ROSE OF THE DESERT

Roumelia Lane

When Julie got a job with an oil company in North Africa, she never dreamt that it would take her miles out into the Libyan desert. But even that was not such a challenge as working for the camp manager, Clay Whitman, who insisted that 'women and oil don't mix'.

CHAPTER I

"How come a mere secretary gets such lush accommodation?"

Tamara stretched her brown legs in the sun and stared across the table in envy and astonishment. Julie smiled shamefacedly and pushed the ash-blonde hair from her neck.

"It's Alan. He booked this hotel for me before I arrived."

"You mean the guy who pulled the strings to get you the job out here?" Tamara blew cigarette smoke gustily into the air. "You sure do know the right people. Alan Moore, the son of the big chief himself." She gave Julie a half smiling glance. "Are you sure that's all you are to him ... a secretary ?"

Julie twinkled.

"I've known Alan for years ... not closely, his father and mine are friends. When I told him I intended giving up modelling for a more exciting life abroad, he offered me this job with his father's firm. Naturally I jumped at the chance."

"Naturally," Tamara replied, nodding with heavy emphasis. "And who can blame you? This is some place compared to the poky little flats we lowly secretaries rent down town. Pity you have to spoil it all by turning out to work! "

Julie sat up and gazed blissfully around. It was heavenly, wasn't it? The blue sea of Tripoli only yards away, and the African sun like a warm caress on one's skin. Such a contrast to the dreary round of modelling in London, where life was a succession of changing garments, changing taxis and talking clothes. There had never been time to look up to see whether the sky was blue today or whether the trees were in blossom. The only thought was high fashion. Inthe modelling business one lives, sleeps and breathes clothes.

Here in the gardens of the Hotel Gerard people gave little thought to dress. The sun took care of that. Scant colourful garments on brown bodies littered the chairs and terraces. There was only one man who apparently desired more formal wear; he occupied the table immediately behind theirs, and wore a light lounge suit, white shirt and tie. Julie remembered now. He had come to sit at the table with another man earlier on. His companion had apparently left, and now he stretched his long legs forward and lay back with a drink in his hand.

It was with something of a shock that her gaze travelled curiously upwards and clashed head on with his. The shock was displaced by mild anger that he had probably heard every word that had been said. Judging by a pair of brown eyes, half closed and loaded with cynical distaste, and the fact that there were just the two tables on this secluded section of the terrace, there could be no doubt about it.

Julie swung her eyes coldly to the front, the fair hair brushing over already tanned shoulders. Why worry? He would be gone soon anyway. She was certain he was not staying at the Gerard. In her week's stay she would not have missed so striking a figure. The shoulders were immense, under a face long and tanned and ruggedly handsome. She hadn't had much time to notice the hair, but felt it had to be a dark reddish brown.

Tamara's voice drifted across her musings.

"Why don't you get Alan to swing it so that you don't have to go into the office? Just collect your pay cheque at the end of the week."

She laughed throatily, and Julie found herself fidgeting. She didn't dislike Tamara Stevens. In fact since her arrival froip England, the American girl had proved quite a friend, but like so many of her countrymen she spoke in a loud unselfconscious voice which could be embarrassing at times. Also she was inclined to put rather a cheap slant on Julie's friendship with Alan Moore.

Julie knew it wasn't the thing to be staying at the impressive Hotel Gerard when she was merely a secretary at the Dawah Oil Company offices, but that was Alan's doing. She fully intended looking for something more in keeping with her job. In the meantime these luxury apartments were at her disposal. What was the sense in wasting them ?

Tamara persisted lazily, "Don't tell me, honey, that with those looks you intend to waste your talents behind a typewriter?"

"I must admit," Julie replied lightly without looking behind, "the working side doesn't appeal to me much. I'd much rather enjoy the gay life of Tripoli."

Reclining back with a luxurious sigh, she couldn't for the life of her explain why she should be talking like this. Unless it was to give that odious man behind something to sneer about.

"It's possible when Alan comes to Tripoli I'll persuade him to give me something a little less demanding." she said for good measure.

"And while you're at it," Tamara drawled, "tell him you've got a buddy who's being worked to death!"

At that precise moment two young men came bounding up the steps. Laughing and talking volubly in Italian, they made straight for Tamara's chair and she raised herself to banter with them good-humouredly. Looking on, Julie felt an absurd relief at the diversion. Perhaps the man behind would go now that his afternoon's entertainment had been interrupted. Pushing him from her thoughts, she preferred to concentrate on her friend.

Whatever the dark slender American girl in her late twenties imagined she was lacking, she certainly had a way with the young men of the town. They seemed to gravitate towards her wherever she went. As her friend, Julie wasn't sure she cared for this. Admitted, she had found it exciting at first having a different escort every night after the office, but after the third night she had begun to yearn for a little solitude, and a chance to explore the wide handsome streets of Tripoli. Perhaps this time when Tamara asked her out, she could refuse without offending. She was more than grateful for the older girl taking her under her wing as it were in a strange country, but her ideas on entertainment were totally different from Julie's.

"Tony, Eugene," Tamara was saying, "this is Julie Lambert. She's fresh in from England. Pull up a chair, boys. What about some drinks?"

The one who was Eugene raised his hands with a dazzling smile. "Ah no! But already we have drink.' Slanting a sly glance at his friend, he sunk a hand into the pocket of his tight Italian cut trousers and brought out a flask.

"Oh-oh!" Tamara threw her head back and chuckled hoarsely. "You can count me out, boys, but Julie's all yours." She turned a heavy-lidded smile towards Julie. "Take it from me, honey, you haven't lived until you've sampled the Kitty Kola kick."

The young men nodded delightedly and Julie eyed the liquid that Eugene had poured into her glass.

"What is it?" she asked with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "I never drink anything stronger than gin and orange."

"Ah, Julee!" Eugene's black eyes were dancing. "Once you have tasted Kitty Kola! ... green and orange ... psha!" He moved his shoulders expressively.

"Well, it's all in the line of experience," laughingly Julie raised the liquid to her lips. With a name like that it probably wasn't much different from Coca-Cola, and refusing would appear childish.

The glass couldn't have been more than an inch from her mouth when she felt it roughly removed from her hand. The contents were flung across the lawn.

"I suggest you wait until you are slightly more seasoned to the climate before sampling this hideous local fuel."

The tall man from behind had picked up the flask and screwing the top on tightly thrust it at Eugene. With a spate of Italian that sent the young men on their way with an occasional sheepish glance backwards, the man turned to stare down at Julie.

"It's bad for the oil company when the personnel go about making spectacles of themselves. If you must drink something that could put you flat on your back perhaps you could do it in a less public place."

Julie's blue eyes flashed up in anger. Of all the colossal nerve! As if it had anything to do with him. She pushed herself up from the chair to let fly with a few well-chosen words, but he had already turned on his heel and left adding over one shoulder,

"The gay life out here can be a bit potent, as you probably mean to find out."

"We ... ll ...!" Tamara let out the exclamation in soft astoundment. "Where did Clay Whitman drop from? I didn't know he was on leave." She pulled a wry smile. "He was in one hell of a mood, wasn't he?"

Still breathing heavily, Julie asked, "Do you know him?"

"Figuratively." Tamara sent an amused glance after the receding figure. "He's the general field manager out at the Guchani oil fields."

"What is he doing here?"

Tamara lit another cigarette. "As I said, honey, he's probably on leave. The men work a month in the desert, and have two weeks free."

"Well, I hope I never have the pleasure of running into him again." Julie lay back in the chair, hating herself for still trembling. It wasn't so much the manner in which he had flung the drink from her. There was something else. She found herself feeling ridiculously hurt because that brown gaze had held nothing but a cold contempt. Well, that's what he got for listening to conversation that didn't concern him. If he didn't like what he heard he should have moved off long ago.

No doubt he had already formed his opinion of her, and would welcome another chance to lecture on the behaviour of oil company personnel. Not if Julie could help it. Though they worked for the same firm she meant to give Clay Whitman a wide berth in future.

In any case, with him at the oil fields and her here at the offices in Tripoli, it wasn't likely that they would meet again.

CHAPTER II

THE days passed pleasantly at the oil company offices. Julie got used to sitting with the other secretaries in a long cream-painted room until being detailed to the private offices of the executives. Though she wasn't as familiar with the specialised work as some of the girls who had been out there years, the secretarial course she had taken in her last year at school held her in good stead, and she was kept reasonably busy.

One morning when most of the girls had gone off to their respective jobs, Julie sat at her desk typing notes from the day before. The air was hot and languid in spite of the air-conditioning. The white blouse she wore with three-quarter-length sleeves and crisp upstanding revers was fresh enough now, but no doubt towards lunch time it would be feeling as she did, slightly limp.

She typed to the bottom of the page and then walked down to the far end of the room for a drink of water. Mrs. Bannerman, a plump little woman whose husband worked out at one of the oil fields, looked up with a smile.

"Feeling the heat, dear?"

Julie nodded, putting a carton to the tap of the glass tank.

"I was just conjuring up visions of a swim in the hotel pool, arid then a long drink, stretched out on a chaise- longue."

Hardly had she spoken the words when she felt a circulation of air behind her as though someone had just pushed through the swing doors. She turned to gaze into a pair of unsmiling brown eyes. Him again! And she would have to be draped over the drinking tank.

She sipped her drink unhurriedly as the man beside Clay Whitman started to talk in some agitation.

"This is most irregular, Mr. Whitman, most irregular. In all my years as head of the secretarial stream, I've never known us employ female labour at the camps ... in the desert. I mean, it's ..."

"Dammit, man, you've no alternative We can't go another month without some help in the accounts, it's chaos as it is." His voice was harsh and unbending. "Unless you can offer me a male secretary, I'll have to take someone from here."

The other man rubbed his chin worriedly.

"There's simply nobody on hand. Greaves, Wilson, and Hopkins are already out on jobs. One is laid up, and Andrews has gone home." He sighed heavily. "It really is irregular, but as you say we have no alternative." Reluctantly he started to walk down the room, but Clay Whitman, giving only a cursory glance over the some half dozen girls sitting at their desks, nodded towards Julie.

"She'll do," he said briefly, turning towards the doors.

"But—" the secretarial head followed hurriedly—"Miss ... er ... er ... Lambert is ... has only recently arrived. Perhaps you would prefer someone a little more experienced with ..."

"I'm in a hurry," Clay Whitman looked pointedly at his watch and then at Julie. "Meet me outside the Gerard at five in the morning. I want an early start. You'd better take the rest of the day off to get some things together."

As the other man started to fluster again about irregularities and Julie's scant experience of the tropics, Clay Whitman snapped,

"I'll take full responsibility, and we're not exactly in the age of tents and iron rations, you know. In the meantime if you can come up with any other solution I'll be glad to hear it."

They turned and left, and Julie gulped down the last mouthful of water. If he thought that she was going to be taken three hundred miles into the desert, meekly and without a word of protest .. .! Unconsciously, she screwed the paper cup round and round in her hands. Five o'clock indeed ! Some hopes he had.

Unfortunately the wheels within the Dawah Oil Company were already moving and she was summoned to Accounts for a briefing on the Guchani camp methods. The girls waved her off with envious smiles and the rest of the day passed in a flurry of orders, and instructions on shopping for suitable garments to wear at a desert oil camp.

Five o'clock the next morning found her shivering at the bottom of the hotel steps, a suitcase at her side and a militant expression on her pale features. As the first glow of dawn spread across the indigo sky in feathers of lilac and salmon pink, she stared along the deserted thoroughfare. The sea behind the shadowy buildings took on a pale mother-of-pearl sheen, and the mosques and minarets, usually so brilliantly white in the glare of the sun, glowed dully now like frosted Christmas decorations.

Julie was in no mood to enjoy the scenery. The air was bitterly cold and she hugged the quilted anorak to her, cursing Clay Whitman and his high-handedness. From the opposite direction a dusty Land Rover pulled into the curb and the door was thrown open.

"Sling your case in the back, and make it snappy. We're late." She bent to see Clay Whitman looking fresh in khaki drill. His face was without expression. She dropped her case over the seat and took her place beside him with the caustic comment,

"Don't you mean you're late? I've been here ten minutes." He said nothing, merely let in the clutch and shot away. They had been travelling some considerable time when he asked,

"Do you know anything about Guchani?"

Julie answered evenly, "I know that it's three hundred miles in the desert, employs thirty-odd men, produces about eighty thousand barrels of crude oil a day. And I'm expected to stay there for a month."

"Very good. Been swotting it up ?"

"I thought I ought to know a little of the place I'm to be marooned in." She didn't add that she had looked up the information the day after his appearance on the terrace.

"Don't worry." He turned to give her a flint-eyed smile. "The minute we get a relief you'll be back in your fancy hotel."

"Without you to eavesdrop, I hope."

He shrugged, holding the cold smile. "A friend I was with picked that table. It was only after he had left I found the conversation ... interesting."

"Really? I'd no idea you were interested in female gossip."

The tight lips parted, showing a line of even teeth. "I'm not all hardened oil man, you know, and I was trying to figure out if you really are Moore's type."

"Did you arrive at any conclusion?"

"I didn't get time. You nearly scorched your innards sampling the local brew."

"If it's as bad as that I suppose I ought to say thank you, for interfering."

"You ought to, but you needn't." He returned to his driving and his own thoughts, and Julie stared out of the window. The road was little more than a track now, yellow and pebbly. Occasionally they passed a farmstead with clusters of palms looking like feather dusters against the brightening sky. To the left the distant line of mountains were sprinkled with a dusting of gold and as the sun rose the sky was filled with the twitter of larks and the velvety shadows were replaced by coral-tinted plants and green vegetation.

Julie had to admit it was all rather breathtaking, but with Clay Whitman at her side she could only pray that the three hundred miles would pass quickly. As if sensing her thoughts he said, "It will take about six hours to get there. There's an oasis about half way. We'll pull in there for a break." He looked at his watch grudgingly. "I usually make the trip in one go."

"Well, please don't make any concessions for me," Julie replied coolly. "I can take all you can."

"I doubt it." He turned and pulled a satchel from behind and dumped it on her lap. "Time for refreshments."

Julie couldn't suppress her pleasure at finding a flask of iced lime and fresh fruit inside the bag. In the last half hour the heat had become tremendous, like someone suddenly removing a screen from a roaring fire. Perspiration trickled at her temples, and her lips felt caked with dust. She drank deeply from the plastic mug.

Clay ate as he drove and Julie was obliged to supply him 13at intervals with his mug half filled with lime so as not to. slop over. She was hard put to it to suppress the giggles at the absurd intimacy of the situation. Here they were, two perfect strangers, eating and drinking together as though it were some regular Sunday afternoon jaunt. Handing him a second glass, she met a brown penetrating gaze.

"You're very young to be working abroad," he said unexpectedly. "No more than eighteen, I'd say."

"Twenty," Julie said wryly. "I don't expect I'll get far. I did once have a crazy notion of working my way round the world."

"I wouldn't advise it. Not alone anyway." The Land Rover seemed to jerk to a faster pace as he added lazily, "And I wouldn't put too much faith in friend Moore. I happen to know he likes his girls dotted along the way."

"I suppose that's his business, not yours." For a moment she had thought they might enter into a normal conversation, but it seemed that was too much to hope for.

"I don't make females my business," he was saying. "I'm an oil man." He stretched his long legs with satisfaction and took a firmer grip on the wheel. "I couldn't have got where I am with a woman round my neck."

Looking at him now with distaste, Julie knew this to be true. He couldn't be more than, say, in the middle thirties, and yet by the sound of it was nearly at the top of his profession. Well, good luck to him if he wanted it that way.

"I don't see the girls falling over themselves," she said bitingly.

"They know better. Women and oil don't mix."

"Oh! Then I hope I'm not going to be the proverbial spanner in the works."

"You won't get the chance," he said with a malicious gleam. "You'll be knee-deep in work." The lips dropped crookedly. "And if I were you I should forget Moore. He's not your type."

"So you know my type?" she oozed interest. "You do continue to amaze me."

With a grim smile he held the car as it leapt bumpily over rutted tracks and then turned to take in the fair hair curling up from slight shoulders. The anorak, removed in the heat of the day, showed a neat poplin shirt with sleeves rolled above the elbows, and arms the colour of honey. His glance slid to the tailored skirt and slender legs. His reply was a trifle impatient.

"I'd say you need someone to teach you there's more to life than sitting around looking decorative."

Following his gaze over her clothes, she replied with a trace of acid, "I used to be a model. Perhaps that accounts for my preference of decent clothes to a sack."

Was that a twinkle in the stony brown eyes? He was gazing at the road again now so she couldn't be sure, but the mouth slanted down in a grin as he replied, "You might not look at all bad in a sack."

"I hope I'm not going to get the chance to find out." Deliberately ignoring the lightness in his tone, she asked with studied calmness, "Mr. Whitman, was there any special reason why you picked me for the job?"

"Nope." He continued to stare ahead, but his jaw looked to have tightened. "But I admit I've had a yen to see a smudge of dirt on the immaculate turn-out. You know, honest-to-goodness hard work dirt," he added with heavy sarcasm. "The kind that's not likely to be dished up by your playboy friend Alan Moore." Obviously he didn't care for Alan.

"Are you going to put me to work in the oil fields?" she asked innocently. "No. But it's a thought."

Julie stared across the creamy sand dunes and wondered just what was in store for her. One thing was certain. Whatever it was like being cut off in the desert with thirty-odd men, and a hard-hitting boss, nothing would induce her to complain. That would be just playing into Clay Whitman's hands.

They came upon El Gerdhi when the sun was high in the sky. It was a small fruitful oasis with luscious date palms, green barley, and a village built out of mud and palm trunks. It boasted a post office, a police station and a rest house. As Clay pulled into the shade of a line of palms, a towering Negro appeared with a rusty can of water and a smile as wide as a slice of melon. He took control of the car with a rush of Arabic and much nodding, and Clay smiled and apparently returned the greeting.

Julie stepped out of the car to find herself surrounded by a group of villagers. Laughing and nodding and shuffling close to her in delighted curiosity, they showed only a circle of leathery faces. The rest of their bodies were swathed in some kind of cloak, which she later learned was called a barracan. How on earth did they keep cool in the fierce heat of the day? There was no time to find out, for Clay had pushed through and grasped her arm. With a nod and a wave to the group he led her away.

She found him eyeing her with a thoughtful frown.

"Where's that damned hat of yours?"

"I ... er ..." Slightly panic-stricken, Julie realised she had completely forgotten to pack any kind of headgear.

"This isn't Kensington Gardens." His breath whistled through his teeth as he swept off the straw trilby that had been perched on the back of his head, and clamped it down on hers. "This, dear child, is the desert."

"If you must know, I forgot to bring a hat," Julie snapped defiantly. This man had a gift for bringing out the worst in her. "And I'd rather not take yours! "

"Keep it. I don't want you passing out on me. We've got to keep moving."

"Well, thanks! " Julie squashed the hat down angrily over her hair. She was beginning to see why Clay Whitman had got where he was. He had a heart like a computer that brought out the right answer to the right question and left no room for argument.

He left her at the door of the rest house, where she was given a bowl of cool water, soap and a coarse towel. Through a mottled mirror hung on the wall she was able to touch her face up with a little fresh make-up. After a surprisingly good meal of omelette, fish, cheese, and fruit they waved goodbye to the nodding villagers and drove off into the sun.

Julie watched the sand whistle and spin from the tyres and was lulled into a delicious state of lethargy. Her body felt as thmigh it didn't belong to her and her eyelids drooped heavily. If the vehicle hadn't tossed and bounced so she might have found herself drifting off to sleep. Perhaps it was just as well. She glanced at the fresh upright figure at the side of her. Clay Whitman was sure to disapprove of anyone falling asleep on him!

She forced herself to sit rigid in her seat, and gazed out at the dunes stretching on either side like waves of an endless ocean. She thought of Tamara, and the girls at the office, and England ... and her father--

When she awoke she found the Land Rover had stopped beside a ruin, or a monument; whatever it was, it was enough to give sufficient shade to the seats. She stirred lazily, vaguely aware that the sky had lost its brassiness. It was a deeper blue now, more like the sky of late afternoon. She sat up with a jerk to look at her watch and found Clay gazing at her indolently through his cigarette smoke.

"I thought you were going to sleep all day."

"I'm sorry, I must have drifted off. We're late, aren't we?"

He shrugged; throwing his cigarette out. "Six hours it normally takes. At this rate we'll be lucky if we get in at sundown."

"You needn't have stopped."

"It wasn't altogether practical driving with you bouncing all over my lap."

Jerkily she smoothed her hair and stared straight ahead as he started the engine. He could have kept going and deliberately bounced her awake. Yet he had chosen to stop. Could the steely Mr. Whitman have a soft spot after all? Or had he too found the journey rather rigorous and welcomed the break? More than likely that was it.

A long time later he pointed to two tongues of flame licking the sky on the horizon. "That's Guchani."

They followed a trail of oil that had been sprayed to make a road and Julie gazed in awe at the roaring sheets of fire.

"Gas burning from the wells," Clay said dispassionately, watching her face and adding with a tight smile, "You won't be alone in the dark. They burn day and night."

"That's a comfort anyway," Julie replied drily, though she was thinking, Alone in the dark, with Clay WThitman; she might have been if he hadn't put a spurt on for the last few miles. No doubt his one emotion at the moment was relief. After being with her a whole day what else couldhe feel? She thought of the day that had started way back in Tripoli, the shadowy mosques and freezing .dawn ... and El Gerdhi when he had given her his hat ... in the shade of the ruins when he had waited as she slept. It was ridiculous to feel sorry that the journey was over.

His next comment put paid to any amicable feeling that might have been welling up within her.

"You're here to work, Miss Lambert." He gazed at the smooth hair and azure blue eyes with apparent distaste. "Most of the men are married with wives and families in Tripoli, and the others ... I don't want them distracted from highly specialised jobs, you understand."

Julie felt her breath quicken, but she bit back a reply. Why give him an opening for another caustic comment? He obviously enjoyed making them. By the look in his eyes he could go on all day.

She held her gaze steadily ahead, feeling unaccountably dejected. The camp came into view and she saw an assortment of neat-looking buildings. Although she was officially here for a month, the accounts supervisor had assured her that the first available man would be immediately posted to Guchani. As she stepped from the Land Rover, brushing against the bulk of the large scowling oil man, she could only hope that help would come soon.

Julie was amazed to find so much comfort in the heart of the desert. The concrete bungalows, each with its own veranda, had marble floors and ultra-modern furniture. There was a tennis court, a football pitch, a club, and a games room. White-coated waiters served in canteen with gaily-coloured tables and chairs, and the menu would have done justice to any first-class hotel.

The men were an assortment of Arabs, Italians, and English, There was an Indian doctor, and a German electronics engineer, and Steve Rowland who came from Dublin. It was Steve in fact who drove her around the camp once they had deposited her suitcase in one of two bungalows set apart from the rest. He was stocky and pink- faced with a spiky yellow crew-cut, and looked more like one of the rugged engineers than the accounts manager.

She was later to learn his appearance disguised a very agile brain.

He showed her the wells sunk by the oil men for running water, and pointed to wellhead fixtures in the distance, which he told her were called Christmas trees by the oil men.

She arrived back at her bungalow feeling slightly exhausted, but Steve had had an order to show her round and show her round he did. It would seem that Clay Whitman's requests were carried out to the last letter by his men.

Alone at last, she examined her bungalow with an intake of breath. The marble floor was a deep sea blue. The armchairs were upholstered in white leather, and a fitted wardrobe was set in the wall. There was a steel-legged desk with a fridge set beneath it, and through the door beyond a white-walled bedroom had an adjoining washroom and shower.

Well, well, the men certainly did themselves proud! If she hadn't seen the glow of the gas flames in the darkening sky, Julie would have sworn she was in some luxurious holiday camp. She had unpacked her things and was wondering what to do next when there was a gentle knock on the door. A waiter with the olive skin of an Italian smiled shyly.

"Mr. Whitman would prefer you not to eat in the main dining-hall. He has instructed me to bring your meals until he can make other arrangements."

He placed the covered tray on the desk and departed with a slight bow, and Julie closed the door gently with a sigh of relief. She really hadn't been looking forward to eating in a room crowded with boisterous men. The food was delicious. She ate, amazed at her appetite and ashamed of the cleaned-out dishes.

It wasn't until later when she had showered and changed into a peach negligee that she saw the lights go on in the opposite bungalow. Who lived there? Steve Rowland, probably, seeing as they were both doing accounts, or maybe Gopal Rahmid, the tall Indian doctor she had been introduced to earlier. No further guesses were needed, however, for the door was swung open and Clay Whitman stood there.

"Do come in," she said, clutching the negligee close.

"Sorry." He gave a half smile. "Force of habit," and then, gazing down at the door handle, "We've never found it necessary to issue locks. Would you feel better with one on?"

"I'm not the nervous type, if that's what you mean."

"Good." His eyes flickered down the length of her and then swung away. "I'm in the bungalow opposite if you have any worries. Steve, Dr. Rahmid and myself usually breakfast around six, you'd better join us. I don't want you living the life of a hermit while you're here."

"Thank you. Would it help if I apologised for being a woman ?"

He smiled briefly.

"I don't think so. You might try," he added, eyeing the peach frills, "cutting down on the femininity."

"Sorry. I didn't bring a collar and tie."

Sardonic brown eyes purposely lingered on her throat. "Perhaps that would be going a bit far. Goodnight," and as he pulled the door closed, "Sleep well."

The next day Julie was plunged into the work she had been specifically brought out for. The minute she stepped into Steve Rowland's office she realised what a colossal task one man was battling with. The desks were piled high with figures and data brought in days before. Information on the cost of machinery and equipment already used at the camp were mixed up with sheets of figures and masses of handwritten notes and letters.

"We hope to have three men in here eventually." Steve gazed round apologetically.

"You'll need them." Julie smiled wryly and scooped up a sheaf of papers. "In fact I'd say you'd need a small army to clear this little lot."

Cheerfully she waded in.

They lunched from a tray brought to the office and Steve told hereabout his wife and two small children in Tripoli.

"Janet's four and Mark is three." He smiled wistfully. "I married rather late in life. Most oil men do." Julie reckoned him to be about forty-five. Would Clay marry late in life? she wondered. Would he marry at all? It wasn't likely. "Women and oil don't mix" was his motto. Feeling slightly irritated, she replied,

"But surely, Steve, you don't term yourself as an oil man? Not like the men working on the drills?"

He shrugged cheerfully. "I've been in the business all my life. America, Australia, Venezuela. Y'know," he added without the slightest trace of nostalgia, "I haven't been home in twenty years."

"Perhaps that accounts for a decided absence of the Dublin brogue," Julie smiled.

Towards the end of the first week the desks were almost cleared, and some of the lines disappeared from Steve's freckled forehead. She saw nothing of Clay Whitman except at breakfast and occasionally in the evening when he would arrive at his bungalow, helmeted and spattered with oil. Dr. Rahmid had taken to calling for her each evening and sometimes she dined with him at his bungalow.

He was a strange man, thoughtful to the point of being morose. She recognised a loneliness in him, and an avid dislike of the desert and its climate. He tended to harp on this in his conversation.

"Why did you come to Guchani?" he asked one evening in the offended tones he often adopted when talking about the camp.

Julie gazed up at the stars as they walked. She could never get over their size and brilliance out here in the desert. They hung like silver lanterns from a sky of midnight blue velvet. Reluctantly she answered the doctor's question.

"Surely you know the state of the office. They needed someone desperately."

"Yes. But it is a man's job. Men are very plentiful, are they not?"

"Apparently not," Julie smiled. "They couldn't dig one up in Tripoli, but I've no doubt they will be flying someone out from another station."

"But if you had refused," he persisted as they passed along the line of bungalows, "they would have had to get someone else."

"I suppose so," Julie agreed slowly. She had often wondered herself why she hadn't given a flat refusal when Clay Whitman had arrogantly demanded her services, even if the company had sacked her on the spot, which was highly unlikely, as they were against female labour on the camps anyway. But even if they had, she wasn't completely penniless. She could have found her fare home.

"It all happened so quickly, there really wasn't time to think of refusing," she explained, wondering if that were really the truth. On that freezing cold dawn at the foot of the hotel steps, had she really been as furious as all that, or had there been just a trickle of excitement coursing along her veins at the prospect of working alongside Clay Whitman ?

"This is a great pity," the doctor sighed. "You should not be living under these conditions."

"The conditions are not so terrible," Julie laughed, relieved that they had got on to another track. "The food is good, the bungalows are air-conditioned and the last word in comfort. Admitted the heat is a bit trying, but ..." she looked up at him in sudden sympathy. "If you're not happy here, Doctor, why do you stay ?"

He shrugged, and Julie's sympathy turned to irritation. The young Indian was obviously a very dissatisfied man. He loathed camp life, and the desert and its environment, yet didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. Gazing up at the sensitive mouth and rueful black eyes, she forgot her annoyance and asked cheerfully,

"Wouldn't you like to go back home?" Her suggestion had been merely a means of making conversation, but she felt she had hit the nail on the head. A slow smile spread across the dark handsome features, revealing gleaming white teeth. He stopped and circling an arm around her shouldfef drew her to him as though grateful for the idea, but almost at once the light had faded from his eyes. The smile was replaced by a dejected frown as he muttered, "I couldn't do that. My work is here at Guchani."

Poor doctor Rhamid! He really was unhappy. But surely he could get out of the camp contract if he tried, find someone else to fill the position before he left. Still, it was his own business.

She gazed up at him in silent sympathy, and standing there in the faint glow of the gas jets she became aware of another figure—Clay Whitman. He must have followed them the best part of the way.

"Good evening," he said sourly, eyeing Dr. Rahmid's arm. The doctor dropped it hastily and stood almost to attention.

"Good evening, Mr. Whitman," with a sideways glance at Julie. "As you requested I am keeping an eye on Miss Lambert."

"Professionally, of course," Clay drawled sarcastically. He nodded towards the oil fields. "There's a man out there with a gashed leg. Rig three. Get someone to drive you."

The doctor departed with a pained sigh and Clay took Julie's arm. She noticed the roughness of his grasp and murmured,

"We're almost there. I can find my own way if you have other things to do."

"I'm through for today. What were you two talking about?"

Julie looked up at Clay's profile as he stared straight ahead. She shrugged.

"Nothing much. I was wondering why Doctor Rahmid stays if he doesn't like it here."

He stared down at her. The brown eyes held a flicker of annoyance.

"So he's been selling you the old line, has he? Don't waste your sympathy on him—he tries it on all of us. Dr. Rahmid is the type who is happiest when he's miserable. He's free to pull out whenever he likes."

"Well, you might try at least to understand him."

"Like you do?" His smile was twisted as they stopped outside her door. He let his arm drop, but made no effort to move away. "Do you think Moore would approve of you shining your bluebell eyes on the doctor?"

"Why shouldn't he?" Julie replied, determined not to get ruffled.

"No reason." He leaned a broad arm on the doorway. "But if I had gone to the trouble of getting a girl fixed up in my father's Mediterranean offices and paid for her to stay at the plushiest hotel, I would expect to have some claim on her myself."

"No doubt you would, but as Alan and I are just friends he's not likely to think on those lines, is he?"

"No? I bet he'll be peeved as hell to find you're not in Tripoli when he arrives."

She saw the dark gleam in his eyes and her breath quickened angrily. "You always insist on reading nastiness into everything, don't you?"

"No, but I know Moore."

"And so do I."

He gave her a long look and shrugged, "Either you're charmingly naive or you don't mind."

"Sometimes you're ..." Furious, she raised a hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist with a harsh laugh. "Don't waste your energy. You'll need it for young Moore."

Crimson, she had to suffer her wrist in his grasp and his face mocking above hers, but she managed to say steadily, "I don't suppose his unpopularity out here has anything to do with the fact that Alan is the son of Sir Giles Moore, the chairman of the company ?"

He released her roughly and pushed the door of the bungalow open with a sudden jerk. "Let's wait and see, shall we?"

Julie entered, expecting Clay to leave, but he hung around at the door, staring up at the stars as though allowing tempers to cool. Presently he strolled inside, casting a lazy glance at the feminine touches to the room.

"Are you comfortable here ?"

She nodded. "There's no need to send your man over to keep it clean. It would take no time at all to dust round in the evening."

