The Desert Castle (30 page)

CHAPTER
XI

Marion was to remember that drive back to Amman and on to Gregory
’
s castle for as long as she lived. She was surprised to discover that Gregory was not driving the Land Cruiser as he usually did, but a brand
n
ew Mercedes that in normal circumstances would have made short work of any distance.

‘
I
’
d prefer to travel with Gaston and Lucasta,
’
she had said as they had sorted themselves out on the parking lot in front of the Rest House. She had gone on to mutter about pressures and, getting more flustered by the minute, that Lucasta was still only seventeen—

‘
Get in, Marion,
’
Gregory had ordered her with a touch of grimness that had set her heart working over-time again.

‘
But I don
’
t want to go in your car!
’

His patience had exploded into real anger.
‘
For heaven
’
s sake get in the car! You
’
ll have to manage without hiding behind Lucasta
’
s skirts sooner or later, and it can
’
t be soon enough for me!
’

She had looked at him from beneath her lashes, feeling gauche and insecure.
‘
I
’
m only trying to do my job,
’
she had declared.
‘
Lucasta is seeing far too much of Gaston, in my opinion.
’

‘
Indeed?
’
He had opened the front door of the car and
had gestured for her to get in, and truth to tell,
sh
e had been too frightened not to obey him.

‘
I
’
ll drip all over the seat!
’
she had warned him with gloomy satisfaction.

‘
Too bad,
’
he had answered. And he had got in beside her without another word, slamming the door behind him, and had driven off without so much as a backward glance to see what the others were doing.

Marion had taken refuge in silence. Half turning her
b
ack on him she had stared out of the window at the unrecognisable scenery outside and had given herself up to misery.

It had been Gaston who had told Gregory that Denise had been trying to get in touch with him.
‘
She sounds—distressed,
’
he had said delicately.
‘
She flew down to the Qasr el Biyara to be with you and she was frightened about what had happened to you when she found you were not there.
’

It had been impossible to tell what Gregory
’
s reaction to that had been, or so Marion had thought at the time. He had made a telephone call of his own, presumably to reassure Denise that he was on his way home, and had paid their bill at the desk despite her own and Gaston
’
s half-hearted objections. And then he had ordered her into his car with as much ceremony as if she had been a naughty child, and had paid no attention to her since, concentrating on the streaming road ahead of him.

What had Denise said to him? Something to bring
him
running back to her as though every moment saved on the way was a bonus to be gained with joy.

‘
You
’
re going too fast,
’
Marion told him, feeling the wheels slide beneath her.

If looks could
kill,
she would have fallen down dead on the spot.
‘
Do you want to drive
?
’
he asked her with commendable calm.

‘
No, but—
’

‘
Marion, do me a favour and don
’
t say it
!’

‘
The roads are wet,
’
she finished stubbornly. All right, what if she was stating the obvious? It was her life too he was dicing with if he left the road and crashed the car.

‘
So are you!
’
he retorted.
‘
The sooner I get you back and into some dry clothes the better. Put the heater on and it may warm you up a bit.
’

She did so, marvelling at the array of gadgets that the car possessed.
‘
What have you done with the Land Cruiser?
’
sh
e asked.

‘
I left it in Beirut. I can travel faster in this one, and I needed to travel fast last night
.
’

‘
Oh,
’
she said.

‘
Meaning?
’

She avoided meeting his eyes by the simple expedient of fiddling with the knobs on the dashboard.
‘
You must be tired, and I was wondering when you last had a meal. Shouldn
’
t we have stayed at the Rest House for lunch?
’

He navigated a tricky piece of road that was completely under water and stepped on the brake once or twice to make sure it had dried out
.

‘S
till not trusting me, Marion?
’

The last knob she touched turned on the radio and the car was filled with rhythmic w
hine
of one of
t
he latest Arab pop songs.

‘
Everyone has to eat,
’
she said.

