Читать книгу Duel In The Sun - Sally Wentworth, Sally Wentworth - Страница 4

IT WAS almost midnight when the plane landed at Luxor, bumping down on to the runway. The passengers, pleased that it had arrived ahead of schedule, eagerly collected up their hand luggage and waited to disembark. Catriona was seated towards the rear of the plane but considered herself lucky to be on it, only a last-minute cancellation making a seat available for her.

She left the plane in her turn, blinking to adjust her eyes to the warm, velvety darkness outside. It had been a charter flight, full of holidaymakers, who now hurried to go through Customs and get on the coaches waiting to take them on to their hotels or cruise boats. Catriona followed more slowly; the tourists were here for only a week or two, but she was staying for much longer and was laden with the bag containing her equipment, as well as a hold-all and a bag of duty-free drinks. An impassive customs officer stamped her passport, she found a trolley and collected her luggage from the carousel, then walked through to the front of the airport in the wake of the others.

There was some confusion at first because a couple of coaches hadn’t yet arrived, but soon the couriers were shepherding away their flocks of tourists. Catriona stood to one side, looking for a smaller means of transport: a four-wheel-drive vehicle, or possibly a pick-up truck. One by one the buses filled and left, until she was standing alone under the harsh lights of the entrance. It was suddenly very quiet, the grinding noise of the coach engines fading in the distance. She stirred, beginning to feel uneasy. Back in England that morning, as soon as she’d known she was able to get a seat on the flight, Catriona had telephoned the head of the Egyptology department at the university, and he had promised to telephone the excavation headquarters in Egypt so that someone could meet her. But what if everyone at the dig was out? What if the message hadn’t got through? She certainly didn’t like the idea of just waiting here indefinitely.

Pushing her trolley back into the concourse, she saw a man who looked European and went up to him. ‘Excuse me? Do you speak English?’ And when he nodded, ‘Are you from Dr Kane? From the dig at Mem Habu?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I work here at the airport.’

Catriona thanked him and went back outside. Still no car. I’ll give them half an hour, she decided, then I’ll have to try and find out the number and phone the dig myself.

There was nowhere to sit. Catriona pulled her trolley over to the wall and leaned against it, tired after her journey and the mad rush to get ready for it. Over near the car park there were two taxis optimistically waiting for fares, their drivers leaning on one of them as they chatted. The two men had glanced across at her several times, and after a while one came over.

He was young, dark-skinned, and had a flashing smile. ‘You wish taxi?’ he enquired, his eyes running over her.

Catriona shook her head. Fat chance, when she hadn’t had time to get any Egyptian currency. And even if she had, she would certainly have hesitated before she’d trust herself to this man.

But he reached out to get hold of the trolley. ‘I take you Luxor.’

‘No, thank you.’ She made it sound very definite. ‘I am waiting for a car.’

‘No car come now. I take you.’

Catriona grabbed the trolley. ‘No! I have no money,’ she told him, hoping he would be put off.

But he evidently didn’t believe her because the man just shrugged and said again, ‘I take you.’

For a couple of minutes they had a tug-of-war with the trolley, the man laughing at her, but then a car drove up, its engine so quiet as to be almost inaudible. Catriona didn’t notice it until it stopped and the driver got out. He said something in Arabic, so sharply that the taxi driver immediately swung round, saw the car, and hurried back to his cab.

He had let go of the trolley so suddenly that Catriona fell back against the wall, but she quickly recovered and looked again at the car. She gave a sigh of disappointment; it was a big, black Mercedes, new and luxurious, certainly not the type of car that would be owned by a dig. But the driver came up to her and said in very broken English, ‘You lady from England?’

Catriona nodded. ‘Why, yes.’

‘You come work here?’ he added slowly, to make sure.

‘Yes, I have.’

Satisfied, he said, ‘I take you house.’