He shook his head, eyeing with disdain the cluster of desert flowers flowing from a glass on the windowsill.

"You've got enough to do. By the way," he looked up at her, "Steve tells me you're almost clear in the office. You've done a good job."

"I'm glad I could help," she said politely, waiting for him to go.

"You can."

It was a rather obscure reply and she looked to him for enlightenment. He grinned down at his overalls. "Give me time to get cleaned up and we'll have a drink. I want to talk to you." He nodded to the streak of oil along her shoulder which must have rubbed off from his sleeve. "Funny, the smudge on your shirt makes no difference at all. You still look as if you've stepped out of a bandbox."

Julie gazed down with a half smile at her white shirt and linen skirt, and then around the room. "You can hardly call this the rougher side of life."

"It could get rougher."

Amidst the confusion of a wildly beating heart she thought he moved a pace closer. The brown eyes curiously flecked with green met and locked with hers. A slight smile played around the hard mouth, and suddenly an awareness of the tremendous physique and width of shoulder made her catch her breath. She dragged her gaze away to the fitted wardrobe.

"Am I allowed to wear a dress?"

"Why not?" He tossed her a mocking smile. "You're safe with me!"

Later as Julie showered she wondered what it was that Clay wanted to talk to her about. Could it be that he had heard they were about to get a replacement? Was he going to tell her that she would be leaving soon for Tripoli ?

Slipping into a sleeveless blue silk, she knew a strange reluctance to hear those words. She had become accustomed to the desert and its climate, the friendly smiles of the men, and a general feeling of belonging to this village in space. She wasn't ready to leave it yet; not yet.... She gazed across at the lights from Clay's bungalow. The soft muted notes of a languorous tango drifted over from his veranda, probably Radio Rome.

With a touch of lipstick and a final brush at her hair, flaxen at the ends from the sun, Julie stepped out into the night and met Clay almost on her doorstep. His white silk shirt stood out in the dark and the biscuit-coloured slacks held an immaculate crease.

He flicked an appraising glance over her and taking her lightly by the arm led her through his door. Mohammed, the smiling Libyan, was placing a tray of drinks and ice on a small table near french windows. As Clay dismissed him for the night Julie glanced round the room that she hadhardly dared take in during the formal breakfast times.

It was more spacious than the other bungalows, having a long L-shaped room with dark wood and leather furniture. The floor was of marble, patterned in muted tones. At the far end of the room a desk and files had been arranged to serve as an office, and beyond lay a corridor and doors suggesting other rooms.

Clay handed her a drink.

"Sorry, no gin and orange."

So he remembered she had said that was all she ever drunk. She looked at the glass of golden liquid with a bemused smile.

"It wouldn't be Kitty Kola, would it?"

"Would you drink it if it was?"

"Not after I've been warned off so forcefully."

"Good girl. You might survive life abroad after all." He led her through the open french windows to a cushioned chair by the rail of the veranda and took one on the opposite side. After some moments he asked casually,

"What was wrong with modelling?"

Julie sipped the liquid and found it burned her throat a little.

"Nothing was wrong with the job. It was me. I felt.. she shrugged and placed the glass down on a small table at her side, "restricted, if you like. Confined to the world of rich females and their insatiable appetite for something new. It was just .. . not me."

"Most girls go all out for that kind of life." He pushed his chair back on two legs.

"Do they?" she smiled. "Then I suppose I'm not most girls."

"Is this your first time out of England?"

"Apart from a flying visit to Paris, yes."

"And what about your home, your family?"

Julie lay back, the blue eyes thoughtful. "My father works on atomic energy in Scotland. He lives in a cluttered basement which he defies anyone to tidy, and most of the time he forgets where I am."

"And cares less."

"That's not strictly true," she replied, unruffled, "and you of all people can't blame him for being wrapped up in his job."

"But I don't have a small daughter to take care of."

"His small daughter happens to be well able to take care of herself."

"Yes, I can see that."

The slight jibe in his voice and the mocking glance he slanted her way rekindled Julie's temper. She stood up to stare out into the night, saying irritably, "I know what you're thinking—that if I were able to take care of myself I wouldn't have come to Tripoli. No matter what you think of Alan Moore ..." she spun round, "his father and mine have been friends for years. He offered me the job and so I took advantage of it."

"And so did Moore," Clay sneered. "He's got to be careful, has our Alan. He can't afford to smear the family name with much more unfavourable publicity, but out here he's a free agent. I know Moore better than you, and I know he never sticks to one girl for more than a few weeks." His mouth twisted suggestively. "He tires of them quicker than the average male."

Julie swung away from him. "Sometimes I find you insufferable!" She made to march through the french windows, but he was up in a second, grasping her arm.

"And you're too sensitive, child. Sit down and finish your drink." He spoke lightly enough, but there was a warning glint in his eyes. She sat down, murmuring, "Let's hope I can get to be as hardboiled as you some day."

"It wouldn't suit you." Lazily he took out cigarettes and when he had lit Julie's she lay back staring at the stars. Had she done the wrong thing in letting Alan arrange a job for her out here? Had he really paid her hotel fees with a view to "getting to know her better" as they put it these days? She gave a slight shiver. She liked Alan, but she could never imagine him in that light.

"Cold?" Clay asked, giving her a keen look.

Julie shook her head. The desert still held the warmth of the sun, but it would be cooler very soon now. She stared at the yellow flames of the gas jets in the distance.

"Will they ever go out?"

Clay got up to lean over the rail. He nodded, following her gaze.

"These are mere babes compared to the original 'eternal fires'." He saw her questioning look and continued, "In Persia there's a circle of them. They are only two or three feet high now, but about five thousand years ago they must have resembled a fiery furnace. They burn from self- ignited seepages of gas and form a circle a few yards wide."

'"The eternal fires'." Julie nodded thoughtfully. "In Nebuchadnezzar's day, wasn't itf I remember something vaguely from school."

"That's right. They're still a pretty awesome sight. Tourists travel miles out of their way just to stand within the circle. It's possible with not too much discomfort."

"Have you stood inside?"

He shook his head with a slight smile. "There's an oil field a couple of miles away. Some of the tourists used to overflow into the camp."

"You've travelled a great deal, haven't you?" she asked with interest. As he turned to look down at her she saw for a second the reflection of the gas jet flames in his eyes.

"I've been around. Most of these men have been with me on other jobs, including Steve. Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about" He drew on his cigarette and threw it over the side.

Here it comes! Julie braced herself for his words, puzzled at the heaviness of her heart. She couldn't actually be feeling pangs at leaving this arrogant oil boss, with whom she had been at constant loggerheads since their first meeting? That would be ridiculous. Clay was going to tell her that a replacement had been found, and her services were no longer required at Guchani.

For this information she should be feeling nothing but pure relief, and yet her eyes held a note of apprehension as she waited for his dismissal.

"Can you cope on your own for a while if I send Steve back to Tripoli ?"

At first Julie thought she must have heard wrong, and then the shock of the unexpected made her jump to her feet to face him. He sighed testily.

"I know it's a damn nuisance. You can't wait to get back to living it up, but Steve's been out here almost six weeks. He won't complain, but it doesn't need an I.Q. of a hundred and sixty to see he's itching to get a break with his wife and those youngsters of his."

"I don't mind helping out for Steve's sake," Julie replied coolly. Why did Clay always see the worst in her ?

"Good." His smile was hard. "You don't have to bother with the technical stuff, just keep the paper work down to the minimum. Steve has a month's leave coming to him, but there will be another man out to take his place shortly."

"Well, if that's all ..." She turned to go. There seemed to be nothing else to say, but Clay took her abruptly by the shoulders and turned her to him.

"And, Julie ..."

That was the first time he had called her by her first name. Her skin tingled at his touch.

"You're doing a good job here, you know."

"It's nice to know you think so."

He held on to her. The brown eyes searched her face.

"You don't mind staying on?"

Julie's heart lurched and she took refuge behind a flippant smile.

"Why should I ? I haven't seen one camel yet, or a dashing sheikh. I'm not in a hurry to return to civilisation until I've seen something of the tourist attractions."

"I suppose not," he said slowly, dropping his hands. "Well, that's no problem. We usually get an invitation to watch a session of dancing and music at the nearest Tuareg camp ... they're a kind of nomad. I don't know about a dashing sheikh. Mafa is seventy-two, but he's a pretty good host. I'll see what can be arranged."

Briskly he took her elbow and led her back to the door of her bungalow. Once inside Julie reached for a woollen cardigan. The air was now bitingly cold, but no colder, she thought dismally, then the impervious Clay Whitman.

The next day Steve and the other men who were due for leave drove out to the airstrip where a company plane would fly them out. Men returning from leave werequickly swallowed up in the oil fields, for as Dr. Rahmid told her, they were having trouble at one of the oil rigs and every last man was needed.

The camp was deserted except for the men who kept it running smoothly for the oil workers. Chefs, waiters, club attendants, all were on hand for weary shift workers who would return eager to shower and change and partake of the country club atmosphere. The oil company had spared no cost in laying on the comforts for those compelled to spend lonely weeks out in the desert.

Julie spent the days working in the office, coping with endless sheets of figures, and scribbled notes, but it was an absorbing task, and she gained immeasurable satisfaction just keeping the desks clear. She dined alone these days, and retired early to bed with a book. She was locking up the accounts office one afternoon, musing on her rather lonely existence, when she almost collided with Dr. Rahmid, battling by with his arms full of packages and bottles. He looked harassed and perspiring.

"I am so sorry to step so close." He grabbed a bottle that threatened to slide through his arm.

"Here, let me help you with those," Julie smiled, edging the more precarious objects into her hands. "Where are you taking them?"

The doctor sent a martyred glance to a jeep standing in the distance.

"The men are so careless," he grumbled as they walked. "I have never seen so many stupid accidents. They use up all my bandages and lotions."

"Why don't you put them in your bag?" Julie asked soothingly. For a doctor he was most unmethodical.

"There is no time. That Whitman man, he is some driver. Always he expects my supplies not to run out, and they do. And then he roars at me like a bull elephant and tells me I should bring more."

Julie had to suppress a smile. That sounded like Clay all right!

The doctor dropped the parcels carelessly on to the front seat of the jeep and breathed a jaded sigh.

"Haven't you got a clinic or a surgery out there to store a good stock in?" Julie wedged the bottles upright between the packages.

The doctor did not answer. He merely stepped into the driving seat and threw up his arms in puzzled anger.

"How am I to get there? I do not even drive."

Julie stared. A doctor who didn't drive?

"But who drove you back from the oil field ?" she asked.

"One of the men who was just finishing a shift."

"Can't you ask one of the others to take you?"

The doctor gripped the wheel stubbornly.

"I will not ask again. I am just a nuisance, always asking to be driven. And they will say ..." he turned his hands in a mock Italian gesture, " 'why don't you ruddee well learn to drive yourself!'"

There was some sense in that, Julie pondered, and after all the desert was spacious and uncluttered. Had he wanted to the doctor could have learnt to drive in a matter of days. She looked at the lock of blue-black hair falling over a dark eyebrow. How on earth had such a man got caught up in the hazards of drilling for oil ?

"I can drive a little," Julie offered, seeing his hand fumble on the gears. "I'm not awfully good, but as this is not the heart of London, you have every chance of arriving in one piece, if you want to risk it?"

The doctor raised his head with a hopeful look and Julie added,

"I could take you there and give you a hand with these. Perhaps we could sort out some extra space which you could stock up with medical supplies. That way you wouldn't need to make so many journeys."

Dr. Rahmid moved over, scooping up the parcels on to his knee, and Julie slid in, hoping she could remember all her father had taught her. At her touch the jeep jumped into action and they made rather an erratic track across the sand. She pointed the nose of the bonnet in the direction of the oil field and hoped for the best, which couldn't have been bad, for they arrived safe and laughing in a matter of minutes.

The doctor led her to a small square building on a slight hill. Julie stepped in to find a neat surgery with a desk and chairs, and several cupboards and shelves, most of which were empty.

"Why, Gopal, this is perfect! You've got ample room for everything you need here."

She turned to find the doctor shrugging indifferently.

"It is all right, but the other building is better."

"Other building?"

He took her shoulder and pointed from the doorway to a long low building with a flat-topped roof standing some considerable distance away. It was almost on the edge of the oil field.

"That one is better. There is lots of room, I could have beds. The men grumble when they are not feeling good and there is only a chair to sit on. Also it is much nearer and the men have not so far to come to me."

And you haven't so far to walk to them, Julie thought wryly. She was beginning to think Clay was right. The doctor did seem the hardest man to please. There was room for at least two beds in here, and if he had any heart in his work he could have been organised long ago.

"You do not agree," he said in pained tones. "Come, I will show how well situated is the other hut."

Julie would have preferred not to bother. After all, there was nothing she could do about it, moreover she wasn't at all sure they should be wandering so close to the oil field. The doctor had already marched off, confident that she would follow, and she didn't have the heart to call out a refusal. The distance was farther than it looked and it took all her attention just wading through the loose dusty sand that engulfed each step. As she came nearer she raised her head to see various scenes of activity where oil- spattered men were labouring at the wellheads.

There was no sign of the doctor and she wondered if she ought to turn back. He might at least have waited for her! The astonished glances of the oil men convinced her she was definitely out of bounds, but the hut was only yards away now, so she might as well carry on. In for a penny in for a pound, she thought grimly, forging ahead, Looking back, she could never quite recall what made the earth suddenly seem to stop revolving. There was nothing to indicate that anything was amiss. The general pandemonium of clanging machinery was still there. So was the men's voices. And yet Julie felt a suddening tightening of her heart. Premonition perhaps? She stopped and looked round for assurance.

Everything was exactly as it had been a minute before. A few yards away she saw boiler-suited men working near a large sign that said:

DANGER! WELL DRILLING IN. They were all very intent on their business. Julie decided to press on for the hut, but in the split second she had turned her head and then swung it back again, the men at the sign were scattering in all directions, and then towards her in one accord. She was almost mown down in the avalanche of bodies that swept by. Either they didn't see her now, or going by the look on their faces they didn't care. One elderly man with popping eyes did stop long enough to gasp, "Get out of here, lady!"

Julie looked around wildly. What was happening? Why were the men running? If only the doctor were here, she would know what to do. As it was she didn't know whether to run with the men, or back in the direction of the jeep. Mouth dry, she decided to carry on to the other building. Dr. Rahmid had headed that way and even if she didn't find him there surely she would be safe from whatever the men were afraid of.

The sand clogged at her shoes and her legs ached. The distance of a few yards had suddenly become the journey of a lifetime. It was no good, she would have to stop for breath. There was nothing to hear now but the pounding of her heart. No friendly clang of machinery, no voices calling above the din, just an eerie silence that made her flesh ripple with fear. And then she heard a brisk footstep round the side of the hut. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?" Clay loped towards her, his face white and tense. He took her shoulders and looked from side to side as though for means of escape. Julie heard herself babbling,

"I drove Dr. Rahmid to the surgery ... he wanted to show me this place. I followed him, but..." Clay pushed his breath through clenched teeth, "What will that buffoon do next? Look, we've got big trouble. I want you to stay here and don't budge until I get back. Understand?"

He pulled her to the doorway turned the knob and thrust her inside.

"But, Clay..."

"Stay put!"

The door slammed behind her and she heard his receding footsteps. Glancing down the length of the interior, Julie was almost caught up in a bout of hysterical laughter. Dr. Rahmid was going to have his work cut out making this into a surgery. It was nothing more than a toolshed. The place was filled with greasy implements, oil drums, and a conglomeration of engineering equipment.

She turned to gaze out of the dusty window, and a noise starting like a gentle murmur, and then boiling up into a low rumble of thunder, made her catch her breath. Was this it? She stood transfixed as the thunder roared, waiting for a climax that had to come; an ear-shattering explosion that seemed to open up the very bowels of the earth. The building rocked and the windows shattered, and Julie pressed herself against the wall to escape the flying glass. Had Clay got clear in time?

She forced herself to look out again and in that moment a jet of flame shot up. Hundreds of feet high, it hissed into the sky from the spot where the men had scattered. Even as she stared a second jet sprang out at the side away from her ... and a third, towards her. Julie watched in horror as a column of white flame reached out only a few yards to the left of the building in which she sheltered. It was as though a giant flame-thrower had launched an attack and had not as yet found the target.

The heat rushed through the windows like the blast from a furnace and she fell back with a cry. With one thought uppermost in her mind, "I must get out of here", she groped for the door, but even in the seconds it took her to reach it the knob had turned to a ball of heat. She sprang back with a gasp of pain, and searched wildly around. Was there nothing she could get a hold with? No old sacking or oil rags.... After a fruitless search she tried her lace handkerchief. It was useless, and the front of her blouse wasn't much better. She tugged for as long as she could bear, but the door had already swelled beyond her strength to separate it from its frame.

Breathless, she made her way to the far end of the hut and sank down, knowing that even if she could have opened the door the heat would have been too intense for her to walk through. At least it was cooler down here, but that wouldn't last for long. Though the structure was entirely of concrete, the interior was going to resemble the inside of a kiln in a matter of minutes. She pushed the damp hair back from her face, feeling the heat advancing towards her like a hungry animal.

Julie closed her eyes. She was trapped and there was no way out. She could hear the hiss of the flame through the shattered windows ... and what was that a footstep ? She must be imagining things ... everyone had gone. She wondered vaguely what had happened to the doctor. Had he sensed disaster and run with the men? She could have done with him here now, if only for company, but there was no sense in them both....

The door was kicked open with one sharp staccato thud, and Clay stood there.

"Julie!"

His eyes searched round the dim interior until he found a white heap huddled in one corner. He was there beside her, drawing her to her feet. Julie opened her eyes,

"Clay! How did you get through? I couldn't open the door."

Without thinking her head found his shoulder, and wordlessly he stroked her hair. The roar of the flames outside was dulled by the pounding of his heart. It must have taken tremendous exertion to push in a jammed door in baking heat. He showed no inclination to hurry her outside again and Julie looked up, her eyes wide and frightened.

"We are going to be able to get out?"

She saw his face was white and tense. A small muscle worked at the side of his jaw.

"The oil from the well has caught alight. It's always a bad business. It will take time to get the men into play."

In the meantime everything in this shed will be molten metal... or charred ...

"It's going to be all right." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, but the brown eyes were troubled and distant.

"Clay, you shouldn't have come back in here," she whispered.

He made no comment, merely held her close. In the * gathering shadows she saw black patches of sweat forming on his overalls, and droplets trickling down the side of his face. The air burnt her throat and she coughed and swayed on her feet.

"Where the hell have those men got to?" He let out a sharp breath.

"What good could they do?" Julie asked feebly.

"I've given orders to have an asbestos canopy brought in. It's the only thing that will get you through this heat."

After that talking became painful, and breathing more difficult. Julie felt she just couldn't take one more lungful of hot air. She had almost given up when there was the rattle of equipment and the commotion of men's voices. She had a vague recollection of being hoisted into Clay's arms and carried through the door alongside a grey wall of asbestos sheeting.

On the way to the surgery he made no effort to put her down, and Julie leaned with relief against him, feeling the ripple of his vitality in every step. They found Dr. Rahmid standing agitatedly in the doorway.

"What happened to you?" Clay's voice was like crackling ice.

"I ... I went to see if I could help ..." the doctor stammered, casting an ashamed glance in Julie's direction.

"In the opposite direction, no doubt," Clay snapped. He dropped Julie unceremoniously into a chair and turned to give the full vent of his wrath to the fumbling doctor.

"As from right now you're through! I've put up with your incompetence for God knows how long, but this is the end of the line. I'm having another doctor flown out, and the sooner you get out of my sight the better." He swung round on Julie with a withering look that said, "And as for you—"

"When you've got your breath back I'll send a man to drive you out. Don't let me see you on an oil field again."

He strode away, leaving solid silence behind him.

CHAPTER III

APART from tender patches on the palms of her hands, Julie felt no ill effects from her experience, but she wished Clay hadn't spoken to her as if she had gone to the oil field" on some kind of joy-ride. If she had known the perils involved wild horses wouldn't have dragged her there.

The fire at the wellhead raged day and night and it was possible to read a book at midnight from its glare. Clay and the men stayed with it, battling against tremendous odds, and when Julie thought of those jagged columns of flame searing the land and the sky, she found herself secretly praying for Clay's safety.

She scraped whatever information she could from the odd man who drove in for equipment, and on the third day was relieved to hear that the fire was under control. With the aid of explosives and gallons of water used to spray the men and the asbestos canopy as they moved in to survey the damage, Clay was now in a position to clamp on a huge valve, which would eventually bottle up the gas. Breathing a sigh of relief, Julie was able to give her full attention once again to her office duties.

Dr. Rahmid packed his things and came to bid her a formal goodbye, his eyes filled with a mixture of resignation and relief—perhaps, Julie thought, because someone else had made the decision for him. He hung around his bungalow waiting for whatever transport would prove available, and it came rather unexpectedly from outside quarters.

Murray Purnell, locust control officer, was a thin six- footer with light sandy hair and a pair of intense blue eyes. He dropped in at the camp and dug in as though it was his second home, and took Julie in his stride as though she were just one of a female community, instead of the only woman in a world of men. He enquired after Clay and Steve and men she had never heard of, and wandered around the office munching a duck sandwich and rattling on as though he had known her for years.

They ate together in the evening at Clay's bungalow, with the doctor a rather morose third party, and afterwards Murray expounded his theories on insects generally, and locusts in particular. As Julie was to learn, the gleam in the blue eyes burned all the more intensely at the mere mention of the name locust.

"Do you know," he said, pointing a finger at her, "that locusts represent a very grave threat to the country? One thousand million insects, that's how many there are in one swarm of locusts. Each eats its own weight from any green thing they can get their jaws around. Just imagine, its own weight, in one day! Once they completely devoured every living green thing in an oasis about eighty miles south of here. Now the trees bear no fruit, and the date harvest is too meagre to bother with."

"Can't you do anything about it?" Julie asked, her eyes suitably wide and concerned.

Murray relaxed and grinned, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, we'll lick 'em. We're working with an insecticide at the moment, but what a sight when they all settle on the bushes—they're like green clouds! "

Julie was afraid he was going to go all intense again, but he stopped to think and then said suddenly,

"Tell you what, why don't you come out with me to Jalda tomorrow? There's a swarm of locusts settled about eight miles from the oasis. You'd have a grandstand view."

Julie smiled a polite refusal.

"Why not?" Murray persisted. "I shall be driving the doctor to Jalda. He'll he able to pick up a connection there back to Tripoli. My men won't be out for at least another day. I'll have ample time to drive you back."

Julie..studied. She was well in front with her work in the office, and it would be nice to get away from the camp for a few hours. Why shouldn't she take time off to see something of the desert?

"All right," she responded brightly, "I'll come."

"Fine. Be ready about six in the morning. We want to get going before the sun gets too much."

They set off when the sky was black and the stars shone with no inkling that a new day was about to be thrust upon them. It was bitterly cold, and Julie stepped into Murray's Land Rover swathed in woollies and her hooded anorak. She couldn't help thinking how ridiculous it seemed to have to wrap up like this when in a few hours she would be only too glad to strip down to the sleeveless linen dress underneath. But that was the Libyan desert, blistering heat of the day sandwiched between bitter cold mornings and nights.

The doctor huddled in the back seat, his belongings piled at his side. He had managed a polite good morning to his companions and then looked out on the dark shapes of the camp with a moody half-smile. He seemed to retain that position for the most of the journey.

Besides driving Murray proved to be an excellent guide, and pointed out items of interest along the way. There was the grave of an Italian army officer killed during the last days of the war. The huge stone column had been erected by his men and as the sun rose it pointed a dark finger to his last resting place.

There were tracks of a camel caravan probably heading south with a supply of rugs, pottery and trinkets for the interior. As Murray pointed out, it was still the cheapest form of transport even in this modern day of travel, air freight being too costly. As they neared Jalda he pointed out along the stretches of lion-coloured sand to occasional patches of green.

"Barley. It doesn't grow as tall as ours in England, but the heads are almost as big. They don't have anything like land property out here. If a man considers a certain part of the desert suitable, probably after the rains, he just finds his bit of ground with the correct moisture, puts his seeds in and comes back for the harvest. There's no such thing as someone else nipping in first. They're an honest lot."

Jalna sprawled in the morning sun, a sizeable oasis with cascading palms, square white buildings and scintillating domes. Looking at her watch, Julie realised with some misgiving that it had taken some considerable time to get here. She had come to learn that time and distance meant very little to the men out here. When the heat permitted they would drive hundreds of miles from one point to another as though it were up one street and down the next.

She forced herself to relax. What was there to feel guilty about? Even though they would have to wait for the cool of the evening before they could travel back she was well ahead with her work, and quick enough to whittle it down again should it have piled up during the day. Just because the camp was run on the strict disciplinarian lines that Clay Whitman adopted, that was no reason to feel he had any hold over her, except from a working point of view. And everyone took time out from a job once in a while.

She had never permitted herself to dwell on the moments in the hut when the fire had raged outside and Clay had held her close in his arms. He had only done what any oil boss would have done; made sure she wasn't a liability to the firm. Even though it was her own fault for being there, he had considered it his duty to haul her out. And that's all there was to it.

With an inward sigh she decided to forget everything but the pleasures of the day, one of which was their entry into Jalna.

They followed a rough walled track that rose gently and led through a beautiful arched gateway. Within the dappled sunlight of the palms, groups of children chattered and laughed and rolled in the dust, their attire a kind of long cotton shirt which she learned was called a djellabah.

Occasionally a loaded camel strode haughtily by, and masses of birds, mostly sparrows, chirruped and rustled in and out of the feathery palms above. The sun spread warm shadows across the foliage and along the courtyard to the hotel walls where Murray drew in.

"There's just time for a bite to eat and a freshen up, and then we'll have to be off. In another couple of hours it'll be too hot to move."

Reluctantly Julie stepped from the Land Rover. She didn't feel in the least like dashing about, and to her mind it was hot enough now. She wished Murray wouldn't be quite so enthusiastic about his locusts, but as they were only eight miles away it shouldn't take long.

After a whirlwind meal, a wash and a touch of powder, Julie emerged in the apple green linen feeling fresher and slightly less exhausted.

Dr. Rahmid politely declined the offer to accompany them, preferring instead to wait in the cool of the hotel for his transport. He took Julie's hand in his and clasped it gently, without a word, and then turned to go indoors, but as the engine revved and they moved slowly away he hurried after them, waving a white topee.

"It is one I have not used," he said, offering it to her. "You will need something for your head out there in the hot sun. Please wear it."

Julie slipped the helmet on her head. It was a reasonable fit.

"Thank you," she smiled, "and Gopal," as he turned, "good luck!"

He went inside with the look that said he doubted it.

"Queer fish, isn't he?" Murray grinned, starting the motor up again.

"Not really." Julie sighed. "But he doesn't belong out here."

"Do any of us?" Laconically he swung the Land Rover out on the track towards the desert.

After a few minutes they came upon a spring, a patch of water reflecting the blue of the sky, and looking like a vivid splash of colour from a paintbox. In the distance there were clumps of vegetation looking incredibly green to Julie's eye, but as they approached she knew why.

Every conceivable leaf, branch or twig was crawling with young green locusts.

"Hoppers!" said Murray almost proudly. "A female can lay up to seventy eggs at a time. They're yellow at first and then green at this stage." Julie watched in fascinated horror as the mass of green rippled, pulsed and throbbed with life.

"You couldn't possibly hope to do anything about these," she reasoned. "There's millions!"

"We're pretty effective." Murray shaded his eyes to cast a challenging glance over the bushes. "I work with a truck and a dozen Arabs. We've got two machines that spray a fine powdering of insectide on every square inch, practically under the blighters' eyelids. They're young now, and if we can catch them at this stage, we've got ninety per cent chance of success."

As he spoke the young locusts started to drop off the bushes and advance erratically over the sand. In a few minutes they were marching in green columns, each hopping a few inches at a time.

Murray had to stay to weigh up the situation from all angles, but Julie preferred to keep her distance. She walked to the water hole and found shade beneath a squat palm. Even there she had the eerie feeling that the locusts were not far behind, and any minute would be scrabbling greedily at her feet.

It was some time before Murray could drag himself away. When he finally approached he called out buoyantly,

"Well, what about it? Was it worth the trip?"

"It's a sight I wouldn't have missed," she replied brightly. "I hope you can stop them reaching Jalna."

"A piece of cake!"

Jauntily he started the car and headed back, and Julie thought she had never met anyone with such a red-hot enthusiasm for his job. He whistled meditatively under his breath, blissfully unaware of any discomfort, though by now the heat was terrific.

Julie's head ached and a dull throb beat out a rhythm at her temples. Even Dr. Rahmid's pith helmet seemed scant protection from the glare of the sun. If they hadn't turned into the gates of Jalna at that precise moment she was sure she would have just melted on the seat.

There was another Land Rover outside the hotel. Dusty and sprayed with sand, Julie thought at first it looked vaguely familiar, and then realising that all Land Rovers looked alike decided it must be Dr. Rahmid's transport.

With one thought uppermost in her mind, to get out of the searing rays of the desert sun, she groped through the door and stopped to let the coolness envelop her. Her eyes focussed beyond the shadows within, to a figure approaching.

Dimly she made out a tall frame, wide shoulders, arrogant carriage ...

"Well, fancy meeting you here!"

There was no mistaking that voice or the heavy sarcasm that went with it.

"Greetings, O great one," Murray said breezily, coming up from behind. "We've just got back from locust colony."

"Yes, I heard about your proposed adventure from Mohammed," Clay returned drily, never taking his eyes off Julie.

"There's millions of the greedy little monsters about eight miles from here." Murray lit a cigarette and puffed happily. "Did you see anything of my men on your way up?"

Clay nodded. "They should be in in about an hour."

"That so. Well, I'm for a drink. Anyone joining me?" As they both declined he gripped Clay's shoulder in a friendly gesture, and murmuring absently, "Good to see you, Clay old son," departed for the bar.

As they moved along the long cloister and into the hall Julie was able to see Clay more clearly. There was dust in his hair and he was unshaven. She thought that she had never seen him look so weary, and it was only when she saw him eyeing her rather keenly that she realised she presented no better a picture.

"You look all in," he said curtly. "Purnell's inclined to think that everyone's got the constitution of a rhinoceros."

Julie smiled feebly. "We stayed out in the sun rather longer than I expected."

"Of course."

Once again his voice was weighted with sarcasm and she felt annoyance stir beneath her weariness. Before she could think of a suitable reply he tossed her a key.

"I've booked you a room. You'd better go and bed down for a couple of hours. I'll see you this evening. You'll find your case up there with all that's necessary for a night's stay, if Mohammed has done his job."

He turned to go and, Julie finding her voice, asked spiritedly,

"Why am I staying the night?"

"Because I have no intention of driving back today."

"You needn't have come," she retorted, her annoyance giving her strength.

"Needn't I?" His eyes were flecked with steel. "You forget I brought you out to the oil field, and until I hand you back to the Tripoli offices, you're my responsibility."

"I'm not a brown paper package, you know."

"No, but you're one hell of a headache."

He turned and left her and then, apparently realising that she wouldn't know where to go, he swung back and took her arm.

"I'll show you to your room."

As he closed the door behind her Julie found herself inside a spacious sweet-smelling chamber with an adjoining creditable bathroom. The furniture was a dark unpolished wood, and the bedcover was wearing paper-thin, but to find such a place after the rigours of the morning was nothing less than a miracle.

She sank on the bed, thankful to close her eyes, which seemed to be boring twin holes in her head. She heard a faint hum of voices, the gentle splashing of water, and the subdued chirrup of a bird, but soon the sounds merged into senseless trail of noise and she fell into a deep relaxing sleep.

The sun was no more than a pink glow along the wall when Julie awoke. She stretched blissfully, feeling refreshed and hungry, her eyes roaming around the room to rest on the small brown case.

What had Mohammed thought fit to pack for an overnight stay? Curious, she stirred from the bed and found that the case held toilet articles, night wear, and oh, bless the man! a clean skirt and blouse. Admittedly the skirt was severely tailored in white linen, and the blouse one that §he had declined to wear so far, being of the military flavour with epaulettes and pleated flap pockets, but anything was better than the creased jaded dress that she wore now.

