Читать книгу Castles Of Sand - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

ASHLEY’S elation lasted only so long as it took for Alain to get in the car that was waiting for him, and drive away. As the long black limousine bearing the coat of arms of Prince Ahmed of Khadesh disappeared round a bend in the road, she realised she had no idea where Alain was staying. He had gone, albeit promising to contact her again in twenty-four hours, but if he did not, if he chose to ignore her demands and leave the country, she had no way of stopping him.

Frustration engulfed her, and she sank down on to the couch with a little sound of helplessness. She had been a fool, a stupid fool, and even now Alain was probably exulting over the simple way he had thwarted her. But she had been so excited at the prospect of seeing her son again, of getting to know him, and of having him get to know her, she had not considered the inevitable flaws in her reasoning. She should have known she could not succeed so easily. She should have suspected something was wrong when Alain did not waste time arguing with her.

Getting up from the couch again, she walked restlessly across the room. What should she do? What could she do? And if Alain chose to walk out on her, how was she ever to see Andrew again? Apart from anything else, she was still employed by the governors of the school, and it would be foolish to resign her position there if she had no other employment.

She pushed her fingers into her hair, holding them there as she acknowledged the hopelessness of her position. If only she had not gone into school that morning, she thought despairingly. If Alain had withdrawn Andrew’s name, she might never have known anything about it, and her life would not now be suffering the turmoil she was presently experiencing.

A tap at her door brought her round with a start, and almost tripping over herself she rushed to open it. A small, dumpy little woman, wrapped in a dressing gown and wearing carpet slippers, her hair coiled around a series of rollers, stood on the threshold, and Ashley expelled her breath unsteadily as her neighbour began to speak.

‘Did you want me, love?’ the little woman asked anxiously. ‘I was in the bath, but I thought I heard you shouting, and I came round as quickly as I could.’

‘Oh, Mrs Forrest.’ Ashley caught her lower lip between her teeth, feeling ashamed that she had disturbed her. ‘Er—no. No, I wasn’t trying to attract your attention. I—I had a visitor. What you heard was—was probably him going.’ She crossed her fingers.

‘Ah!’ Mrs Forrest nodded. ‘That would be it, I suppose.’ She smiled, patting her rollered head. ‘I must look quite a state.’ She chuckled. ‘And there was me thinking you’d been attacked!’

Ashley coloured. ‘I’m very grateful,’ she said, almost glad of the diversion. ‘Thank you.’

Mrs Forrest had turned away, but she glanced back now over her shoulder. ‘For what, dear?’

Ashley shrugged, a little awkwardly. ‘Well—for being there.’ She hunched her shoulders, pushing her hands into the pockets of her pants. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Mrs Forrest disappeared back into her flat with a wave of her hand, and with a sigh Ashley closed her door again, leaning back against it with a feeling of intense disillusionment. It had all gone wrong, hopelessly wrong, and her only consolation was the realisation that she had provoked Alain. He had not been able to deny his desire for her body, and although this was small comfort when he had been capable of walking away from her, given the same circumstances, she might be able to repeat her success. She squashed the uneasy recollection that she had been as. aroused by his lovemaking as he was. It was a sexual response, nothing more. Any woman, kissed by a man as virile and attractive as Alain Gauthier, would find it extremely difficult to keep a cool head in such circumstances, and in her case, the memories of the past kept intruding. Once she had succeeded in exorcising those painful images she would be able to control her own destiny again. She had loved him in those days. She did not love him now. But she would use him, in any way she could, if it meant she could be near her son.

Shaking her head, she moved away from the door. Was she really so determined about this? she asked herself with sudden uncertainty. Why, after all these years, was she even considering such a course of action? The answer was simple. It was as she had always known it would be. So long as her son was unknown to her, so long as she had no image of him in her mind, she could pretend he didn’t exist. But now she had seen him, he had smiled at her; and she would move heaven and earth to be near him again.

She was still trying to formulate some plan of action when the telephone rang. Picking up the receiver, she wondered if Alain was ringing to taunt her with her helplessness, but it was Malcolm Henley at the other end of the line.

‘Ashley? My dear, I just thought I’d tell you, your resignation will not be necessary.’

Ashley moistened her lips. ‘It won’t?’

‘No.’ Malcolm sounded pleased. ‘I’ve just had a telephone call from Gauthier—you know, your brother-in-law?’

‘Yes?’ Ashley’s hand trembled.