Thankful that her lift had arrived at last, Catriona went to help him load her luggage, but he held the back door of the car for her to get in, and loaded everything himself. The car was gorgeous, the upholstery of soft leather that still smelt new, the windows tinted, and it had the coolness that could only come from air-conditioning. Settling back into her seat, Catriona gave a sigh of relief; she had started to get a bit worried back there. Not that anything would have happened, of course; she need only have screamed to bring the airport guards hurrying out to help her. But it would hardly have been a good start to her stay in Egypt, especially if the field director got to hear of it. She had heard, back in England, that Dr Kane had no time for fools, and she had an idea that having to be guarded at the airport would definitely put her under that heading. Although it would have been his own fault, of course; he shouldn’t have kept her waiting.

Thankfully pushing the imaginary scenario out of her mind, Catriona had to admit that Dr Kane had certainly made up for his tardiness by sending this car. She had expected a bumpy ride in an old truck, or a jeep at best.

The driver got in and soon they had left the airport buildings behind and were purring along in the darkness. ‘Is it far?’ she asked him.

He shrugged, not understanding.

Leaning forward, Catriona said clearly, ‘The house; how long? How many miles, kilometres?’

Lifting his hand, he opened and closed it five times.

Twenty-five, then. But whether that was minutes, miles or kilometres she had no idea. And anyway, what did it matter? It was nice to just relax and stretch her long legs in luxurious comfort, so different from the cramped sardine tin of the plane. There was nothing to see outside; the night was completely dark except for the odd street lamp at a road-junction. Soon Catriona’s eyelids drooped and she fell asleep.

‘Lady. Lady!’

Opening her eyes, Catriona found that the driver had the door open and was trying to wake her. She sat up quickly, realising that they must have reached the excavation house, where all the members of the team lived. Glancing at her watch as she got out of the car, Catriona saw that it was nearly two in the morning. Presumably everyone would be in bed by now. Expecting to be in some desert village, she glanced round in surprise at finding herself in front of a large house with what looked to be a garden all round it. The door of the house was standing open and a woman was waiting to greet her.

The woman was obviously Egyptian, but she wore a very severe Western-style dress with long sleeves, a high-neck, and the skirt low on her calves. She was middle-aged, too old to be the wife of one of the team, so perhaps she was some sort of housekeeper. She beckoned. ‘You come, lady.’

She led the way into the house, but Catriona paused in the hallway to stand and stare. The house was sumptuous, there was no other word for it. The hall was high and richly decorated, with ornate Italian-looking furniture and a Venetian glass chandelier.

‘Lady.’

The housekeeper again beckoned her on, leading her up a wide staircase to a galleried landing, the driver following them with the luggage. She turned to the right, went through a doorway into a corridor, and out on to another gallery, this time overlooking a big central courtyard in which a fountain played. It was dimly lit, so Catriona couldn’t see very much, but even in the semi-darkness it looked a delightful place. Opening a door a few rooms down, the woman indicated that she should go in.

Catriona caught her breath; the room was the complete opposite to what she had expected. Again it was luxuriously furnished, although much too opulently for her English taste, with a large gold-painted bed, big wardrobes, and a dressing-table wide enough to accommodate a chorus line. Everything seemed to be on a large scale, as if big was beautiful. But it looked so comfortable and was so cool that Catriona was more than grateful. And there was even her own bathroom, as the woman demonstrated when she opened a door in the right-hand wall. The bath was so huge that Catriona couldn’t help but laugh.

The woman frowned, not understanding, but Catriona gave her a big smile and she relaxed again.

‘Breakfast?’ Catriona said to her, and mimed eating. ‘What time?’ and she pointed to her watch.

Spreading her hands, the woman shrugged, then showed her a bell-push within reach of the bed. Using signs, she got through to Catriona that she must push the bell and the woman would bring her breakfast. She left her then, and Catriona sat on the edge of the high bed and kicked off her shoes. The house and the car were certainly a revelation; she had always been under the impression that excavation teams were housed in almost primitive conditions, were so under-funded that they had to watch every penny. But whoever was sponsoring this team must have been terrifically generous.

Going into the bathroom, Catriona showered and wrapped herself in one of the huge, soft bath-sheets, then again laughed aloud at the sheer luxury of it all. Back home, she had been so hard up and desperate for work that she had jumped at the chance of this job, been prepared to take it on however rough the conditions. But if she’d only known that she was going to live in a place like this she wouldn’t have hesitated even for a moment; she was only surprised that someone with more experience hadn’t beaten her to it.