‘
We
’
ll stop for something on the way,
’
he promised. He took his right hand off the wheel and took hers away from the dashboard, giving it a little squeeze as it trembled in his.
‘
You don
’
t have to worry. I shan
’
t crash you. Lean back and relax, and try to learn to trust me enough to see you safely home. Okay?
’

‘
Okay,
’
she agreed. Was she so lacking in trust? she wondered. If so, it was only because he was hurrying back to Denise as fast he could go. If
sh
e were loved by him, she would have trusted him with her whole world and everything in it, but she wasn
’
t the kind of girl who allowed herself to rely on someone else
’
s man. She had far too much pride for that!

The desert had taken on the appearance of a swamp. Here and there scrubby tussocks stuck up out of the water, bowing before the strength of the wind and the lashing rain. It was hard to believe that the day before it had been the perfect backdrop for a caravan of camels to pass that way. Now, what animals there were, the black goats and the white sheep, and the occasional herd of camels, looked lost and forlorn, as did the men
who looked after them as they sloshed their way along behind their beasts.

Marion wasn
’
t much better off. As the water drained out of her clothes she found she was sitting in a puddle and there was another one at her feet into which her trousers dripped leaving cold trickles down her legs. It would be at least three hours before they reached Amman and another hour after that. Perhaps Gregory had reason to want to cover the distance as quickly as he could.

She was almost asleep when Gregory pulled off the road and came to a stop outside a small caf
e
-cum
-
restaurant. She jerked herself upright and looked about her, surprised by his choice. It looked clean but very little else, and it was raining harder than ever.

‘
Must we get out here?
’
she pleaded with him.
‘
If you
’
re hungry, I don
’
t mind waiting in the car.
’

He pushed open the door.
‘
You
’
d better get out on this side,
’
he told her.
‘
There
’
s nothing but running mud on your side.
’

She forced her limbs to move, bracing herself against the wind and the rain.
‘
I
’
m cold!
’
she complained.

‘
I know you are,
’
he said with scant sympathy.
‘
You
’
re probably stiff after coming off your horse too. Will you have tea or coffee?
’

She chose to have tea, hoping that it would warm her. It came in a tall glass, without any milk, and she was only just in time to dissuade the man who had brought it from adding several spoonfuls of sugar. It was certainly hot. The first sip she took burned the back of her throat, but she didn
’
t mind at all. She could feel the warmth of it seeping through her and melting the ice that had formed about her heart.

‘
That
’
s better,
’
said Gregory.
‘
You
’
re losing that miserable waif-like look and are beginning to look more like yourself.
’

‘
Am I?
’
She raised a smile.
‘
I didn
’
t want to stop, but I
’
m glad we did. I find I
’
m quite hungry too.
’

‘
Good,
’
he said.

He left her at the table and wandered into the kitchen area, choosing a tomato here, an onion there, a few eggs for an omelette and a side-dish of ground up chick-peas with olive oil. He came back with several folded crepes of bread which he put down on the table beside her.

‘
A new kind of bread for you,
’
he smiled at her.
‘
Will you be able to manage without any cutlery?
’

‘
I
’
m getting quite good at it,
’
she claimed.

She was. When the food arrived, she tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the various dishes, taking a little bit of everything. But she was careful to see that he had the major share, for she thought he looked very tired. There were little lines round his eyes that had nothing to do with laughter and which had not been there before. Had Denise cut up rough and, if so, how dared she make him look like that?

‘
You might have known she
’
d be angry,
’
she said at last, watching him sop up the remains of the omelette with his bread.
‘
I know you were worried about us, and that I was in a state over Lucasta, but we would have sorted it out by ourselves in the end. It wasn
’
t worth making her angry.
’

He sat back in his chair, surveying her gravely through his fantastic lashes.
‘
You
’
ve never liked her, have you?
’

She blushed.
‘
That isn
’
t the point! I think she might have waited until you got back, but it isn
’
t any of my business if you allow her to run you ragged. It must be from choice, because you could buy and sell her any time you chose
!
’

‘
She has powerful friends,
’
he excused himself.

‘
Papa Da
in
? But you don
’
t need him, surely?
’

He looked amused.
‘
No, I don
’
t need him.
’

‘
Well then?
’
she prompted him.

‘
Denise
has other friends,
’
he told her,
‘
even if you refused the honour. I thought then that it might have
been because you were jealous of her. Are you?
’