The Desert Castle (21 page)

Gaston
’
s car was a huge American Dodge. The cavernous boot swallowed up their few bits of luggage and Marion, with the whole of the back seat to herself, could have lain down full length with the greatest of ease. She wouldn
’
t even have had to cheat by bending h
er
knees.

‘
Did you buy it here
?
’
she marvelled.

‘
I
bought it from a fellow on the site. He brought it over from the States with him. It
’
s just the job for getting about on these long, straight roads, but no good for your English lanes.
’
He nodded wisely.
‘
When I was in an English school in Kent I learned all about your narrow roads. We fell in a ditch and it took us the rest of the night to get ourselves out. Me, I thought we would be sent back to France, but my landlady never told the school I had been out all night. She told me she liked to be known as a brick—Why do you laugh
?
’
he asked Lucasta, offended.

‘
I love you,
’
she
said.

‘
You must learn to say it in French,
’
he encouraged her.
‘
Je t’aime
—
’

Marion stopped listening to them, realising incredulously that they had forgotten all about her. She turned her attention to the road, wishing that Gregory were there to tell her about the desert. Nothing was quite as interesting when he wasn
’
t there, but she wouldn
’
t let it matter to her. She had managed quite well without him before he had gate
-
crashed her evening class, and she would manage perfectly well without him in the
future.

They followed the same road as the one to Madaba until it divided into the ancient King
’
s Highway, the way the caravans of old had taken, and the
modern
Desert Highway that now meant one could drive all the way from Amman to Aqaba in a matter of a few hours.

‘
We must go the short way,
’
Gaston told them.
‘
If we went the old way it would be dark before we arrived at Petra.
’

The two girls were quite content to leave all such decisions to him. Lucasta didn
’
t mind where she was going as long as
she
was with him, and Marion was happy that her childhood
’
s dream was coming true and
she
was on her way to Petra.

It was hard to tell exactly where the desert began. There were odd patches of agriculture beside the road quite a long way south of Amman and, even after the soil had become too barren to support any crops, there were st
ill cl
umps of green to be seen, as surprising to Marion as were the
modern
, straight-lined Government-sponsored villages that had been built in the middle of nowhere.
The
box-like houses had an unfinished look as the metal cords that strengthened the concrete pillars had been left sticking out at the top of most of the dwellings. Some of the buildings were painted and some were not
.
A strident greeny-blue was a favourite colour, and it did look better under a hot sun than it would have done in
the
cooler
cl
ime of Britain. Colour was obviously more important in the monochrome world of the Moab desert
.

Gaston turned his head, still keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.
‘
We are turning off for you to see one of the old Crusader castles,
’
he told Marion.
‘
Mr
.
Randall said you wished to see one.
’

‘
He
’
s writing a book about the times of the Crusades,
’
she answered, as if that explained her interest in itself.

‘
This one was captured by Saladin.
’

‘
How
?
’
Lucasta asked.
‘
It must have taken a lot of courage
to besiege a castle sitting up on an impreg
nable hill.’

‘
H
e bombed it with large stones and it fell down,
’
Gaston grinned at her.
‘
He bombed it with giant
-
sized catapults.
’

When they came to the castle, they could see that the Saracen leader had made a good job of destroying small oasis where people still lived and fa
rm
ed their the fortress. The castle had been built high above a little plots of land. The walls were crumbled rubble and few of the rooms had a roof over them.

Gaston drove right up to it and hastened his
passengers out to walk round what was left of the Christian fortress. It was hard work climbing up to the battlements, but the view from the top was more than worth it After the Saracens had taken the castle, they must have used it themselves for a while, for there were traces of the church having been transformed into a mosque with a
mi
hrab,
the niche in the wall that points out the direction of Mecca, hollowed out of the already insecure stones.

Lucasta sat on a handy rock and supported her
chin
in her hand.

‘
Tired
?
’
Marion asked her.

She shook her head, patting another f
l
at-topped rock beside her.
‘
No, I was thinking, that
’
s all
.
To tell you the truth I was wishing Gregory had come with us instead of going to Beirut
.
Denise looked like the cat who
’
s swallowed the cream, and he—well, he looked kind of sad. I wish he was here with us
!
’

Marion sat down heavily beside her. Oh my,
she
thought, but
she
could say that again! And how! But she was learning the hard way that it didn
’
t do to indulge her dreams.