She slept deeply that night, the big bed soft and comfortable, the air-conditioning keeping the room at an even temperature. Waking around nine and remembering the instructions she’d been given, Catriona pressed the bell, and within a very short time the housekeeper carried in a large breakfast tray. There were two types of cereal, an omelette and tomatoes under a heated cover, rolls and strange-looking bread, fruit, and coffee. A feast! If they lived like this all the time, no wonder digs went on for years.

Feeling more optimistic than she had for ages, Catriona ate, and then dressed. Expecting to go out into the desert to the dig, she put on a pair of cream cotton trousers, with a complementary short-sleeved blouse. Then she sat down at the dressing-table to brush her long, corn-gold hair and weave it into a plait, and thought about the rumours she’d heard of Dr Lucas Kane and decided they must have arisen out of jealousy. His reputation as a slave-driver must certainly be wrong; having breakfast in bed brought to her and allowing her to sleep in to recover from her journey definitely weren’t the acts of a petty tyrant.

She looked at herself critically in the mirror, wondering whether or not to put on make-up. Her skin was pale from a long English winter and from working long hours for a clothing company until she’d been fired, the owner still owing her a month’s pay. Luckily her eyelashes were long and dark, in arresting contrast to her hair, and making an attractive frame to her hazel eyes. Her face, though, was thinner than it should have been, the result of overwork and not enough nourishing food since she’d lost the job, nearly three months ago. But the thinness emphasised the good bone-structure of her heart-shaped face, the eyes wide and candid, her cheekbones high, which, with her delicate mouth, gave Catriona a look of almost fragile elegance.

It was a deceptive look; life had been tough and she’d had to fight for everything she had achieved, both at school and at college. Not that her qualifications had been of much good getting her the job she wanted, she thought ruefully, but then brightened; until now. If she could make a success of this job that had landed so unexpectedly in her lap, who knew where it might lead? If nothing else, she would have a useful addition to her CV.

Coming to a decision, Catriona added lipstick and powder, and left it at that. As she was blotting her lipstick there was a knock at the door. Expecting it to be the housekeeper, she called, ‘Come in.’

The door was opened slowly, and to Catriona’s surprise, a child, a little girl, looked tentatively in. She looked at Catriona, caught her involuntary smile, and moved back out of sight. There was the sound of whispering, then two heads came round the door, the second that of another little girl and at a lower height than the first. Two pairs of eyes, large and dark, regarded her shyly.

Catriona turned to face them, again smiling. ‘Hello.’ She held out a hand and beckoned them in.

Slowly they came into the room, clutching hands, the younger with her finger in her mouth. The elder child looked about nine, the other about four years younger. It was evident that they were sisters; their features were very much alike, and they both had dark, plaited hair, and wore identical dark blue dresses with white collars and cuffs, and long white socks. Severe clothes for such young children, Catriona thought, but maybe it was their school uniform.

‘Hello,’ she said again.

‘Hello, lady.’ It was the elder one who spoke, her face grave, voice uncertain.

‘What is your name?’ Catriona asked, pointing and speaking slowly and clearly.

‘I Nadia.’

‘And what is your name?’ Looking at the younger child.

But the little girl only blushed shyly and hid behind her sister.

‘She Dorreya,’ the elder girl supplied.

‘My name is Catriona,’ repeating slowly at their uncomprehending looks, ‘Cat-ri-on-a.’

First the elder and then the younger child repeated it several times until they had it right. Then there were smiles of pleasure all round. They must be the children of one of the Egyptian members of the team, Catriona surmised. Another knock sounded at the door and the housekeeper looked in. When she saw the children she began to scold and to shoo them away.

‘Oh, no,’ Catriona protested. ‘Let them stay, they aren’t in the way.’