After a tepid bath she stepped into the fresh clothing, feeling rather like a nurse in a tropical hospital, but the blouse was a good fit and she found if she left it open at the neck and rolled the sleeves well above the elbows, the result wasn't too bad.

One thing she could thank the sun for, it had given her a golden rose complexion that needed little make-up. A touch of peach lipstick seemed sufficient. She turned her attention to the flaxen hair swinging on her shoulders. Definitely not in keeping with the rest of her outfit. With the box of hair-grips that Mohammed had so thoughtfully included she folded the hair into a soft pleat at the back of her head, not realising that the severity she sought fled as the smooth curve of her chin and throat were revealed.

The small ears and strands of gold drawn back from her temples rejected all ideas of the stern look and presented instead a picture of vulnerable demureness.

Happy in the knowledge that she presented a fairly respectable picture, Julie left the room to seek out some kind of life. She found herself back in the hall with the buff- coloured tiles, passed the bar and then the dining-room to the lounge where Clay, obviously rested and relaxed since the morning and clad in dark slacks and cream shirt, stretched out smoking a cigarette. Another man, rather resplendent in silk Turkish trousers and a patterned waistcoat, was talking to him in fluent French.

As she entered Clay stirred himself to flicker a glance over her. The Frenchman uttered a couple of sentences and seeing Julie gave her a toothy smile and hurried away.

"Miss Nightingale, I presume?" Clay said lazily with a humorous twinkle. Julie felt rather like a spiral staircase as his eyes started at the top and swung round to the bottom.

"I think Mohammed sees me as a recruit for the nursing auxiliary," she smiled, feeling unaccountably shy.

"The outfit was my idea."

"Of course, I forgot," she returned lightly. "You don't care for frills and lace. While I'm here in the desert I must look as uniform as the oil rigs."

He didn't reply to this, merely looked at her for a long time and then got slowly to his feet with a dry smile."I shouldn't worry. The femininity is bursting through at the cracks. Let's eat."

The meal was good, consisting of fresh green beans, veal," cheese and coffee. The black waiter who served it looked rather sad, probably because the tourist season was almost over and he had only one table to attend. Clay told her that the hotel, going by the name of El Fondouk, was run by two French brothers, Charles and Raoul Pagniet, and meeting them later she thought she had never seen two such complete opposites.

Charles, the one she had caught a brief glimpse of in the lounge, was plump with a round clean-shaven face, and a mass of tight black curls. Raoul was tall, incredibly thin, with a balding head and a thick black moustache, but whatever their outward appearance they apparently shared the same jolly nature and sense of fun.

In the bar, with Charles tapping his plump fingers on the counter, and Raoul pushing glasses along its chipped surface, they recited endless experiences of life in a desert hotel. Their antics and gesticulations said much more than mere words, which was just as well, for they talked most of the time in voluble French. Julie felt as though she had a front seat at a variety theatre and laughed until her eyes shone with tears. Clay lay back, a drink in his hand and a lazy smile on his face.

Later he showed her the entrance to the hotel, with its inscription in Arabic on either side, and told her it had once been an ancient hostelry for camel caravans. From the courtyard he led her to an upper terrace where the roofs were washed in the pink pearl of afternoon sunlight, and as they watched a young woman a short distance away hung washing on a line. With a slight turn of her head she saw she was being observed and stepped discreetly back into ^he shadows, only half a garment hanging.

Julie waited eagerly for her to appear again, hoping to get a better view of the golden-skinned heart-shaped face and majestic carriage, but Clay smiled and led her away.

"The ladies of Jalna prefer not to be seen. All but the lower"*social caste keep to the rooftops."

"A town without women," Julie pondered. "What a restricted life they must lead."

"They're happy enough. They exchange gossip after dark by singing in a language that only they understand. You'll probably hear them tonight sending messages from quarter to quarter discussing our arrival in Jalna."

As they walked along the dusty road in front of the hotel Julie saw that Murray's Land Rover had gone. Following her gaze, Clay commented lazily,

"Purnell had to pull out," and then with an attempt at a smile that somehow fell short and presented instead a sour line he added, "I'm to tell you he hopes to run into you again some time."

Julie digested this in silence. It was rather a blow to one's ego to be regarded as just a passing acquaintance, especially as she was the only white girl in probably hundreds of miles. But that was Murray. He didn't really see anything beyond the nearest bush, and whether the green on it was leaves or an infestation of locusts. She had rather liked the gangling young man, but was in no particular hurry to see him again.

"I shouldn't worry too much," Clay commented, his mouth still taut. "He drops in at the camp pretty regularly."

They walked for some time in silence.

The last rays of the sun had left the air languorous and warm, and heavy with the faintly soporific mixture of eucalyptus, jasmine, and hot dust. Several bodies still sprawled beneath the diminishing shade of the palm trees, and a frail old Negro amused himself on an instrument resembling the bagpipe. Hearing similar rhythmic jigs and wails in Tripoli, Julie had come to regard this as typical North African music, though very similar to the Scottish sound.

Clay held on lightly to her arm as a string of camels strode disdainfully by, and she could only put down the inner trembling she experienced to the excitement of being here, in Jalna, a North African desert oasis where centuries- old customs and beliefs still prevailed. Why else should her pulses stir, and her heart beat out a fierce tattoo? Not because of the big man at her side, surely? His only concern was to hand her back to the Tripoli offices sound in mind and limb. She looked up at the suave tanned features and faintly arrogant line, annoyed at the girlish flutterings of her heart.

As his hand tightened on her arm she drew jerkily away and would have collided with a group of men but for Clay's sudden outstretched arm. Tall and dignified ancj, veiled in dark blue burnouses, each man raised a stained brown hand in greeting with the words "La bass" and Clay, nodding pleasantly, returned the greeting.

After they had disappeared the brown eyes hardened. He held Julie firmly beneath the elbow.

"Don't think you can wander around on your own in a place like this. Whether you like it or not you'd better stay close to me."

The sharp retort died in Julie's throat as she caught sight of the market place. The laden stalls and haphazard shops made her eyes shine.

"Oh, Clay!" she looked up pleadingly, "may we go?"

With a tolerant grin he escorted her towards the piles of merchandise. There were baskets and bangles and murderous-looking daggers, glowing silks and a variety of leather work. The red and yellow leather had been exquisitely embroidered, probably by the women of the oasis, and made up into long boots, slippers and belts.

It was a little disconcerting, too, to see several British products on display. There were bottles of aspirins, in amongst tinned toffee and fish; a well-known make of tea, and another in hair shampoos. Further along Julie stopped to examine a belt polished to a deep blood red. It was such a superb piece of craftsmanship, being minutely carved from end to end, she would have dearly liked to purchase it for her father. Having no money with her she fingered it lovingly and then put it down.

"Do you want it?"

Clay picked up the belt and pushed a hand into his pocket. The owner of the stall produced a piece of fine tissue and wrapping the belt presented it to Julie with a bow and a touch of his forehead. As they walked away Clay took the parcel from her and negligently dropped into her hand a small trinket he had purchased with the belt.

"What is it?" Julie gazed in wonder at what appeared to be the petals of a rose turned to stone.

"It's a form of crystalline limestone," he explained, guiding her back towards the hotel. "The action of the wind erodes the softer stone, leaving petal-like crystals."

"Clay, it's beautiful!" Julie's eyes shone with pleasure. He looked down at her, the brown eyes curiously dark and unreadable. With a peculiar slant to the hard mouth he drawled,

"They call it 'Rose of the desert', which somehow seems fitting."

Julie's mind was too fuzzy to work out that last remark. His dark unfathomable glance had stirred within her a strange bitter sweet ache that sent a pain of longing coursing along her veins. Her pulses fluttered like a caged bird, and she drew a little away from him, afraid he might sense the turmoil going on inside her. She heard herself saying rather stiltedly,

"I'll pay you for my father's belt and this ... souvenir when we get back to Guchani."

Clay began to walk briskly. "Forget it, child. Let them be a reminder of the dark days at Guchani."

Julie found herself matching his steps with some difficulty. Her heart spiralled round and down. He was already tiring of her company. Probably politeness had prompted him to show her something of the oasis; now he seemed impatient to end the tour.

As they approached the hotel El Fondouk she was surprised to see it literally surrounded by vehicles of varying shapes and sizes. The noise from within was reminiscent of an English pub on a Saturday night.

"The last of the tourists, I believe," Clay said. "Sheikh Mafa is their host tonight." He stopped and turned to her, a muscle flexing in his cheek. "We're invited, if you want to go?" Of course he was remembering his promise to try and arrange an invitation from the Sheikh, and here he was confronted with it. Naturally he felt committed.

Julie had no intention of being a nuisance.

"I don't think I want to go," she replied, walking towards the entrance of the hotel.

"If you're afraid of the camels we can walk to the camp. It's not far."

"I'd love to ride a camel, but ..." She searched round in her mind for an excuse that would let him off the hook,

"with all that way to drive back tomorrow, shouldn't you rest?" Looking at the tremendously fit physique and leashed vitality, she knew this suggestion was laughable, but Clay didn't look amused.

"Maybe I can give you a few years, but I'm not senile yet." He led her inside, rasping, "If that charming reticence of yours stems from the idea that I don't quite fill the bill as an escort, I should point out that there will be roughly two dozen in the party. You will be perfectly free to go off with whom you please."

Sheikh Mafa had sent an escort of torch-bearers and white-cloaked riders to direct the party, and the tourists, a mixture of wealthy Americans, Italians, and French, chattered excitedly and gingerly mounted the kneeling camels. Some stared wide-eyed and nervous when the camels regained their true height, and they found themselves suspended in space. Others like the plump little American woman giggled rapturously and hung on for dear life. Wherever possible husbands accompanied wives as pillion.

Julie found herself watching the scene with interest and amusement until a hand tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and a smiling Arab beckoned her to follow him. She was led to a magnificent-looking animal. Bigger than the others and almost white, the camel stared straight ahead in cold aloofness until a sharp command brought him to his knees. He looked at Julie with a bored expression, the jaws grinding lazily, and the feet splayed out as though it was all a colossal waste of time. She advanced as the Arab patiently offered his assistance, but as the coarse hair of the camel brushed her legs, she sensed another pair of hands take her lightly by the waist and hoist her into the saddle.

Before she could catch her breath the animal rose at the rear and she was flung forward towards its neck. The front rose with equal suddenness and she gazed giddily down to the ground miles below. Clay took one look at the slight figure draped precariously sideways over the camel and barked,

"Hold on. I'm coming up. You wouldn't get ten yards." The Arab obligingly lowered his back and with the help of a hand-hold Clay swung up behind her and pulled her firmly against him. With his assistance she curled her fingers around the cross-shaped pommel in front of her. This and the hard strength of Clay's chest as a backrest banished her trepidation. She now felt blissfully secure in spite of the camel's lurching step.

Her confidence was short-lived, however, for she felt his fingers lightly exploring her hair.

"I think we can dispense with the Sister Kenny look," he murmured. "Hair this colour was never meant to be hidden away." A strange thrill coursed through her as one by one he removed the hair-grips and dropped them into his shirt pocket. The flaxen hair cascaded to her shoulders, smooth and straight, and curling slightly upwards at the end. Briefly Clay buried his face in it.

"Smells of lavender ..."

Against her will Julie turned to look at him. Her face brushed against the hardness of his cheek, and lest he should see her sudden suffusing of colour she turned her gaze quickly back to the camel's head. Thankfully it was almost dark now, and the flames of the torches some distance ahead. It was necessary to sit a little rigid after that because her heart knocked so loudly. She forced herself to think of anything but Clay's nearness, and concentrated on the journey.

The smoky grey-black of the sky was sprinkled with diamante stars and occasionally she saw a stark bush silhouetted against the white sand-dunes. The tourists were so far ahead it wasn't even possible to hear the sound of their voices, but she could just about make out the swaying columns between the pinpricks of torchlight.

Their own camel was escorted by four men, two on either side. They were different from the white-cloaked Arab who had led her to the camel. Probably these were the genuine Tuareg from the encampment. Hadn't Clay said the name Tuareg was Arabic for nomad ? She looked down with interest at the swathed figures and veiled faces. Black eyes glittered from deep-set sockets, and on one she caught the glimpse of a fierce black moustache. They strode along, proud and silent.

Perhaps it was the restful rhythm of the camel's motion, now that it had got into its stride, or the fact that keeping one's back as stiff as a ramrod throughout the whole journey was going to prove a little too much. In any case Julie found herself relaxing and relying more and more on Clay's chest as a support. Soon her head was cushioned on his shoulder, and his cheek brushed lightly against her hair. Her heart caused her no embarrassment now, for it merely reverberated against the beat of his own.

All too soon the glow of camp fires could be seen in the distance and as they approached Julie felt a little like an intruder into the Arabian Nights. Tall robed figures and tents were lit by the light of the fires, and the sound of drums rolled along the desert air in an exciting variety of notes. There was a wide circle of women and children, apparently the music-makers, for the women were singing and beating the drums, and the children were acting as chorus leaders. The chatter of the tourists could be heard at the rear.

Reluctantly Julie stirred herself as Clay prepared to dismount. He jumped deftly to the ground, and as the camel knelt he swung Julie down close to him. She couldn't move, for his arms still held her and, puzzled, she looked up into his face. She was shattered to find it so close to her own, but in the moment their eyes met he slipped on a mocking smile and released her with a low laugh.

They were led to the doorway of a solid-looking tent a little apart from the circle but with an excellent view. There sitting on a kind of raised carpet stool was the Sheikh. Amongst the voluminous robes Julie saw a pair of gnarled brown hands, and above the veil a pair of hawklike eyes twinkled at her. He beckoned her to sit at his side and Clay took the other seat. The Sheikh clapped his hands and the show began.

The women accelerated the rhythm of the drums and their voices took on a high-pitched wailing note. As their breath threatened to give out, and the note diminished into little more than a whisper, a fearful-looking figure leapt into the ring accompanied by a simultaneous roar of the drums. The giant figure was clad completely in black, and straps crossed over his breast from a leather belt supporting a scabbard. From this he dragged a cross-hilted sword, and Julie stared wide-eyed as he proceeded to thrust it about with yelps and shouts. With the dainty steps of a ballet dancer he pirouetted around the circle, and as the shouts grew throaty and hoarse he took to swinging his sword viciously a few inches above the heads of the women, as if to encourage louder drum beats and heartier singing. The women readily obliged.

The tourists watched in awe as he leapt amongst them, slashing the sword and glowering darkly, until they were compelled to croak out some sound resembling the women's singing. The snorts and grunts brought a ripple of laughter to Julie's throat, but then she saw the black figure stop and turn her way. In the deafening noise of drums and voices, and with surprising agility for a man of such weight, he was before her, brandishing the sword. A wicked grin gleamed below the curled moustache and the nimble feet criss-crossed in the air.

Remembering the scant space between head and sword as he had swung around the circle, Julie hoped his judgement was still good. The long blade gleamed in the firelight and she swallowed, paled a little and waited. For some reason unknown to her he hesitated. His glance had dropped towards Clay and then back up again. Suddenly he leapt away, tossing a laugh into the air, and splaying his feet out into an almost split-like stride disappeared into the shadows.

One by one the performers took the ring, and when at the end a group of musicians added the peculiar sound of two-stringed violins and strange-looking wind instruments, as a kind of grand finale Sheikh Mafa turned to Julie.

"You come from England ?"

His voice was surprisingly vibrant and he spoke in faultless English. Julie nodded. How far away England seemed here in the desert! It was impossible to drag one's conscious thoughts away from the shrouded figures and veiled faces; from the yellow firelight and ghostly sand-dunes in the distance, and try to imagine a London bus or the bleep of the frantic traffic.

The Sheikh smiled and lifted his hands.

"I went to school in England. I got on well with everybody ... except your English weather!"As they laughed together, Clay stretched and came round to hand Julie a cigarette. The Sheikh watched them and nodded his head gently as though wrapped up in his own thoughts, and then he asked,

"Are you homesick, Miss Lambert, for your own country?"

"I don't think I am." Julie laughed in slight astonishment. "I barely give it a thought, except to write to my father once a week."

The old man nodded and spoke to Clay. He wanted to know if the fire at the oil rig was under control, and what was the latest output in oil at Guchani. They spoke with the easy companionableness of men who have known each other a long time, and Julie listened as they explored various theories on laying extra pipeline, and transporting oil by boat.

Eventually the old man rose.

"You must excuse me, my dear, for taking advantage and talking shop, as you say, with Clay. I must go now and show myself amongst my other guests."

He shook Julie's hand and then held Clay's. The twinkle was back in the faded eyes.

"And now, my friend, you are finding there is more to this life than oil and sand, hah?" As there was no immediate reply he continued throatily, "And you are tired of making love to an oil well, mmm?"

Clay smiled lazily and drew deeply on his cigarette, and the old Sheikh turned with a lift of his shoulders and an affectionate gleam in his eye.

"You are right. It is not for me to ask why you bring your woman into the desert."

Julie felt a flood of colour stain her cheeks. Only the crackling of the fires could be heard above the tossing of her heart. She watched the tourists surge around the tall robed figure, all eager for a glimpse of a real live Sheikh, and then she turned abruptly and walked out into the night.

Not knowing not caring where she stepped, her one desire was to get away, to be alone. The darkness enveloped her and the soft sand quickly filled her shoes, making them feel like iron weights around her ankles. She saw the stars like baubles swaying above her, and then the steely grip of a hand tightened around her wrist.

"Why the anti-social mood all of a sudden?"

Clay held on to her, the hard mouth slightly crooked.

"I ... just wanted to ... get away for a while."

"From me?"

She tried to shake her hand free, "I ... don't know what you mean ... from you?"

"Of course you don't!"

He swung her to him, his eyes dark above her own.

"Please, Clay ..."

"Did the old man's words upset you that much?"

She looked up into the ruggedly handsome face, the lips so very close to her own.

"Please, let's get back to the others..."

"I've got a better idea."

She saw the gleam of his teeth from a twisted smile, felt the pounding of his heart as he said thickly,

"Let's oblige the old boy and say just for tonight you are, to use the rather dramatic term of the east, my woman."

Roughly his mouth found hers. It seemed to draw the very soul from within her. She leaned against him, unable to suppress the ecstasy of these hard lips upon her own. His mouth slid down, caressing her throat, her hair, and then almost without realising it she began to withdraw.

Three words starting as a gentle whisper at the back of her sub-conscious throbbed louder with every second ... just for tonight... just for tonight....

Of course that was as far as it went ... just for tonight. Clay Whitman was an oil man, and as he never failed to tell her at least once a day, women and oil didn't mix. But he wasn't averse to a little light entertainment on the side at her expense. Perhaps this was how he got his fun. A man didn't necessarily have to get married to get what he wanted from life.

This last thought made her writhe in Clay's arms, and with a suppressed sob she struggled free. Clay stood for a long time still and silent, and then with a slightly trembling hand he lit up a cigarette.

"As you were saying," in a voice that resembled the rattle of ice cubes, "let's get back to the others."

He took her arm and led her back to the encampment, blowing his smoke up into the sky.

CHAPTER IV

&QUOT;AH, Monsieur Wheetman!"

The little Frenchman, organiser of the tourist party, hurried forward, mopping his brow as was his habit. "The transport ees ready. Eef you would agree to supervising the last car ... and Mam'selle can seet weeth the ladies up at the front."

Clay nodded tersely and Julie was led to a long estate car overflowing with the females of the party. All were laughing gaily and obviously well pleased with the night's entertainment. They willingly breathed in to provide the extra space, and forcing a smile Julie joined them, telling herself she much preferred this way of travelling to an intimate camel ride with Clay.

But once back in her hotel room she stared through the open window at a sky ablaze with stars, seeing only Clay's face. The memory of those hard lips upon her own was still painfully vivid in her mind. She was annoyed with herself. What did it amount to? A night laden with the magic of the desert, and a man who had been pushed beyond endurance with the fire at the oil rig and the extra work it had entailed.

Naturally on his arrival at Jalna he had been only too willing to indulge in the kind of relaxation that most virile men enjoy. No doubt there were girls in Tripoli whom he invited out when on leave, as there must have been in other parts of the world where he had worked.

She had thought he hadn't really wanted to go to the encampment, was just being polite. Now she could see he had been only too willing to take advantage of a situation here he didn't have to go to the nearest city for his amusements. She, Julie, had been on hand. Tomorrow he would go back to his men, oblivious to everything else but oil rags, and pipelines, and all the trappings that went with a top man in the oil business. And Julie would take care that such a situation never arose again.

Kisses from Clay Whitman could be, to say the least... unsettling.

In the distance she heard the high-pitched bell-like voices of the women of Jalna singing their gossip over the rooftops. Were they discussing the tourists? Or perhaps Clay and herself were the subject of their musical conversation?

Julie climbed into bed, a small ache in her throat. The women of Jalna didn't know it, but that particular subject was going to be very short-lived indeed.

They breakfasted early next morning, Clay his usual urbane self, and Julie striving to push the memory of a brief embrace to the farthest corner of her mind. She had expected to be whipped away at first light, but Clay seemed in no hurry to leave.

The first peach glow of dawn found her matching his lazy strides with suitable steps of her own, as they walked beneath the palms towards the gates of Jalna. The call to prayer echoed over the rooftops; a sonorous voice challenging over and over again, Allahu akbar ... Allahu akbar ... The call was taken up by another voice and yet another until the mosques and minarets reverberated with a plea to the faithful.

Julie found the view from the gateway quite breathtaking. With a little gasp of pleasure she gazed on the desert sand washed by the gold of sunrise, and spreading like a soft carpet towards a horizon of pure eggshell blue. Scarves of saffron, apricot, and a milky cream drifted by over head, reluctant to leave a sky still blinking with stars.

Not far from the gates on a gentle slope, a group of camels rested, and by their side a cluster of camelmen sat brewing tea around a fire. They saw Clay and beckoned, their eyes alight with friendliness, each showing a toothy grin.Julie was offered a grain sack for a seat, and she gathered from the men's performance that fresh tea was to be made for their benefit.

She watched as one of a pair of tea-pots was placed over charcoal embers, which must have been very hot indeed, for the contents of the tea-pot were steaming merrily in next to no time. The second tea-pot was placed beside it, but was not apparently required at boiling point. There followed a ritual of pourings from one pot to another until evidendy the right strength was obtained, and then a row of thick glasses were set out.

Much to Julie's surprise a handful of the peanuts that had been roasting in a pan over the fire was dropped into the bottom of each glass and the hot tea poured over them. She wasn't to know what this concoction tasted like, however, for when her turn came to accept a glass, Clay smilingly declined for her, saying something swiftly in Arabic.

Unperturbed, the camelmen nodded and smiled and sat with Clay to drink the three customary glasses. On the way back to gates Julie asked casually,

"Why wasn't I allowed a drink?"

"I told them it wasn't our custom for the ladies to drink tea with the men." He looked down at her briefly. "You wouldn't know the dangers of drinking from uncertain sources."

"But ycu drank it." Alarm showed in Julie's blue eyes.

"But I, child," he took her arm with a tolerant smile, "am hardened to it. We'd better get moving before the heat gets us."

The Land Rover ate up the miles as the sun became a blurred brassy disc in the sky, and Julie lay back thinking of Clay's last words. "I'm hardened to it."

That could be the story of his life, she thought with a touch of irritation. During the course of his travels Clay Whitman had undoubtedly become hardened to most things. He drove now with the cool calculation of a man who has every intention of getting from point A to point B in the least possible time, and unbelievably soon the gas jets of Guchani were showing upon the skyline. Julie felt as though she were coming home. Ridiculous how one could put roots down in a place after only being there a short while. She gazed ahead, all unsuspecting that life at the oil camp as she knew it was going to be considerably changed.The Land Rover pulled in, in a cloud of dust, and a tall figure almost as tall as Clay dropped negligently down the , steps of Clay's bungalow. There was something vaguely familiar about the set of the shoulders and fair waving hair, but it wasn't until she had stepped from her seat that recognition hit her.

"Alan! Alan Moore!"

"Julie, my sweet! You're a long way from Tripoli." With a vexed look around the mouth he pulled her to him and planted a kiss lingeringly beneath her ear. Julie was at pains to hide her embarrassment. To be held and kissed in this way while Clay stood by and watched was pure agony. Especially as she had never got beyond the handshaking stage with Alan in London.

"When ... when did you arrive?"

She smiled to cover her confusion.

"I flew myself in yesterday afternoon." With a side glance at Clay, he led her into the bungalow. "I didn't know you'd be out sightseeing. And stopping overnight at that." There was annoyance in his tones, and Clay interjected mildly,

"The journey would have been too much in one day. It was my decision to stay the night in Jalna."

"I expect you're right." Alan sighed irritably and flung off his tie. "Have you got a drink?" He laughed harshly. "That man of yours is pretty cagey about offering anything before dinner."

Clay went out and returned with a tray. He poured whisky, adding a generous helping of water, and handed him the glass.

Alan swallowed the contents rapidly.

"Glad to know," he said between gulps, "you got the fire at the oil rig under control."

"We managed." Clay passed him a tight smile. "Were you hoping for a ringside seat?"

"Well, no," Alan smiled obliquely, his tones smooth, "as a matter of fact, I came to offer my services in accounts ... until you get a replacement for Steve Rowland."

"That was thoughtful of you."

"Yes, wasn't it?"

Clay took the empty glass, his mouth still holding a thin smile.

"Strange. I've never known you set foot in one of your oil camps, let alone work in one."

There was a silence in which the two men eyed each other across the room, and then Alan moved a little self-consciously.

"I ... suppose there's a vacant bungalow I could move into?"

"There's Steve's." Clay put the glass down with some deliberation. "But I see no reason why you shouldn't put up here, with me. I've got the room."

"Thanks." Alan spread himself in a chair. "And would you tell the Mohammed bloke to let up on the bottles? I like a drink during the day. You know ..." he performed the actions of pouring a drink with smiling sarcasm, "to tip my own out when the mood takes me."

"I wouldn't advise it in this heat."

Clay glanced briefly at Julie, and added in brittle tone9,

"If you two will excuse me, I have some things to attend to." He turned and left them without a backward glance.

"Is it true," Julie said brightly, feeling ill at ease, "that you've never been to one of your oil camps?"

Alan stood up with a grin and took her hand.

"Take no notice of Clay, my poppet, there never has been love lost between him and me. What he means is, I've never had occasion to come and look him up ... at least not until now."

He pulled her towards him, the pale hazel eyes sliding over her figure and up to the smooth tanned cheeks and flaxen hair.

"This is different."

"Is it?"

"I'll say! You're here and ..." she saw the sensual curl of his lips, "you're ... different."

"So are you." Lightly she released herself and put a few paces between them.

He shrugged and lit up a cigarette.

"Well, let's face it, this isn't London. It's got to the point where I can't lift my little finger over there without it's in the morning papers." He frowned briefly, a lock of hair falling over the perspiring brow. "I must admit I let go some choice words when I found you weren't at the Hotel Gerard, but the more I see of this set-up the better I like it."

"This set-up happens to include my job," Julie said evenly. "There is a very serious staff shortage in the accounts office. I hope you're equipped to reduce some of the technical paperwork."

Alan laughed into the air with incredulous amusement. He took her arm, flinging his half-smoked cigarette down and grinding it with an expensive suede shoe.

"Perhaps you and I have got our lines crossed, sweetheart. I didn't come out here to get bogged down with office work."

She saw a look on his face and a light in his eyes of a man who is used to a quick conquest. As he pulled her towards him she said hurriedly,

"Alan, I think there's something we should get settled about... my coming to Tripoli."

"You don't like the job?"

"It's not the job. It's a misunderstanding that seems to have arisen. It was very kind of you to book the Hotel Gerard for me, but I think I'd rather like to pay the bill myself."

"I don't get it."

"And I don't get you," she smiled pleasantly. "You're acting as if this was some kind of lovers' tryst, though we've only met half a dozen times in as many number of years."

"True, true." A boyish smile played around the thickish lips as he surveyed her under a heavy-lidded glance, "but it was only the last time it hit me you've grown up into quite something." He drew her towards him. "You wanted a job out here, and I thought Libya would be as good a place as any to ..." his mouth opened for her kiss ... "get to know each other better."

"I-really can't believe," she pushed herself gently away, "that this is the Alan Moore I knew in London."

"It must be the heat."

"Funny, it doesn't affect me that way."

Mohammed drifted silently into the room in slippered grace,"*carrying polish and dusters. Julie took advantage of his presence to slip discreetly to the door.

"I must fly. The work is bound to have piled up. If you feel like giving a hand later, the office is the second bungalow from the end."

Once outside she inhaled a deep quivering breath. Alan Moore was here in Guchani! Why had he made the journey? Not to work, obviously. Her mind went back to the cocktail party in London where Alan had been a guest. She had found herself frequently paired off with him and when the conversation had turned to travel had mentioned casually her intention to quit the model business and try for a job abroad.

Alan had suggested a position in his father's firm, and Julie had jumped at the chance, realising that a first-hand recommendation could save months of negotiations were she to try for a job on her own.

Less than a week later his letter had arrived. She was to fly to Tripoli and take up residence at the Hotel Gerard where Alan had booked a suite for her. Her job would be as a secretary in the Dawah oil company offices, and Alan had said he expected to fly out en route to other companies to see how she was making out.

Julie had accepted the job without hesitation. To her it had been nothing more than a friend putting in a good word to help her get started. The rest she considered was up to her. Now it seemed it wasn't quite so simple as that.

She had never had any illusions about Alan Moore. He was rich, twenty-eight years old and handsome, with a boyish charm that usually kept the girls circling. He had a reputation for getting his own way. He ran a fast car, piloted his own plane, and often sailed his yacht on long voyages with only girls as crew.

Oh no! Julie had no illusions about him, but neither did she dream he would turn his attentions on her.

On entering the office she found, much to her surprise a new occupant sitting at one of the desks. Hans, a silver- blond German she had seen waiting on tables on the club veranda, jumped up and almost clicked his heels. He spoke little English, but she gathered that Clay had set him his new duties until the staff situation in the office was eased.

He was very young. Julie thought, probably not more than nineteen or twenty, and painfully shy. However, he proved himself an eager willing worker, and within an hour they had worked out a routine between them, with Hans sorting out the facts and figures into various trays and Julie taking it from there. It was amazing what a difference - another pair of hands made. Alan drifted in towards the end of the day and lounged across the corner of her desk, flicking indolently through sheafs of papers and half-heartedly offering assistance when Julie got stuck on a batch of figures. He gave a grin of relief when she told Hans that they were finished for the day, and he could go when he was ready.

The young German showed a nervous smile and carried on with his sorting until Julie was ready to lock up the office, and then he disappeared.

"How about a game of tennis?"

Alan seemed in carefree mood. He had showered and changed and his fair hair curled up damply above his ears. There was no trace of the amorous mood she had earlier found so distasteful, in fact seeing his friendly smile now as he gazed down at her, she was prepared to swear she had imagined the whole thing.

"All right," she laughed. "Give me half an hour to get into something suitable."

Never before had Julie been able to take such advantage of the amenities. Being the only girl on the camp had had its restrictions, but now with Alan as escort her freedom was abounding. After tennis they had dinner at the club. She marvelled at the colourful mosaic floor and polished tables and chairs. Some of the men were playing billiards, others a kind of shove-ha'penny game. She was far too interested in her surroundings to bother about a drink, but Alan insisted she have one, downing his third before she had barely taken a sip.

Later they went to a barbecue that was held every second night out in the desert. This seemed to be a veritable playground for golfers, with men dotted along the sands swinging their clubs in energetic abandon, and young Arabs acting as caddies. Sometimes these men walked tremendous distances to recover a ball.

Karl Veidt, the electronics engineer, gave his ball a particularly hard whack and it soared off into the darkening sky, landing far out in the wastes of the desert. The Arab caddy resignedly put his best foot forward to retrieve it, but Alan dropped a restraining hand on his arm.

"It's all right, old man. We'll take this one." He took Julie's hand and blithely set off in the direction of the ball. They kicked around in the sand for some time, the fire from the barbecue getting steadily smaller.

"We'll never find it," Julie said sceptically. "Not in this light."

