offered.

‘
Do that,
’
he agreed.
‘
You may surprise yourself.
’

S
he pondered about what he had meant by that all the time they were looking at the mosaics in the museum. The authorities had taken over three houses that, until quite recently, had had ordinary
families
living in them, and had done their best to preserve the delightful mosaics that they had inherited from their ancestors of many centuries before. One had to step down to get inside the houses. It was a reminder that Madaba was built on a hill that had been formed by previous townships that had gone before. It had been mentioned in the Book of Numbers, and who knew what its history had been before that?

S
he pondered, but she didn
’
t come to any firm conclusion. Not even when they left the museum and went back to the car. Perhaps, she thought, he tried to make his mark with every girl he met, and most of them, she had no doubt, encouraged him with everything they had. If she had thought there was any future in it, she might have been tempted herself. But she knew her limitations. Men like Gregory Randall didn
’
t, in her experience, interest themselves for long in girls who were five foot nothing in their stockinged feet, and the pain of parting would be all on her side, for her defences against him were already tumbling into dust, whereas he had hardly noticed the collision that had caused the damage. It was frightening to
think
a kiss could be no more than a kiss, or it could be a catalyst after which nothing would ever be quite the same.

H
e put his head very close to hers.
‘
Shu fee
?
’
he said in such warm, sympathetic tones that she was quite undone.

‘
What? What did you say?
’

‘
What
’
s the matter? You look as though you have the cares of the whole world on your shoulders.
’

‘
Do I? I was thinking.
’
But she wasn
’
t going to tell him what she had been thinking.
‘
I was wondering how my mother was getting along.
’

‘
I don
’
t think you need worry about her. She has
courage, and the ability to make the best of things wherever she is.
’

M
arion put her head on one side, conjuring up a mental picture of her mother.
‘
Why did you make her go and stay in your house in Devon
?
’
she asked.

H
e looked amused.
‘
I thought the change would do her good. You were lucky in your parents, Marion Shirley.
’

‘
Yes, wasn
’
t I
?
’
she said immediately.
‘
I
’
m glad you like her,
’
she added. Her eyes brimmed over with sudden mirth.
‘
She thinks you
’
re dishy too
!
’

‘
And what does her daughter think
?
’

T
he laughter sobered into fright, a panic that whirled round her ears and left her feeling weak inside and not quite herself.
‘
I don
’
t know you well enough to say,
’
she said.

‘
That
’
s not what your mother told me
?
’

S
he turned questioning eyes to his.
‘
What did
she
say
?
’

‘
That you didn
’
t like me,
’
he said shortly.
‘
Isn
’
t that what you told her
?
’

‘
I
told her you didn
’
t like me. I couldn
’
t remember anyone having disliked me before.
’
Oh dear, s
he thought, now he would think
she
was conceited as well
‘
They may not have liked me much,
’
she
hurried on,
‘
but they didn
’
t actually dislike me, so that I could feel it when they looked at me. But I told her you
w
ere handsome too.
’
she ended up to sweeten the
p
ill.

‘
P
eople must have felt strongly about you before,
’
he remarked with a mildness that betrayed his la
ck
of interest.