But the woman took no notice, shutting the door behind the children. She turned to Catriona who had risen from her seat, looked her up and down, and burst into a stream of Arabic, gesturing at her clothes. Not understanding a word, Catriona only shrugged. Talking again, the housekeeper touched her trousers and blouse, shaking her head. ‘No, no.’ Then she went to the wardrobe, opened it, found a skirt and long-sleeved shirt and brought them out, making signs that Catriona should put them on.

‘Why?’ Catriona asked in astonishment.

Another flood of Arabic that she didn’t understand, but it was obvious what the woman wanted, and even more obvious that it was important to her, so, with a shrug, Catriona changed into the skirt, but she drew the line at the blouse; it would be far too hot when she got outside. The housekeeper had decorously turned her back, but pushed the shirt towards her when she looked round.

Catriona shook her head. ‘No. Too hot.’

Again the woman tried to persuade her, the word pasha coming into it quite a lot, but when Catriona continued to stubbornly shake her head the woman looked at her watch, lifted her hands into the air in a gesture of angry surrender, and said, ‘You come.’

So she was to meet the team, or at least some of them; presumably most of them were out at the dig. Perhaps Dr Kane had come to meet and brief her on her duties. Catriona hoped, anxiously, that he would find her satisfactory; it was a while since she had left college and she hadn’t had a chance to do any practical work in ancient textile conservation in the last two years. But she had studied the subject and had been madly reading it up again during the last week, ever since she knew she might be coming here.

Catriona wasn’t looking forward to meeting Dr Kane. She wasn’t exactly nervous; wary would probably be a better word. It wasn’t just because of his reputation as a hard taskmaster—Catriona enjoyed working hard—but she’d also heard that he set very high standards, and to get this job she’d had to exaggerate her practical experience rather. Still, now that she was here they would have to give her a chance to prove herself, she thought optimistically. But she didn’t much like the idea of working for someone who insisted on his female staff wearing skirts. Dr Kane must be really dated and old!

The housekeeper led the way down to the central courtyard where the fountain played. It was open to the sky, a shaded garden of flowering tropical plants and the musical tinkling of splashing water. They crossed the courtyard and the woman knocked at a door, then opened it for Catriona to go in. It was a library, lined with shelves of richly bound books. Catriona walked into the room expecting to meet an elderly Englishman. But the man who looked up from his desk was quite young, dark-haired, and Egyptian.

The man’s eyes went over her and widened. He put his pen down on the desk, his eyes taking her in, and it was a few moments before he said a formal, ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ Catriona recovered quickly from her surprise. So Dr Kane hadn’t bothered to meet her himself; this man must be their Egyptian liaison officer or something like that. Not that he looked much like an employee; he was wearing a well-cut and expensive-looking dark suit and a lot of jewellery: there was a thick gold watch on his wrist, and he wore several rings, one of them on his left hand with a stone that looked like a diamond but was too big to possibly be real. He looked to be in his late thirties, had olive skin and rounded features with the small beard favoured by Arabic men.

The Egyptian, who hadn’t stood to greet her, was looking Catriona over with just as much interest, then said, ‘You are much younger than I expected. I can hardly think that the details you sent about yourself can be correct.’

Aware of her magnified qualifications, Catriona said quickly, ‘Oh, but I’ve had quite a lot of experience. I’m sure you’ll find my work satisfactory.’

‘How old are you?’ he shot at her.

‘I’m twenty-three. Nearly twenty-four,’ she added hopefully.

The man picked up a piece of paper from his desk, glanced at it, then at her, his eyes cold. ‘Then you can hardly have had the experience you claim in this record of your work. How can you possibly have spent—?’

He broke off as there was a knock at the door and the two little girls came in. Immediately his eyes softened, but he spoke to them rather reprovingly in Arabic, and Catriona guessed they were being told off for interrupting.

But Dorreya took no notice and ran to take hold of her hand. ‘Cat-ri-on-a,’ she said, dimpling up at her.

Catriona smiled and stooped down to the little girl’s level. ‘Hello, Dorreya.’

‘Hell-o,’ Dorreya repeated, and turned to the man with a big grin, to show how clever she was.

The Egyptian was watching, and at the same time stooping to listen as Nadia whispered in his ear. He looked thoughtful, then straightened. ‘It seems you have met my daughters already.’