She had been staring down with such intensity her head started to wobble, and the ground threatened to come up and hit her. A weariness swept over her, for hers had been a particularly long day, and she was in no mood for walking the desert. She looked up to find Alan watching her in amazed amusement.

"You really have come out here to find the ball, haven't you?"

She looked at him blankly.

"That was the idea, wasn't it?"

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, and even in her irritation Julie was struck by his Adonis good looks. The fair hair waved away from a beautifully shaped head, and the teeth were an even line of flashing whiteness. She saw his adam's apple silhouetted against the night sky and bobbing furiously in a ridiculously slender throat.

As he came towards her, his eyes lit with derision, he had the appearance of a rakish nineteen-year-old youth.

"Of all the girls I've ever known you take the biscuit!"

"Well, I'm glad you find me amusing." Julie turned, her tone a little caustic. "And since it's obvious we're not going to find the ball I suggest we get back. I'm rather tired."

A slight frown quivered over one golden eyebrow. He pulled her to him, his voice heavy with conceit.

"You know, don't you, that most girls would give all they possess to be in a similar position to what you find yourself in now?"

"And what position is that?" she asked lightly, determined to misunderstand him. "I'm miles out in the desert. I've had a very long day, my feet ache, and it's getting chilly. I think we should get back to the barbecue, the roasting should be well under way by now."

She left him and walked quickly back to the fire. When she was almost there he joined her, a sullen «mile playing around the full lips.

"This cat and mouse game is quite new to me, but I'll admit it does add a certain piquancy to the situation."

With glittering eyes he led her to the fire where the cook was handing out skewers of steaming meat. The men sat around in groups of varying nationalities, for there was a language difficulty in the singing as well as the talking. Instruments were produced; the English going for the mouth organ and the Italians the mandolin while the Arabs were just content to sit and clap their hands and wail in their peculiar half-key fashion.

The English group welcomed Julie, hurriedly shifting their positions to make room for her. They sang a rather bawdy version of "There's no place like home," and harmonised with comparative success "The green leaves of summer", and all the while Alan stood apart smoking and staring moodily into the fire.

It was somehow taken for granted that she should ride back in the front of the lorry with the two engineers she had sat between at the fire. She caught a glimpse of Alan stepping into a Land Rover. Back at the camp he joined her and they walked towards Clay's bungalow together.

"If this is life in the raw, give me civilisation any day." He found a mound of sand and displaced it with a disgruntled thrust of his foot.

"I suppose it is a little different from what you're used to," Julie smiled. The glow of an evening pleasurably spent was still with her, but obviously Alan didn't share her enthusiasm for camp-fire singing, hot skewered meat, and harmonica solos. Felling a little ashamed of her own complacency, she took his arm impulsively.

"Alan, I haven't really thanked you properly for getting me this job with your father's firm."

"You can't honestly be liking it here ?" He gazed around with some disgust. "A former London model just doesn't fit in with all this."

"Well yes, I do like it. It's a marvellous experience, and I have you to thank for acting so promptly in getting me fixed up with my first job abroad." She squeezed his arm and smiled up her gratitude with a warm sincerity, only then aware of a dark presence on the veranda.

"You two might have told me not to wait dinner."

Julie had the impression that Clay had taken a deep breath and was rationing it out with each word. He stood up and drew deeply on his cigarette, illuminating the scowling angular features. The brown eyes were filmed with ice.

They walked all into the lounge together, Alan drifting lazily to the tray of bottles and Julie murmuring her apologies. Admittedly it had been wrong of them to go off without any word, but that was no reason for Clay to act so churlish. She forced her eyes to meet his squarely and after locking for a moment, he swung his impatiently away.

"I've been waiting for you to enlighten me on that last batch of figures you passed through. I personally can't make head or tail of some of the stuff." His tone was coldly sarcastic and he walked down to his desk, expecting her to follow. He drew up a chair and they sat for some time going over various papers. She noticed he had no difficulty in understanding her explanation of certain items and suspected he was being deliberately obtuse to vindicate his own bad humour.

Alan had flopped in a chair and was smiling quietly into the amber liquid in his glass. Strange, thought Julie, how he brightened when his fingers encircled a drink. She had been running her finger along a line of print when her ears picked up the sound of a commotion outside. Shouts and cries could be heard in the distance, and Clay swung his head up, his eyes alert.

The next moment the door was flung open and an Arab stood there. His eyes wild and frightened, he gabbled on breathlessly in his own tongue. Clay stood up and fired something back and the Arab departed.

"Well, well, what was all that about ?" Alan crossed one immaculate leg over the other and spread his shoulders expansively on the back of the chair.

"Two of the labourers have had an argument. One of them has a knife and is threatening to use it."

Clay strode to the door. He turned and let his glance slide over Alan, and then to Julie.

"It's time you were turning in."

"I was just going." She rose from the chair as Clayslammed the door and strode off.

She had to walk the length of the room and pass Alan's chair to get to the door. She was just about to smile her goodnights in passing, when his arm snaked out and he grabbed her by the wrist.

"Why so soon? The night is still young."

"Not in my book it isn't. I've been up since five this morning." Good-humouredly she tried to release her hand, but though he appeared to be lounging back in the chair languidly enough the clutch of his fingers was like a vice. He pulled himself to his feet.

"You don't have to work, you know. I could take you to Cairo, Marrakesh, Istanbul ... all the exotic places ... lush hotels and palmy days on the beach. You can't tell me that doesn't appeal to you?"

"Not unless I'm earning it," she replied lightly. "You forget, Alan, I'm a working girl, destined to earn my own living."

"You would, be earning it."

His face, flushed with excessive drink, was above hers. She tried to avoid the ardent glow in his eyes, and said a little impatiently,

"I prefer to carry on as I am at the moment. And now if you'll let go of my arm, I'd like to get to bed. I have a busy day ahead tomorrow."

She had turned her body, hoping that he would let go of her at the last minute, but instead he swung her round with such force she was flung against him, the breath momentarily knocked out of her.

"We're so snug and content in our new job, aren't we? Well, I'm the big cheese around here, and what I say goes."

"Are you saying," Julie said in trembling voice, "that my job depends on the way I act with you?"

"Now you're getting the message."

She could only stare up at him, silent in her disgust, and taking this as some form of acquiescence he brought his lips down hungrily upon her own.

Julie cried out, but the sound was locked in her throat as his mouth stayed fastened on hers. He pressed her against him, his arms wandering along her back, and sensing a slackening of his hold she flung herself away. As she did so the tray of bottles went over with a resounding crash.

"I can only say," she wiped her mouth with a shaking hand, "that from this moment I am without a job."

"But I'm not," Alan grinned savagely. Incensed by the kiss, he followed her as she backed away, the hazel eyes ablaze.

Julie didn't know how she came to be in a corner. White-faced, she retreated on trembling legs, and as if to demonstrate his supreme strength Alan picked up the chair blocking his way and tossed it to one side, with a harsh laugh.

For a fraction of a second Julie's heart leapt, for Mohammed had come into the room apparently to investigate the noise. His black eyes wide, he took one look at the situation and fled.

In watching Mohammed's reaction Julie had laid herself wide open to Alan's advances. Before she could stop him, he had taken her and was raining her face and throat with kisses. Behind her was a small alcove and on the shelf a drinking glass filled with desert flowers. Remembering almost hysterically that she had put the flowers there only a day or two before, she grabbed the glass and poured the contents over Alan's head. The effect was rather like beating an elephant with a blade of grass, but when the water started trickling down his neck he raised his head in angry surprise. Rivulets appeared through the waves in his hair and started to trickle down his forehead and into his eyes.

Julie saw her chance and thrust herself away from him. He groped blindly and lunged, making a grab for her blouse. As she strained away she felt the buttons go from the front. One .. . two ... Not caring, she kept her eyes on the door, knowing that she could make it before him. With her last ounce of breath she reached it as it was flung wide. Clay stepped inside. Behind him was Mohammed, staring anxiously at her, and then at the disordered room.

Clay blocked her path, his face a mask of suppressed fury. He saw the blue eyes brilliant with tears, the torn blouse, and the lace underslip barely hiding the cleft of her bosom.

"Is this what you wanted?" He spat the words, and with a sob Julie pleaded,

"Please! Let me by ..."

"Stay where you are."

His voice sounded queer and strangled with some kind of emotion. He walked into the room, his eyes roaming over the broken bottles. He picked up a chair and placed it in its proper position, and stood the glass unsteadily on the alcove shelf. Mohammed disappeared. Alan was mopping his face and shoulders with a handkerchief. He smirked at no one in particular. Clay said softly,

"You've got half an hour to get off the camp."

"You're in no position to give me orders, old man!"

"Half an hour." Clay's eyes glinted. "Mohammed has instructions to pack your bag."

Alan stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, the smirk sliding from his face.

"Maybe you've forgotten who I am." And then seeing that this had no effect, he shot a morose glance towards Julie. "If I go Julie goes too."

"She stays."

"Oh, I get it! Two's company and all that.... Funny, that's just what I had in mind."

Clay took his time straightening a rug with the toe of his shoe. He flicked a glance upwards.

"Miss Lambert is here to do a job. She has another week before her tour is up."

"My foot!" Alan sneered. He fastened a button of his jacket and thrust his tie in with shaking hands. His breath was coming quickly, and with the suffused colour of temper he looked about to burn up. "A unique idea of yours, wasn't it? Bringing a girl out here. Especially as the company doesn't allow female labour on the camps. Oh, I can go along with it, being a man of the world ..." the full lips were drawn back into a tight smile, "... but I wish to hell you'd do your own shopping around."

Clay lifted his head with a jerk. His face was grim, but he spoke with studied casualness, the tones underlined with sarcasm.

'I know it's difficult for you to visualise work in the sense of the word, but a lot of us have it to do, you know. Miss Lambert is doing a useful job until someone in your offices can come up with a replacement. She is a member of the staff here. No more, no less."

"Is that so? Then why, tell me, didn't she fly out in the company plane as all staff do? Why did you find it necessary to drive her the three hundred-odd miles yourself?"

"How and by what means I get personnel to my camp is none of your damn business!"

There was a moment when it looked like the two men would come to blows, and as Alan stepped angrily forward Julie held her breath. Clay stood rock still, his face a study in controlled anger. Suddenly a door opened and Mohammed shuffled sheepishly by, depositing Alan's bag discreetly at his feet. Clay lowered his gaze pointedly to the bag and Alan swept it up.

"I shall tell my father!"

"Go ahead."

He went through the door, slamming it with terrific force behind him. They heard him rev up the jeep he had driven over from the airstrip, and the next second he had roared away.

Julie relaxed with an inaudible sigh. She would have crumpled into a chair but for Clay's inflexible jaw. Pouring himself a drink, he tossed an offhanded glance in her direction.

"As I said once before tonight, it's time you were turning in."

Julie fled without a word.

She didn't see Clay at breakfast the next morning. Mohammed waited on her in his faultless smiling manner, and she was given to understand that the master had gone off to the oilfields early. And so it was for the rest of the week. She breakfasted alone, worked a full day in the office, with Hans' useful assistance, and mostly ate alone in the evenings. Sometimes she was invited up to the club veranda. There was a group of unattached males there who always welcomed her company.

The last day came, and towards evening Julie packed her belongings, suppressing all emotion. She took a last look around her bungalow, a section of air-conditioned comfort in the heart of the desert, to which she had grown ridiculously attached.

The men due to go on leave were in high spirits and several offered Julie a seat next to them to drive to the , airstrip. At the last minute Clay roared up in a cloud of dust and opened the door of his Land Rover. For one heart- leaping second Julie thought that he was going too, but one glance at his oil-spattered overalls showed he had come straight from the oilfields and was merely offering her a lift.

They drove to the airstrip in silence.

The men swarmed towards the plane like prisoners suddenly let loose, and Clay found her a seat next to a middle- aged, jovial-looking man. She later learned he was Ted Warner, a pipe fitter.

The propellors spun into action, and the men in boisterous mood let out a cheer. Clay came past her seat again. This time he dropped a hand lightly on her shoulder. The brown eyes lingered.

"So long, young Julie. Watch out for yourself!"

Julie forced a bright smile and nodded her goodbye. An ache had come into her throat so solid that no word could push past it.

So this was it. He was bidding her a polite farewell. He hadn't even bothered to put out tentative feelers as to whether they might meet again in Tripoli. But why should he? He was boss of an expanding oil camp. She had been merely an office assistant. He was grateful for her help in sorting out the chaos in the oil camp office, but he certainly wouldn't want to take it any further.

Being one hundred per cent oil man Clay Whitman would take care not to become too attached to any one woman.

The plane took off in a thunder of engines and loud guffaws from the men. Julie gazed down at the lion- coloured sand and the gas jets shooting flames into the sky.

Eternal fires, Clay had called them. Burning endlessly, day and night, week after week, year after year. A pain stirred in her heart. Was love like that? An unquenchable flame, burning ceaselessly on. The pain increased as the airstrip receded, and with a determined effort to stifle it Julie struck up a bright conversation with Ted Warner.

Resolutely she told her heart there was no point in it starting its own private eternal flame.

It was dark as the plane approached the lights of Tripoli bay. Like twinkling jewels they adorned the chest of the coast; a necklace of haphazard stones. Behind, as Julie looked back, was the vast inky blackness of the desert. The desert, with its metallic skies and blistering heat. The Tuareg encampments, the oases; the locusts and desert flowers, and camel rides at night. The wild music.

She strained her eyes for a last glimpse of the black expanse. The desert, a closed chapter in her life.

The plane circled and landed, and in a dream Julie made her way towards the Hotel Gerard. The hired car bumped along the dusty highway that separates the airport from the city of Tripoli, its ageing springs creaking painfully at every rise and fall. The night air was warm and clung like a gossamer shawl about her shoulders. Every now and then she saw the moon peeping through the wide fronds of the date-palms casting its fluorescent light on the squat dwellings that sailed by.

Soon the Hotel Gerard came into view, and at the sight of the neat white building, with its rising lawns and terraces overlooking the bay, her heart lightened. Here at least was civilisation. Her apartments were the last word in luxury, and though later she would have to go in search of more modest accommodation, why shouldn't she take advantage just for tonight? Paying off the driver, she visualised her evening's relaxation. A tepid bath, and then she would slip into one of the delightfully frilly housecoats that had been taboo at Guchani. She would eat privately on her own balcony and gaze down on the wide promenade that led to the harbour.

Suitcase in hand, she climbed the steps to the subdued lighting of the foyer.

The olive-skinned young man at the desk she recognised as the one who had received her on her arrival from England.

"Hello, Cesare! I'm back."

She smiled a greeting and dumped the suitcase down at her feet. The young man turned abruptly, his smile appeared slightly tremulous. Jerkily he reached for her key, but before his hand reached it he turned again and beckoned a page. A whispered conversation followed with Cesare tossing her an apologetic smile at intervals, and then the page boy was sent scurrying off.

Julie waited patiently for her key, but Cesare had returned to fiddling with the end of his pen. She heard the click of a door and sensed rather than heard the manager's footfall on the sumptuous carpeting.

He was like an older edition of Cesare with a twitching smile and an uncomfortable stance. As he stood facing her he seemed at a loss for words and then burst forth in a flood of meticulous English.

"Ah, Miss Lambert! So you have returned to us, hah? We did not expect you would be gone so long. A month, is it not? A thousand pities we have had to let your apartments to another party."

Julie smiled a little in relief.

"Well, of course I couldn't expect you to keep them vacant all this time. When I left we had an understanding that I could book in again when I arrived back from Dawah, and I'll be only too glad to take other accommodation."

"I don't think you understand, Miss Lambert." The manager's smile was set. Coming down the stairs she saw her travelling bags in the hands of a porter. "We simply don't have any other vacancies."

"Are you really full up?"

Julie's grey eyes were wide and incredulous, and they must have searched the manager's face just a little too intently, for he turned quickly away.

"Mr. Moore instructed us that you would wish to settle your account at the earliest possible convenience, so if you would follow me to my office ..."

"Why yes, I'll straighten up now with you if you like, but ..." The mention of Alan's name had set Julie's mind racing. What had he been up to? She had told him she would want to pay the hotel bill herself, but there was something else here. She was quite prepared to bet that there were a dozen or more apartments vacant, yet the manager had told her they were full up.

Why? Was that on Mr. Moore's instructions too? How petty could you get? He must have known that she would easily find alternative accommodation, but had considered it worth it to know she would suffer the humiliation of being literally turned out of a reputable hotel.

The oil company had obviously strong connections in the city. No doubt Alan had traded on this to hint to the manager the mysterious absence of clientele at the hotel if he failed to conform.

Leaving the manager's office, she was convinced that the most of her surmisings had been correct. The man in there fidgeted with a peevish embarrassment and seemed not a little relieved to see the back of her.

Julie stepped out into the night and found her suitcases on the pavement. So this was yet another side of Alan she had been unaware of—a childish desire to play tit for tat. Gazing along the dimly lit road, she knew an uneasiness at being deserted without accommodation so late at night, and a realisation that it had been foolish to come to these strange shores of North Africa purely on the strength of Alan's friendship.

A horse-drawn cab turned the corner and ambled towards her, and Julie stepped forward eagerly to catch the driver's attention. Thank heaven for transport, no matter how dated! Her spirits sank, however, when she saw the cabby already had a fare, and the next second she was surprised to see the stocky figure of Ted Warner stepping down. He gave her a harassed smile.

"You disappeared from the airport so fast I lost track of you." He turned a disgusted glance on the cab. "This was all I could get, but I guess I could have walked quicker."

"Well, I don't know why you're here," Julie marvelled, not bothering to keep the relief out of her voice, "but am I glad to see you! Can you give me the name of a reasonably priced hotel? I'm afraid I'm ... slightly stranded."

Ted let his eyes wander slowly over the batch of suitcases, and then pushed his linen trilby to the back of his head.

"I don't know what goes on, but Clay anticipated something like this. Good job he told me to see you fixed up before I left." He began to push the suitcases towards the cabby. "It's too late to do anything about a hotel now, but you're welcome out at our place if you care to. It's a goodish way out of town, near the American air base, but I know May will be glad to have you. Janet, that's our youngest, is away at school, so we've got a spare room. You can stay as long as you like."

The cabby, an aggressive-looking type in a knitted skull cap, climbed down indolently- from his seat and studied the suitcases. Julie looked without seeing, for her mind was still labouring over Ted's first sentence. He had as much as said that Clay knew she would be tossed out on her ear tonight. How it infuriated her to know that he was far more familiar with Alan's idiosyncrasies than she was; even though he must have had only the briefest contacts with the son of the oil magnate. Clay Whitman had a remarkable talent for making her feel ridiculously naive even when he was three hundred miles away.

"It's very kind of you, Ted ..." she kept the irritation out of her voice with effort ... "but I wouldn't want to impose. After your being away so long I'm sure your wife is looking forward to being just a family for a while. I would be a bit of an intruder ..."

Ted shrugged a denial, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he agreed, and she didn't blame him in the least. A thought struck her.

"Come to think of it, I remember the name of a hotel. The Victoria ... it's over a restaurant, what's the name of it? The ... Mehdel. That's it, the Mehdel restaurant. Do you know it?"

Ted nodded his head dubiously.

"I know it. It's not far from here. And the Victoria's above it, you say?"

Julie nodded. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. It's probably just what I'm looking for Dr. Rahmid told me he stayed there before he went out to Guchani."

"Well, if you think it's all right we'll give it a try." He helped her into the cab and gave instructions.

"I'm sure it will be," Julie smiled. "And thank you once again, Ted, for your kind offer."

She sensed a happy relief creeping over the man next to her, and could only sympathise that Clay Whitman was his boss. Poor Ted had obviously left Guchani with strict instructions not to start his leave until all duties were performed. Not that Clay concerned himself unduly about Julie's warfare. He just wanted to have the last word, and to let her know that he knew she was paying for possessing an all too trusting nature.

Well, thank heavens he wasn't her boss any longer, and what she did now was entirely her own affair. The sooner she broke off all connection with the oil camp the better, and to start with she would pick her own accommodation here in Tripoli.

The Victoria Hotel was delighted to receive her, and after seeing her safely booked in and the last of her luggage deposited outside her door Ted bade her a somewhat hasty goodbye and strode quickly away.

The entrance to the Victoria was not as impressive as the Hotel Gerard, but once upstairs one came upon gleaming marble corridors and alcoves bright with flower-filled vases. The rooms were spacious and clean and bathrooms plentiful. Though the food was mainly Italian there was a short English menu to refer to. Most important of all, the costs were moderate and well within Julie's means. With the salary she received from the oil company there would be an ample margin for saving.

Come to think of it, she mused, unpacking the next morning, the offices had better be her first port of call. Though she was officially on a fortnight's leave there was still the formality of reporting back, and of course, picking up her pay cheque. She smiled wryly to herself. With most of her capital gone on the Hotel Gerard bill, and a holiday of two weeks coming up, a little ready cash would come in handy.

She stepped out into the morning feeling reasonably light-hearted—who wouldn't with a sky so blue, and the sun shining warmly down? The street cries and donkeys braying were soon in the background as she made her way to the promenade. Here there were palms and gardens and fine white buildings, and the crescent-shaped harbour gave way to a wide sweep of beach. Julie took a deep breath. One thing was certain. She wouldn't have missed this trip to Libya for anything. Feeling extravagant, she hailed a taxi and asked for the Dawah Oil Company offices.

The building that always reminded her of military headquarters soon came into view and Julie found herself looking forward to a renewed acquaintance with the other secretaries. Though she hadn't been there long enough to make any close friends apart from Tamara, the girls had been agog at her transfer to the oil camp, and had begged her to let them know what it was like on her return. She smiled to herself. After the all male company at Guchani the girls were going to make a refreshing change.

Once again there was an unpleasant surprise in store.

On entering the building she was directed to a narrow corridor on the right. There she found a glass window in the wall. She tapped and after giving her name was duly handed a large envelope. In it were the various personal belongings from her desk, her pay cheque, and a polite note of dismissal. Within five minutes she was back outside on the pavement, drawing in her lower lip and cursing her own stupidity. Of course Alan had meant what he said. He had given her the sack! She ought to have known that as he personally applied for the position for her, he could just as easily terminate it.

Was that how Alan operated? The girls of his choice could have any job, providing they were reasonably capable at it, and always providing they kept within his favour. ... Julie felt her cheeks burning as she hurried along the pavement. How could anything that looked so innocent in London turn out to be so ... unclean ?

How many girls like herself had found themselves stranded in a foreign country, simply because they refused to toe the line? She took a deep inward sigh. Not many. Most girls would have weighed up the situation pretty thoroughly before deciding, especially as there was a booking at the lush Hotel Gerard thrown in. But not Julie. She had sailed in, wide-eyed and innocent, totally oblivious to anything but the fact that a friend had found her her first position abroad.

No wonder Clay had looked on her with so much distaste that first day on the terrace. Little had she known, but she had been playing the perfect role of an Alan-type girl-friend.

She slowed her step a little as a thought struck her. Did Alan's father know how he was using the firm? She could get in touch with him and . .. but what good would that do? Besides men usually turned a blind eye to that sort of thing.

She stopped to have a cool drink at an open-air cafe and a long think on the situation. The fact would have to be faced. She was without a job, and had very little money. The obvious sane thing would be to get straight back to England. She could of course look for another situation here in Tripoli, but she hadn't the faintest idea how to go about it. Nor did she know anyone well enough to approach. There were the papers ... but supposing she chose something that turned out to be in undesirable quarters?

No, that was out. She was far too much of a coward to , go wandering round alone. And then there were the language difficulties.... So back home to England it wouldn't have to be.

Perhaps if Julie had gone back to the Victoria by taxi, she would have indeed made plans to return to England immediately. As it was she decided to walk. Strange how a chance decision can alter the whole course of one's life. As she walked her troubles were dispelled, or at least shelved, by the sights and sounds around her. Had she been a much-travelled person she might have been slightly blasé about green palms draped with rich golden clusters of dates, and vivid blue skies, and Arab gardeners, and pink stucco arches, but Julie was looking at them all with the thrilled wonder of someone in Africa for the very first time.

It occurred to her that she had never had the chance to look at Tripoli from a tourist's point of view. From the moment of her arrival she had started work at the oil company offices, and not long after had been whisked away into the desert. There had never been time to just soak up the city. Well, she had plenty of time now. She gazed thoughtfully at the huge Italian post office, and a theatrical- looking cafe. Would it be practical to stay over for a day or two? She had enough money for her fare home and a little over ... enough to see her by for some time at the Victoria rates of charges; say about a week, or at least three or four days. Well, why not? It would be such a waste not to do a spot of sightseeing now that she was here and she might never get another chance.

The thoughts of going back home to modelling palled on her more than she realised. She had never cared very much for her job and breaking away from the fashion world had been like a breath of fresh air. Nevertheless she must face up to the fact that with not much qualification apart from this short secretarial run, there was little chance of her obtaining another position abroad. That decided it. It would be foolish to hurry away without seeing anything.

So having made up her mind she set forth, a lightness in her step and a determination to see as much as possible.

She toured the streets jostling with Europeans, Arabs, olive-skinned Italians and ebony Sudanese. She saw whitewashed houses and smelled the sensual aromatic fragrance surrounding them, wandered along avenues heavy with the scent of jasmine and eucalyptus, and eventually ended up at the honey-coloured arcades that separate the Arab town from the new.

Here she found a labyrinth of dusty streets, courtyards, and private houses with heavy doors and latticed Turkish windows, and inevitably the souks or markets. These were colourful scenes of activity. Blacksmiths who really were black hammered away cheerfully. Goldsmiths with their long sensitive fingers weighed gleaming necklaces on minute pairs of scales, while their associates squatted beside the stalls, taking it in turns to brew strong tea.

Julie watched fascinated as flour-covered bakers in white tunics worked below street level in front of enormous brick ovens. The bakers didn't seem to mind the audience they attracted. They worked with a smile and sometimes sang a song. As people watched and waited expectantly they would proudly throw open a steaming oven door and display the bread cooked to a mouth-watering brown.

Julie was standing at the front of a dozen or more people, completely lost in the scene before her, when a light tap on the shoulder made her jump round in surprise.

"Dr. Rahmid! " Her delight at seeing at least one familiar face in a-H the crowds of Tripoli made Julie's eyes spring wide with pleasure. "You're still in Tripoli! I thought you might have left."

"Not yet. I must stay another week." He spread a hand with a resigned smile. "I am, as they say, killing time."

"Are you going back to India?"

"No." His reply was quickly emphatic, and then he added with an attempt at brightness, "I am the new ship's doctor on the liner Terrana. She docks on Friday."

"Why, that's wonderful!" Julie enthused, though she had a feeling that the doctor wasn't very thrilled at the idea.

"And you?" He raised an eyebrow in polite enquiry. "Are you enjoying leave from the oil company?"

Julie grimaced. "They decided to dispense with my services too. I've given myself a few days' grace before I return to England."

Doctor Rahmid looked as if he couldn't understand anyone lingering longer than necessary in North Africa, and Julie added a little sheepishly, "This is all so new to me. I'm ashamed to say I find it all quite fascinating."

It seemed improper to show any of the excitement that was bubbling up inside of her when the doctor looked so unmoved by it all. She turned to look again at the bakers, as his eyes roamed over the group of people.

"Where is your escort?"

"My ... escort?" Julie looked blank.

"You can't be wandering around the old town of Tripoli on your own?"

"But I am. And enjoying every minute of it!" There it was again. This ridiculous schoolgirlish delight, quite unsuppressable ... though by now Julie didn't care. She wasn't sure, but it seemed that something of her own effervescence was reflected in the dark eyes of the doctor. He replied with a sedate half-smile,

"I cannot permit you to walk around alone. Would you consider accepting my offer as escort while I remain in the city?" Julie was touched. In his rather stilted way the doctor was offering his companionship in spite of his own indifference to sightseeing. She accepted with a smile.

"I promise not to wear you out!"

"I do not wear out easily." The doctor actually grinned and Julie allowed him to take her arm lightly. Who knows, she mused, that grin might even develop into a laugh be-fore the week is out. Judging by the droop of his shoulders and the slackness in his step he could do with it.

It was inevitable that with so much time spent in Dr. Rahmid's company she should eventually learn the reason for his passive outlook on life. On the third day they visited the Roman ruins a few miles from Tripoli. She had gazed entranced at the mile-long avenues of cypresses that led to the ruins, held her breath at the scene of the great theatre, which was reputed to hold five thousand people, its giant pillared structure forming a permanent backcloth. Now they rested on a crumbling stone, the rich flame limestone of the town a vivid contast to the turquoise sea beyond.

The doctor was as usual pleasant, but withdrawn. He gazed straight ahead. It was as though he wore an invisible pair of blinkers and could only see wherever he chose to direct his gaze. Julie looked at him for a long time and then said suddenly without thinking,

"Tell me, Doctor, why can't you go back to India?" He turned his head quickly towards her. The slender body straightened and the shoulders squared as though the mention of his own country had suddenly infused life into a drooping frame. Surprisingly he smiled.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, because you're obviously pining for home .,, Bombay, isn't it? ... and yet you can't seem to get far enough away. I mean, this job as ship's doctor ..." she trailed off, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry for prying ... it isn't any of my business."

The doctor showed no annoyance.

"Please do not apologise," he said gently. "And call me Gopal. You used to do at Guchani." He sighed, the smile disappearing from the smooth features. "You are right, of course. There is no place I would rather be than home in India."

"Then why ..." Julie couldn't contain herself.

He shrugged, staring ahead,

"I am the only son of a prominent medical family. My great-grandfather was a surgeon, and my father, as his father was before him, is Chief Medical Consultant at a Bombay hospital ... and I," he finished with a slight curl of the lip, "after following in their footsteps, collecting valuable experience abroad, will soon be a ship's doctor."

"You don't like being a doctor, do you?"

"No."

The reply was so coldly emphatic she was bound to add,

"You hate it, don't you?"

"Yes, I hate it. But I shall do it." His smile towards the horizon was bitter.

"I bet your father doesn't know how fed up you are," Julie said perceptively, and as he looked at her quickly she continued earnestly, "If you've never given him an inkling how you feel, how can he know you hate it so? Keeping a stiff upper lip simply because generations of Rahmids were doctors isn't going to make you a success. I'm sure if your father knew, even guessed how unsuited you feel to the profession, he wouldn't push you."

The doctor drew in his lip,

"From the moment I was born my father had decided on my profession. It would hurt him to learn that I was a failure."

"It would hurt him even more to learn that you were a very bad doctor ..." She drew in a quick breath aghast at her own clumsy choice of words, but the doctor grinned.

"It is true. I am a very bad doctor, but I have always managed to hide it from my father. When I was younger I studied hard, worked well, not too unhappily because I thought that my job would ..." He shrugged, at a loss for words, and Julie dropped in helpfully," ... grow on you?"

He nodded. "Is that how you say it?" There was a silence in which he stared out to sea, and Julie knew a deep compassion for the young Indian. Unselfishly he had allowed himself to be thrust into a profession he was wholly unsuited to, simply because he thought it was expected of him. She read something else in his face at that moment. It prompted her to ask softly, "There's a girl, isn't there ?"

The doctor turned to her, resentfully at first, and then a sheepish look crept into his eyes.

"Does it show so very much ? Yes, there is a girl. Nidja is an art student. She plans to open an art shop in Kalabud Road ... that's an exclusive shopping area in Bombay."

He ran a brown finger along a crack in the stone they sat on. "I used to paint quite a bit during my holidays."

"And I bet that's what you like doing best," Julie guessed shrewdly. Doctor Rahmid's indifferent shrug was betrayed by the longing in his eyes and Julie's smile was incredulous.

"But, Gopal, Tripoli is a veritable paradise for artists, and yet you've been walking around with your eyes shut."

"I dare not look at it from a painting point of view," the doctor smiled, "but if Nidja were here ... a paradise ... well!" His words were spoken too deeply to sound trite. He stood up and stretched to his full height, the brown eyes thoughtful.

They wandered down the path and Julie pressed home, hoping she wasn't going to deprive the world of another Louis Pasteur.

"When I was in London working as a model and hating every minute of it, I stopped one day in the middle of pulling up a zip. Life's much too short, I thought, to be doing a job you don't like."

The doctor dropped a hand lightly about her shoulders.

"That is one piece of philosophy I never read in my medical books!"