‘Yes.’ Malcolm paused, as if timing his announcement. ‘He’s asked me to withdraw Hussein’s name from the register. He’s changed his mind, apparently. He’s going to have the boy educated in Murad.’

Ashley drew an unsteady breath. ‘I see.’

‘Isn’t that good news?’ Malcolm was obviously disappointed at her response. ‘You don’t know this, but he actually came to see me this morning, bringing the boy with him. He’d read your name on the—–’

‘I know.’ Ashley was too disturbed to allow him to go through the whole rigmarole of telling her something she already knew.

‘You know?’ Malcolm sounded bewildered. ‘But how?’

‘Alain’s been here, too,’ she replied unwillingly. ‘He—well, I encountered them in school this morning, and he came here to offer me a private position, with some family in Egypt.’

‘I see.’ Malcolm was perturbed. ‘So you met the boy. How unfortun—–’ He broke off abruptly, then added crisply: ‘You told Gauthier you couldn’t take the job, didn’t you?’

Ashley opened her mouth to say yes, then closed it again. She had no intention of discussing her plans with Malcolm, and it might actually be simpler if he thought she was considering a post with some unknown Egyptian family. It would give her a breathing space.

‘I—I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ she said now, and heard Malcolm’s impatient intake of breath.

‘But if Gauthier is withdrawing—well, there’s no need for you to consider another job,’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know why he’s changed his mind, but he has. I did tell him that you’d resigned, and I thought he seemed satisfied, but now—this!’ He hesitated. ‘You—well, you didn’t say anything which might have influenced him, did you?’

Ashley was indignant. ‘Malcolm!’

‘It was only a thought. I’m sorry.’ He was apologetic. ‘But you must admit, it’s strange that he should back out—now.’

Ashley moved her shoulders. ‘Perhaps he’s decided to—employ a private tutor,’ she ventured, hardly daring to hope, but Malcolm’s diagnosis was not encouraging.

‘I think he’s decided there are too many temptations for a young boy growing up in this country,’ he remarked sourly. ‘You should know how strictly they cling to the old traditions. I’m more inclined to believe he’ll be sent to one of those military establishments when he’s older, where the discipline is more severe.’

Ashley could not prevent the involuntary cry of protest that escaped her then, and as if just realising he was speaking to the boy’s mother, Malcolm cursed his reckless tongue. ‘Of course, I don’t mean that the boy will suffer in any way from it,’ he declared hastily. ‘I may be entirely wrong.’ He sighed. ‘In any event, I’m sure his uncle will keep a careful eye upon him.’

‘I’m sure he will.’ Ashley’s tone was taut with suppressed emotion.

‘So—I’ll see you tomorrow, shall I?’ Malcolm suggested uncomfortably. ‘Nine o’clock, as usual.’

‘I don’t know.’ Ashley was confused, and Malcolm made a sound of impatience.

‘Oh, come along, Ashley! It’s not the end of the world, you know. I realise seeing the boy must have been a traumatic experience for you, but it’s over now. He’s going back to Murad, and there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t continue in your position here.’

Ashley could feel the tears pricking at her eyes again, and sniffed them back. ‘I—I don’t know what I shall do, Malcolm,’ she said, which was the truth. ‘Right now, I—I’m not feeling very well. I—I may take tomorrow off. It’s not necessary for me to be there, is it? School doesn’t really begin until the next day.’

‘No. No, but you know how hectic everything is at the start of the new year. Boys arriving from all over the place, beds to make and allocate, timetables to be explained—–’

‘It’s not really my job, is it, Malcolm?’ Ashley reminded him tautly, feeling mean, but needing the time to think. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘I’m sure you will, my dear.’

Malcolm’s words were intended to be conciliatory, but Ashley couldn’t forget the insensitivity he had just displayed. He had said he cared about her, but all he really cared about was the school, and the significance of her meeting with Andrew was lost on him. He thought she should dismiss the fact that she had just met her son for the first time, and carry on as if nothing untoward had happened. He expected her to go into the school tomorrow and help organise the domestic staff while he concerned himself with names and addresses. Addresses!

Her hand shook so much she could hardly grip the receiver, but she managed to hold on. ‘By the way,’ she said, as he was about to ring off, ‘did you have an address for—for the Gauthiers?’

There was silence for a moment, then Malcolm said rather doubtfully: ‘Yes. Why?’