‘Are they your children?’ Catriona straightened and smiled at him. ‘They’re adorable. You must be very proud of them.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He was eyeing her again, and after a moment, turned to the children and gently shooed them away. When they’d gone, he said, ‘It seems that they like you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I will give you a trial. Although I cannot approve of anyone who has so blatantly lied about their qualifications.’

Catriona flushed a little; she hadn’t thought it was that bad! Stiffly, she said, ‘OK. When do I meet the rest of the team?’

‘The team?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘There is no one else; you will be in sole charge.’

Catriona stared at him. ‘But there must be other people?’

‘No. The children are on holiday from school and are entirely your responsibility, although my housekeeper, Mrs Aziz, will always be here if you need her. Surely you understood that when you agreed to take the job, Miss Welland?’

An icy feeling crept into Catriona’s chest and she swallowed. ‘What—what did you call me?’

‘Miss Welland,’ he replied testily. ‘It’s your name, isn’t it?’

Catriona slowly shook her head and looked at him unhappily. ‘No. It isn’t. I think—I rather think that there has been a mistake.’

It was the Egyptian’s turn to stare. Then he said, ‘Are you or are you not Miss Welland, of London, who applied for the position of English teacher to my children during the summer?’

‘No, I’m not.’

His voice sharpened. ‘Then just who are you—and what are you doing here?’

‘I’m Catriona Fenton. I was waiting at the airport for someone to pick me up and your driver came and asked if I was from England and had come to work in Luxor. So naturally I said yes, and—well, here I am.’

‘And did it not occur to you to ask the driver who had sent him?’ the Egyptian demanded angrily.

‘Didn’t it occur to you to tell the driver to ask for this Miss Welland by name?’ Catriona countered. ‘He didn’t ask who I was and he didn’t speak much English.’ The man stiffened, obviously unused to a woman standing up for herself, but Catriona didn’t notice. Remembering her wait at the airport, she added, ‘And anyway, it was a natural mistake on both sides because I was the only woman waiting from that flight.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘There was no one else? No other English woman?’

Catriona shook her head. ‘Definitely not.’

He muttered a sharp imprecation. ‘What has happened to the woman? I have heard nothing from her.’

Catriona didn’t know and didn’t much care. Her thoughts were filled with dismay; presumably the transport from the dig had arrived at the airport after she’d left. Dr Kane must have thought that she, too, hadn’t turned up and be cursing her as this Egyptian was now cursing his lost governess. If she wanted to stop Dr Kane sending out for someone else from England she had better get in touch with him at once, although how she was going to explain away being lost for almost a day, Catriona hated to think.

But the Egyptian gave a dismissive gesture and said, ‘It is no matter. You will teach my children instead.’

Catriona laughed, unable to believe what she’d heard. ‘That’s ridiculous! I’m not a teacher.’

He frowned when she laughed, but said, ‘You are English and you speak well. It is all I want. And you will be well paid. I agreed to give Miss Welland fifteen thousand pounds for two months here, plus her air fare, of course.’

Her mouth falling open, Catriona exclaimed, ‘Fifteen thousand pounds!’ But then she realised. ‘Oh, you mean Egyptian pounds.’ She did some rapid mental arithmetic; it was still a lot of money, far more than she’d been promised at the dig. But she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr... What is your name?’

The Egyptian seemed to square his shoulders and there was inherent arrogance in his voice as he said, ‘My name is Omar Rafiq. And this house is the Garden of the Nile—my country house.’

‘Yes, well, Mr Rafiq, I’m sorry, I can’t work for you because I’m already committed to work at an excavation site.’

‘You are not a travel courier?’

‘No. I’m a textile expert. I came out here at short notice to take the place of someone who had to fly home for family reasons. I couldn’t possibly let them down.’ Even as she said it Catriona wondered if Dr Kane was at this moment on the telephone to England, furiously demanding to know where she was.

‘You would not find the house where you live at the excavation site pleasant,’ Rafiq told her. Adding imperiously, ‘It is much better here, so you will stay.’