They laughed together. The doctor's step was definitely lighter.

The next day Dr. Rahmid had work to do at the medical centre where he was staying until the Terrana docked. Julie decided to look up Tamara. She went down to the block of flats owned by the oil company and knocked on the white door in the corner of the courtyard. There was no reply. It was only after some moments of pacing that Julie realised today was a working day. Of course Tamara would still "be at the offices. She retraced her steps, annoyed with herself for forgetting that other people had jobs to do even if she was free to roam about in the sunshine.

A phone call to the oil company offices, however, proved fruitless also. She was informed that Miss Stevens had left their employ some time ago. Julie was about to put the receiver down when the voice at the other end called in some urgency.

"Miss Lambert? Oh, Miss Lambert, thank goodness, I thought you'd gone! Mr. Whitman has been enquiring after you ... would you like us to get in touch with him?"

"No!" Julie made a feeble attempt to camouflage her slightly panic-stricken reply with a tacked-on "... er, thank you."

"Very well." A voice of cool surprise preceded the click of the receiver.

Clay here in Tripoli?

Julie couldn't explain the painful pounding of her pulses, unless it was a decided fear of Clay rushing to gloat over the predicament she found herself in.

Well, he wasn't going to get any help from her!

Pushing all thoughts of the oilfield boss from her mind, she studied ways of spending the day. It might be an idea to sample the beach. In fact judging by the blue of the sea, and the warmth of the sun it was the idea. She chose a dress of copper linen with white beach hat and sandals and pushed a two-piece bathing suit and bathrobe into a straw beach bag. She had learned that the beaches were more or less split up into three. The first was used mainly by the local Arab population. The second was predominantly Italian, and the third attracted British and American personnel, for it bordered on the American air base.

A decrepit bus offered its services from the central piazza in town to the third beach, and after being tossed and bounced along the three-mile strip of coastal road Julie arrived at the terminus glad that she had made the effort.

The sand was soft and almost bone-white. There were open-air restaurants, bathing, cabins, and several colourful sun umbrellas for those who preferred the shade. Facing the sea on the other side of the unpaved road was a golf course with one or two figures in the distance. Julie changed in one of the bathing cabins and went to purchase a cool drink to take with her to one of the beach umbrellas. Maybe after an hour with a book she might even stir herself to take a dip in the sea. It looked too blue to be true.

She saw a sign in English, advertising refreshments, and walked towards it. Almost there, a group of men swung through the door, and she stood to one side until the way was clear. They seemed in no hurry and hung around the entrance talking and laughing until eventually a woman appeared. Elegant in white, a large straw hat framing dark reddish tinted hair and smooth tanned features, she smiled, showing small even teeth. A pair of expensive white sunglasses rested on a thin aristocratic nose. Julie recognised Tamara immediately.

"Julie! Honey!" Tamara swept off her sunglasses. "Where on earth did you drop from?"

"Hello, Tamara." Julie smiled shyly, for the men had clustered round her with friendly grins. "I came on the bus."

"She came on the bus\ "

American accents were unanimously incredulous that anyone could be willing to subject themselves to such torture, and Tamara explained lazily,

"Don't mind the boys, honey, they're from the air base. Everything there centres around cushioned luxury."

"I'll drive you back to town when you're ready to leave," said one thickset young man eagerly.

"Hey, wait a minute! I saw her first!" Another, taller, with a cheerful scowl, quickly took charge of her beach bag, while a third turned a proprietorial arm around her waist and led her away, murmuring, "Don't listen to them, Julie baby. My car sings like a bird, I only just bought it."

Julie smiled, already caught up in the friendly relaxed American bonhomie. There were no formalities here of introductions or invitations. She was just Julie to them, and they took it for granted that she was now in their party. Julie herself had to admit that their company was lively and entertaining if a little boisterous.

There were games in the sea with a giant beach ball, and races along the beach. Tamara, slim in a white swim suit, reached languidly for the ball whenever it was lobbed her way in a minute game of baseball. Later when the girls were relaxing in the sun Tamara asked,

"When did you get back to Tripoli ?" '

"A Jew days ago." Julie drew on a cigarette. "I lost my job, you know."

"I know. I was there when Alan Moore got back from Guchani. There was some talk of you disobeying instructions." Julie opened her mouth to comment heatedly and Tamara slanted her a humorous glance,

"Don't bother. I can guess what the instructions were ... I saw something of the Moore legend while he was in town. Say, something puzzles me, though." She wriggled a painted toenail. "I thought you and he were ..."

"It seems I'm the only one who didn't think he and I were ..." Julie grimaced. "Alan was just a friend, barely that ... although I admit he did try to rush our friendship along into something more, or would it be less permanent."

With a half smile Tamara replied,

''I'd say you did well to keep out of his way, child."

Julie nodded and sighed,

"I'm sorry about the job, though. I would have liked to have stayed a little longer in Tripoli. What about you?"

"My job, you mean?" Tamara lifted one winged eyebrow. "Well, let's face it, honey, it wasn't me, was it? Sat poker-faced behind a typewriter, copying dreary notes— ugh!" She shuddered and stretched languorously in the hot sand. "No, I've got a much more interesting scheme up my sleeve, if I can pull it off. Or perhaps I should say if I'm a good security risk. I'm being vetted for a job at the air base."

"I hope you're lucky," Julie said sincerely.

"So do I," Tamara commented drily. "I've always been a sucker for soft living. Incidentally, what happened to the suite at the Gerard?"

"That folded up too," Julie laughed. "My rooms at the Victoria are just a weeny bit more austere."

"But more in keeping with your bank balance. I know. Don't tell me. You and I are riding the same rocky road, honey. I booked in there last week."

Julie sat up in surprise.

"But I haven't seen you there."

"Ah no!" Tamara's orange lip curled beneath the sun glasses. "I've been using up some of that good old American hospitality while filling in miles of forms. Now ..." she sat up rapidly as the ball bounced a bit too near for comfort, "it's back to Victorian austerity tonight. All I can do now is sit and wait."

The men obviously thought that Tamara had been out of it long enough, for they claimed her as umpire to one of their games. There was a subdued attractiveness about her that seemed to appeal to all men. Probably, Julie thought, watching her now, because she retained a surface of friendliness and sincerity, without really giving anything of herself. It was as though she was keeping the inner woman of Tamara Stevens strictly for Tamara Stevens, and all deep-felt emotions were firmly sealed within the double coating.

She would never be the clinging type, and this was probably another point in her favour. Not all men wanted to become emotionally involved with an attractive woman; they often only sought her company as a boost to their own vanity, and as Tamara could talk intelligently on almost any subject, and was never stuck fast for a witty rejoinder, her popularity was assured.

Julie stood up at last and brushed the sand from her tanned limbs, unaware of the picture she made. The pale yellow of her swim suit almost matched the corn silk of her hair, and thick-fringed lashes above the wide-set eyes held a dusting of gold. The game looked about to break up and as the group started to drift towards her Julie gazed round at the view generally.

The sea was still as blue as it had been on her arrival and there were more people dotted along its edge. The golf course was deserted now, the two men who were playing must have finished their ...

With a sharp intake of breath Julie swung her head back towards the sea. The big man striding away from the course had he seen her? She turned to smile casually at the approaching group. The sight of that figure had sent her heart careering down hill, but she must strive to look normal.

"By the way," Tamara asked, the hazel eyes glinting beyond her, "what was the job like out at the oil camp?"

"Oh, just routine." Julie brushed imaginary grains of sand from her wrist.

"Uh-huh ... and what was it like working for the rugged Clay Whitman?"

"Just like any other job ... just routine." For the life of her Julie couldn't bring her mind to dwell upon those four bitter-sweet weeks. She preferred to pass it off with a shrug of the slender shoulders.

"Well, don't look now," Tamara murmured with throaty humour, "but guess who's heading this way? Mr. Routine himself!"

CHAPTER V

&QUOT;GOOD afternoon, Miss Lambert."

Looking athletic in tee-shirt and slacks, Clay greeted her suavely. The smile was very white if a little hard.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Whitman." Politely Julie made the introductions, and Tamara, offering her hand, dropped a smile.

"We have met briefly. When you stepped in on Julie's initiation to North Africa."

"Ah yes. The Kitty Kola, wasn't it?" Clay held on to her hand.

"I can assure you the grass is still growing green and strong where you flung the fire-water ... a very mild concoction, I might add, of the genuine thing."

Clay nodded, flicking a smiling glance across the top of Julie's head. "Still, the inexperienced must sometimes be protected from even mild concoctions, wouldn't you say."

"Are we still talking about liquor?" Tamara's glance slid lazily down the length of him, and Julie intervened a little sharply,

"If you two don't mind I think I'll go and change." She turned towards the bathing cabins and Clay said briskly,

"I need some cigarettes. I'll walk with you." They walked for some moments in silence before Clay said, "I've been having a game of golf with Ted Warner."

"That's nice."

"It was necessary." As she didn't query this he added, "I thought you were putting up at the Warners. What happened ?"

"I didn't want to be a nuisance."

He nodded, his mouth straight.

"Ted told me you preferred the Victoria. Isn't that where Rahmid stays?"

"That's right."

"I take it he's still around?"

Julie nodded, keeping her eyes straight. "He's been showing me something of Tripoli."

"And what's happening to the medical career? If you can call it that."

"He's going to be ship's doctor on the Terrana."

"God help the passengers! "

Julie stopped and turned to him her, blue eyes aflame. "You enjoy being hateful, don't you?"

"And you enjoy supporting the milksops of this world." The old familiar twist tugged at his mouth. "Too bad you can't trade in a little of that sweet gullibility in return for a slice of good solid judgement."

She knew he was referring to Alan Moore now, and as she had already suffered enough on that subject, she was sorely tempted to hit him. Perhaps she would have if he hadn't swung away at that moment, leaving her to the line of bathing cabins.

She emerged some minutes later, cool in the copper linen, though inwardly churning. It could only have been the model in her that enabled her to move with a casual indifference she did not feel. As Tamara hadn't been in the sea, she had been able to slip the white dress over her swim suit, and refasten the line of buttons running down from the shoulder. Looking as if she had been decorating an English garden party all afternoon, she draped back in a beach chair, and pulled languidly on a cigarette with unconscious poise. Clay, who was sitting close to her in an adjoining chair, hardly glanced up from his conversation as Julie passed.

The offer of a lift back to town was still going, it seemed, and Julie accepted the arm of the most persuasive of the American airmen without a backward glance. Her breathing didn't really return to normal until they were well on the way to the centre of Tripoli.

It was later, much later when she was about to slip into bed with a book. The sound of a car drew her to the window. In the gathering shadows she saw a tall figure help Tamara from her seat and across the pavement. As hereturned to the car his smile gleamed a farewell. He waved briefly and drove off. Clay, of course, playing the perfect, host. Julie climbed slackly into bed, the book forgotten.

Doctor Rahmid arrived early next morning. There was a new light in his eyes and a spring in his step. Julie had never seen him so alive. He was positively aggressive with good spirits.

"I rang up Nidja when you left that afternoon."

"Good heavens I" Julie was incredulous. "It must have cost you a fortune."

"It did, but it was worth it."

"All the way to Bombay. What a fete!"

The doctor grinned, "The telephone was a good invention." Julie gave him a knowing nod and smiled.

"Well, Gopal, what are we going to do today?"

"Ah, that is what I must tell you." The doctor looked apologetic. "Nidja is coming in on the ten o'clock flight. I must be at the airport to meet her."

"Nidja coming to Tripoli?" Julie gave him a surprised smile. "You're a quick worker, Gopal, once you get moving!"

The doctor beamed. "She will sail with me on the Terrana. We dock in Madras in about one week's time."

"Giving you plenty of time to get things sorted out."

Doctor Rahmid nodded. "Nidja is happy. It is only my father." He studied for a moment and then shrugged optimistically. "My father is a good man. He will understand."

"And what about your position as ship's doctor?"

"The contract is for three months, just a relief position, you understand." He looked just a little downcast. "Three months is not such a terribly long time, would you say?"

vIt will pass before you've had time to make plans for the wedding," Julie consoled him. After a silence she added, "So this is goodbye, Gopal?"

"Yes, I came to say goodbye." He took her hand between his own. "But I am sorry to leave you. You have been a good friend, little Julie, with your ..." he laughed "... philosophising!"

Julie smiled. "You would have made the break yourself, I'm sure."

"No. And do you know why? Because I never had the courage to put it into words as you did."

"And now it's action, not words?" She raised an eyebrow and the doctor squeezed her hand.

"If you are ever in Bombay you must come and visit Nidja and myself."

"I doubt it, Gopal. I shall be flying home to England in a couple of days' time, but I'll bear it in mind." As he left her she called, "I'll look out for that art shop in the Khala- bud Road."

The doctor laughed and waved and ran lightly down the steps into the sunshine. Julie watched him disappear into the crowd, an ache in her throat. How she hated goodbyes!

After some time standing there it occurred to her that she hadn't yet had breakfast. With a sigh she turned and hurried up to the dining-room. It was in a sunless portion of the building. The tables wrere empty and the chairs askew, and Julie entered with a feeling of quiet desolation. Suddenly a voice rang down the length of the room.

"The coffee's still hot. Bring yourself a cup." Taking a clean cup and saucer from an unused table, Julie went in search of the voice. She found Tamara reclining at a table for two within a bay window.

"Who was the dusky attraction I saw you with in the corridor?"

"Doctor Rahmid, you mean?" Julie sighed. "I have this horrible habit of becoming attached to people. I feel positively flat."

"Is he leaving?" Tamara poured the coffee.

"Yes. On the Terrana tomorrow." In between rolls and butter Julie told her about Doctor Rahmid and Nidja. Lighting up a cigarette afterwards, she asked,

"Do you think it's possible for a doctor to cut dead his career and start up in something else?"

"It has been done." Tamara glanced pointedly at Julie's clenched fingers on the arm of the chair. She remarked indolently,

"Don't try and live other people's troubles, honey. You should be conserving yourself for your own."

Julie relaxed with a smile. "I suppose it's this finger-crossed yearning for everything to come out right for Gopal and Nidja." She thought for a moment about- Tamara's remark and asked quietly,

"Is that what you do? Conserve yourself for the trouble to come ?"

"Not me, sweetheart. Mine are all through." Tamara stared for a long time at the end of her cigarette. When she did speak the usually resonant voice was curiously subdued.

"I knew a boy once. He was in the Navy ... destroyers. He got badly burned in an explosion." Julie gasped, wondering what was coming, and Tamara laughed bitterly.

"Oh, he lived. They brought him home and I went to see him in hospital..."

There was another interminable silence and Julie heard herself asking in a low voice, "What happened?"

"That was it!" Tamara drew in her lips between small teeth. "I took one look at him and ... couldn't marry him as I had promised. He just gave up and died."

"You shouldn't blame yourself too much." Julie felt her reply was hopelessly inadequate.

"I could have pulled him through, you know," Tamara said flatly, squashing out her cigarette. "I knew it then, and I know it now. Perhaps that's why I've never been able to give anything of myself to another man. Guilty conscience, I guess." The tones were light now, but Julie knew there was something much deeper going on inside.

"How old were you then?" she asked.

"Me? The ripe old age of eighteen. It must be all of ten years ago now."

"That's a very long time," Julie replied pointedly.

"You're right." Tamara gazed out beyond her own thoughts. "It is a long time. I was just telling myself that when you came up. Could be I've been penitent long enough."

There was a silence then in which an uneasiness crept under Julie's skin. She could hear the sounds of the traffic and the street calls below. A scent-laden wind pushed fitfully through the open window. Tamara crossed a leg and rested her arms along the arms of the chair, and Julie waited. The next sentence was it.

"Clay drove me back last night. I had a grip to pick up at the air base. We stayed on for a drink at the club and then he dropped me right outside the door."

"That was nice of him."

"He's picking me up this morning. We're going over to the polo field."

"That should be nice."

Tamara gave her a sideways glance. "If I'm trespassing on government property, honey, just let me know."

Julie put on a bright smile.

"My sights are set on England, and then a basement flat in Dumfries. The last time I heard from my father he had finally got round to allowing a cleaner to dust round his clutter. Who knows? This time I might even be able to get in the door." With a forced cheerfulness she jumped to her feet. "Well, I suppose I'd better do something about booking that air ticket."

Back in her own room she knew a queer little tightness about the heart. So that was how it was going? Clay and Tamara.... The rest of the day was spent in seeing to the formalities of her return home. She went to bed that night with the sure knowledge that the day after tomorrow would see her skimming away from the shores of Tripoli.

She spent a restless night and awoke to the realisation that there was still one day left. What should she do with it? The ideal answer seemed to be to hunt for souvenirs. It might help in the coming years to have some memories of her stay here.

In a dress of white sprinkled with tiny blue forget-me- nots and a pair of reasonably heeled shoes, she prepared to do battle with the hot streets of town. Her handbag was on a chair, and as she walked to get it a light knock sounded on the door. She opened it to find Clay standing there. Tall and bronzed in a linen suit, he smiled lopsidedly and cast an appraising glance down the length of her.

"Good morning."

"I was just going out . .." she picked up the handbag.

"I hear you're leaving Tripoli." He walked into the room and stared around. Julie shrugged.

"News travels."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I see."

She walked to the door. "If we're all through with the cross-examinations I'll be on my way."

"Why the acid?" Clay caught her shoulder and turned her to him with a cool smile.

"We didn't exactly part on cooing terms, did we?"

"Oh, and I thought it might be because the doctor's left town. He had his girl flown in, didn't he? No wonder you're cut up."

"My we do have an ear for gossip, don't we!" The blue eyes lowered lest he should see the effects of his touch on her shoulder. After a pause he dropped the hand.

"Where are you off to now?"

"To the markets, or the shops, I'm not sure ..."

He studied her. "You shouldn't be alone, you know." There was another silence and then he added, "If you want to see some real scenery before you go, I'm going over to the island of Yanra. The chief of the Berber fishermen is a friend of mine. I usually look him up about this time. Like to come along?"

The idea of spending a whole day with Clay flooded the grey world of her heart with sunshine. If only he weren't doing it because he thought she missed Doctor Rahmid!

"I've got packing to do." She hesitated.

"That can wait." He took her arm and glanced at her feet. "You'd better put on some sandals. And you'll need a hat"

At least he hadn't mentioned Alan Moore. That was something, Julie thought as she stepped into the black convertible. They sped along the coastal road, skirting miles and miles of sandy beaches. The only sign of life was a string of camels stepping through the shallow waves. Presently in the distance she saw a group of palm trees etched against the sky, and a strip of shimmering sea that separated them from the mainland.

Clay pulled in at a small white building, from which two olive-skinned policemen emerged. The formalities over and still no sign of the boat, Julie and Clay were invited into the courtyard to partake of the customary three glasses of tea. Even in the heat of the day the drink proved remarkably refreshing.

At last a sail appeared and a boat drifted over from the island. There was a bearded man swathed in white at the helm, and half a dozen bare-chested Berber boys turning the oars. They waited until the guests had stepped into the boat, and then set to work in perfect rhythm. They were soon nosing their way back to the island. Just as well, Julie mused. With the wind practically non-existent there was little hope of the sail doing any work.

Clay stepped ashore and swung Julie down beside him. She winced at the hot sand beneath her feet.

"Are you all right?" He gripped her. "We've got a walk ahead of us."

Julie nodded. "The soles of my sandals must be thin. Which way is it?"

"Over here."

He led her over the sands and through the forest along a grassy track. Though the heat was a solid glare along the beach, here the coolness reached down and caressed her cheek. Clay walked a little ahead, his fingers, curled lightly around her own. After probably ten minutes in this way they emerged into a dune valley. There was shell- pink sand and the indigo shade of luxuriant palm trees. A low roof had been woven from their upper fronds and beneath were scattered vivid handwoven rugs and cushions There was a spicy aroma in the air that Julie couldn't define, and beyond the valley she could hear the whisper of the waves upon the shore.

A huge mountain of a man stepped forward to greet them. His burnt bronzed face was wreathed in smiles, the i skin over the dark eyes gathered as a permanent shade against too many sunlit skies. Briefly he performed the Arab salutation of placing a hand over his heart, and then he pumped Clay's hand vigorously western fashion. Later he took Julie's hand and held it less energetically. With 4 a proud smile he led her towards his wife. She was a small plump woman with soft brown eyes set in an amazingly white skin who received Julie with queenly dignity. Her greeting was murmured in quaint halting English. The other women, however, were not quite so restrained.

They clustered around Julie, fingering every item of her outfit. The lace on her underslip was a particular source of amazement. With cries of admiration and delight they traced it all the way round. Julie looked up to meet Clay's amused glance.

Later they were given scented water to drink and invited to rest on the rugs. The appetizing smell that Julie had noticed turned out to be a succulent local dish made mainly from fish. It was with disappointment she learned that the womenfolk were not permitted to partake of the meal, and were committed to their palm wood huts until the finish. A peculiar custom, Julie thought, sitting somewhat tensely amongst twenty or thirty Berbers. The men appeared to be greatly interested in politics, for afterwards she was able to pick out several names on the political scene, from their gabble of Arabic. Unable to summon interest in a language she didn't understand, she slipped quietly away towards the sound of the sea. The sudden realisation that tomorrow would bring and end to all this made her heart dip.

What would Clay be doing tomorrow while she was sitting in her seat high above the earth? It was a bleak thought. The knowledge that every day of her life she would be asking that. She closed her eyes to picture him at the oil camp. Crisp and clean-shaven in the mornings, weary and oil-spattered at night.

And his leaves. Would he be seeing Tamara? Perhaps they might ... She opened her eyes suddenly, glad that she had barked her shin on the stump of a tree. At least it had brought her to her senses. Clay and Tamara were perfectly free to do as they wished. She followed a sandy path that led to the shore, not permitting her thoughts to dwell on anything else but the serene beauty of the island. The sea was crystal clear and myriads of brightly-coloured fish darted beneath its surface.

A soft footfall made her turn from the water's edge. Clay strode lazily into view. He had discarded the linen jacket, and a light breeze snipped at the collar of his open- necked shirt, lifted a lock of the dark hair. Julie turned quickly back to survey the fish.

"Transparent little blighters, aren't they?" He came up behind her, staring down at the transparent shapes, every one offering a fascinating view into the workings of their anatomy.

"There's a big one," Julie pointed. "Isn't he a beauty?

Clay came close to follow her gaze, and she almost lost her balance drawing away from him. With a steadying hand he commented drily,

"The sun's too much for you. Let's get back into the shade." He chose a patch of scrub where palm fronds spilled cool shadows upon the dry earth, and sank down to rest his back against a rock. Julie carefully chose a hillock of ground a little way in front of him. She knew his eyes were upon her. After some moments he said with deliberation,

"The tan suits you."

"I'll soon lose it," she smiled, staring out to sea, "when I get back to that well-known inclement English weather."

"You're in a hurry to get back home. Do you miss your father?"

Julie considered. "It will be nice to see him, but we don't spend all that much time together."

"What happened to your mother?"

"She was killed. My father cabled her to meet him in Geneva after a conference. The plane crashed in the Alps."

"That's tough."

"He's never forgiven himself."

"And having you around doesn't make It any easier for him."

She flicked him a glance. "I've always got on all right by myself."

"But not in the modelling business. Why? Did you take too many knocks?"

She traced a finger along a flattened blade of grass. 'There are a lot of nice girls doing modelling for a living."

"I know. They're usually the dedicated type."

"Meaning I'm not?"

He stirred. "You haven't seen enough of life yet to know what you want."

She turned to him, a light of amusement in the bluebell eyes.

"You know, when I was fifteen I used to think twenty was ancient. Now I'm twenty and being constantly reminded what a schoolgirl I am."

He smiled crookedly.

"A girl who's spent the best part of her life in boarding schools, as I suspect you have, doesn't suddenly grow up overnight. Even the rigours of career girl in London's sophistication wouldn't do that for you. You're still hopelessly immature."

Julie found herself yearning wistfully for some of Tamara's poise, but she managed to say lightly enough,

"I'm learning fast."

An urgent desire to pursue a certain line of thought made her ask casually, "When do you go back to the oil camp?"

"In about ten days' time."

"And in the meantime, I suppose you'll be ... seeing quite a lot of Tamara?"

She had turned back to gaze at the sea, but she didn't miss the lazy smile.

"Tamara's all right. She doesn't cling."

Which was as good a hint as, any Julie thought, that he wanted no truck with cloying females. Her laugh had a brittle quality as she replied,

"Of course, I was forgetting. You're married to the oilfield."

He took out cigarettes and offered her one with an amused glint.

"If I am, there's a divorce pending."

"Oh?"

Julie kept her eyes on the cigarette case, but there was no enlightenment forthcoming. He flicked a flame under her cigarette and after some moments she raised her eyes to find him studying her thoughtfully.

' "How are you with children?"

"I've done an occasional baby-sitting with moderate success. Why?"

"Just a thought."

Julie turned to stare at the horizon. She was still wondering what he had meant by that cryptic remark "A divorce pending". Did he mean he was leaving the oil business? Or at least the oilfield? Obviously he felt no desire to go into details, for hadn't he very neatly changed the subject ?

Swallowing an ache in her throat, she stretched her legs preparatory to rising. Why should Clay discuss his plans with her?

She was merely a girl he had brought out for the day, because he thought she might be lonely. And today was just a filler until her plane time tomorrow. Besides she had been warned off, hadn't she? Tamara doesn't cling, he had said. Any interest Julie showed in his affairs now would put her automatically under the heading "clinging female".

She made to rise and was aware of a stiffness in her shin that made her wince with pain. She sank down again with a quick intake of breath. Clay was beside her. Kneeling, he made a sharp exclamation.

"What's this? There's blood on your leg. Why didn't you tell me you'd injured yourself?"

"Heaven's, it's only a scratch." Julie drew away impatiently. "I knocked it on the stump of a tree. Never gave it another thought."

She got to her feet unsteadily, and tried out a few steps. Much to her disgust the leg would not support her. She tottered, and Clay caught her up into his arms.

"Scratch or not, you'd better not use it until it's been cleaned up."

"Clay, put me down!" Julie struggled. "This is ridiculous! It's only because I had the leg tucked under me. I know it will be all right when I use it."

"Stay put. You obviously don't know the dangers of ignoring open wounds in this climate." He brought his face round to where the fair head rested on his shoulder. The brown eyes were flecked with anger as he growled beneath his breath,

"God knows, you need someone to look after you."

Julie's eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. His arm tightened. He added in softer tones, "You admit it's painful now?"

Julie buried her head in his shoulder. Yes, it was painful. But how could she tell him? It was his nearness that caused the pain. She wanted to curl her arms about his neck, brush her lips against that rugged cheek, but she knew she must hold herself rigidly in his arms. There must be no betrayal of feelings just because he was holding her close. Tamara doesn't cling, he had stated pointedly ... and Julie? She wanted to ... Oh, how she wanted to ... But tomorrow when she was winging her way home, it would be something at least to be able to say "Julie didn't cling."

She struggled out of his arms as they reached the clearing, and the chief and his wife and several others clustered round in gabbling concern. Julie sank down thankfully on to the cushions, as Clay said something tersely. He turned back to Julie, the tanned features a little pale.

"Since you won't let me touch it, the chief's wife will dress it for you. Don't worry, they're pretty contemporary when it comes to first aid." He turned on his heel and left.

His absence was the best thing that could have happened. It gave Julie a little time to subdue her churned- up emotions. By the time a casket of various bottles and tins was placed at her side, her heart had resumed its normal rhythm. Gentle fingers massaged a soothing cream around the wound, and once it was covered with a surprisingly neat-looking plaster, Julie found she could walk passably well. Within half an hour the stiffness had almost completely disappeared.

She was walking the length of the clearing for the third time when Clay emerged from one of the huts.

"How's it going?"

"Almost as good as new."

"Too bad. Now I won't have to carry you to the boat." His tone was bantering, but she knew the charm of the afternoon was fast disintegrating. She sensed it in the jut of his chin, the set of his shoulders.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?" She knew a miserable desire to end it all quickly.

"If you want to." He strode away to collect his jacket. At the water's edge the chief took her hand in his. He seemed to have difficulty in conversing with her, though Julie knew he spoke English from his conversations with Clay.

The chiefs goodbye to her was silent, strange, and rather touching. From the folds of his robes he brought out a small bottle, and touched a drop of the contents into each palm of her hand. Rubbing her hands gently together, he cupped them before his face and then with a smile before her own. Julie inhaled with a feeling that she would never know anything like this again. It was as though all the exciting scents and aromas of North Africa had been captured and concentrated in that tiny bottle.

The chief's wife stepped forward and shyly placed a waist long necklace over her head. Overwhelmed, Julie fingered the beaten metal in the shapes of coins and fish, and thanked them profusely. There were embraces and smiles and handshakes for Clay and then they were being rowed back to the mainland.

It was almost sunset when the car pulled up outside the Victoria hotel. Neither had spoken a word since leaving the island, and now Clay strode round and opened the door for her. Her heart thumped as the last precious seconds ran out.

"It's ... been a lovely day, Clay. I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again."

"What time does your plane leave tomorrow?"

"Eleven-fifteen."

"I see." He nodded ignoring the outstretched hand. Instead an arm dropped negligently around her shoulder. With an almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers he murmured, "take care of the leg," and was back in his car cruising away from the curb with a preoccupied air.

Julie walked quickly into the hotel willing herself not to look around. Head high, eyes dry, shoulders square ... at least until she could get to the privacy of her own room.The Victoria hotel didn't boast the luxury of a telephone in every room. The residents had to be content with the one down on the reception desk. Unfortunately the receptionist was in the habit of taking long sojourns away from his place of work and the telephone would often ring shrilly for hours unless someone thought to go down and answer it. It was ringing now as Julie stared at the very last item to be packed. The crystalline limestone lay in the palm of her hand, glowing dully in the evening light. She could hear Clay's words, "they call it the rose of the desert" ... its petals turned to stone ... funny, that was the exact description of her heart at the moment. She brushed it with her lips and placed it on top of her clothes. The lid was closed with a final click.

The phone was still ringing. Should she answer it? Better not. It was probably for the two young French boys at the end of the corridor. They seemed to get the most calls. She had just picked up a book when the knock came on her door. A voice heavily accented called, "Telephone for Mees Lamberrrt! " Julie stopped, the book in mid-air. Who on earth could be calling her tonight? Her last night in Tripoli. Weakly she hurried to the phone. It was a woman's voice,

"Hello ... Miss Lambert? You don't know me ... I'm Mrs. Rowland." There was a slight pause and then she hurried on, "I wonder if I sent a car round for you, if you'd care to come to dinner? I would like to talk to you ... you see, I want to know if you would consider staying on in Tripoli"

CHAPTER VI

THE car took the road that led to the airport and turned off along an avenue dotted with palms. The houses were white and sprawling and set in acres of ground ablaze with flowers. In the pearly glow of evening their colours were almost fluorescent. Julie held her breath as the car turned in along a sweeping drive and stopped outside an open door. Almost at once a small figure stepped out of the lighted doorway and hurried to meet her.

"Miss Lambert? I'm Mrs. Rowland. Steve has told me a lot about you."

Julie felt her hand clasped warmly and looked into the smiling eyes of a dark-haired woman of about thirty-five. She turned to hand some money to the Libyan driver and the car circled and drove off.

"Steve's out with the car, and I don't drive, so it's handy to be able to hire one." She took Julie's arm. "Come on inside and we'll eat straight away. The children are in bed, so we won't have any interruptions."

Through rooms that were furnished in a mixture of American colonial and English contemporary, she was led to the back of the house where french windows opened out on to the garden. They ate in the muted glow of wall lights from dishes served by an angular woman of about fifty. She swung in and out from the kitchen, her iron grey hair frizzing out from a bob, her mouth a thin line.

"I expect you're wondering what all this is about," Mrs. Rowland smiled, taking their coffee out on to the veranda, "and I'm not one to beat about the bush, so I'll tell you straight away. We're looking for someone to take over with the children occasionally. Clay mentioned you, and Steve asked me to sound you out. He's quite enthusiastic about the idea."Julie hesitated.

"I'm not sure I'd be capable of... you see, I..

"We don't necessarily need a trained person," Mrs. Rowland explained. "Just someone to watch over them in the garden, take them for the occasional trip to the beach."

