Читать книгу Dark Oasis - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

QUITE when she began to find Gerard Dumont’s closeness disturbing rather than comforting she wasn’t sure. It might have been something to do with the warm male fragrance emanating from the massive frame, a mixture of spicy aftershave and a faint lemony smell, or it could have been the controlled power in the huge body enfolding hers, or even the sound of his voice, deep and seductively attractive as he murmured in his native tongue. Whatever, as the storm of weeping passed she began to feel acutely uncomfortable and vaguely threatened. But there was another emotion there too, one that made her skin tingle and her stomach tighten with a dull ache she didn’t recognise.

‘I’m sorry.’ As she made to move off his lap he let her go instantly, his eyes searching as they washed over her face.

‘Have you any idea where all that hostility comes from?’ he asked levelly as he stood up and drew back the covers for her to climb back into bed. ‘What has happened to make you feel so threatened by the male species?’

‘Threatened?’ She stared at him wide-eyed, horrified he could read her so easily. ‘I don’t feel threatened—’

‘Yes, you do.’ He eyed her impassively and she was conscious of his great height again as he gestured towards the bed. ‘Get in. The nurse will be bringing your breakfast in a moment.’

‘I don’t feel threatened.’ She ignored his instructions with obstinate determination. ‘This has all just been unsettling, surely you can understand that?’

‘I told you that the doctor confirmed concussion?’ His voice was low and moderate but with an underlying thread of steel. ‘And undoubtedly you have a secondary complication resulting in amnesia. However...’ He paused and gestured towards the bed again, his mouth thinning as she still refused to acknowledge the command. ‘However, the blow to your head was not severe enough for this continued loss of memory.’

‘Are you saying I’m making it up?’ she asked hotly as her skin burnt with anger. ‘I can assure you—’

‘Of course I am not saying that,’ he interrupted sharply, ‘and for my sake if not yours please get yourself into this damn bed. I do not relish the prospect of picking you up off the floor again and you look distinctly feeble.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she intoned furiously, as sheer temper enabled her to march across the room and climb into the bed more quickly than she would have thought possible in view of her trembling legs and throbbing head.

‘What I am saying, or rather what the doctor is saying, is that there is something that is causing you to block out your past,’ Gerard said slowly. ‘Something that you do not wish to remember, something that would cause you great pain—’

‘Now it’s you who’s being ridiculous,’ she said quickly as a spark of something blindingly menacing flashed across her mind before sinking back into her subconscious. ‘You are,’ she continued faintly as the dark shadow crept back into that inner mind. ‘I had an accident, I was attacked—’

‘Of course you were,’ he said softly, ‘no one is disputing that, but the accident has merely allowed your mind to hide behind this incident, take refuge if you like.’

‘No, I don’t like.’ She glared at him, far more shaken than she would admit. ‘Are you saying I’m unbalanced, is that it?’

‘Mon dieu...’ The exclamation was made in the form of a curse. ‘I have never met such an awkward, difficult—’

‘And where is this wonderful doctor who has made such a profound diagnosis without even telling me?’ she asked angrily. ‘Do I actually get to see him or what?’

‘After breakfast.’ The nurse had just entered carrying a loaded tray, her bright black eyes flashing from one angry face to the other before concentrating on the food with lowered gaze and a tactfully bland face. ‘I’m joining you, is that all right?’

‘Fine; you’re paying after all.’ She regretted the coarseness of the retort as soon as it left her lips and raised her eyes instantly to his face, her mouth trembling. ‘I’m sorry, that was awful. I’m being awful, it’s just that—’

‘Eat your breakfast.’ His tone was firm but not unkind, the hard handsome face expressionless.

‘I don’t think I could eat anything—’

‘You will, if I have to force-feed you every mouthful,’ he replied softly, still in the same firm, emotionless voice.

She glared at him angrily and then met the full force of the startlingly cat-like gaze that suddenly told her she would lose this particular battle if she persevered. She gulped, gave him a blazing scowl that could have melted stone at thirty paces and gave in, discovering as she bit into a warm crusty croissant that she was hungry after all.