Even if Catriona had wanted the job, she would have objected to the way he issued such peremptory orders. Her mouth had dropped open at his insolence, but now it hardened. ‘I’ve already said no. I’m sorry about the mix-up, but it was your driver who made the mistake, and I must ask you to take me to the excavation site straight away.’

He frowned angrily, but then shrugged and reached for a telephone on his desk. ‘Where is it?’

‘A place called Mem Habu. I believe it’s to the north-west of Luxor and...’ Her voice trailed off as she saw Omar Rafiq’s head come up in surprise and his eyes widen.

‘Are you talking of the excavation under the leadership of Lucas Kane?’

She nodded. ‘Dr Kane. That’s right. Do you know him?’

‘We have—met.’ He took his hand from the phone and leaned back in his chair. ‘So you are Kane’s new textile expert.’ And he suddenly began to laugh.

Catriona didn’t like the sound of that laughter. It had no humour in it, was more a triumphant peal. ‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.

Rafiq stopped laughing but there was still a mocking twist to his lips as he said, ‘Just that you should be on your way there, of all places.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It is no matter.’ Rafiq gave her a contemplative look, his eyes again running over her tall, slim figure, settling on her face. Catriona had seen that assessing look in men’s eyes a thousand times before, and it certainly wasn’t the way Rafiq had looked at her when he’d thought her to be his children’s tutor.

Her chin lifting, she said. ‘I’ll go and pack. Please tell your driver to take me to the site in half an hour.’

Again Rafiq looked amused. ‘You would not be happy there, Miss Fenton. The site house is very primitive. And Dr Kane...’ He spread his hands in a descriptive gesture and there was scarcely concealed dislike in his voice as he said, ‘He is a quick-tempered man. You would not find him sympathetic, especially after going to the wrong place. I assure you, you would be much happier here.’

‘No, thank you,’ Catriona replied firmly. ‘Will you tell your driver to take me or not?’

‘I’m afraid he is busy today.’

It was a lie and they both knew it. Catriona glared at him, but Rafiq merely gave her a mocking, arrogant look in return. Anger filled her, but Catriona merely said, ‘In that case I will take a taxi.’

He gave a sardonic smile. ‘By all means.’

‘Please call one for me.’

‘If you wish to take a taxi, Miss Fenton, you must telephone yourself. Here is the directory.’

He took a thick book from a drawer in his desk and passed it to her. Catriona took it, her eyes on his face, not liking his expression one bit. Glancing down at the phone book, she began to flip through the pages but soon came to an angry stop. The whole book was, of course, in Arabic script, the loops and whirls completely incomprehensible to her western eyes. ‘You know I can’t read this,’ she said shortly. ‘Just what are you trying to do?’

‘To keep you here, of course.’ Standing up, Rafiq came round the desk. His smile losing its mockery, he turned on the charm and said persuasively, ‘My children like you, Miss Fenton. And it would be a great inconvenience to send to England for another teacher for them. This house is, I think you’ll agree, very comfortable, and the pay is good. In fact I will increase the amount, if you will stay, to—’ again he looked at her contemplatively ‘—to twenty thousand pounds.’

Catriona had been short of money for so long that the offer was very tempting, but she had recognised that assessing glance and was pretty sure that the extra money was also a sweetener that might help to persuade her to become something more than just his children’s tutor. But she definitely wasn’t into that. She had the instinctive feeling that he was the kind of man who used women, who had no real respect for her sex and looked on them as there merely for his amusement or service. And besides, his overbearing arrogance, his calm assumption that she should just drop all her plans and do what he wanted, had aroused a stubborn anger in her that no amount of smooth charm could overcome, so she said firmly, ‘I’ve already said no. Please don’t ask me again. I’ve promised to work at the dig and I intend to keep that promise. So please phone for a taxi.’

But Rafiq merely gave a small smile. ‘Why don’t you think about it? Look round the house. There is a swimming-pool outside. The children will show you. And we will talk again over dinner.’

Becoming angry, Catriona said, ‘Mr Rafiq, will you please listen to me? I have to get to Mem Habu as soon as possible. Dr Kane will be worried about me. He will have phoned to England to see where I am.’