"It doesn't sound too difficult," Julie smiled. Lynn Rowland leaned forward hopefully.

"We couldn't manage oil company wages, of course, but with a room here and your meals, you might find you're slightly better off."

"You mean you would want me to live here?"

"It would be better." She rose and gazed over the garden with a humorous twinkle. "The imps can be pretty demanding, I must be truthful. I like to think they're reasonably well behaved, but at that age they do tend to sap the life's blood a little. With someone on hand I could devote more time to Steve when he's home. We might even find that we could take a break somewhere, just the two of us." The eyes softened, and Julie knew she was looking at a woman very much in love with her husband.

"Do you think I'll be able to help?" she asked.

"My dear, you're just right for the children. I know it Young and pretty." She laughed a little sheepishly. "Bella's a treasure in the kitchen, but she terrifies the children, poor soul, and I think she's half frightened of them."

She turned to take Julie in from head to toe.

"You don't know what a boon you are—an English girl out here. I only wish I'd known about you sooner, Steve's due back at the camp tomorrow."

"So he won't be home for a month?"

Mrs. Rowland nursed herself with pleasure. "Of course you won't have heard. The company has changed its rota. It's a fortnight on and a week off now." She studied Julie's face. "Well, what do you think?"

Julie rose. "I'm not sure what to do about my air passage. You see, I was due to fly home tomorrow."

"Clay told me to tell you he'll make all the necessary cancellations if you decide to stay on. I believe he's out with the American girl this evening, but," she added reassuringly, "I can ring him at his hotel last thing tonight if you like."

Julie's fingers clutched imperceptibly round her handbag. Wouldn't it be better to get away from all this now? Clay obviously had close connections with the Rowland family. If she stayed she ran the risk of encountering him occasionally ... she might even find herself a spectator on the blossoming of a certain romance. No! No, she couldn't do that…

Her mind had formed the words that would refuse the offer. For after all it teas an offer. To stay on in the land of permanent blue sky and silky sea. Where the palms flickered cool green in the heat of the day, and the black nights throbbed with dewdrop stars.

She drew in her underlip and caught Mrs. Rowland eyeing her with dark entreaty. It was the look of a woman who had found the divine answer to sharing herself equally between husband and children and Julie hadn't the heart to dispel it No doubt there were many more English girls in Tripoli, but a mother would naturally feel easier with someone she knew something about, and Julie had worked in close contact with Steve for some considerable time.

"Then it's settled." She offered her hand with a smile, "When would you want me to come?"

Mrs. Rowland clasped the hand warmly. "Tomorrow if you like, I'll introduce you to Janet and Mark and turn them over to you for short periods during the day. They'll get used to having you around, without actually losing sight of me ..."

She talked on about the children until the hired car returned and Julie found herself being transported back to the hotel. Through the windows she saw in the distance a cluster of domes and minarets. In the moonlight they looked like a tray of frosted fancy cakes. Dreamily she realised that now she needn't cling fervently to every passing scene as though for the last time. There would be many more nights like this to rapture over. She didn't permit herself the luxury of wondering when she would see a tanned arrogant face again. That would only be opening up old wounds.

The next few days proved to be balm to Julie's heart For once in her life she had the feeling of really belonging.

The children had taken to her from the moment they learned she was game to push the swing uncomplaining for hours, and walk alone into the darkest corner of the garden. They were fair like their father, but for Janet the resemblance ended there. She was a tiny miniature of her mother, with quick brown eyes and a piquant alertness to everything around her. Mark, who was a pocket edition of his father, was plump and inclined to be thoughtful. He would take perhaps ten minutes to decide which toy he wanted to play with.

Looking at them now as she sat on the lawn, Julie thought of her own childhood. A blurred memory of mother and father together and a small life of warm security, and then quite suddenly, boarding schools. Clay hadn't been far out when he surmised that she had plunged from school life straight into a London career. Up to the age of eighteen the school dormitory had been her home, and after a London flat. Even school holidays had been the inevitable trek to the seaside hotel in the company of other abandoned children, and supervised by an equally deserted adult.

Her father loved her, Julie knew, but on the rare occasions he had visited her she had sensed an apologetic remoteness about him, a reluctance to look too long at her face, or listen too long to her chatter. If only he hadn't always been so aloof, Julie mused wistfully, they might have made something of their lives together.

She thought of the Rowland household, fairly bursting with love. Steve adored his wife. There was no mistaking the dejection in his eyes when he had to leave for the oil camp. With a wink at Julie he had swept up his children one in each arm, and dumped them in giggling heaps on the lawn. Lynn had walked to the car with him and waved him off to the end of the road, turning back into the drive with a resigned smile. But that was over a week ago. Since then they had weeded and tidied the garden together, caught up on a backlog of mending, and taken it in turns to supervise the children. She had learned a little of Lynn's life, how^she had travelled the world making publicity films for a national corporation until five years ago when she had met Steve holidaying in Morocco. Now she was a housewife and mother with no regrets, looking eagerly forward to the end of each working period when her husband would be back with her again.

She came through the veranda doors now, fresh in a cream suit and hat.

"How do you feel about taking over for a couple of hours, Julie?" she called. "I thought I might walk down to the shops. Bella tells me they've got some deliciously vivid blouses in Dano's."

"I feel so redundant," Julie laughed guiltily, stretching her legs on the chaise-longue. "Janet and Mark have been in a huddle for the past half hour. It's all very secret and mysterious."

"Don't worry, it won't last." Lynn gave a wry smile. "If it does make the most of it. They'll make up for it another day. I won't disturb them with a kiss. 'Bye!" She waved and disappeared along the drive.

After another fifteen minutes had elapsed Julie thought it might be advisable to go in search of the children. Their voices had grown gradually fainter, and now she could hear them through the gateway of the courtyard. Perhaps Mark had decided to take a turn on his bike. But no. She found them both sprawled out on the flagstones poking with dusty fingers at some object between them.

At the sight of Julie, Jane jumped to her feet, eyes wide with guilt. She skipped forward with forced gaiety.

"Julie! Julie! Come and look what we found!"

"Yes, Doolie, come and have a look. Doolie!"

Mark was lying on his tummy staring down in hypnotised fascination. The object moved and Julie felt her flesh creep, though she kept a bright smile. She moved forward to take a closer look.

The spider was about the size of a florin with hairy legs like combs. It was prevented from running to any great lengths by a circle of toy bricks and an occasional wallop from a small hand.

"He's in the zoo!" Janet hopped proudly. "We captured him for our zoo!"

"We captered him," Mark echoed, adding importantly, "I picked him up from a fower."

"Mark, I don't think you should touch it like that," Julie offered tactfully, though she felt faint from fear.

"Come over here to me, there's a good boy."

Mark didn't move.

"I captered him," he murmured ponderously. "He's in our zoo." He put a fat fist out to push back a hairy leg and Julie ran forward. "Mark!"

"It's quite harmless."

A voice floated lazily from behind, and Mark was swung away from her and high on to Clay's shoulder. She gazed up with stricken eyes and he grinned round at Mark.

"Nevertheless, young fellow, I think we'll put him back amongst the flowers. Girls aren't as tough as us, you know. Spiders scare 'em."

Mark wriggled down and strutted with a swelled chest, "I'ne not scared. I picked him up."

"I'm not scared and I'm a girl." Janet ran forward with an offended flick of her pony-tail.

"No, you're not, you're just a breath of wind."

She shrieked with delight as he swung her up and down again with one arm.

"Right, then. Who's coming to see where we drop him?" Unceremoniously Clay scopped up the spider and strode off down the garden. Mark hesitated, staring at the empty circle of bricks.

"I captered him for our zoo."

"You don't have spiders in zoos." Clay called, and with a wicked glint at Julie, "What you want is a nice fat mouse."

"Ooh yes! A nice fat mouse! "

Gleefully the children took Julie's hands and dragged her down the garden. The spider, forgotten by now, was dumped down by a clump of jasmine, and ambled off over the coarse grass. Janet and Mark tore across the lawn, throwing themselves into various leaps and somersaults for Clay's benefit.

"As it-happens I'm not in the least afraid of spiders," Julie stated primly, "but there are certain poisonous species to be found abroad. I just wasn't sure."

"You did the right thing," Clay nodded. "It's wise to keep a healthy respect for anything that moves in the tropics."

There was a silence in which she heard the squeak of his shoes crushing the grass.

"Lynn's out," she mentioned casually.

"I know. I've just seen Bella." He flicked a glance her way. "Like the job?"

"Very much."

"I thought I'd leave you to get settled in."

What he meant was he couldn't spare the time. He must have spent the best part of his leave with Tamara. They came on to the terrace where a table and several chairs were set in the shade of a spreading cypress. Clay hitched his trousers and dropped down.

"I could use a drink."

"I'll see what Bella's got. Will iced lime do?"

"Fine."

She returned with the lime and glasses on a tray, and at the tinkle of ice, Janet and Mark, hot and sticky, struggled on to the terrace. Julie smiled.

"Bella's got your orange juice, but I think there's a little cleaning up to be done first."

She led them inside, leaving Clay staring over the lawn. When she emerged his glass was drained and he was pulling on a cigarette. She sank down as he poured her a drink.

"I'm flying back to Guchan tonight"

Julie struggled to quell the hurt. Nearly two weeks of leave and he had come here on practically his last hour, and then probably only to see Lynn and the children. He handed her the glass, watching her face. She managed brightly,

"At least the working period isn't so long now. Lynn tells me it's a fortnight on and a week off."

"Not for me it isn't. I come and go when I can. Maybe my successor will get a better deal now that the Guchani oil project is pretty well on its feet."

"Your successor ?"

Julie couldn't keep the curiosity out of her voice. There was only the clink of ice in her glass as he paused and drew lazily on his cigarette.

"I've been offered a desk job in administration.'*

"Will you take it?"

He shrugged. "A villa in Tripoli might not be a bad idea."

"I can't imagine it," she replied jerkily, swishing the ice round in her glass. The idea of Clay becoming part of some domestic scene somewhere shook her. She had always wanted to imagine him as the tough, impervious oilfields boss, dedicated to his profession. It was bearable that way. Now he was talking of a villa in Tripoli. Had Tamara got through somehow?

"Can't you?" he was saying with a sour smile. "I don't see why not. Civilisation hooks us all eventually, you know." There was the sound of footsteps on the drive, and Lynn came swinging round the bend, a couple of parcels in her hand.

"Clay! How marvellous!" she beamed. "Are you staying for a meal?"

He got to his feet with a grin.

"If you're sure it won't upset Bella."

"I'll go and soft-soap her right now." She winked conspiratorily and disappeared inside.

"The desert widows," Clay murmured drily, watching her go.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Desert widows. That's what the women call themselves. They're compelled to live in the towns, while their husbands spend the best part of their lives in the desert."

"Lynn and Steve seem happy enough," Julie pointed out.

"Maybe, but to my mind it's not the ideal arrangement."

"Is that why you've never married?"

She could ask this question because Clay had his back to her. He slanted a glance her way, his face expressionless.

"You could say that."

After a silence she asked,

"Did Tamara get my address?"

Though it was like smoothing ft rash with glass paper she "just had to bring Tamara out into the open. Clay nodded.

"I was going to drive her out here this afternoon, but something turned up regarding this air base job."

"She hasn't got it yet, then?"

"These things take time."

Time! That was something that Clay and Tamara had both had plenty of lately. And it sounded as though they had used it up together. Moodily she stared at the row of English flowers that Lynn and herself were carefully cultivating. She didn't see what a gay splash of colour they made against the stucco wall of the house. Clay threw away his cigarette and came back to his seat,

"How's the leg?"

"It's fine now, thank you."

"No scar," he said teasingly, "That's lucky, considering what a mule you were about having attention."

"No more than you, who wouldn't believe it was just a scratch," she returned evenly.

"Still prickly?" he mocked. "That was more than a week ago."

"Nine days, to be exact."

"Nine days!" He studied her with a glint in his eyes. "Are you glad to see me?"

"Should I be?" She returned his mocking smile offhandedly. "Skip it."

Mark and Janet tumbled through the french windows, bright orange stains around their mouths.

"Clay! Clay! Give me a swing," Janet called, remembering to tack on a belated "please".

Mark scuffed over to Julie's chair and dropped his teddy bear into her lap. "He's 'ost his eyes" and with a heavy sigh, "again."

"I'll tell you what," Julie said, taking his hand, "let's go and find two bright buttons from the sewing box and I'll stitch them on so's they never come off again." Nodding happily, he clutched her hand and they went inside.

Clay left about six o'clock after a boisterous hour with the children and tea on the terrace. He waved a hand briefly and drove off in a cloud of dust, and Julie turned back into the house, knowing just how Lynn felt when she waved Steve goodbye.

CHAPTER VII

STEVE&APOS;S arrival at the end of the week was a big day for all concerned. Lynn was complete once more, and the children could look forward to jaunts in the car which they adored. As for Julie, it was enough to be part of the enchantment and to help out in any way she could. The first four were halcyon days spent entirely with the children in mind, picnics on the beach and car rides to favourite spots along the coast, and Julie enjoyed herself as much as anyone. Though she was there primarily to assist with the children, she never felt anything less than part of the family.

Steve and Lynn spent the next two days at a picturesque oasis some miles out of Tripoli. They returned much relieved to hear that the children hadn't been unduly disturbed at their absence. On his last day, when Steve was digging a swimming pool for the children, he pushed his hat to the back of the spiky blond hair and looked up at Julie,

"We were planning to fly out to Malta for a few days next leave, Julie. Do you think you can cope?"

Julie smiled, scooping Mark up from a mound of earth,

"We'll have lots of fun on our own, won't we, young man?" Mark chuckled and clutched a portion of dusty soil.

"Is it all right if I take the car occasionally while you're away? I think I can handle it now."

He nodded. "From what I've seen of your driving this week you'll do O.K. In fact it was the best thing Clay ever did for us, mentioning your name. Lynn needs a break from the children once in a while, and your being here has had a marvellous effect on her. Thanks for coming, Julie," he added with shy sincerity.

"I'm on to a good thing too, you know," Julie laughed. "Bed and board, and the children are no trouble. I feel a bit of a fraud 1"

Janet ran across the garden, jumped and landed with a flop in the dusty hole, laughing loudly at her performance.

"No trouble, eh?" Steve scoffed with a twinkle. He swung Janet up and sat her on his shoulders, disregarding the small fingers tugging at his hair,

"How was he—Clay?"

Julie fingered the handful of soil in Mark's hand.

"Clay? Up to his neck in it as usual. A borer snapped last week, and the Arab section is a bit restless. Something to do with rates of pay. It's no wonder he hasn't much to say to people these days." He dropped Janet down and continued digging.

It could be pressure of work keeping Clay's thoughts busy, Julie pondered. On the other hand it could be plans for his future that occupied most of his time. After all, it was a big decision he was considering—whether a desk job in Tripoli had as much to offer as the Guchani oilfields. With Tamara waiting for him what else could he decide?

Steve left early next day and the house settled back into a peaceful routine. Lynn had the children from rising in the morning to lunch time. After that they had a nap in the heat of the day and then Julie took over until their bedtime. It was an ideal arrangement for both concerned. Lynn was happy just to potter around the house without having to worry what the children were up to every five minutes, and Julie spent her leisure hours walking around the town and sometimes bathing from the third beach. Occasionally she wrote a long letter to her father.

One day when she had written a particularly lengthy epistle she gave it to Lynn for posting.

"To your father?" Lynn handled the bulky packet with a knowing nod. "I write reams to my sister in Marubo. Like you and your father there's only the two of us."

"Really?" Julie was surprised. "I imagined you to have dozens of relatives. You're so ..." she shrugged, trying to find the right word "... complete."

Lynn smiled, glancing out into the garden to where the children were romping. "I've got everything to make me complete, haven't I?" She dropped the letter into her hand-- bag and pulled on a pair of white gloves. "Steph is five years younger than me. We were brought up by different foster-parents. She lived in Yorkshire and I was down in Kent. We didn't see an awful lot of one another."

"But that must have been terrible 1" Julie was indignant "Couldn't they have arranged to let you live together?"

"I don't think it occurred to anybody. They weren't all that fussy in those days. We were lucky to have a home."

"Marubo," Julie mused. "Where's that?"

"It's a little kingdom sandwiched between Ethiopia and the Sudan. Steph's husband is a farmer ... or at least trying his hand at it."

"Marubo? I remember now. Isn't that the place that has just gained independence?"

Lynn nodded. "There's a great agricultural scheme under way. John volunteered, though I don't know how Stephanie will come off. She's used to the bright lights of Nairobi. They used to run a night club there, quite a show- place, I believe."

"Do you visit her?"

"I haven't done yet." Lynn smiled wryly. "Stephanie's communications are few and far between. In fact the letter I received telling us of their move is the first I've had in months. You might say I know you better than I do my sister."

"She must be missing the night club people, on a remote farm," Julie commented absently, staring out of the window.

Lynn picked up her handbag and studied Julie thoughtfully.

"You know, we should have a party," she said suddenly. "I've been so busy becoming domesticated I'm not on much more than speaking terms with the English contingent here. And you need young people around you ... perhaps a young man eventually."

Julie smoothed the gathers of her dress and coloured slightly.

"Unless," Lynn queried, "there's someone already. Is there? He's quite welcome here, you know."

Composed again, Julie lifted her head, and forced a tight smile.

"There's no one special."

"But there will be." Lynn dropped an arm affectionately around her shoulder. "And wherever he is, he's in for a nice surprise. Do you want me to make an appointment for you while I'm at the hairdressers?"

"Yes, please. The day after tomorrow, I think."

Lynn waved to the children on her way out, and Julie watched her go, knowing that for the first time since her arrival in Africa she had found a genuine friend.

The swimming pool had been cordoned off until work could be resumed, and Julie saw the children were hanging precariously from the ropes.

"Janet! Mark!" she called. "Come up here. I've gat a surprise!"

Wide-eyed, the children fell over themselves to see what was in the box that she was holding. "Have you ever made a jig-saw?" she smiled, showing them the picture. "This one is of the zoo, and it's got big wooden pieces. Let's all sit round the garden table, and I'll show you how to fit the pieces to make the picture."

The contents of the box were spread out and Janet longed excitedly. "Here's a tiger! A real tiger!" she cried.

"And I've got the tail," Julie laughed. "Put that piece in there, and you've got a whole tiger."

Mark pondered over a monkey's head, and Janet picked up the body.

"Here you are, Mark. You can fix this one."

Small hands forced the two pieces into one, adding a blow with a plump fist for good measure. They soon became engrossed, and Julie was able to glance at a magazine. She was studying the latest range of London fashions when a car sounded on the drive. The next minute Tamara was stepping from a long black Cadillac.

"Hi, honey!" She smoothed down the skirt of the lilac suit and swung a handbag from the car seat. "So this is where you finally landed, huh?" She glanced round approvingly through the inevitable sunglasses.

"Hello, Tamara." Julie went to greet her. "I wondered if you would call."

"First chance I've had. And even now I can't stop." She dropped down under a striped awning at the edge of the garden. "You know, that's one thing I'll say for the Americans. They're thorough. I thought I was being tested as a possible first woman on the moon. Even now I'm not sure 1 haven't joined the American air force!"

Julie laughed. "I take it you've got the job at the air base."

"I'm on my way." Tamara saluted gaily. "It looks as if we both made out O.K., doesn't it? You didn't have to go back to England. And I finally got an 'in' at the base."

"You really wanted that job, didn't you?" Julie smiled, noticing a glow in the other's eyes that even penetrated the sunglasses. Tamara laughed throatily.

"I'm following that formula. You know the one that says, 'You should know what you want, and then go out and get it.'"

Julie's heart lurched. What else did Tamara want besides the job at the air base? It was almost as though she had asked the question aloud, for Tamara was saying,

"I'll tell you, honey. There's this chemical reaction between a certain Major and myself—that's his car, by the way. We figure it will have more of a chance to ... er ... ferment," she tossed a dry smile, "if I'm on the spot."

"A Major? But I thought ..." Julie blurted, and then looked down at her hands in embarrassment.

"You thought what, honey?" Tamara's voice held no surprise, and Julie raised her head to see a tilted eyebrow and an enigmatic smile. The head was being turned slowly from side to side. "Uh-uh! I leave the tough oil men to you. By the way, have you seen Clay lately?"

"Clay? I saw him a couple of weeks back. I think." Tamara's smiling glance was penetrating.

"You're looking a bit peaky ... around the heart."

"I suppose it's the heat," Julie said quickly, determined to misunderstand her.

"Oh, sure! You're pining for the heat. "Tamara got to her feet and adjusted her sunglasses with a sigh. "So much for my efforts to play Cupid. Well, I'm on my way. If you want to get in touch with me, here's my address. I don't know when they'll let me out, so I can't male any promises about coming over this way."

"You talk as if you were going to prison 1" Julie laughed, taking the slip of paper.

"I rather think I'm in for something better than a stone cell and a five-barred window. That's something else I'll say for us Americans. We're a comfort-loving race, and spare no expenses to prove it." She slipped into the car and revved up flamboyantly, calling through the window,

"So long, honey. Don't forget to keep in touch!"

Later Julie pondered over Tamara's remarks. What had she meant by looking a bit peaky around the heart? Was it as obvious as all that—her love for Clay? If so she had better smother it now. It wouldn't do for Clay to come to the house and find her looking starry-eyed. She could just imagine his face! The granite features wearing an air of tolerant amusement for just another one of the many who must have succumbed to that rugged, arrogant charm. But what of the girl who was compelling him to give up the oil-fields? Was it Tamara? Didn't he know her interests lay elsewhere? With a sigh Julie decided to forget it. After all, it was Clay's business, not hers. If he was in for a shattering disappointment there was nothing she could do about it…

On the day that Steve and Lynn flew over to Malta, Julie took the children to see a puppet show. Organised by the oil men's wives, in aid of a local charity, it was a tremendous success. The puppets performing on a red- curtained stage were all lifelike characters of famous show business personalities, and though Janet and Mark couldn't appreciate this, they thoroughly enjoyed the music and animation. Later there were ice creams and rides on a baby camel in the courtyard.

That evening Julie contacted the hotel in Malta as planned to let Lynn and Steve know that all was going well. After that time simply flew by. Before she knew where she was the day had arrived when they were due back home.

The morning began like any other.

She awoke to the sound of Bella commencing her daily chores—the Italian woman had grudgingly consented to sleep at the house while the Rowlands were away—the next second the door had burst open and Janet and Mark hurled themselves at her.

"Julie! Julie! Can we go to the beach today?" Janet rolled on the pillow, bright-eyed and volatile. "I want to see the coloured fish in the pools and put my feet in too."

"I'ne going to catch some fish. I'ne got a net," Mark announced, dumping himself on Julie's feet.

"We'll have to go early," Julie explained. "Mummy and Daddy are coming home this afternoon. You wouldn't want to be out and miss them, would you?"

"Let's go wow! " Mark demanded, jumping up and down on the bed with Unusual energy. Julie laughed, catching him to her.

"When you've got yourself dressed and had some breakfast, darling. Janet, you go and lay out yours and Mark's beach clothes, and I'll pop along and ask Bella to make us a packed lunch, and then it's off to the bathroom with you two."

The morning spun by in a kaleidoscope of hot sunshine, shimmering pools and vivid wriggling fish.

One or two poor unfortunates found their way into Mark's net, and were promptly transferred to his temporary aquarium—a plastic bucket.

Just after lunch the three emerged from the car, hot, sandy and thirsty, but by mid-afternoon Janet and Mark were refreshed after a nap in a darkened room. With polished faces, and dressed in freshly laundered linen, they strutted round the garden, casting frequent expectant glances towards the drive.

Julie, tanned and relaxed in leaf-green cotton, reclined in a garden chair and tried to find some measure of interest in the magazines at her side. She was a little surprised at her own tremulous excitement, and found herself viewing the proposed return of Lynn and Steve with the same pent-up eagerness as their children. Before long she too was casting glances along the drive and listening for Lynn's rippling laughter.

She hadn't minded taking over for Steve and Lynn, but it was going to be good to have them back all the same.

Minute by minute the afternoon dragged by. As the shadows lengthened the children grew restless,

"Can we have tea now?" Mark stomped up for the twentieth time. "I'ne hungry."

"I thought we would wait for Mummy," Julie smiled. "Wouldn't you like to have it with her?"

"Well, where is she?" Janet performed a series of pirouettes and landed in a dizzy heap on the terrace. The pink dress was looking slightly the worse for wear.

"I expect she and Daddy are held up at the airport," Julie said easily. "Don't forget they have to find someone to drive them home. Next time, perhaps we'll go and meet them in the car." She looked at her watch. "If they aren't here in ten minutes we'll start tea."

Bella left at seven o'clock as was her custom on normal days, and Julie, unable to keep the children awake any longer, had been forced to put them to bed.

At twenty minutes to eight she experienced her first brush of uneasiness.

Surely Lynn would have let her know if they intended Staying on in Malta? Steve still had three days of his leave left, but Julie knew he was looking forward to spending it with the children. Perhaps they had missed the plane, or were being kept at the airport because of some triviality to do with passports, or the customs. But wouldn't Lynn have telephoned?

At eight o'clock she decided to abandon all further conjecture and ring the airport. No doubt Steve and Lynn were on their way by now, but at least it would be something to do. She dialled the number, already feeling easier in her mind. There was bound to be a perfectly logical explanation for the hold-up.

After several minutes she managed to contact the airport receptionist "Hello, I'm enquiring about the two o'clock flight out from Malta. Could you ..."

"What is your name, please?" A tense voice cut across her question.

"I'm Miss Lambert... Julie Lambert. Could you tell me if ..."

"One moment, please."

She was left several seconds and then the voice returned,

"I have here someone who wishes to speak with you."Thank heavens I Lynn probably. Julie waited expectantly, and after what seemed an eternity a voice came through.

It wasn't Lynn's or Steve's.

"Julie?" In just her name she recognised those harsh, authoritative tones.

"Clay! What are you doing at the airport? Have you been to Malta too?" She found it necessary to make light conversation to hide her confusion. She hadn't expected to find herself landed with him, but now he was on the phone she might as well see if he could help her. "I've been trying to get hold of Lynn. She and Steve were due in on the two o'clock flight, but I think they must have missed it. Could you find out if ..."

"Julie!" Clay's voice sounded taut. She could hear his breathing, hard and irregular. "Where are the children? Are you ringing from the house?"

"Why, yes. I put Janet and Mark to bed some time ago."

She listened to the silence at the other end of the line. With every second the beats of her heart thumped louder, powered by a growing alarm.

"Clay, what is it?" she managed. "Something^1* wrong ..."

"Listen, Julie, something's happened .,He inhaled deeply. She could almost see the breath coming through clenched teeth. "Hang on, I'm on my way over."

Long after Clay had rung off Julie still gripped the phone. The knuckles on the hand holding it were blue- white. She knew Clay was on his way over to tell her something. Her own intuition told her it was grave news.

CHAPTER VIII

THE morning papers were full of the air crash. Someone had reported seeing a ball of fire only minutes after the plane had taken off from Malta. Wreckage had been found floating around the coast There were no survivors.

There were no survivors!

Julie couldn't get that sentence out of her mind. It pounded regularly like the thumping of her heart last night when she had known that something was wrong. At first she had been pathetically optimistic. Steve and Lynn wouldn't be on that plane. Of course they wouldn't I They would be catching a later one. Why, she could pick up the phone and dial the hotel in Malta. Lynn would speak to her as she had done that first night.

"It's no use, Julie." Clay's hand came over hers on the phone. "The Rowlands were on that plane. I've seen the passenger fist. The oil company were notified because a lot of our personnel use the route."

"It's not true!" With a sob in her voice Julie released her hand and buried her face. "I won't believe it. I won't!"

"Go ahead and let go now." He turned her gendy towards him. "It will take all you've got to behave normally in front of Janet and Mark tomorrow."

Julie stared up at him white-faced. She had been selfishly wrapped up in her own grief, giving no thought to the two who would suffer most. Janet and Mark were now orphans.

How they got through the night she had no clear recollection. It seemed one minute she had a tear-stained face buried in Clay's shoulder, and the next she found herself lying on her bed with a coverlet draped over her. She heard the sound of cars coming and going, and Bella's voice in what seemed to be the middle of the night.

Much later she awoke to find the sun streaming in ~ through the windows. She stirred and heard the laughter of the children from the garden. Please, God, say it was some terrible nightmare, she prayed. Let this be just another of those sunny happy days, of which she had spent so many in this house. She rose, half hoping to see Steve and Lynn on the lawn, but the tall figure of Clay engaged in a ball game told her the truth.

Lynn and Steve Rowland had been killed yesterday. They were never coming home again.

Julie gulped back the terrible ache in her throat, wondering how she was going to get through the day. She stared around the room. The room that she and Lynn had decorated together, with its royal blue carpet and curtains and covers of polka-dot blue on white. How she had basked in its femininity! Now all she could see was cascading polka-dot being pushed through a sewing machine, and Lynn's dark head bent in happy concentration. A tear pushed at the corner of her eye, but resolutely she blinked it away.

Mark and Janet were waiting for her.

She showered and slipped into a navy dress with a small white collar at the neck. After a few strokes of the hairbrush and a dab at the violet-shadowed eyes she walked out into the brilliant sunshine, her lips pulled into a smile.

Janet was a writhing, giggling mass on the lawn, obviously amused at Mark's attempt to hit a golf ball with a spade. She saw Julie and jumped up accusingly.

"You know Mummy didn't come home last night, she didn't!" Mark dropped his spade and ran to her.

"Doolie! Have you seen my daddy? I'ne going to put my fishes in the swimming pool when he's mended it."

Dragging her by the hand, he led her to the plastic bucket. The sight of the three grey bodies floating sadly on top, and the half-finished pool, with the stack of tiles just where Steve had left them, was nearly too much for Julie. She bit hard on her lower lip and clenched the fist that Mark wasn't clutching.

"Good morning, Julie! We thought you were going to sleep all day."

The sound of Clay's voice, cheerfully casual, brought her back from the brink of tears. She didn't miss the glint of encouragement in his eyes.

"I ... must have been extra specially tired last night," she smiled, feigning a yawn.

"These fishes are dead," Janet stated bluntly, with a scornful poke at one corpse. "They're just dead fish." Without warning Mark's face contorted and he burst into a flood of tears. He was quite inconsolable until Clay suggested a run into town to buy a real aquarium, with green water and lights and dozens of fish.

As they ran inside to wash the dust off their hands, Julie turned to Clay.

"Have you told them?" she asked.

"No, but it's funny how kids sense these things." He looked at her. "If you prefer it I'll tell them on the way to town. Luckily they're too young for it to register much. I've an idea the aquarium will be a good distraction."

Clay was right, of course. The children were too young to realise the catastrophe that had befallen them, but Julie wasn't. As the days drifted by a gnawing guilt drained the colour from her cheeks, and sapped the energy from her limbs. She wandered slackly around the house, making constant excuses to avoid the outdoors and games with the children.

One evening when she was staring out into the darkness, Clay rose from the lamp lit desk a sheaf of papers in his hand.

"That just about winds it up. Everything will go in trust for Janet and Mark, including the proceeds from the house."

Julie was silent for some considerable time and then she asked without turning.

"Clay, what's going to happen to them?"

"The children? Lynn's sister becomes legal guardian. Apparently she is the only relative apart from Steve's father, who was approaching seventy-eight the last I heard."

"Will they live at the farm ... at..." Julie's voice shook a little.

"In Marubo? That's up to the Mayhews. They will have the task of deciding what's best for Janet and Mark."

"Are they coming to collect them?"

"Unfortunately they can't leave Bongola ... that's the name of the farm. A solicitor was due out from England to escort them, but ..." as Julie drew a quick breath, "to burden them with strangers at such a time could have unpleasant effects. I'd rather take them myself."

"I wish I could keep them." Julie swung round impulsively, the blue eyes overbright.

"No, Julie!" Clay's voice was sharp. "They need family. You of all people should appreciate that."

"But for me they would still be a family," she choked.

"What are you saying?"

"Don't you see? If I hadn't come here, Steve and Lynn . would be alive today."

"So that's it? I might have known something like that would be eating you." He dropped the papers and turned her gently towards him.