He didn’t speak again until she was finishing her second cup of coffee, and when he did she jumped so violently that most of the semi-hot liquid left in the cup splashed on to the white covers. ‘Have you made a decision?’

‘A decision?’ She raised her eyes to meet his, knowing exactly what he meant but playing for time as her mind raced back and forth seeking a solution to the impossible situation.

He shook his tawny head slowly as he stretched lazily on the stool, his face dark and sardonic and his mouth twisted with cynical amusement. ‘Yes, a decision,’ he intoned drily. ‘And do not insult my intelligence by asking what about. I really could not take that.’ As he stood up his bulk seemed to fill the small room, dominating the white surroundings with a menacing energy that suddenly made her breathless. ‘I have to go. I have an appointment at nine.’

‘Oh, right...’ She raised a hand to her face to brush back a lock of hair and was annoyed to see it was shaking, and then felt doubly humiliated when she saw Gerard had noticed it too.

‘Do I terrify you so much?’ His voice was soft, and as her eyes flashed to his she saw he was not smiling, that all amusement and mockery had left the hard masculine face. ‘I do not wish to do so. You remind me of a little bird I found some months ago fluttering along in the road with a broken wing. It pecked me several times when I picked it up, due to its great fear, and then—’ He stopped abruptly and she stared at him, fascinated by the thought of this giant of a man bothering about something so small and insignificant as an injured bird.

‘And then?’ she asked quietly.

‘Its heart simply stopped beating.’ There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read, something veiled behind the startling hypnotic gaze trained on her face. ‘If it had just relaxed a little, trusted me a little, I would have been able to help it.’

She licked her lips nervously and then stopped abruptly as his eyes followed the gesture, lingering on the tremulous curve of her mouth.

‘That is all I wish to do with this little bird.’ He smiled very slowly but for the life of her she couldn’t respond. ‘Just help out. But—’ he walked to the door and opened it quietly, turning with his hand on the brass knob to glance back at her again ‘—if you do not want to come to my home then you do not have to. It just seemed obvious, that is all. The doctor will be along shortly and I will return at lunchtime, when you can tell me what you have decided. If you choose to avail yourself of my hospitality you must be ready to leave then. Otherwise—’ he shrugged Latin-style ‘—you may stay on here while you make other arrangements.’ And then he had gone, the door shutting with a firm click only to open again a second later. ‘One more thing—my sister lives with me in Marrakesh so you will not be entirely without a chaperon.’ The heavy eyebrows quirked mockingly. ‘Not that you will need one, of course.’

Alone again she stared at the closed door with a small frown wrinkling her brow. ‘Not that you will need one.’ She sank back against the pillows feeling both disgruntled and relieved. He obviously didn’t find her in the least attractive, that much he had made crystal-clear. And that was good. Of course it was. She brushed an inoffensive crumb savagely off the sheet. She could just imagine his taste in women; voluptuous, sexy, possessing good bodies and the knowledge of how to use them. Big breasts, generous hips, pouting mouths... The mental description suddenly sparked the ghost of something in her mind, an image she couldn’t drag out of the misty darkness to examine more closely before it had gone. She stared blindly across the small room, her face white with strain. Perhaps she had been more right than she knew when she asked if Gerard thought she was unbalanced; this certainly couldn’t be normal. She groaned softly as she turned over on her side to await the appearance of the all-knowing doctor. Well, one thing was certain; there was no way, no way at all, she was leaving this place with Gerard Dumont, sister or no sister.

They left the clinic at precisely half-past three in the afternoon, and after the relative coolness of the air-conditioned building the white heat outside was overpowering.

‘All right?’ Gerard’s eyes were tight on her face as they walked to his car, a low-slung sports model in jet black that looked as if it would bite if provoked.

‘Fine.’ She wasn’t, of course. The heat was amazing but it was the dazzling brilliance of the blazing light that was causing problems, sending sharp little pinpricks of pain through her head as though it were being methodically stabbed with a keenly pointed blade. But even that wasn’t the main reason for the trembling that seemed to have taken over her limbs and the palpitations that were causing a violent, irregular beating of her heart and a sick churning in her stomach. It was him. This virile, overwhelmingly masculine man at her side who dwarfed her not inconsiderable height by a good six inches and exuded an air of pure unadulterated sensual magnetism that was both dangerous and darkly attractive.