To her surprise he looked amused again, and she could only guess that there was some sort of enmity between the two men. ‘I am sure Dr Kane can wait.’

She went to argue again but he had pressed a bell on his desk and the children came back into the room. He spoke to them in Arabic and they laughed and caught Catriona’s hands, eagerly pulling her out with them. For a moment she tried to resist, turning to look at their father, but Rafiq came up behind them and closed the door, shutting her out with the children so the door received the fuming look that had been meant for him.

Allowing the children to lead her round the house, Catriona was shown the swimming-pool, the indoor tennis court and gymnasium, was taken round the courtyard garden, and finally up to a big sitting room on the first floor which had a wide veranda. From it there was the most marvellous view of the River Nile, only a couple of hundred yards away. It was her first glimpse of the famous river, and Catriona stood in fascination, watching a small fleet of feluccas, their sails bleached by the sun, sail slowly by.

Mrs Aziz came into the room and spoke to the children. Nadia turned to Catriona. ‘We go...’ She mimed washing her face and hands.

‘To wash,’ Catriona supplied.

The little girls repeated it after her and ran out of the room. Mrs Aziz went to follow but Catriona caught her arm. ‘Please. You speak English?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Little.’

There was a phone on a table by the wall. Gesturing to it, Catriona said, ‘You telephone for me. Ask for a taxi.’

But the housekeeper shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Pasha Omar, he say no taxi.’

‘Please,’ Catriona pleaded. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I must go.’

But the woman was obviously intimidated by her employer; she refused to be persuaded and pulled away, then hurried from the room.

Catriona bit her lip in vexation; this was starting to get out of hand. And she couldn’t understand why. She was sure that Rafiq had accepted her refusal and had been about to let her go, but then she’d mentioned Dr Kane and everything had changed. For a few minutes she felt helpless, a stranger lost in a strange land, but then her natural confidence returned to her; this was almost the twenty-first century, and there was no way anyone could keep her here against her will. Crossing to the phone, she picked up the receiver, then realised she didn’t know what number to dial to get the operator, but she tried various combinations and at last got a ringing tone. A voice came on the line and Catriona said quickly, ‘Please, do you speak English?’

The operator didn’t, but eventually found someone who did. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Can you give me the number of a taxi company? I need a taxi.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Near Luxor.’

‘Dial this number.’ The operator read out a list of digits which Catriona hastily wrote down.

Again she had to wait while someone who spoke English was found, then she asked for a taxi to take her to Mem Habu. ‘Where do you wish to be picked up?’

‘At the house of Omar Rafiq. It’s called the Garden of the Nile.’

‘What district?’

‘I don’t know the district. Can’t you look the address up in the phone book?’

‘How can we come if we do not know the address?’

‘Please try,’ Catriona begged. ‘It is most important. An emergency. I must have a taxi.’

‘We will try,’ the voice conceded, then the line went dead.

Catriona put the phone down with a sigh of relief. At last she was getting somewhere. She had no idea how long it would take the taxi to get here, but she went immediately to her room and repacked all her things, but was afraid to take them downstairs in case Rafiq saw them and guessed what she was doing.

At one, Nadia came to take her to lunch and she thought it best to go, to allay any suspicions Rafiq might have. But he wasn’t there; only Mrs Aziz and the children were waiting in a small dining room. Throughout the meal, while she was trying to talk to the children, Catriona listened for the sound of the doorbell, ready to rush out and grab the taxi, make him wait while she collected her things. But the bell didn’t ring. She tried to find out the exact address of the house, but Mrs Aziz had evidently been ordered not to tell her, and stopped Nadia from doing so.

The meal ended and the children went to their rooms for a siesta. Catriona went down to the entrance hall and sat down in one of the Italian chairs to wait for the taxi, no longer caring whether Rafiq saw her or not.

She waited all afternoon but still it didn’t come.

Around four-thirty Omar Rafiq came into the hall and stood in front of her. He looked amused. ‘There is no point in waiting any longer, Miss Fenton. I rang the taxi company immediately after you had made the call and told them that you had made a mistake.’

‘You mean you listened to my call?’

