Читать книгу Dark Enemy - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

THE following morning Nicola awakened early, disturbed by the sound of someone banging on the mesh of her window. She slid tiredly out of bed, and peered round the thin curtains which she had drawn the night before. Graham Wilson’s cheerful face gazed back at her.

‘It’s six o’clock,’ he said, grinning. ‘Jason said you’d want to be up and about.’

Nicola hid a grimace. ‘He would,’ she said, unable to prevent herself, and then smiled. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilson. What do I do about breakfast?’

Graham put his hands on his hips. ‘Jason said I was to take you to the canteen. He said the men would have to see you sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner.’

Nicola digested this. ‘All right. Give me five minutes.’

Graham nodded, and in a little more than that time Nicola emerged looking smart and businesslike in the levis and a clean blouse, her hair caught up in a knot on top of her head.

‘Hm!’ murmured Graham appreciatively. ‘That’s what’s been missing around here. I’d never have guessed!’

Nicola accepted his comments with a friendly smile. She liked Graham Wilson. There was something innately nice and honest about him. He wasn’t much taller than she was, and had a broad stocky frame, his hair curly and gingery. He certainly presented no problems, and that was what she liked most.

In the brilliance of morning the small camp was dwarfed by the immense expanse of open country beyond the bungalows. Yesterday, driving in the car with Paul, Nicola had been too tense to take a great deal of pleasure in her surroundings, but now she felt a sense of humility as she gazed upon the vast stretches of sand-dunes rising to curiously stark rock formations, and the pale lilac line of the mountains beyond. The sky was incredible, the bluest blue she had ever seen, and the sand was a wonderful rich colour with a texture she had not felt before. It was not like any sand she had ever seen, but of course this was no shoreline, this was desert, raw and savage and untamed, dangerous to anyone without knowledge of its ever-changing personality.

Then she gave her attention to her immediate surroundings, the regimented lines of bungalows, the clubhouse, the general stores, the electricity generator; common everyday things that she was used to living beside. It was strange that there was no vegetation. Some scrub managed to survive in the shade of the buildings, but there were no trees, no flowering shrubs such as adorned gardens back home. There seemed to be no natural supply of water here and she wondered where the supply came from.

There were several groups of men making their way to the canteen this morning, and they stared without compunction at Nicola, obviously amazed that she should have suddenly appeared. Some of the men spoke to Graham, and he explained vaguely that she had been sent out by the oil company to expedite the delivery of Jason’s paper work. There were some derisive stares at this piece of information, but most of the men seemed friendly enough, and after the initial sensation of being a peculiarity Nicola got used to their curiosity.

The canteen was a huge building, one end given over to a kind of bar, while the other served food of every variety. Nicola was amazed at the choice offered to her, but when Graham Wilson would have provided her with cereal, bacon, eggs, toast and coffee, she hastily demurred. She could only manage toast and coffee at this hour of the morning.

They found a table and sat down, and Graham said: ‘You’ll notice not all the men are English here. There are Italians, and French, as well as one or two other nationalities. When the papers are delivered it’s like an international convention.’

Nicola’s eyes widened. ‘You get papers?’ she exclaimed.

Graham grinned wryly. ‘They’re several days old by the time we get our hands on them. Still, it’s nice to keep up to date with the gossip.’

‘And where is your home?’ asked Nicola, buttering a slice of toast as she spoke.

‘In Birmingham. Didn’t you guess? Jason says the accent is inches thick!’

Nicola smiled. ‘No, I didn’t guess, although now you mention it …’ They both laughed, and immediately attracted the attention of the whole room. Nicola was surprised to find herself flushing. She had thought she was past such things.

As the meal progressed, Graham told her quite a lot about the organization at Castanya. Apparently Jason Wilde was the senior engineer on the site, and well versed in the troubles such enterprises could come up against.

‘Ian Mackenzie is in charge of the actual field,’ Graham continued, ‘and Jason’s out in the desert, supervising the pipeline, keeping it moving towards the sea.’

‘How much further does it have to go?’ Nicola asked. ‘Will it take much longer to complete it?’

‘About nine or ten months,’ answered Graham. ‘There are two hundred and sixty miles between Castanya and the seaport of Gitana. We’ve covered about sixty miles so far.’

‘And it will take so long to complete it?’

‘Sure. The pipes are in lengths of between twenty and forty feet and need to be welded together on the spot. That, combined with sand-storms, precarious working conditions and the rest, can make for pretty slow development.’

‘Do you have to bury the pipes?’

‘Well, it hardly seems sensible. Sand is a great mover, and a sand-storm can shift tons of sand from one area to another. A pipeline buried today could be exposed tomorrow. Consequently they have to be properly protected against corrosion. Then there are the pumping stations to be built. Obviously oil needs constant propulsion to keep it moving, and the pumping station here at Castanya wouldn’t have the power to push the oil over sand-dunes and across such a tremendous distance.’

‘I see.’ Nicola was impressed. ‘So that is what Mr. Wilde is accomplishing.’

‘Among other things, yes. He’s also having problems with the Sheikh. He doesn’t think the men we’re using – his men, that is – are getting paid enough. So Jason’s increased their percentage.’

‘It’s quite a complex affair, isn’t it? I never realized.’ Nicola finished her coffee and accepted a cigarette from Graham. ‘Is the field producing oil at the moment?’

‘Oh, yes. But it’s being stored in the main. Some has been sent down the pipeline already completed to the next station at Isthali. They have a storage tank there, bigger than the one here.’

‘And don’t you get bored? I mean – what do you do during your leisure hours?’

‘Well, various things. We play cards, read, write letters home, that sort of thing. And there’s the pool, and the tennis court if you feel really energetic. There’s even a cinema of a kind. It’s run by two of the men, and from time to time they give a show.’

Nicola nodded. ‘I suppose it’s like an army camp, really.’

‘I suppose it is. We’re more or less self-sufficient here. Sometimes one or two of the men drive into Gitana, but mostly we mess about here. Swimming is the most enjoyable pastime.’

‘Yes, but where does the water come from?’ exclaimed Nicola interestedly.

‘Oh, there’s an oasis, not too far from here. We’ve run a pipeline from there. Naturally, the water needs purifying, but there’s plenty of it.’

‘I see.’ Nicola bent her head. ‘What am I to do today? Do you know? Have you seen Mr. Wilde?’

Graham shrugged. ‘Not this morning. I’d hazard a guess that he’s a good many miles out along the pipeline already.’

‘Oh! You mean he’s gone?’

‘Yes. You’re left in my charge,’ grinned Graham. ‘I’m to show you around, introduce you to the men, supply you with information, and eventually set you to work.’ He looked apologetic.

‘But what about Paul?’ asked Nicola. ‘Where’s he?’

‘With Jason,’ replied Graham, pushing back his chair. ‘Don’t worry about your friend Mannering. He’ll survive!’

‘I’m not worried,’ protested Nicola, but she did feel a slight sense of pique that Jason Wilde should abandon her so carelessly to the care of his second-in-command. He was obviously showing her in the most blatant way possible that she need expect no assistance from him.