CHAPTER VIII

They arrived at Petra in time for a late lunch. The road went through the
small
township of Wadi Moussa, one of the more likely sites where Moses was supposed to have struck the rock with his staff and started a spring of water at which the local people have quenched their thirst ever since.

The Rest House was backed against a cliff, the bedrooms out to one side, grouped above one another and reached by a series of staircases and verandahs.

‘
I hope they haven
’
t put you too far away,
’
Lucasta said to Gaston.
‘
I
’
m glad I haven
’
t got to have a room on my own.
’

‘
What could possibly happen to you here
?
’
Gaston retorted.

‘
I don
’
t know—but something might
!’

‘
The trouble with you is that you have too much imagination. It
’
s a good thing Marion doesn
’
t panic easily. You
’
d both have a terrible night if she did
!
’

Lucasta made a face at him and watched him load himself up with their luggage without making any move to help him. It was left to Marion to gather up the bits and pieces and to lead the way along the path to the
main
building. Trees had been planted round the Rest House to make it cooler in summer and the sharp smell of eucalyptus followed them through the swing doors into the reception area and lounge.

A jovial-looking man came slowly across the dim interior and took up
his
position behind the desk. He checked their passports with infinite care, had them sign their names
in
the visitors
’
book, and allotted them their rooms, snapping his fingers for a young man dressed in clothes several sizes too big to take them up to their rooms.

‘
Your lunch will be ready for you when you come
downstairs,
’
he told them heartily.
‘
In twenty minutes will be convenient for a very nice lunch
!
’

To Lucasta
’
s relief, their two rooms had adjoining doors and she had only to knock on the wall for Gaston to knock back. This arrangement suited her very well and
she
began at once to work out a complicated code that would tell him if she was warm and comfortable, if she needed his help to light the Calor gas
that
heated the bath-water, or
if
he was needed urgently because of some as yet unspecified emergency.

‘
Is this going on all night
?’
he asked wearily from their open door.
‘
Marion and I will want to deep,
cherie
,
not play at Morse code
!
’

‘
Oh, but, Gaston, I only wanted to make sure
that
you
’
d come if we needed you.
’

He grinned at her, his annoyance
changing
to warm affection.
‘
I
shall always come,
’
he assured her.
‘
I’ll
teach you a proper code this afternoon and then you can be sure that I
’
ll understand what it is you are wanting.
’

Lucasta
’
s face lit up.
‘
You know what
I’
m wanting,
’
she smiled back at him.
‘
I
’
d tell you, only I don
’
t want to shock Marion. I wish—
’

Marion stopped taking her nightdress out of her bag and gave the younger girl a meaning look.
‘
You can go on wishing
!
’
she warned her.

‘I kn
ow,
’
Lucasta sighed.
‘
I
’
m only seventeen
!’

‘
Sweet seventeen
!
’
Gaston mocked her.
‘
You cannot say you have never been kissed,
ma
mie
.
Be content with that and be a good girl. It is not very old, and now that I have found you, I shall not easily let you go.
’

‘
You haven
’
t met my parents,
’
Lucasta said bitterly.

‘
There is time for that too,
’
he comforted her. He looked completely confident that he would come out of any such meeting unscathed. To Lucasta, who had seldom won any of the brushes
she
had had with her mother in the past, it was a toss-up as to whether she
thought him more brave or foolhardy.
‘
You may change your mind,
’
he added, his young face tightening at the thought.
‘
We have to allow for that.
’

Lucasta shook her head.
‘
Gregory says I
’
m like him in that I never change my mind. I
’
ll wait until I
’
m eighteen, because you say I must, but I shan
’
t wait a minute longer than that
!
’

Marion believed her. She rather hoped that Lucasta would not be in her charge when she turned eighteen and achieved her majority. Gregory might dismiss her anxieties about the younger girl as being of no account, but Marion thought she was right to be worried. Lucasta had never had to control her emotions before and she showed few signs of wanting to control them now. Perhaps a few words of warning as to how difficult she was making things for Gaston might be in order, but it was more probable that Lucasta would only be delighted in her new powers over the young Frenchman. She didn
’
t mean to be cruel, but at seventeen she was still very, very young and not entirely responsible.

Marion took her opportunity when she walked down the steps with Gaston, leaving Lucasta to put the finishing touches to her appearance.

‘
Nobody has ever said no to her,
’
she told him.
‘
She was left alone in that house in London with only the servants to look after her. She doesn
’
t realise what she
’
s doing.
’