Why had she ever agreed to leave with him? she asked herself silently as she slid into the beautiful car just as her legs felt as though they wouldn’t support her for another second. She hadn’t meant to. But somehow... somehow he had swept all her objections aside with cool logic and a distant kind of friendliness that reassured even as she wondered if it were genuine. The call from his sister had helped too. She glanced at him now as he slid into the car at her side. ‘Why did you ask Colette to phone me?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I mean—’

‘I know what you mean,’ he said mockingly as the sleek car growled into life. ‘And you are right, partly...’ He turned to eye her briefly, his face cynical and closed. ‘You thought I had used her to promote what I wanted, is that it?’ She stared at him without answering, wondering if it were too late to jump out of the car and run back to the relative protection of the impersonal clinic. ‘Well, maybe I did, but it is for your own good, let me make that perfectly clear. This is a foreign country, or we’ll assume it is a foreign country until we find out differently,’ he added as she opened her mouth to make that very point, ‘and one does not always play by the Marquis of Queensbery’s rules here.’ The tawny gaze was glittering now, reflecting the sun’s brilliance as he held her wide grey eyes mesmerised. ‘You are very definitely the bird with the broken wing at the moment, however much you dislike the analogy, and as such prey to all kinds of dangers. Do you know that in some quarters you would fetch a king’s ransom?’

‘What?’ She couldn’t believe she’d heard right for a moment.

‘Make no mistake about it.’ His mouth was harsh now as his gaze wandered over the red-brown hair and pale creamy skin. ‘With your English looks and that air of untouched virginity, you would be snapped up within days.’ He leant back in the seat as her mouth twisted in disbelief. ‘You do not believe me? That alone tells me I was right. A babe among wolves...’

Was he going to sell her to some sheikh or white-slave trader? Was that it? She stared at him dumbly, unaware of the terror in her eyes. She had authorisation from the police to stay with him. They knew where to contact her. Lots of people did. Surely he wouldn’t have organised all that if he intended—

‘Colette exists.’ His voice was very dry now as he read her thoughts. ‘My home exists. I am a perfectly normal man who would not have slept particularly well at night if I had let you be cast adrift into an uncertain world. The telephone conversation with Colette was satisfactory?’

‘Colette?’ She pulled her thoughts together and moistened paper-dry lips carefully. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘You can spend some time talking with a female companion of your own age and perhaps something will be remembered, a spark that will unlock the door, yes?’ He put a very large hand over hers resting on her knees, and she forced herself not to jerk away although his touch fired the alarm button. ‘Now we have to drive to the small airfield where my plane is waiting. It will not take long.’

‘Your plane?’ She began to feel slightly hysterical. This wasn’t happening to her, it couldn’t be. She still wasn’t quite sure how she came to be sitting in this prowling beast of a car with its master, anyway. As his hands moved to the leather-clad steering-wheel and he manoeuvred the powerful car out of the tiny hospital car park, she forced herself to think rationally, to get her emotions under control. She had made enquiries, independent enquiries, that morning with the police and the surprisingly sympathetic doctor, who had spent some considerable time with her trying to probe for something, anything, from her past, all to no avail.

She had discovered Gerard Dumont was an eminently respected businessman in Morocco, owning several businesses in Casablanca, Essaouira and Marrakesh involving the processing of fish and fruit, as well as his own fleet of freighters for goods to be sent overseas, and homes in each of the towns. He was enormously wealthy, a dignified and decorous citizen of the land his parents had moved to before he was born and altogether, according to her reports, a paragon of virtue. Except... Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the doctor’s hesitation when she had asked if Gerard was married or involved with a particular woman.

‘Not a particular woman, no...’ The doctor had smiled carefully after a long moment of silence. ‘But he is a young man in the prime of life; obviously there are stories...’