"I should have gone back to England," she wrung her hands. "Why did I have to take the job? You might as well say I killed them ... I..."

"Stop it, Julie!" Clay drew her roughly towards him. "You're in no way responsible. If you hadn't come here the Rowlands would have found someone else. You might as well say I'm responsible for suggesting you to them."

"But / accepted the job."

"And that's all you did." The brown eyes were dark with compassion. "Things like this happen, darling, and no one is to blame. Life goes on ... and we'll have to start thinking about ours."

Julie heard the words, but neither knew nor cared what they meant. She raised a stricken face,

"How can I think of my life now ? I couldn't,«, not until I knew Janet and Mark were safe."

She felt Clay's fingers gripping her shoulders. He didn't speak. After a while she asked,

"Will you write to me and let me know how they get on at Bongola?"

"I won't need to. You're coming with me."

"Me?"

"The children will need someone to see to their needs on the journey. They're used to you."

Julie pondered, "I'd like to see them settled in. Do you know anything about Bongola?"

"Only that it's a high-level farm about six thousand feet up on the Daraber mountains. John Mayhew took it on some kind of scheme between our government and theirs. If it's anything like the other farms in that district, they grow anything from maize and bananas, to cotton and sunflowers. There's usually a fair amount of cattle ... Friesians, Jerseys and local breeds." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Could be a paradise for Janet and Mark, and the Mayhews do want the children, which is half the battle."

"I suppose so," Julie nodded with a wan smile, "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Clay said firmly.

Janet and Mark took the plane trip to Khartoum in their stride. Whatever Clay had told them about their mother and father Julie had never had the courage to find out, but their eyes held the puzzled expression that children have when suddenly abandoned by loved ones. Mark cried a little more easily these days and Janet was inclined to be aggressive. Sometimes Julie would find her staring into apparent nothingness and then be completely unnerved by: "Do you think Mummy is happy where she is?" and "I wonder why Daddy didn't take Mark and me?"

Swallowing hard, Julie would try to give a reasonable answer to these questions and then skilfully guide the conversation into other channels. Only time, and perhaps a new life with their aunt and uncle at Bongola, could push the memory pictures of the two most important people in the life of a child to the back of their minds,

A car chauffeured by a tall Sudanese was waiting at the airport, and as they sped through the streets of Khartoum, Julie was aware of the roar of traffic, bright lights, and policemen. It might have been the heart of London but for the dark skins and occasional glimpses of the giant banyan trees. The hotel was surrounded by lawns and looked out on to the river, and from her room Clay pointed to a steamer in the distance.

"I thought the river would be the coolest way to travel through to Marubo. The rest, about forty miles, we'll have to do by road."

Julie dabbed at a bead of perspiration on her temple, and pointed to a white wedding cake of a building in the distance.

"It looks like some kind of palace."

"Good guess." Clay smiled down at her. "Would you like to go and see it? It's all right," as her gaze turned towards the children's room, "there's a Nanny with an Indian child in the next room to mine. She's promised to look in from time to time." He went to the door. "I'll see you in the foyer, as soon as you're ready."

Refreshed after a bath and a change of attire, Julie made her way down stairs. It seemed as though she had known Clay all her life, and yet this was the first time he had ever asked her to go out with him. Did he wish this was Tamara here with him now? Was he still hoping to establish a deeper relationship with the American woman when he got back to Tripoli.

Deep in her own thoughts, Julie moved with unconscious grace across the foyer, unaware that Clay's eyes were upon her. Her lilac chiffon dress, with the low halter neckline and billowing skirt, fluttered slightly under the whirr of the fans, a coil of flaxen hair swung forward over one shoulder. She was rather startled to see Clay step from behind the pillar. He took her elbow, saying rather brusquely,

"Shall we go?"

She noticed the wide bronzed neck under the open silk shirt, and the immaculate slacks, before being led out into the warm night air.

The palace was floodlit and the guards magnificent in their white uniforms. Julie gazed long and untiring at the scene, wishing she had a camera to record it all. Later they walked down an avenue where banyan trees met overhead to form an archway and past a bridge that led to the river. Clay led her to a softly lit garden where a scattering of people, mostly tourists, talked desultorily above the Sudanese music.

Clay ordered drinks, and turned to her with a suave smile.

"Any comments on your night in the Sudan?"

Julie lay back dreamily, the blue eyes aglow.

"None at all. I'm quite, quite speechless!"

With a wry smile he handed her a cigarette,

"You make me feel aware of my years. I can't remember my reactions at seeing these places for the first time."

She gave him a disbelieving look.

"I'd like to bet you were just as thrilled as I am now, but you would never admit it."

"No doubt, no doubt." He grinned and Julie saw the gleam of his teeth as he snicked out the lighter, and lay back to gaze at the stars. A few minutes later he got to his feet and murmured lazily,

"Let's go and test our reaction to the moonlight on the River Nile." Dryly he added, "I'm with you in this. It's the first time for me too."

With fluttering heart Julie allowed him to guide her along a rough path to the shore, trying all the time to ascertain his mood. He seemed genial but thoughtful, casual yet... determined. She wasn't sure if that was a mocking smile playing around the hard mouth, or ...

At the sight of the river she forgot everything. A gleaming silver ribbon, it snaked and misted away into the darkness like a pathway to Shangri-la. She gazed at the widest stretch, seeing it move swiftly but silently through the night…

"Romantic, isn't it... or are my reactions different from yours?"

Momentarily she had forgotten Clay's nearness, but when he spoke she had never been more conscious of the powerful set of the shoulders, the magnetism of his smile.

"It... it's beautiful." she hedged, not really seeing anything now but the dark face above hers.

"Romantic and beautiful." He glinted down at her. "With only the two words between us, let's just say it defies description, shall we ?"

Like a drowning woman Julie felt an urgent need to clutch at anything that would save her. In this case, conversation.

"I... never saw anything like it in Tripoli..."

"Tripoli?" With an almost inaudible sigh he added, "I'd forgotten it existed."

"Tamara got the job at the air base. She was very pleased. She came to see me before she went ..." Julie prattled, feeling the air less breathable with every second. "She wanted the job awfully badly."

"I know. Though I don't see why she and the Major- just didn't get hitched, but she's a careful girl, is our Tamara.

"So you knew about the Major?"

He slanted her a grin. "Tamara asked my advice."

"And what did you tell her?" Julie asked, feeling the suffocation creeping in again.

"I told her ..." Clay's eyes bore into hers with calm intensity, "to grab the guy while she had the chance." She attempted a smile, but that look was so soul-searing she had to turn her face away.

So Clay knew about Tamara's love life, and was apparently unmoved by it!

For the first time since the death of Lynn and Steve, Julie was able to probe beneath the dull ache and find the words that Clay had uttered to her that evening.

Life goes on ... and we will have to start thinking about ours.

Could he have meant?... dare she hope?... Supposing it had never been Tamara? Supposing there had never been anyone else but...

As the realisation hit her she swayed a little, unaware that she had whispered his name aloud ... the blue eyes were liquid as she turned them up to his.

The brown eyes as though waiting suddenly snapped fire. Hoarsely Clay swept her into his arms, burying his lips in her hair. "Julie my dear ... my darling ... let me hold you just once ..."

She felt the hardness of his body as his mouth found hers, and from then on nothing seemed to matter except the kisses which he drained from her as though he would never take his fill.

The world spun by, and she thought of love, its devouring intensity, its rapture… Had Steve and Lynn once felt like this? The thought of their children sleeping alone in a strange hotel made her push gently at the hard chest.

"Clay," she asked a little shakily, "do you think the Mayhews will take to Janet and Mark?"

He watched her face intently. "Are you reminding me of a job still to do?" and then with a frustrated brush of a hand through his hair he sighed heavily. "You're right, of course. The children must come first."

With an arm about her shoulders he led her back towards the hotel.

The steamer that was to carry them to the nearest point to the borders of Marubo was called the Djirjaj after a village along the Nile. It was a sizeable craft with blunt ends, and the paddle that propelled it was at the stern. Julie noticed with surprised pleasure the very high standard of the first-class cabins. As an Arab dropped the suitcases, she saw a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a wash basin, electric fans and a bed for herself and bunks for the children. She found they could walk straight out on to a deck hung with mosquito-proof netting. This offered a wonderful view of the river ahead, and also life in the third and fourth-class quarters below. Here was a colourful scene of Arabs and Negroes sprawled on the iron decks amongst their various sheep, goats and hens.

It came as a slight shock later to learn that most of the livestock was food for the journey. The natives skinned and cooked along the way and the animals grew more and more depleted.

For all its size and modern appearance the Djirjaj didn't make very fast progress. Clay estimated its speed at about four knots. Julie didn't mind. She was convinced this was the way to travel in the heat of Africa. There was no dust, no lurching motion, no noise except the rhythmic beat of the engines, and the gentle swish of water against the side of the boat. Also, unlike the monotony of sea travel— which Julie had never actually experienced but could appreciate—the river banks were a constant source of interest.

She was able to take her fill for the next couple of hours, for after much trotting and jumping from one end of the deck to the other Janet and Mark had flopped thankfully into their bunks. Clay worked in his cabin over endless forms and documents concerning the children and their journey.

Julie saw the parched soil and skeletal plants gradually give way to green savanna, and then a sprinkling of trees that reminded her of an English parkland. Whenever the boat passed a village, conical roofs of the huts were visible^ and an occasional spindly-legged Negro standing at the water's edge. Where the gleaming coins of sunlight were showered on the water, she kept a sharp lookout for crocodiles and hippopotamus. Clay had told her they frequented these waters. She wasn't particularly disappointed at not seeing any.

Towards evening Mark developed a temperature. He refused his food and dozed fitfully in his bunk, crying at intervals. He hadn't settled down when Julie was almost ready to go to bed, and not liking the look of the fiery red cheeks, she went for Clay.

He had to bend his great height to the lower bunk and after looking Mark over and coaxing him to swallow something from a glass he stretched up with a drawn smile.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about. Just that he's a bit young to be making this kind of trip. I've given him something to cool him down and probably by morning he'll have slept it off."

As they stepped out into the night, the air was weighted down with heat. The sky was red and the river glowed like molten metal. Julie watched the fireflies dance beneath the acacia trees that lined the shore, her eyes troubled.

"What's wrong?" Clay eyed her.

"I was thinking ... what if the climate doesn't suit the children? Heat like this could ruin their health. Already it's . . ."

"Stop stretching your nerves over them, or you'll end up the same way as Mark." He added in less stern tones, "I'm told that the area of Marubo is the nearest one can get to the English climate. Don't forget it's in the mountains. You. can't judge anything by this lot ... this is pure Sudanese heat and it's likely to stay with us for some time yet, at least until we get away from the river." He gave her an encouraging smile and went back to his cabin.

As Clay prophesied, Mark was his old self the next morning. In fact he and Janet were unusually energetic and Julie had a hard time of it curbing their enthusiasm for games that covered the whole length of deck. Perspiring freely, she finally got them interested in watching a game of chequers being played on a large colourful board by two Arabs down below. After their mid-day meal they tumbled into their bunks, exhausted from the heat, and Julie was able to wash and change and take her place at the rail.

They had stopped at a village and Julie liked to watch the commotion of passengers coming and going. A group of warriors joined the motley crowd embarking, their spears held high glistened in the hot sun. When all was clear, a blind ill-looking man was carried up the gangplank on a stretcher, and the very last man to come aboard was a tall imposing figure with white silk caught at one shoulder in a gold clip, and a coloured strap stuck with feathers around his black forehead. He must have been some kind of chieftain, for he was led with great reverence to a first-class cabin.

These had been slowly filling up along the way, and now in addition to the new arrival they held a family of Indians travelling through to Uganda, a Sudan river agent journeying to take up a new post, and a missionary and his family, with whom Julie had had several interesting conversations since they boarded. They were due to leave the steamer at the next stop and travel overland to some remote missionary station at the mouth of the river.

By the fourth day the crowd down below had thinned out considerably at stops along the way, and the rest had taken to fishing to pass the time. Clay leaned nonchalantly over the rail beside Julie, giving a detailed description of each species, while Janet and Mark watched fascinated through the mesh of the rails at the strange fish being brought in.

"That's a Nile perch, similar to the salmon in flavour ... he'll have to watch that one, it's an electric catfish and packs a powerful electric shock." The owner of the line hastily cast this back into the water. "Balloon fish over there ..." Several of these flopped about on the deck and blew themselves up into hideous-looking footballs.

That afternoon the steamer arrived at Annaya, the nearest point to Marubo, which was seventy miles away. Clay swung down the gangplank with Mark in his arms and Julie followed holding Janet's hand. The luggage was trundled noisily in the rear.

Facing the quay was a mosque built out of multi-coloured stones, and ahead a street of open-fronted stalls were loaded with groceries and provisions. A young Sudanese in a neat suit stepped out from the bustle and pumped Clay's hand vigorously. He flashed a smile towards Julie.

"Glad you got my message, Habib," Clay was saying.

The young man gave a pleased nod, and led them to a sturdy-looking vehicle with a tropical roof, and large Dun- lopillo seats in the back. Clay opened the rear door and dropped Mark in with a smile.

"Sit tight, old son, we're almost there."

He helped Julie in and swung Janet in beside her, while Habib stored the luggage in the back. After perusing a map that the young man had produced, Clay slid behind the wheel and pressed the accelerator.

"Two hours should do it... three at the most," he said buoyantly over his shoulder. "Habib tells me it's a good road for most of the way ... there's a customs house just this side of the border, after that it's plain sailing."

He swung away from the quay, saluting the waving Sudanese. Ahead was a backcloth of blue and violet mountains and already the car was climbing. With every mile the air grew fresher, and the children must have noticed an end to the enervating heat, for they perched on the edge of their seats and chatted happily about inconsequential things. Julie too noticed a lightness about things and found herself singing snatches of song beneath the hum of the engine.

The car sped on through deserted mountains where baobab trees grew to a tremendous size, their great deformed trunks glistening in the afternoon sun. Towards sundown the" Car drew in at the customs house, a solidly built structure with a wide blue veranda. For what must have been the tenth time since they had left Tripoli, Clay produced the passports and necessary documents and approached the fat man who gazed out morosely from the doorway. They went inside together.

It occurred to Julie that this would be an ideal time for the children to stretch their legs. Although it couldn't be far now to the Mayhews' they might as well take full advantage of the stop.

"Out you come, cherubs," she called gaily. "Twice round the gas works, back in time for tea!"

She caught them as they fell out of the car in giggles,

"Twice ... round the gasworks... back in time for tea!" they chanted, boldly marching from the car. Or at least Janet did. After the first couple of words Mark found it a bit of a mouthful, so he just hopped and grunted untune- fully. Julie gazed round. The scenery was breathtaking and the high altitude had lifted them from a heavy oppressive heat clean into an English summer. She felt happier about the children's future than she had done for some time. It looked as if things were turning out rather well. The climate was perfect, and Janet and Mark were on their way to an aunt who loved and wanted them. Stephanie May- hew was Lynn's sister, so it was natural she should feel a special affection for her children.

The subjects of her thoughts were cavorting merrily around a leafy bush, and for a few moments Julie allowed herself the luxury of looking beyond today. When all this was finished, when Janet and Mark were secure and loved again, there was Clay ... Quickly she shut the thought from her mind, not daring to anticipate such rapture ... not yet.

As they came round to the front of the customs house again the fat man's voice greeted her. "Na! na!" He was out on the veranda shaking his head vigorously and clutching the parcel of passports.

With a frown Clay strode towards her.

"There's been a hitch. It seems we can't go yet"

"Why not?" Julie was apprehensive.

"Why not?" His mouth had a hard twist of amusement. "Because, my dear, you are not my wife, and these are not our children."

"You can't be serious?"

"I can assure you he is deadly serious." He thrust a glare towards the fat man. "We have to wait until his superior arrives to sort it out."

"But it's ridiculous! What difference could it possibly make our not being ... married?"

"I can't make head nor tail of it." Clay shrugged. 'The nearest I can get to sense is that you and the children are. cleared. For some reason known only to himself I'm not."

Probably sensing something in Clay's brisk tones, Mark whimpered and drew close to Julie.

"It's all right, darling," she told him. "It won't take long." It was amazing how quickly the children felt the seriousness of a situation. A second ago they had been gay and laughing. Now they gazed up with wide solemn eyes as though fearful of being mysteriously abandoned again. Julie was afraid this period of travel and insecurity was going to have far-reaching effects, if they didn't settle down soon into a homely atmosphere.

"Look, how long is he going to be," she asked, "this boss of his?"

"He could come in an hour, or he might not arrive till morning. These people have no sense of time I" He kicked at the barrier testily.

The sun gradually faded behind the hills and a cool wind blew along the road. Mark scuffed his feet and tried to stop heavy eyelids blinking. Putting on a smile, for the children's benefit, Clay turned.

"As there's nowhere else we can wait, we may as well bed down in the car. Come on, nippers."

Mark clung to Julie's dress, tearful again.

"Where's Mummy? I want Mummy! "

Writh a touching gesture Janet curled an arm about his neck and pulled his head on to her shoulder, while she caught at her own trembling lower lip.

"Clay," Julie gulped, "why don't I go on with the children? You could follow later. Surely they'll offer you some kind of transport."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't think of letting you go it alone."

"But why not? What's the sense of us all hanging around here? You said yourself the children and I are cleared, and it can't be far to Bongola now."

"About ten miles. You should be there in a matter of minutes ..." he rubbed his chin thoughtfully "... and the Mayhews are expecting us."

"Well, then ... ?" She raised her face eagerly.

"Hang on. I'll check with old Sobersides to see whether It's O.K. for you to go through." He returned in a few minutes.

"It's all fixed. Keep to the road. Habib mentioned it turns off into a track about three miles from the farm, but it's clearly marked. You should have no trouble.''

Janet and Mark had decided they wanted to sit at the front and as Julie slid into the driving seat Clay fastened the door. His face was taut.

"Take care Julie. And don't waste any time, get straight to Bongola, you understand."

"We're practically there!" With a reassuring smile and a wave of her hand she steered the car through the barriers and along the road.

It grew dark suddenly and quite without warning and it was impossible to see anything beyond the ribbon of the road, but Julie was unperturbed. They must have covered five or six miles already and should soon be coming to the track. She recognised this by the sudden lurching and bumping of the car, and as there was a serious risk of damaging the underbody she deemed it wiser to do no more than five miles an hour. After what seemed an eternity of tossing and bouncing she saw a light in the distance. The headlights picked out a sign at the side of the track: BONGOLA. The letters were so faded they almost emerged into the greyness of the board. In fact if Julie hadn't known what she was looking for, she doubted whether she would have been able to read the sign.

Further along leaning gates opened on to a drive that looked reminiscent of an autumn setting in England. Leaves and twigs swirled around in the gathering wind, and an occasional cocoon of grass or moss rolled into the glare of the headlights. The tall black trees shuddered painfully at the brunt of .the wind.

With a cheerfulness she was far from feeling Julie put on the brakes and helped the children out, "Here we are, kittens, home at last!" The house sprawled away into the darkness, a dim grey collection of pillars and windows. Wooden steps led up to a high veranda, and along this shutters swung to and fro fitfully.

It would be all right once they were inside, Julie told herself firmly. Night was never a good time to sample new surroundings. With the light of day things could look so very different.

The light she had seen came from the side of the house. Funny no one had come out to meet them! Surely they must have heard the sound of the car? She smiled down encouragingly.

"Let's go in and find Aunt Stephenie ... it looks as though we're going to surprise her!"

Mark clutched her hand so tight she could have winced with pain. Janet stared rigidly ahead. Looking at them now, their eyes wide and apprehensive, Julie would have given anything to spare them this. It couldn't have been a more disastrous introduction to their new home.

They climbed the steps to a door that swung easily inwards. In the dull glow of the light from the other room she saw a polished wood floor strewn with rugs, and dulled by a surface of dust. The dark shapes in the room suggested some kind of lounge.

"Hello!" she called. "Anyone home?" She walked resolutely towards the lighted room.

"Is there any ..." Her voice trailed off in dejection at the sight before her.

The room resembling a kitchen held a large wooden table. This was completely covered with opened cans and stale food. There was a sink in one corner, tapless and made of coarse stone, and opposite a rough enamel container that could have been a fridge. On the wall an open cupboard displayed a jumble of expensive-looking crockery, and cooking utensils, and opposite was an iron stove, rusted, cold and utterly cheerless.

It was a sight that brought the tears pricking to Julie's eyes. Perhaps she was just tired. It had been a long journey ... hundreds of miles ... to this! Try as she might she couldn't suppress the black disappointment at what she saw.

And where was everybody? Where was Auntie Stephanie? Didn't she know her nephew and niece were arriving tonight ?

There was a movement from behind her, and not knowing why, Julie tensed. The children instinctively clung to her skirt, and under this encumbrance she turned with difficulty.

The figure was draped around the opening of the door, clinging to anything that would offer support to the sagging limbs. The eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and the dark hair hung forward, unruly and uncombed. Even so the beauty shone through. Here were the neat good looks of Lynn and something more ... a whole lot more, Julie thought, noticing the perfect figure in the wispy blue housecoat.

At that moment the head was tossed back and slurred words were pushed from curling lips,

"We ... ell, hello!" Hurriedly seeking the support of the wall again, she managed to add, "Wel ... come ... welcome ... to Bongola."

CHAPTER IX

&QUOT;HELLO! YOU must be Mrs. Mayhew." Julie tried to speak normally, though the shock of seeing the children's aunt and guardian in such a state had almost taken her voice. "My name is Julie Lambert, and this is your nephew Mark ... and Janet, your niece. I'm sorry if we seem to have barged in, but we thought you were ... expecting us."

"I was . . .1 am." Stephanie opened her arms expansively and showed a brilliant smile, then she suddenly spiralled down and swept the children into her arms. "My babies!" she crooned over them; the smile was now conspiratorial. "If you don't bring John to his senses, nothing else will!"

Being very small, Janet and Mark made no effort to hide their dislike at being held so suffocatingly close. They wriggled furiously, and to tide them over a difficult moment Julie asked politely,

"John ... that's your husband, isn't it? Is he here?"

"He's in the village ... he's always in the village, looking for someone to get this damned place hoisted on to its feet." Stephanie rose and swayed. "He can't do it on his own ... but of course I knew he couldn't. Still, he had to drag me along ... he was determined to do that!"

Julie tried to bed down her embarrassment with the suggestion that perhaps Mrs. Mayhew ought to sit down. Taking the vpeight of the slack body, she ied her to a chair in the lounge, hoping there would be no more personal grievances aired. Stephanie was bound to regret them once she was sobered up. But she wasn't finished yet.

Once in the chair where a small table lamp cast a pool of light Stephanie hiccupped and laughed hoarsely.

"Isn't life funny? Don't you think life is funny? Johnny always wanted children, and I didn't... I sometimes think bringing me here had something to do with punishment. I should have been like Lynn ... poor Lynn!" the green eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Poor Lynn with two babies. Why couldn't it have been me with nobody ... and stuck in this stinking ..."

"Mrs. Mayhew, would you like me to make you some coffee?"

Tears trickled slowly down alabaster cheeks. The thick lashes drooped.

"Mrs. Mayhew!"

Without warning an arm was swung wide. She laughed throatily.

"Now look at me ... what do you say now, John? I've got a family, ready made, and now we can all go home, and ..." The rest was lost in unintelligible mumbling but she rallied at the end to chuckle. "If there's anything Johnny can't resist it's ... kids."

"Mrs. Mayhew!" Julie shook the shoulder vigorously, but Stephanie Mayhew was quite unconscious.

Now what were they going to do?

Brushing her eyes wearily, Julie supposed she had better see what she could sort out for herself. The children needed a bath, a meal, and a warm bed. The air was decidedly chilly. She looked around in sudden panic. Where were they—Janet and Mark? Her heart constricted at the sight of them. Two small figures nestled close together in the corner of a huge sofa. They were fast asleep.

Well, it looked as if the first job would be to get some kind of heat going under that formidable-looking stove. It wasn't going to be easy. The wood was damp, which was bad enough, but apart from this, the small hatch that should slot open to take fuel refused to budge. She tried forcing it with a wedge of wood. But no. Nor would it yield to the heel of her shoe.

"Confound the stupid, idiotic, maddening ... !" She kicked it forcefully and collapsed in a heap of tears and frustration. She really couldn't stand any more. On top of everything else they weren't to be allowed the comforts of a warm drink. And it didn't look as if there was anywhere to sleep....

There was the sound of a firm footstep outside. The steps quickened across the lounge.

"Oh, Clay!" Julie looked up at him with brimming eyes. "Everything's awful... just awful!"

"What in heaven's name ..." He drew her to her feet, looking around him at the chaos.

"We shouldn't have come here," Julie sniffed. "Stephanie doesn't love the children ... she only wants to use them to get her husband away from here. He wanted a family and she didn't, so he brought her out here to get his own back, but now Janet and Mark are here they ..."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Clay gripped her patiently. "Let's start at the beginning. Where are the May- hews?"

"Stephanie is in the lounge, out to the world, and her husband is in the village, wherever that might be."

Disbelieving, Clay strode into the lounge and stared down at the prostrate figure. He turned to another door.

'You wait here. I'll see if there's a bed she can go into." Within seconds he had returned. "First door on the left You'll see the light. Straighten up the bed and I'll bring her through."

She watched as Clay scooped Stephanie up into his arms, and then she hurried along the corridor. The bedroom was well furnished but very untidy. She smoothed out the sheets as Clay lowered Stephanie. He stood gazing down at her.

"She looks young to be alone out here."

"Five years younger than Lynn," Julie replied a trifle stiffly.

"Have you spoken to her?"

"She welcomed us to Bongola before she passed out."

Noticing the dry tones, Clay shot her a half smile,

"I wouldn't take anything she said too seriously. It was probably the drink talking, and drink can say funny things."

"Maybe."

As they walked back to the lounge Clay looked at the sleeping children.

"I'll take a look around and see what other rooms there are. In .the meantime you might like to go out to the car. I think you'll find the second flask is full of coffee and there should be some of Habib's sandwiches left."

"We're not going to stay here, are we?" Julie's eyes sprang wide in hurt surprise. "Why, I just couldn't! And there's the children ... I mean they ... Well, you've only got to look at the place! It's ..."

"Julie." Clay took hold of her sternly. He put a hand under her chin. "When I first saw you on the terrace of the Hotel Gerard I thought you were just a girl out for a good time with as little work attached as possible. After that gruelling ride through the desert and your first week at Guchani I knew you to be of infinitely better quality ... just as I know now you wouldn't turn your back on these people. They need help." His fingers slid to brush her throat. "Now cut along and get that coffee. We'll both feel better when we've had a cup."

There turned out to be two more bedrooms. One was empty apart from two iron bedsteads. The other had oddments of children's furniture, and bunks for sleeping in. Obviously Janet and Mark's room, but the bedding was hopelessly damp. Julie deemed it wiser to leave the children where they were. When she returned to the kitchen the stove was crackling, and it was possible to air one cover each to roll up in for the night.

After tacking the children up, Julie chose the end of the sofa, taking care not to disturb them. Clay stretched in an armchair across the room and snicked off the light.

"Goodnight, Julie."

"Clay," she asked sleepily, "what happened at the customs house?"

"Fortunately for me the other chap spoke my kind of English. I had to sign a couple of forms and swear that everything I had said previously was true."

"How crazy can they get?"

"I got a lift as far as the track and walked the rest of the way."

"I wish I'd waited with you ..." Julie drowsed.

"It's going to be all right Goodnight, Julie."

"Goodnight, Clay."

The sun shone warm on Julie's arm, but that wasn't what woke her. It was the gentle touch of fingers.

"You like bleakfast now, ladee?"

She sat bolt upright to see a square brown face with & flat nose. The mouth was split into a dazzling smile.

"Wh ... who are you?"

"I Temkin. I cook ... cook now for ladee?"

"But there was no one here when we came last night."

The young boy shrugged his shoulders and rolled the brown eyes. "When Missus get fire bottle, we go, stay in village, wait for supplies."

"You mean Mr. May hew and you?"

He nodded. "Bwana and me, we always go, stay in village."

"How long have you been away this time?"

"Three ... four days maybe. Cook breakfast now, ladee?" It looked as if Temkin wasn't going to rest until he had demonstrated for her benefit his culinary skill.

"Very well, Temkin," Julie smiled, "I'll have breakfast."

He trotted away happily, the white tunic flapping at his knees, and Julie went in search of the bathroom. By the time she had freshened up, the lounge table was decked out in a white cloth, with various dishes and condiments surrounding a vase of freshly picked flowers.

The cook stood proudly by awaiting her approval.

"That looks wonderful, Temkin." Julie smiled her appreciation, and as there was still no sign of Clay or the children, she asked,

"Mr. Whitman and the children ... have you seen them?" Temkin looked blank. It would appear his English was at its best when confined to local domesticities. Julie tried again,

"The big man ..." and lowering her hand to the floor, "the small ones ... are they here?" She pointed several times to the floor. At last Temkin's face lit up.

"No, no, not here. Go early, fetch Bwana."

Julie^decided to leave it at that. It seemed that Clay and the children had gone off quietly before she awoke. Well, she sighed not unhappily, there was nothing else for it but to sample Temkin's cooking, which looked quite delicious.

Some time later she heard the sound of a car and hurried to the door. She was in time to see Janet and Mark tumbling from the back seat looking unkempt but happy.

From the other door of Clay's car a feminine figure emerged. Well, well, Julie murmured under her breath. This couldn't be the Stephanie she had seen last night, could it? The hair was brushed and shining now, and the face beautifully made up. She looked long and lithe in tailored slacks and expensive blouse, and strangely out of place in the broken-down surroundings of Bongola.

"Good morning." As Clay helped her out she ran up the steps smiling. "You were sleeping like a baby earlier, so we left you in peace. I've been showing Clay around the place ..." So it was Clay already, was it? "... and then we went into the village, but John's got to wait for supplies, so he'll be up later."

Of course Julie hadn't thought to ask Temkin the whereabouts of his mistress, so why should he mention that she had gone off with Clay?

She took Julie's arm chummily and walked into the house, saying, "Sorry I passed out on you last night. Clay's been telling me how he put me to bedl" She laughed, showing perfect teeth.

Julie forced a tight smile, feeling distinctly flat. Looking at Stephanie now and around the room it was difficult to realise that last night had really happened. The rooms were neat and tidy, which must mean that Temkin was also a good houseboy, and his mistress, instead of being bedraggled and soaked in drink, sat opposite her, cool, composed, and sleek as a racehorse. Perhaps she had dreamed it all.

John Mayhew arrived just before lunch He gripped Julie's hand apologetically.

"Hell, I'm sorry about last night. I had no idea you were due to arrive."

About his wife's height, he was thin with slightly receding hair, and possessed what Julie thought a rather wonderful smile. It started at the cleft in his chin and spread over his teak-coloured face, like sunlight suddenly rushing along a valley. The first time she saw it was when Janet and Mark entered the room, but after that it was little in evidence. He seemed a man much preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Lunch progressed with hardly a word between the May- hews, and Julie was too fully occupied with the children's likes and dislikes to offer any herself. Soon afterwards the two men went off together and Julie decided to see about sleeping accommodation for that evening. She was just pushing the bunks into a sunnier position in the children's room when Stephanie popped her head round the door.

"Don't trouble yourself with that, Temkin will see to it."

Julie looked surprised, but she turned from the room.

"I suppose I could go and see about sleeping quarters for Clay ..."

"It's all arranged. You're to sleep in here with the children. Clay can have the spare room. It will all be fixed for tonight Temkin will see to it."

Poor Temkin! It looked as if he had to run the house himself. Cooking cleaning, bedrooms, the lot ... no wonder he took advantage of his mistress's occasional indisposition to rest up in the village.

"Clay wants me to show you the farm," Stephanie was saying. "Do you ride?"

"Enough to get by. What about the children?"

"Oh, they can potter in the garden till we get back."

"I'll go with you, when I've seen they're all right"

Stephanie didn't comment, but Julie didn't miss the raised eyebrow. The garden was a long overgrown lawn, its far end hanging clear over the valley. Along one side an effort had been made to start a flower plot, and dahlias, nasturtiums, and zinnias showed bravely.

Stephanie said with a slight sneer,

"As you can see, my husband has planted his own little England. It's supposed to be some kind of recompense for what we left behind."