Ashley took a deep breath. ‘Alain—he forgot to give me the address to write to, about—about this job I mentioned. Whether I decide to take it or not, I’ve got to let him know, but—–’

‘Oh, I see.’ Malcolm sounded relieved, and she heard him riffling through the papers on his desk. ‘Yes. Yes, here it is. I thought you’d have known it. It’s the Askar Palace in Khadesh.’

Ashley’s momentary excitement dispersed. ‘No,’ she exclaimed, ‘I—I meant in England. Wh-where is he staying?’

Malcolm checked again. ‘That’s the only address I have. Besides, as he’s flying back to Murad tomorrow, I hardly see—–’

‘Tomorrow!’ Ashley’s hand flew over the mouthpiece of the telephone to prevent Malcolm from overhearing her horrified exclamation. Then: ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. I—I’ll contact him there.’

‘That’s the best idea,’ Malcolm approved. ‘And—Ashley?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t do anything you might afterwards—regret.’

He rang off before she could ask him what he meant, but it made her see he was not indifferent to her state of mind. He knew she was distraite, and he was trying to tell her not to do anything foolish.

Pacing the flat later, she wondered whether he was not right, after all. She was considering action which, by any standards, could be regarded as reckless. She could conceivably hurt herself more than she was likely to hurt Alain, with Andrew the innocent pawn in the middle. But then she remembered her son’s smiling face, and knew that whatever happened she had to make the attempt.

But how? How? If Alain was planning to leave the following day, he could have no intention of agreeing to her suggestion. He had only agreed to think it over to placate her. His determination to remove the boy from temptation had not faltered.

Straddling a chair by the window, she draped her arm along its back and rested her chin on her wrist. Where was he likely to be staying in London? Not the apartment. She shivered. He had given that up after—well, when she married Hassan. And if the Gauthier organisation had any other property, she was not aware of its whereabouts. Which only left hotels …

Getting up, she rescued the commercial edition of the telephone directory, and turned to the relevant section. There were dozens of hotels in and around the London area, but she knew Alain would choose somewhere exclusive, and quiet. Running her finger down the list, she jotted the numbers of half a dozen of the more elegant establishments on to a pad, then picked up the telephone receiver.

Half an hour later she was no further forward. Even when she claimed kinship with the family, none of the receptionists would admit that Prince Alain was staying at their hotel, and while she suspected they might not tell her even if he was, the suspicion was growing that he was staying elsewhere. But where? With relatives? With friends? Or in some other apartment, high above Regent’s Park, with a magnificent view over the city?

Sighing, she got up from the couch again and trudged into her bedroom. Her passport was in the drawer of the cabinet beside her bed, and pulling it out, she assured herself of its validity. The last entry in it had been stamped when she went to Paris in the spring, one of the staff accompanying a school party of a dozen older boys. It had been a successful trip and the boys had enjoyed it. And if she had felt a pang at the French capital’s association with Alain, and subsequently with her son, she had succeeded in keeping it at bay …

Closing the passport again, she tapped it on her palm. She knew, without looking, that she needed no special inoculations before visiting Murad. Like Egypt, it only demanded smallpox and cholera certificates and an injection against yellow fever, if she was coming from an infected area, and unlike Egypt, a visa was not necessary. If she could get on the flight, she could leave for Murad tomorrow, too, with only currency providing any difficulties. It might even be the same flight that Alain and Andrew were taking …

With a nervous gesture she dropped the passport back into the drawer and closed it quickly. What was she thinking of? She was still obliged to honour her contract with Brede. How could she consider flying off to the Middle East, without positive proof that Alain would even acknowledge her, let alone employ her?

Nibbling at her thumb, she went back into the living room, unable to remain in one place for any length of time. What time was it? she asked herself unsteadily, and discovering it was after five o’clock, she determinedly marched into the kitchen to prepare herself some food.

But even a plate of soup defeated her, and after swallowing several mouthfuls, she was on her feet again. If only she could get in touch with Alain, she thought bitterly. If only she had asked him where he was staying before all this blew up.

By bedtime, she had forced herself to the realisation that unless Alain contacted her, there was nothing she could do. Once again the Gauthiers had had the last word, and the tears she had been stifling all day soaked her pillow. Oh, Alain, she breathed, at the last, how could you do this to me? And she had no satisfactory explanation for the pain that tore her apart.

