Dark Enemy

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?

CHAPTER THREE (#u3b0709df-4866-5680-8017-f8ff4fa57213)

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.’