Dark Enemy

‘Is that so? Then how come you were able to persuade him to let you come out here? I mean – that’s no mean achievement.’

‘I don’t like your insinuations, Mr. Wilde.’

‘Don’t you? How terrible!’ he mocked her. ‘But then a woman in your position hasn’t much chance of retaliation, has she?’

Nicola’s fingers stung across his cheek almost before she could prevent them, and Jason caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘Don’t you ever dare to do that again!’ he muttered savagely, ‘or I may forget that whatever your designation I am a gentleman, and respond in kind!’

Nicola was trembling, and she wrenched her wrist away shakily. ‘Then – then don’t say things like that!’ she snapped angrily. ‘You’ve absolutely no evidence on which to base remarks of that sort!’

‘Haven’t I? Well, I have the evidence of my own eyes, and you’re simply not the kind of woman to come out here for no reason.’

‘I – I have a reason. I’m to help you – and keep an eye on Paul.’

‘Very neat.’ Jason turned away, walking to the drinks cabinet and selecting a bottle. After a stiff whisky, he said: ‘Okay, we won’t argue about your relationship with Harold. Quite frankly, I’m too tired to attempt to sort it all out. But I have my opinions. You wouldn’t deny me them?’

Nicola did not reply, but merely shook her head. As her temper subsided she felt annoyed with herself. She rubbed her wrist that pained a little. This would never do. She couldn’t have Jason Wilde imagining she was some kind of easy woman. That wasn’t at all the image she wanted to create. And somehow no matter what his own morals might be she could not see him finding a woman like that attractive. No, somehow she had to assume a much less aggressive personality. But how? How?

She considered reverting to woman’s oldest weapon, tears, but then decided against it. Somehow she didn’t think they would wash with Jason Wilde either.

Now he said: ‘Can I offer you a drink? It’s the least I can do.’

Nicola bit her lip. ‘Just a fruit juice, please,’ she said quietly, and suffered the look of scorn that crossed his face before he turned and supplied her with an iced lime and lemon. Just then Ali appeared in the doorway, his huge dark eyes widening when he saw Nicola.

‘Is there anything you want, sir?’ he asked importantly, but Jason merely shook his head. However, Ali was not one to waste his opportunities, and he looked questioningly at Nicola as he said: ‘Perhaps the lady would like something to eat, sir? Or has she already eaten?’

Jason’s eyes darkened, and then, before he could reply, Nicola said: ‘Why, how charming of your – er – houseboy, Mr. Wilde. And how thoughtful, too. Particularly as you were so disappointed that I arrived late for dinner.’

Ali grinned. ‘I will get the lady some curry and some fruit, yes?’ he asked, looking at Jason. ‘And perhaps some good coffee!’

Jason gave an exclamation, and then shrugged. ‘Oh, do what you like,’ he muttered broodingly, and Nicola hid a smile. She seemed to have scored at last.

‘May I sit down?’ she asked, subsiding on to a chair without waiting for his agreement. ‘These are quite comfortable bungalows, aren’t they? I mean – air-conditioning and so on. Not exactly what you’d expect to find in the middle of the desert.’

Jason leaned against the drinks cabinet, surveying her intently. ‘Just what did you expect to find, Miss King?’ he asked lazily.

Nicola sighed, and lay back in her chair. ‘I thought we’d agreed to stop this baiting,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you travelled much, Mr. Wilde?’

‘I imagine you would think so,’ he returned broodingly. ‘Have you?’

‘Since coming to work for Sir Harold, yes,’ she answered. ‘We went to South America in March, and Trinidad in August. This is my first visit to the Middle East.’

‘And what do you think of it?’

She shrugged. ‘Primitive – but with definite possibilities.’

Jason shook his head. ‘How old are you, Miss King?’

‘I’m twenty-four, Mr. Wilde. How old are you?’

Jason was taken aback. ‘Thirty-seven,’ he replied shortly.

‘And you’ve never got married?’

She saw a strange look cross his face. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘How about you?’

Nicola sighed. ‘I was engaged once. It was broken off a year ago.’

‘Is that so? About the time you came to work for Sir Harold, in fact.’

‘Sir Harold had nothing to do with my broken engagement,’ she replied, rather shortly, and realized he didn’t believe her.

However, Ali returned just then with a faultlessly laid tray containing a delicious-smelling dish of chicken curry, and another containing an assortment of citrus fruit. A jug of coffee completed the meal, and Nicola smiled at him gratefully.

She glanced at Jason. ‘What is your man’s name? I’d like to thank him.’

But Jason didn’t have to answer. Ali was perfectly capable of doing that for himself. ‘I am Ali, miss,’ he said, bowing low. ‘And it was my pleasure to prepare a meal for so beautiful a lady as yourself!’

Nicola smiled, offered her thanks, and then endeavouring to ignore Jason applied herself to the food. The curry was very hot, and Jason remarked, rather mockingly:

‘Ali makes the food so hot that the climate seems cool by comparison.’

Nicola nodded, taking several gulps of the lime and lemon to cool her mouth. However, it was very enjoyable, once she was used to the spiciness of it all, and she cleared her plate, and ate some grapes and an orange to finish. As she drank her coffee, Jason Wilde offered her a cigarette which she gratefully accepted.

‘What are you going to give Paul to do?’ she asked then.

Jason shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Something energetic, I think. To take a little of 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!’