He smiled unpleasantly. ‘Of course. I told them that you were ill—with sunstroke, and that they were to ignore you if you made any more calls.’

Catriona had expected as much for the last two hours. She got to her feet, her eyes bitter. ‘Are you aware of the penalty for kidnapping—because that’s what this is?’

Rafiq laughed contemptuously. ‘Nonsense, Miss Fenton. I am only trying to persuade you to accept the post I am offering you.’

‘Not persuade—coerce,’ she corrected him.

He gave a small smile. ‘You have proved my point; your command of English is excellent.’

‘So is yours. Why don’t you teach your children yourself?’

‘Unfortunately I do not have the time. My business is in Cairo. I come here for only a few days at a time.’

Deciding to have one more go at persuasion, Catriona said, ‘Look, Mr Rafiq, I’m sorry your English tutor didn’t turn up, but maybe I’ll be able to help you; I have several friends in England who might be interested in this job. If you like I could phone them and—’

‘But I want you to teach them, so there is no point,’ he interrupted impatiently. Then, using moral blackmail, he said, ‘Don’t you like my daughters?’

‘Yes, of course, but—’

‘Don’t you like this house? Is your room not comfortable?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Aren’t the wages I am offering you more than those you would earn at the excavation?’

Fearing another interruption, Catriona said firmly, ‘Money isn’t of the first concern. The job at the site would be a great help in my career; teaching your children wouldn’t.’

‘Your career? Of what importance will that be when you marry?’

‘I’m not about to get married.’

‘You will in time. All girls get married,’ he said sweepingly. Catriona gave a gasp of astonishment; the man was still in the Dark Ages! ‘So, Miss Fenton,’ he repeated, ‘I insist that you stay.’

‘No!’

‘But you have no choice, do you?’

‘This is—this is white slavery!’ Catriona exclaimed furiously.

That made him laugh, which made her feel slightly ridiculous, but then even more angry at her own helplessness. Suddenly Rafiq seemed to become bored by the whole thing. ‘Why do you not play with the children?’ he said impatiently, but it was in the tone of an order, not a suggestion.

Having nothing else to do, Catriona went to find the girls. OK, she thought, I’ll wait till it’s dark and everyone’s asleep, then I’ll sneak out and walk to the nearest town and get a taxi from there. She took the children to the pool and, in order to safeguard them while they played in the water, had to put on a swimsuit and go in herself. It was OK until Rafiq arrived, but she didn’t much like the idea of having on only a swimsuit with him around. When he took off his robe, obviously intending to join them in the water, Catriona quickly got out and wrapped a large towel round her waist, sarong-style.

Rafiq dived in and swam a few lengths in a strong crawl, then came to play with the girls. That he adored his daughters was plain enough; he was great with them, pretending to chase them until they shrieked, but very gentle when he caught them. Catriona couldn’t help but smile, but she caught him looking at her and remembered that the games he played with little girls could be quite different to those he played with big girls. She wondered what had happened to the children’s mother, but maybe she was still in Cairo, awaiting her husband’s return.

Mrs Aziz came to take the children away and Catriona went to go with them, but Rafiq, standing at the pool’s edge, water trickling down his body, caught her arm and said, ‘You will dine with me tonight.’ And it wasn’t an invitation.

She looked at him, wary, and becoming very apprehensive. No way was she going to spend another night in this house. Catriona decided to try to sneak out before dinner. But it would be better not to let him suspect, so she merely said, ‘OK. Where’s the dining room?’

‘I will show you.’ He put on a robe, led her into the main entrance hall, and pointed to a door opening off it. ‘At eight-thirty,’ he told her.

Catriona nodded and walked up the stairs to go to her room. Rafiq stood in the hall watching her go, his thick white robe hanging open.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside and then the front door was pushed open, so violently that it went crashing back on its hinges. A man strode into the hall. A fair-haired European. Tall, broad-shouldered and with arrogant self-assurance. Seeing Rafiq, he came to a stop and put his fists on his hips. A sardonic smile came to the man’s lips and he said, ‘Hello, Omar. I hear you’ve kidnapped my new textile expert!’