Dark Enemy. Anne Mather
that pugnaciousness out of him!’
‘You don’t like him – why?’
‘I neither like nor dislike him. He’s merely an example of the futile waste of youth.’
Nicola lifted her shoulders. ‘Were you never young?’
‘Not as young as him, no!’ Jason flung himself into a chair. ‘As you’re here, Harold says I have to use your – er – secretarial talents.’
‘I know. I don’t mind. I like working.’
‘You amaze me. Who did you work for before you joined Inter-Anglia?’
‘A small advertising company. I was the secretary there.’
Jason bent his head, digesting this information. Then he said: ‘Anyway, as you are here, I think I ought to warn you that this is not England, and the customs of this country have, to a certain extent, to be adhered to.’
‘What do you mean?’ Nicola frowned.
‘I mean that there are a number of Arabs working on the site. Their encampment is beyond the camp. You’ll see it in the morning. They live there with their wives and children. It’s their normal life. They’re naturally nomads. But their women are protected to a far greater degree than are ours. And you being here might cause a positive furore when the Sheikh gets to know.’
Nicola smiled. She couldn’t take him seriously. ‘The Sheikh,’ she echoed softly. ‘How romantic!’
Jason stared at her angrily. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t get any ideas in that direction! Sheikhs are not romantic figures of the mid-twenties movie screen. They are men, like other men, and most of them consider European women self-seeking and virtueless!’
Nicola’s eyes widened. ‘You certainly paint a very depressing picture, Mr. Wilde,’ she remarked dryly. ‘However, I can take care of myself, so I shouldn’t worry unduly.’
‘I don’t,’ muttered Jason vehemently. ‘Believe me, my only anxieties concern the rig and the pipeline, not your person! What you do, and the outcome of your actions only concerns me in so far as they affect my schedule here.’
Nicola felt anger overtaking all other emotions. She had never met a man who was so infuriatingly indifferent to her.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, getting to her feet, ‘I should like to go to bed now!’
Jason rose too, regarding her with eyes that held a tinge of sardonic amusement. ‘I should,’ he replied, nodding. ‘Tomorrow will be a long day. We rise here about five-thirty, and work starts at six-thirty. Think you can make it?’
His tone was derisive, and she stiffened. ‘Oh, yes, Mr. Wilde,’ she replied tautly, ‘I can make it.’
‘Good. I’ll have Ali escort you back to Caxton’s bungalow. At least I can’t have Sir Harold accusing me of allowing you to wander unescorted about the camp!’
‘That won’t be necessary!’ snapped Nicola, even as she knew she would not be able to distinguish which bungalow was hers. But her temper had got the better of her, and she could not restrain her retort.
Jason half-smiled, rather unpleasantly. ‘Is that so?’ he drawled. ‘Okay. Good night, Miss King. Sleep well.’
Nicola stared at him. She ought to have known he would take every opportunity to humiliate her. Collecting her handbag, she walked to the door, but before she could pass through it, Jason said:
‘Wait! I’ll walk with you.’
Nicola stared at him, unwillingly aware that in other circumstances she would have found him very attractive. There was something about the huskiness of his voice and the lazy, panther-like way he moved that made her intensely conscious of him.
‘Thank you,’ was all she said now, and preceded him out of the door and down the steps to the packed sandy earth of the track.
They walked in silence, and when they reached her bungalow, he merely said ‘Good night,’ before walking silently away. Nicola watched him go, his hands thrust into the pockets of the close-fitting cream pants he was wearing, his dark head bent as he seemed deep in thought, and then she hastily ran up the steps and into the bungalow.
She shook off the feeling of apprehension that had suddenly engulfed her. This task she had set herself seemed suddenly frightening, and she realized it was a combination of the isolation, and the night, and the man himself that was responsible for her sudden indecision.
Her clothes were still in the two suitcases she had brought with her, but apart from drawing out a pair of nylon pyjamas, she didn’t bother to unpack them, and after undressing merely cleaned her teeth before climbing wearily into the hard narrow bed. Actually, though, after a time, she realized the bed was quite comfortable, and the heat which had abated had left her glad of the warmth of the blankets. She snuggled her chin beneath the covers, and closed her eyes. But sleep was elusive. So many things had happened, and her mind buzzed with ideas and speculations, most of them centring on the man she had come out here to find, Jason Wilde.
Thinking of him brought thoughts of her sister Louise, and she wondered rather anxiously how she was getting along in the flat without her. Still, she had little Jane, and Tony, and the part-time job that Nicola had found for her. It was strange how Louise, six years her senior, should always arouse this feeling of responsibility inside her. Maybe it was because Louise always seemed so helpless, so totally incapable of fending for herself. That was why Nicola felt such anger towards Jason Wilde. He must have known how helpless, how defenceless, Louise was, and yet he had used every trick in the book to make her infatuated with him. Why couldn’t he have chosen a woman more fitted to his personality? Someone who when discarded would not have fallen apart so completely.
Nicola rolled on to her stomach. Oh, yes, Jason Wilde had a lot to answer for, not least being the destruction of her own happiness. She punched her pillow. She would not think of it. She would not think of him. She had spent too many nights lying awake thinking of this affair.
An unearthly roar broke the stillness, and she sat up, sweating, staring into the darkness. What on earth had it been? Then she relaxed as realization came to her. Jason had said the Arabs were camped just outside the limits of the oil company’s colony. Doubtless they would have camels. She had heard the noise camels could make in the streets of Gitana.
She lay back again, forcing her mind to be blank. But it was no good. Too many thoughts came to plague her. She wondered how long she would be forced to stay out here, how long she would be allowed to stay. Sir Harold had said he himself would come out later, to see how Paul was progressing, and to visit the local sheikh. This would be the man Jason Wilde had spoken of. Nicola wondered what manner of man he was. Might it be possible to use him in her efforts to discredit Jason Wilde?
It was much too early to tell. She would have to wait and see. A good tactician never acted without being completely in possession of the facts of the situation. For the present she would do the job she had been employed to do and then …. She sighed. Anything might happen. And as a kind of bonus there was the undeniable excitement of life in this desert outpost. How could anyone sleep with so many possibilities before them?
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.