‘Stories?’ she had squeaked nervously, but the elderly man had not allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion about such an illustrious personage, parrying her questions adroitly until she had to give up gracefully. He had told her Gerard’s parents had died many years before, that his sister was engaged to be married to a French Moroccan of impeccable breeding, and that if she accepted Gerard’s invitation, which the doctor made clear he thought was an extremely generous and benevolent one, she would be treated with great respect and care as befitted the guest of such an important man. The phone call from Colette had clinched her indecision. Gerard’s sister had sounded so bubbly and natural and genuinely concerned about her misfortune and anxious to help. It had all seemed cut and dried...until she had seen him again. Then all the doubts and fears returned with renewed vigour.

‘You do not like me much, little one, do you?’ It was a statement, not a question, and after one darting glance at the harsh profile she decided silence was definitely the best policy. There was nothing she could say, after all. She didn’t like him; in fact everything about him grated on her like barbed wire even though she kept telling herself it was the height of ingratitude when he had been so kind. His height, the powerful masculine body, his arrogance and total domination of everything and everyone around him... It bothered her. Bothered her and frightened her and—She shut off her thoughts abruptly. She didn’t trust him. Not an inch. She didn’t know why and probably there was no foundation for how she felt, but it was a fact.

She glanced again at his face and saw that the hard mouth was curved in a cynical, mocking smile. And that grated too.

‘I will be interested to find out who you are, my sharp-clawed kitten,’ he said softly after a few miles had passed in complete silence, the atmosphere tense and taut. ‘I like honesty in people, men and women, and you are not short of that commodity.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ She heard the thread of amusement in the dark seductive voice, and bit her lip tightly. ‘I am clearly the lesser of two very real evils and it is a long time since I have been cast in such a role, especially by a woman.’ The glittering gold eyes moved swiftly over her wary face before returning to the road. ‘Especially such a beautiful woman.’

‘You said you didn’t find me attractive,’ she retorted quickly in surprise before she had time to consider her words.

‘I lied.’ The deep voice was quite unrepentent.

As her stomach turned over in one flying leap she hunted for something to say, a casual remark that would defuse the sudden tension, but couldn’t think of a thing, and as the miles continued to be eaten up by the beautiful car she forced herself to relax and concentrate on the changing scene outside the car window. And it was fascinating. Varied as Morocco was in its geography and climate, ranging from dry, gravelly plains extending for hundreds of miles and bleak shifting sand-dunes to rich tablelands in the Middle Atlas Mountains that furnished grazing for sheep and goats, the higher slopes covered in oak, cedar and pine and rich in ski resorts for the wealthy where rocky springs, lakes and ponds abounded as well as streams well stocked with trout, still nothing could be more varied than the spectrum of people who inhabited the land.

Every town and city had its Moroccan and European businessmen in traditional European dress side by side with Berbers and Arabs in flowing robes and wide, loose hoods, the women veiled and dressed in sober grey and black. And the transport... As Kit stared out of the window, the odd sumptuous car rode alongside decrepit taxis, wicked-eyed camels, horses, donkeys, bikes and every other mode of transport known to man. The buildings were piercingly white, Moorish architecture showing its grace and beauty in sunlit streets lined with orange trees... She sank back against the upholstered seat with a small sigh, her senses sated. She couldn’t live here; she must be on holiday—it was all too new and exciting. Holiday? But she’d left because of an argument, a ring...? She glanced down at her ringless hands and her brow wrinkled and that sick feeling of dread reared its head, before both the image and emotion faded as quickly as they had come.

‘What is it?’ She suddenly realised Gerard had been talking to her and she hadn’t heard a word, and now saw they had left the confines of the town and were out on the boundary road. ‘You have remembered something?’

‘Not really.’ She rubbed a damp hand over her brow as she shut her eyes for a brief moment. ‘It was gone before I could make sense of it. I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘I wondered if you had ever seen goats climbing trees before,’ he said drily. ‘Over there, look.’ As he brought the car to a standstill she peered where he was pointing, and saw a host of argan trees, their low spreading limbs covered with green leaves and small fruits that looked like olives, and then as her eyes rose upwards she was amazed to see several goats high in the branches nibbling away at the leaves and fruit, one or two of the sure-footed little creatures having ventured far out on the branches as they stretched for the tenderest morsels.