In the morning, things looked marginally better. With an autumn sun streaming through her kitchen windows, Ashley felt almost resigned as she prepared her toast and coffee, and carrying the morning newspaper to the dining room table she propped it against the marmalade pot as she buttered her toast.

There were the usual headlines—another strike in the Midlands, an escape from custody of a wanted criminal, more unpopular governmental decisions—and after skipping through these, Ashley turned to the gossip columns. It was a relief to read about someone else’s problems, she thought, sympathising with the fight an actress was having in establishing her rights as a famous actor’s common-law wife. Without the security of a wedding ring, a woman had few privileges, she acknowledged flatly, and even with one, a man always had the ascendancy.

Her lips tightened. It wasn’t fair, she fretted, her eyes registering a mute protest. Andrew was her son! Was he to grow to manhood without even speaking a word to the woman who had borne him in her body for nine whole months?

The telephone bell interrupted her melancholy abstraction, and it rang several times before she stirred herself to go and answer it. She didn’t feel like talking to anybody right now, and she lifted the receiver with dour reluctance.

‘Yes?’

‘Ashley?’

Her knees gave out on her, and she sank down weakly on to the couch. ‘Al-Alain?’

‘You did not expect me to ring?’

‘No—yes. I mean—–’ Ashley struggled to shake off her apathy. ‘Why are you calling? To let me know you’re leaving today? I know that already—Malcolm told me. He said you’d definitely withdrawn Andrew’s name from the register, and as you conveniently forgot to give me your address, I suppose you’re ringing to flaunt your advantage—–’

‘Do you want to hear what I have to say, or do you not?’ Alain interposed curtly, cutting into her babbling tirade. ‘I told you I would consider your proposition, and I have. Where I am staying in London does not seem of great relevance.’

Ashley’s jaw shook. ‘Well, all right. What have you decided? That I won’t do? That I’m not suitable? That you couldn’t possibly employ a woman to teach the boy, and that in any case your father would never agree to it?’

‘Will you stop trying to pre-empt me?’ Alain’s voice betrayed his irritation now. ‘In the name of Allah, you seem to be doing your best to persuade me that you are not suitable!’

Ashley faltered, ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you think I mean?’

Ashley’s palms were moist. ‘You can’t mean—you don’t mean—–’ Her voice shook. ‘Oh, Alain! You wouldn’t tease me, would you?’

‘No,’ he said flatly, ‘I would not tease you. And you have yet to decide whether what I have to say is acceptable to you.’

Ashley swallowed convulsively. ‘Go on.’

Alain hesitated, then he said briefly: ‘Your initial contract will be made for a probationary period of a month. If, at the end of that time, the arrangement has proved—unsatisfactory—to either party, it can be terminated forthwith.’

Ashley breathed out quickly: ‘All right.’

‘This is to be a business arrangement only,’ Alain continued. ‘With certain—clauses inserted, relevant to the situation.’

Ashley quivered. ‘What clauses?’

Alain paused. ‘A sworn undertaking from you that you will not, at any time, and to anybody, divulge your relationship to Hussein.’

Ashley’s stomach churned. ‘Is that all?’

‘No. In addition, I shall want your written agreement that you handed over Hussein independently, and of your own free will, and that you have no intention of asserting your rights as his mother in the future.’

‘No!’ Ashley’s voice broke on the word. ‘Alain, you’re unreasonable. You can’t make me sign something like that.’

‘Then you must do what you can to gain your own ends,’ he declared roughly. ‘There is nothing more to be said.’

‘Wait!’ Ashley could not let him go like that. ‘Alain, give me a few moments, at least. Let me think!’

‘I do not have much time, Ashley. We leave for the airport in less than half an hour.’

‘You’re leaving?’ she gasped, in consternation.

‘You said you knew,’ he reminded her.

‘Well, yes, but—–’ Ashley sought for words. ‘I thought—now—–’

‘If you decide to accept the position, you will follow us, after you have completed your term of notice,’ he replied smoothly. ‘It is better this way. It will enable me to prepare the ground, as you might say. And give you time to resign yourself to the situation.’

Ashley shook her head. ‘You—you’re inhuman!’

‘Merely practical,’ he amended dryly. ‘Well? Have you reached a decision?’

Ashley tipped back her head, as if her neck ached. It was too much. How could she sign away her child’s birthright? But if she did not, she might never see him again. Was the one any worse than the other?

‘And—and who will be his guardian?’ she asked huskily. ‘Who—who has custody of him?’