‘They really are goats!’ she breathed in surprise, her eyes stretched wide.

Gerard laughed softly, delighted with her astonishment. ‘These trees are not found anywhere else in the world,’ he said quietly as he started the engine again after several long minutes, ‘and the goats adore the fruit. The seeds you see on the ground there—’ he pointed to the mass of fruit seeds scattered under the trees ‘—are gathered up and washed and cracked and from the inner nut is drawn a fragrant oil used for cooking. Not that the goats care about that, of course.’ He eyed her lazily before drawing on to the dusty road again.

The little incident had broken the tension for a time, but the very nearness of that big masculine body in the close confines of the car made her as jumpy as a cricket. Did he really find her attractive? she asked herself silently as the car purred on. That last look he’d given her, there had been something in the slumberous depths that had caused her lower stomach to tighten in immediate response, and she had hated herself for it, hated herself without understanding the reason why. But then there was nothing she did understand at the moment anyway, she told herself flatly. She was a mess.

They reached the small airfield where Gerard’s private plane was kept amid a cloud of dust, and it wasn’t until she was airborne, with Gerard at the controls, that she thought to ask about the location of Marrakesh. Everything had seemed so unreal, so nebulous, since she had woken up in the hospital that she still was finding it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t in the grip of a dream...or a nightmare.

‘Marrakesh?’ Gerard’s deep voice was thoughtful. ‘Let me see. Well, it is the most African city of Morocco, at the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains due south of Casablanca. The region is dry but water has been piped down from the mountains into reservoirs, so a bath will be no problem.’ He eyed her fleetingly, his expression searching and she flushed hotly. It was just as if he had undressed her.

‘We have the normal old and new side by side,’ he continued, after the twist of his mouth informed her he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Modern agriculture, training schools and various industries as well as a camel market every Thursday that dates back into ancient history, and a fair in the great square of Djemaa-el-Fna that involves snake charmers, magicians, jugglers, acrobats and even the odd medicine man demonstrating miraculous cures in their bottles. I’ll show you around once you are settled in; there are some wonderful medieval palaces and monuments—’

‘No, there’s no need for that.’ She had interrupted him so abruptly that she hastened to qualify her refusal. ‘I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all, Mr Dumont, you’ve been very kind and I’ll be gone within a day or so—’

‘Gerard.’ Suddenly the handsome face was intimidatingly cold and harsh, the profile flinty. ‘And please do not try to spare my feelings. Colette will do just as well as your guide.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

He interrupted her again, his voice dry. ‘I know exactly what you meant; you neither like or trust me so let us leave it at that. I hope you will be reassured when you reach my home but, as you so graciously pointed out, it will be a matter of days until this matter resolves itself so your opinion of me is really of no importance to either of us.’

She deserved it. She knew she deserved it but nevertheless the icy autocratic tone made her see red. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said tightly, her voice tense. ‘If it’s any consolation I don’t understand why I’m acting like this, but when all’s said and done I didn’t ask to come with you, did I? Why did you insist—?’

‘I am damned if I know,’ he bit back angrily.

‘Well, just turn the plane round and take me back to Casablanca—’ she began furiously, only to stop abruptly as she realised the import of what she had just said. Casablanca? Why had she said Casablanca? The accident had happened on the streets of Essaouira, hadn’t it?

‘Casablanca,’ Gerard repeated thoughtfully at her side, obviously catching the importance of her words too. ‘I think we should perhaps ask the police to direct their enquiries more specifically in that city, yes?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head wearily, the spurt of rage dying as quickly as it had flared into life as she stared down at the white cotton trousers and neat coffee-coloured blouse that had been pressed and cleaned by the cheerful little nurse at the nursing home. Some time, in another life, she had actually chosen these things, walked into a shop and made the purchases of her own accord. How could she not remember?

‘I will take care of it.’ He spared her a quick glance, his face expressionless. ‘And I do not intend to eat you alive, my thorny rose, but for the sake of my sanity, if not yours, could you please refrain from the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof syndrome? My ego is beginning to feel a little fragile.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at her hands miserably.

‘So you said.’ The deep rich voice was cynically mocking again and immediately the guilt she had been feeling was replaced by hot anger. A fragile ego? Him? Not in a million years.

The fierce heat of the day was dying when they reached the huge strip of ground on the outskirts of Marrakesh which formed part of Gerard’s estate. As he taxied the light plane into the hangar she saw a beautiful white Ferrari parked some distance away, its tinted windows and enormous side grilles proclaiming it a Testarossa. ‘Your car?’ She gestured resignedly towards the magnificent vehicle.

‘My car,’ he agreed gravely, his voice bland. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s very nice.’

She heard a snort at her side and turned to see that he was surveying her with a dark frown, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he drawled slowly, the relaxed tone belying the sharpness in his eyes, ‘for some reason you disapprove of the car.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Why do I get the feeling that if anyone else had owned it you would have given it the appreciation such functional beauty deserves?’

‘I said it was very nice,’ she protested carefully, aware of the truth in his words, ‘but a car is just a car, isn’t it? A grown-up child’s toy?’

‘A toy?’ He shut his eyes briefly after killing the engine of the plane, and then opened them slowly, the narrowed slits gleaming gold. ‘There is a six-year waiting list for this toy, as it happens.’

She hadn’t noticed the middle-aged Arab standing to one side of the hangar but now, as Gerard jumped down from the plane and reached up to assist her, she saw the hangar doors being closed before the small man hurried across to them.

‘Assad...’ The two exchanged greetings and then Gerard turned to her, his face relaxed and smiling now. ‘This is my great friend and man of all trades, Assad. You would not have noticed him at the time, but as chance would have it he was just entering my office building when you were attacked and saw it all,’ Gerard continued quietly, ‘not that it proved much help in the event. He speaks French, Spanish and Arabic but little English incidentally. None of my house staff does, unfortunately.’

‘Oh.’ She stared at them both feeling completely out of her depth, and as she turned away to glance again at the Ferrari she missed the softening of Gerard’s mouth that indicated he was aware of just how she felt.

‘The house is just a few hundred yards away but I asked Assad to bring the car in case you were tired. Shall we?’ He indicated the car with a wave of his hand. ‘Assad will see to the plane and follow shortly.’

She found, as she walked to the car, that she was tired, a deep exhaustion taking hold of her body and mind that made even the smallest response a superhuman effort. As Gerard held open the door she climbed slowly into the luxurious interior, her head pounding. ‘Thank you.’ She raised dull eyes to his and saw him frown slightly before he left to walk round the bonnet and slide in beside her.

‘You need a warm bath and plenty of sleep,’ he said levelly as he nosed the car out of the hangar and along a dry dust road towards a mass of trees in the distance. ‘Both of which will prove no problem at Del Mahari. My home,’ he added at her glance of enquiry.

‘Del Mahari?’ She let the foreign name slide over her lips. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘It means “Racing Camel”,’ he said expressionlessly, although she was sure there was a thread of amusement colouring the deep voice. ‘My father enjoyed the sport, although I prefer to keep horses rather than camels. I find the latter singly unattractive creatures and more than a little bad-tempered, although that trait is not confined to camels, of course,’ he added smoothly as he kept his eyes fixed ahead. She glanced at him warily, knowing it was a gibe at her but unable to respond to such an indirect insult. ‘At the moment I have several beautifully trained horses of great speed and stamina who have mingled Arab and Berber strains in their blood line. Do you ride?’

The question was casual and she answered before she considered, the reply instinctive. ‘Oh, yes, I love...’ Her voice trailed away for a second before she recovered. ‘Yes, I know I ride,’ she said more firmly. ‘I don’t know how I know but I do.’

‘Good.’ They had reached the trees now which she saw were fruit trees, mainly orange, surrounding the outside of a rosy pink extremely high wall in which two huge iron gates were set standing open ready for the Ferrari to pass through, but Gerard stopped the car just before the gates and cut the engine slowly, turning to her and touching her face gently with one finger as he turned her face to his. ‘Welcome to my home, little kitten,’ he said softly, seconds before his warm, hard mouth captured hers.