Julie didn't reply. It seemed an unkind comment to make on a person's obviously well-meant labours.

Janet and Mark looked hot and grubby, but as they were entirely engrossed in some game of their own invention, Julie decided to leave them undisturbed. Dolls and toy animals were laid neatly side by side across the lawn, and it looked as if the game would go on for ages.

Later she rode down a rough track with Stephanie. Green tufted hills rose up behind a house that looked shabby but solid from the outside. Below stretched a wild-looking valley, and certain sections of it had been laid out in terraced fields, each in various stages of cultivation.

"Bananas and cotton mainly," Stephanie remarked offhandedly, "though John thinks he'll get citrus and mangoes going eventually." The lips curled slightly. "He likes a challenge, does John."

"Don't you?" Julie asked pleasantly, thinking that perhaps Stephanie wasn't feeling quite so cheerful as she had appeared a short while ago. What had happened? Had she already found out that her husband wasn't going to be as easily swayed as she had hoped?

"Why should I like this kind of challenge," Stephanie was saying scornfully, "when I had everything I wanted in Kenya ... friends, entertainment, successful nightclub?" She flicked the horse and tossed her head in sudden irritation. "What possesses a man to leave all the comforts of civilisation and settle in some godforsaken spot to start all over again?"

"Perhaps to help a young country get going?"

"Why should we sweat our guts out? The natives can do it just as well. Besides, John hasn't done serious farming for years." Stephanie didn't look to be doing much sweating, Julie thought, and she was obviously overlooking the fact that her husband's experience in farming could bring quicker results than the laboured efforts of the locals.

"You don't like it out here, do you?" Julie said, trying to put a humorous slant on the situation.

But Stephanie wasn't to be drawn so easily from her resentment. She cast a withering glance over the land where women bent low, and smiling dusty children waved from behind their skirts.

"Tell me honestly. Would you?"

Julie smiled. "It is a bit cut off, but don't they say that every place has something to offer?"

"And don't they say when a man has got no family to think of he looks for something else to put his energies into? Something like this, for instance?"

But surely that's up to you, Julie thought. She rode on in worried silence. Taking Clay's advice last night, she hadn't paid too much attention to Stephanie's ramblings, but the more she saw of things today the more she was convinced that Stephanie had consented to take the childly ren for one reason to use them in a tug-of-war between her husband and the farm. And judging by her present mood she wasn't too optimistic. So what was going to happen to Janet and Mark? They needed love and affection now more than anything else in the world.

Her worries increased by the evening.

Dinner was a disaster, with Temkin putting on a valiant effort to do everything single-handed, and failing only because he couldn't be in two places at once—the kitchen, and at the table.

Stephanie, stunning in black velvet, was blatantly charming to Clay throughout the meal. She ignored everyone else, but kept a firm hold on her wine glass. Ever since John Mayhew's arrival at lunchtime, Julie had sensed the current of suppressed anger passing between husband and wife. Sooner or later she reckoned things would have to come to a head, and finally after dinner the storm broke. Not just outside with torrential rain, but inside between John Mayhew and his wife.

"Isn't it time you let a little dust settle on that bottle the way you do everything else around here?" With stony eyes he watched her replenish her glass for the fourth time.

"Temkin does the dusting—why don't you tell him?"

"You put far too much on Temkin's shoulders. But for the fact that I've had him with me ever since he was a kid, he wouldn't be here now slaving over the work that you've flatly decided you want no part of."

Julie buried her face in a magazine. The situation was all the more embarrassing because she and Clay were compelled to sit in the room. To put a foot outside now would mean an instant drenching, and how does one retire to one's room when the hosts are blocking the way and facing each other like angry tigers?

"He gets paid, doesn't he?" Stephanie was saying airily.

"He gets paid to cook, and see to the running of the kitchen, and from now on that's all he will be doing. Until we can get more help in the house you'll do your share. It's high time you pulled yourself together anyway."

"I'll do that if and when we get out of this hole!"

John Mayhew swung round on his wife.

"You should know better than to make conditions with me. We're here to stay, and the sooner you realise it the better."

Stephanie's tones rose a little higher.

"We have the children now ... what time will you have for them in this jungle?"

"We're likely to learn more about that when we've made it less of a jungle, aren't we? And given the chance Janet and Mark will do fine here. One thing they don't need is nightclub life!"

He turned and slammed out of the house. The roar of the car engine could be heard above the sound of the rain and then all was silent. Stephanie, glass in hand, swayed off towards her room.

Julie fingered her chair, searching for words. She could hear the torrents of water splashing down from the roof of the veranda. Clay lay back in his chair, a glass in one hand, a book in the other. From his face one could assume he hadn't heard a single word. There was nothing there but the immediate interest of what he was reading.

Slightly irritated, Julie asked,

"Clay, do you think this is the right environment for Janet and Mark?"

He turned to look at her, put his drink down.

"There's no question of our leaving until they've settled in."

"Do you mean they will have to stay?"

He inhaled a deep breath.

"These people are their guardians."

"But it's monstrous! " Julie jumped up, unable to control herself. "Stephanie has no love for them ,., her only interest is to ..."

"Julie!" Clay's face paled. He lowered his tones. "You're assuming rather a lot, aren't you, to say that when you've only been here one day?"

"One hour was enough!" Julie retorted.

"One minute was enough when you had already decided that the Mayhews wouldn't be good enough."

"And one minute is enough when you couldn't care less where they go!"

They stood facing each other in much the same way as the Mayhews had, and then with a sigh Clay swung away.

"This is a bad time for John. The farm is taking time to get under way, and his only assistant at the moment is a young native manager. That and an acute labour shortage " doesn't make things any easier. As for Stephanie, she's a woman who is finding it difficult to adjust... understandably when you consider what she has left behind, but can we blame her for that?"

He flung his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray and suddenly turned to her again.

"Instead of being so quick to condemn, you might try a bit of constructive assistance, such as helping Stephanie get to know the children better!"

Without a backward glance he strode off towards his room. Julie gulped back the hurt. Clay had never spoken to her in quite that tone before. She looked around the room with a feeling that the house had a kind of Jekyll and Hyde personality about it, cheerful and friendly through the day, distinctly oppressive when darkness fell.

Last night there had been Stephanie alone and drunk, with Clay taking control of a depressing situation. Tonight the Mayhews had had a terrific row, and she and Clay had nearly followed suit. She turned to go to her room, dreading to think what would happen tomorrow night Thankfully nothing did, though it was just as unbearable.

The day passed under an air of strain, with Clay and John spending much of their time out of doors, or discussing farm development. Julie made an effort to try and get something going between the children and their aunt.

This wasn't easy. Stephanie stood in the middle of the lawn looking formidable in expensive clothes and a Hollywood make-up. She seemed to be taking a defiant delight in dressing up in outfits totally unsuited to her surroundings. It was no wonder the children hung back in the shadows when she called. To them she must have looked like some beautiful statue that talked, and most of the time rather harshly.

"Mark! Haven't I told you to come the minute I call? And Janet, how many times do I have to tell you not to suck your thumb?"

And so it went on.

After dinner John sat at his desk poring over accounts, and Stephanie swept Clay off on to the veranda with:

"You were telling me, Clay, about that film you saw ... in Burundi, wasn't it? Did the natives really rip the screen?"

On the pretext of looking in on the children Julie retired early to her room. That set the pattern for the days and nights ahead, and as they drifted painfully by, Julie found she was spending more and more time with Janet and Mark, and practically none with anyone else.

One morning, looking down from the garden, she saw Clay and Stephanie riding on horseback through the valley. Turning away, she drew on her lower lip. Couldn't Clay see that Janet and Mark should be having a little of their aunt's attention? Sooner or later she was going to be left with the job of bringing them up, but for what notice she took of them, they might have been no more than two extra chairs in the house.

Later on that day, Julie was to regret her period of wishful thinking that Stephanie would take more notice of her nephew and niece. It was about an hour before dinner. She had decided to while the time away by reading, and remembered that the book she was halfway through was still at the side of her bed. Walking towards the bedroom, she heard Stephanie's voice coming through the open door.

"I absolutely insist, Janet, do you hear? You are to call Uncle John Daddy ... he'll like that Now, say Mummy like I told you to."

Silence.

Julie ventured inside and saw Janet sitting sideways on her bunk. A large tear pushed at tie corner of one eye.

Stephanie gripped the child roughly by the shoulders.

"You will call me Mummy, you stubborn little mule, if it's the last thing I..."

"How can you expect that?" Julie blazed at her. "It's only weeks since the air crash. Do you want the children to hate you?"

Stephanie turned, her eyes glazed with anger.

"Look, you may have been hired to bring the brats out here, but that gives you no authority to butt in on their education now."

"Their education!" Julie gave an incredulous laugh.

"Go ahead, laugh," Stephanie snapped, "but I know John hates it here as much as I do. It won't take all that much to tip his hand."

All that much of what? Julie wondered. Buttering him up with niceties from the children? She sighed.

"Look, why don't you settle for Auntie? For the time being at least. They could manage that."

"I should damn well think so... seeing I am their aunt!" Stephanie slammed out of the room, and Janet burst into a flood of tears. Though Julie held her tight, the small body was racked in heartrending sobs,

"I don't like it here. I want my mummy ... please can I go to Mummy?"

Julie had a hard time of it choking back her own tears, especially as Mark sniffed over his teddy bear,

"She's been away such a long time!"

"I'm going into the village to pick up a few supplies. Like to come along for the ride?"

Clay wiped the dust from the windscreen of the estate car preparatory to climbing in. He looked tall and muscular in drill slacks and check shirt, and the smile he gave Julie was agreeable and warm. The morning was crisp and clear, and just to be near Clay made up for all the other lonely days when she had seen so little of him.

"There are a fair number of shops of a sort," he was saying, "a passably good hotel ... you may even find someone who speaks English well enough to swop yarns."

"About what?" Julie smiled, stepping down from the veranda.

He shrugged the wide shoulders.

"Who knows what women talk about when they get together out here? Hardly the latest hairdo's or Paris fashions!" He grinned. "In any case, the village English will probably be limited to 'Have you seen the Dinkas?' and 'What's new in Kampala?' "

"I've got my limitations too," Julie laughed. "You forgot I'm just a greenhorn when it comes to travel."

"I wouldn't say that. You've seen Tripoli, and the Sudan, and ... the River Nile."

This last part was spoken with slow mocking emphasis, and a little breathlessly she raised her eyes to his. The memory of that passionate embrace on the banks of the Nile rose vividly in her mind.

Seeing him here now, his face just above her own, made her feel she would have given anything to have a repeat performance of that night. To be held once again in those arms, to be crushed against the hard chest, feeding those hungry lips with her kisses.

But this was broad daylight, and Clay was talking about going to the village ... and any moment now John Mayhew or Stephanie might step out of the house. Thinking of Stephanie made her pause at the door of the estate wagon. She thought for a moment.

"Should I bring the children along?"

There was no mistaking Clay's impatient sigh.

"I shouldn't. You'll have to give Stephanie a chance to take over some time."

"I'd like nothing better," Julie retorted, "but Stephanie nearly always seems to have other things on her mind."

"Like what?" The brown eyes were flecked with anger again and Julie petered out miserably,

"Like ... oh, nothing! Forget it. And I won't be coming to the village with you."

What was the use, she thought hurrying inside, when always the mention of Stephanie's name caused an explosion between them? She heard the rev of the engine and the car screeched off up the drive.

What was happening to her and Clay? Only days ago they had embraced passionately like two people very much in love. She had been convinced than that only the children's future stood between Clay's happiness and her own. Now she wasn't so sure. There seemed to be much more to it than that. Since their arrival at Bongola she had seldom seen him to talk to. All his energies seemed to be directed elsewhere ... possibly in assisting to get the farm on a firmer footing, undoubtedly in keeping Stephanie company.

With tightening heart Julie asked herself was that just how much Clay's love for her had amounted to? One romantic night on the banks of the Nile ?

She sat in her room listening to the delighted laughter of Janet and Mark as their uncle flicked them occasionally with water from the garden hose. They were happy enough now. She drew quickly away from the window. Perhaps it would be a good idea to go down to the village and leave the Mayhews in sole charge for a change.

She picked up a handbag and went out.

Since Clay had taken the estate car there was nothing for it but for her to take his. Though she had no idea where the village was it wasn't a difficult matter following the tyre marks that led in the opposite direction from the border and the customs house. Happily the track was in a much better condition on this side.

Once on the way she was able to review the situation at Bongola without interruption, but nothing seemed to fit into place as snugly as she would have wished. According to Stephanie's ramblings on that first night, her husband had taken on Bongola to get back at her in some way.

Which was pretty drastic when you considered the two totally different environments ... a small select nightclub in Nairobi and a run-down farm miles up in the mountains. Still, it was drastic, wasn't it, when your wife refused you the children you longed for? Although no one at the house had put in in plain speaking, Julie was convinced this was the root of the trouble.

She had seen John's face when he looked at Janet and Mark. Compared to Stephanie's there was no doubt that husband and wife were hopelessly divided when it came to the subject of children. Stephanie, who couldn't be more than twenty-nine or thirty, must have put it off gracefully for as long as she could, but John, being considerably older, was undoubtedly going through the frustration of knowing that he would soon be too old to enjoy a family.

Julie sighed in the confines of the car. What a rotten trick of fate to leave the children alone in the world at such a crucial moment in the Mayhews' lives. And how could two sisters be so utterly unalike? Had Stephanie been more like Lynn, the children could have drawn the couple closer together. As it was they seemed not to have improved matters at all, probably because John Mayhew felt the reasons for his wife consenting to take the children left a lot to be desired.

Julie came upon the village of Hifta as she turned the road at the end of the valley. Set in the cleft of a brown mountain, its buildings were square and white. They glared painfully in the sun. The only two-storied block looked like the hotel Clay had mentioned. It opened out on to a square shaded by peppercorn trees, and an inner court formed a kind of open-air dining-room, where orange trees and bushes of hibiscus sprouted between the tables.

She parked the car in the square and set out to explore, being more or less prepared for anything. Even so her surprise grew with every step. The open-fronted stalls were littered with magnifying glasses, whistles, tambourines, pots and pans, cups and saucers, scissors and mirrors. Mixed in with the various local haberdashery were Lancashire cottons, serge blankets, and Indian silks.

Though she had none of the local currency for spending, Julie couldn't resist fingering an article here and there, but far from being displeased the shopkeepers beamed and heaped more objects around her hands. The aim seemed to be more with sustaining interest rather than making a sale. After the stalls there were one or two lopsided shops with dark interiors. Here the method of trading looked slightly more formal.

Julie felt something of an oddity strolling passed heavily veiled inhabitants in her simple cotton frock, but the dark eyes above the veils were friendly, and here and there she sensed a smile. Unaccountably her heart lightened. It had been a good idea to get away from Bongola for a while, and the village of Hifta was proving an enjoyable experience. A new spring in her step, she left the shops and stalls behind and followed the gravelly road to its end, and here, looking ridiculously incongruous, was a gleaming petrol station. Obviously the village was a necessary stopping place for vehicles en route to other districts.

Julie stared with interest at the gleaming chromium fittings, gaily coloured signs and neat tarmac frontage. A small European-type house stood to one side, and on the steps a plump dark-haired woman busied herself with a bowl of washing. Julie knew the idea of a friendly chat or "swopping yarns" as Clay put it was definitely out when she heard the voluble mouthful directed at a fat toddler making his way on to the road. It sounded like Italian. Judging by the dark eyes and flashing smile as the woman caught sight of Julie it probably was.

Though they couldn't communicate, it was pleasant to relax for a while on a bench just out of the sun's rays and be offered a cool drink, to listen to the Italian woman cooing to her child and showing off his dark-eyed handsomeness with pride.

At last Julie felt she must stir herself. She knew a reckless desire to sample the food at the village hotel and refused to be perturbed at the lack of money. If she could get round that it would be fun to eat out of doors amongst the hibiscus and orange trees.

She shook a little brown hand, waved goodbye to the Italian woman, and watched her turn reluctantly to the bowl of washing. It did cross her mind that she might see Clay on her way back through the village, and at once her eyes searched eagerly amongst the robed figures. There was no sign of the tall muscular frame. It would appear he had picked up the supplies and gone straight back to Bongola.

Refusing to be downcast, she made her way at a steady pace to the Hifta hotel. Here much to her pleasure and surprise the name Bongola was sufficient to supply her with a fairly substantial meal. Though the proprietor too was Italian he spoke enough English to assure her that payment would do whenever she visited the village again.

Out in the sunshine she ate leisurely, dreamed haphazardly, and watched the shadows of the trees lengthen into afternoon. If only life could be as uncomplicated as this! If only she didn't have to exchange the peace of Hifta for the rather turbulent atmosphere of Bongola. But Clay was at Bongola, and so were Janet and Mark....

She wondered how the two had fared under the Mayhews' supervision. Probably quite well. They had sounded to be having a hilarious time of it with their uncle and the garden hose this morning.

Maybe things weren't going to turn out too bad after all. Clay did love her, she was sure of it. Maybe she had been wrong about Stephanie. Funny how her thoughts refused to follow the dreary depressing vein of this morning. It was as though the village breeze had dispersed all her troubles like flimsy cobwebs.

Just after three she walked over to Clay's car and turned it back in the direction of the farm. Happily she hummed a tune as she drove. Perhaps Janet and Mark would be on the steps to meet her. Would they have missed her? She imagined warm slender arms around her neck and hoped they had, just a little bit. She had only been gone a few hours, but what when she went away for good ? How would the children feel then ... how would she feel ?

Julie set her mouth and pressed hard on the accelerator. Those kind of thoughts were definitely not in keeping with the day's lightness. But try as she might, the nearer she got to her destination the lower was the cloud of despondency. It was almost as if she hadn't been away at all.

There was no sign of life at Bongola. The house seemed to hang suspended in the afternoon heat. Even Temkin had deserted his beloved kitchen. Down in the valley she could see robed women stooped over the cotton, and somewhere a bird sang a plaintive note.

She left the garden to the drone of insects and wandered aimlessly around the house, feeling a slight anti-climax. Everyone was out, it seemed. She had the house to herself. Ah well, she would just have to suffer the luxuries of a tepid bath. Since she had been given the day to herself she might as well make the most of it.

Pushing into the bedroom, her mind on other things, she was rather startled to see a movement on one of the bunks. She turned to see a blonde pony-tail hanging listlessly from a lowered head.

"Janet! I thought you were out with the others."

"Auntie Stephanie said I should rest this afternoon."

"Haven't you been feeling too good, poppet?" Concerned, Julie moved to the side of the bed. The small figure stayed hunched. Trying a new approach, Julie said brightly,

"Well, now that I'm back what about a walk down to the cotton picking?"

The cotton fields were Janet's favourite haunt, and as Julie expected the head shot up eagerly. At that instant Julie saw it—a red puffy area down the side of the cheek.

"Janet! What have you done to your face?"

"I ... I don't ... know." The brown eyes rolled wildly.

"But you must! Your eye and lip are swollen. Have you had a fall?"

"I don't know ... and I don't want to go out..."

Julie sighed, unbuttoning her dress. "You really will have to take more care, darling. Where's Mark?"

"He's gone with Clay and Auntie Stephanie to see a baby cow."

"And they left you behind all on your own?"

"I wanted to stay in ..."

"What not go and look at a baby cow?"

"I don't like cows."

"Mmmm ... well, I'm going to take a bath, if you're sure you wouldn't like to take that walk?"

"I'm sure."

Strange! Julie went off thoughtfully. It was so unlike Janet to sit poker-faced on her bunk. She was usually into everything.

When Mark arrived back for tea, he was full of the new addition to the Bongola livestock. He was still dreamily putting his delight into words when Julie tucked him up in his bunk that night.

"It's got a tail that long ... ten miles long .,. and its legs are all stiff and wobbly!"

"I wish I had a baby cow," Janet said, leaning thoughtfully on one elbow.

"I thought you didn't like cows?" Julie said in jnild surprise.

"I love cows."

"Well, they say It's a woman's privilege to cKange Her mind!" Julie laughed, hugging the small figure to her. "But you're starting a bit young, aren't you?"

Peering over the side of his bunk, Mark said with the matter-of-factness of a three-year-old, "Janet got smacked, and she cried ... and I was sad."

"Janet got smacked?" Julie echoed. She was remembering a tiddly swollen cheek.

"I didn't! It's not true!" The small girl's eyes jerked wide with terror. "You shut up, Mark!"

Slowly Julie turned the bruised face to the light.

"Did Auntie Stephanie do this? It's important, Janet. I want to know."

"She'll be cross, I know she will!" Janet began to whimper. "She said nobody must see it, and it would soon go away. She said I was very naughty...."

"But good heavens! What did you do?"

"I picked up her handbag, and it was open, and .,. everything dropped out."

Julie waited expectantly, and when nothing else came she asked, astounded,

"Is that all?"

"She said I was very naughty."

"Did she?"

Julie busied herself settling them down for the night and tucking the blankets round their chins. Forcing a cheerful smile, she kissed each one in turn and made for the door.

"Goodnight then, poppets, see you in the morning."

As it happened Stephanie was in the lounge on her own. Still dressed in shirt and slacks, she clapped an empty glass on the tray. As Julie entered she flicked an uninterested glance her way, and then continued to gaze morosely out on to the veranda.

"Did you hit Janet this afternoon?" Julie jumped Straight in, and not missing the leap of anger in the other's eyes, she added, "You needn't worry. She didn't tell me, she was far too scared for that. What did you threaten her with?"

Stephanie turned with a bored smile.

"Do we have to have the dramatics? The child was a nuisance and I told her so."

"With an iron hand, by the look of it You must have knocked her against something?"

"The wall, or table ... I don't know. Look!" the eyes flared again. "You know as well as I do that Janet's a mischievous little pest. Are you saying I shouldn't chastise my own children?"

Julie faced her squarely.

"Do you really care enough for Janet and Mark to make them your own?"

"I consented to take them over, didn't I?"

"But didn't that have something to do with the idea of their getting you back to Kenya?"

"You mean I'd persuade John that Bongola wasn't a fit place to bring up Lynn's children?" Stephanie drawled without moving an eyelash. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, if you could ... well, feel a little something for Janet and Mark. They really are lovable when you get to know them, and ..."

"And what makes you think," Stephanie tossed her a derisive smile, "that I won't love them every bit as much as Lynn did?"

"Just a feeling I have," Julie replied evenly. "But they are your nephew and niece, and if you don't intend having children of your own ..."

"Heaven forbid!" Stephanie gave a slight shudder. With a cold thoughtful eye on Julie she added, "Still, there's no need for you to concern yourself now, is there, so you can drop the mother hen role. As a matter of fact, I think your job is done here. Perhaps it would be better if you were to leave."

"Very well."

Julie turned and left the room. What was the use of arguing? Stephanie had the whip hand in this situation and she knew it. She was Janet and Mark's legal guardian and that was everything.

Making her way to the bedroom, Julie couldn't help drawing on her lower lip worriedly. She had come to care for the children as if they were her own small brother and sister. It went against everything in her nature to leave them here with their aunt. Newly orphaned, they needed love and affection more than the average child. Possibly John Mayhew could give them something, but Stephanie seemed without feeling of any kind.

_ But what could Julie do? The law was on Stephanie's side. She resolved to speak to Clay at the first possible moment. Here too was a problem. Julie had just had polite orders to leave the house ... but what about Clay? There had been no mention of him. What if he chose to stay on at Bongola? If be did, it would mean he went along with Stephanie as regarded the children.

With a heavy heart Julie knew she could but wait and see. The two men didn't arrive for dinner, and Julie sat through a very strained and silent meal, with Stephanie seated at the head of the table. She looked quite breathtaking in jade green, and Julie pondered on the fact that matted hair and bloodshot eyes had never shown themselves since that first night. Yet she knew from Temkin that before they had arrived his mistress had gone for days without so much as putting a comb through her hair.

Why were things different now? Was it that Stephanie didn't want to let herself down in front of guests ... or did Clay come into it somewhere?

As soon as it was decently possible Julie retired to her room. Halfway through a book she heard the sound of men's voices and eventually the closing of doors. It sounded as if the Mayhews had gone to bed. Julie got to her feet. Now was her chance to speak with Clay. He would be on his own. He was always the last one to turn in.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, she crept along the corridor. If this was the only way to get Clay on his own, then she must do it. She had to know his views. How he felt about leaving Janet and Mark here, about her own orders to quit....

Whatever the outcome it would be good to talk with Clay. She had seen so little of him since their arrival at Bongola.

The lounge was empty. She guessed he must be on the veranda smoking his last cigarette. Not wanting to knock against the furniture in the dim light for fear of disturbing the others in their rooms, she moved stealthily.

The sight that met her gaze as she looked out on to the veranda made her heart feel as though it had suddenly been grabbed by a cruel and ruthless hand. The fingers were squeezing, slowly, tightly, as though to suppress its pounding action.

How she got back to her room Julie had no clear recollection. She only remembered finding herself slumped on the side of the bed, her breath coming in sobbing jerks, that scene still searing her mind.

A slim jade green figure held close in Clay's arms, his mouth fastened on the upturned lips.

CHAPTER X

THERE was no telling how long she sat there. It must have been for some considerable time, for the house was now still and silent and dark.

As the numbness left her, and the awful reality of what she had seen hit her, she was galvanised into action. Flinging a suitcase on the bed, she pushed in the necessary requirements for Janet and Mark and herself. Where she would go, what she would do wasn't very clear. The all- important thing was to get away from here.

The children were far too sleepy to make any fuss as she dressed them in warm clothing and led them out Luckily Clay's car was parked down the drive a good way with the ignition key still intact. She would have to trust that no one heard the engine and came out to investigate.

Away from the house the night was as black as the far end of a cave and just as frightening. Strange animal sounds came from every direction as well as the screech of night birds. As the car forged along its column of headlights a plan was forming in Julie's mind. Convoys were continually passing through Hifta; she had had evidence of that this morning. Could she get to the village and possibly team up with another driver? If her geography was right they were only two or three days' drive away from the Qoast, and a boat for England.

She looked at her watch ... eleven-thirty. Did they have night drivers out here? She hoped so, if not she would just have to go it alone, but the village was worth a try first. She drove as fast as the solid darkness would allow, spurred on by an urgent desire to put as much distance between the three of them and Bongola. She didn't give a thought to the difficulties of having no passports, or the fact that legally she was abducting Janet and Mark. It was enough to know they were tucked up safe in the back of the car.

As for Clay ... the pain was almost physical as she thought once again of that embrace ... what he was getting himself into was his own affair.

She seemed to have been driving for an eternity and there was still no sign of Hifta. She could have sworn that this was the rock-strewn path she had taken this morning, but if it was, where was the village? Surely it should have shown up ages ago.

Perhaps it was just impatience to get there.

This morning's journey had seemed to take little more than minutes, but then she had been deep in thought. A mile in the darkness could seem like a dozen. She decided to curb her impatience and press on.

The inky blackness did not let up and now thick tree trunks reared up in the headlights. Had she left the track? If not the trees were uncomfortably close to it. A glance at her watch made the perspiration prick around the temples. Twelve-thirty! She couldn't have been driving for an hour ... and what had happened to the village? She must have overshot somewhere.

There was nothing for it now but to carry on alone. She sat on the edge of the seat, gripping the steering wheel and straining for a glimpse of the road. The ground below the bonnet didn't even resemble a footpath. It was sprinkled with coarse grass and an occasional wiry bush. Now the car dipped and leapt like a bucking bronco. There were trees everywhere.

Julie hung on and slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a stop only inches from a huge prickly trunk. Anxiously she turned towards the back seat, but nothing, it seemed, could jolt Janet and Mark awake.

She backed the car a few yards and then it stopped of its own volition.

Julie bit her lower lip in agitation. She pressed down hard on the starter, fiddled with every knob and button to be seen, her ears straining for that oh, so comforting sound of a throbbing engine ... but no, nothing.

Nothing but an eerie stillness.

It took a few moments to discipline flying nerves. After that there seemed nothing else for it but to go outside and have a look round. There was no torch in the car, so she- would have to try and get her bearings by the headlights.

Five minutes out there and she knew the situation was hopeless. There was no chance of reaching help tonight.

It looked like some kind of a forest. She must have veered off into the fringe of it some time ago and penetrated deeper with every turn of the wheel. Heaven knew how she had missed hitting a tree! They seemed to be everywhere and in some places less than ten feet apart.

Soberly she stepped back into the car.

The air was chilly. She found some slight comfort in pulling the door closed. Should she leave the headlights on? Yes, they would keep unpleasant things away ... animals. What kind of animals would one find in a place like this?

Her heart pounded, but she refused to let the misgivings inside her boil up into panic. They were stranded, yes, and would undoubtedly have to spend the night here, but as long as they remained inside the car they were safe. When daylight came they could make their way to the road on foot.

The night seemed interminable. At one time between dozes Julie felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. A large black shape stood motionless a few feet from the car. She couldn't make out what it was, but there was no mistaking the hostile glare of those luminous eyes. A few seconds later it ambled off into the undergrowth, and Julie gently let out the breath she had been holding.

As the sky lightened between the trees she switched off the headlights. It would be dawn any minute and the road couldn't be far away.

There was no question of going back to Bongola. No matter what happened they would keep going in the opposite direction and hope for a lift, or the miracle of a native who understood the workings of a car. It was still possible to meet up with a convoy further on ... and if not surely somebody somewhere would help them to get back to England.

The children were beginning to stir at the back. After reviewing the situation Julie could face them with an almost cheerful smile.

"Come along, sleepyheads, time to wake up!"

Mark gave his slow smile and thrust a plump fist over the rug. After the merest flicker of an eyelid he decided it was much nicer to lie in the warmth.

Janet, her usual effervescent self, sprang up immediately, eyeing her surroundings with interest.

"Why are we in a car?"

"It broke down right here in the trees," Julie smiled. "We'll have to walk to the road and find someone to mend it."

With a sneaking hope she tried the engine again. There wasn't even a shudder.

"My daddy can make it go." Mark plucked dreamily at a strand of fluff on the rug. These constant references to his dead father were of a three-year-old who confidently believes the loved one is always there but just out of sight. They never failed to bring a lump to Julie's throat.

"Well, shall we start?" she asked with shaky brightness. "I think if we follow the marks that the car made we should soon be there."

Vague and uncomplaining, the children tumbled from the seat, but once outside they stared around with eyes wide and apprehensive. Weird ungainly trees and open stretches of scrub covered in a grey mist ... it wasn't a particularly reassuring sight, Julie was the first to admit, but only in her thoughts. Tiny muscles trembled around her mouth from the strain of showing what she hoped was a calm untroubled expression.

"Mark, take my hand, and Janet, this side ... now here we go!"

Small hands gripped hers too tightly and they started off. It was going to prove difficult walking three abreast, for clumps of spiky grass sprouted everywhere. Just the same it was unthinkable to let the children go on ahead or follow behind. She found herself clutching back at their hands as they moved, an ungainly trio, through the forest.

In some places the tyre-marks were set unbelievably clear in the damp brown earth. In others they faded alarmingly in stretches of spongy green moss.

Julie dared not take her eyes from them for a minute. She had a vague idea of receding trees and oncoming trees, fat squat ones, prickly bushy ones ,.. trees ... trees ... would they never end?

Mark's hand began to drag,

"I'ne tired, and my leg hurts, and it's hot!" Some time ago their breath had stopped being smoky columns from their mouths. The thick clothes they wore to guard against the dawn chill were now encasing the heat that descended in a damp humid cloud.

"We'll have a rest and take off those woollies," Julie suggested.

When they were in a heap on the ground, she looked down to see a thread of blood forming diagonally below Mark's knee. The blades of grass were razor-sharp, she knew; her own legs had been in smarting contact more than once.

"I think I have a clean hankie ..." she searched cheerfully. "Sit on this log, Mark. We'll soon have that leg feeling better."

Janet examined the trail of tyre-marks with a curious finger. Julie tied the knot neatly.

"There, how's that?"

Mark nodded, proudly surveying his bandaged leg. He swung it leisurely for a while and then looked up expectantly.

"Can I have a drink now?"

"Well, I haven't got anything with me, pet, but I'm sure we're nearly there."

"I hope so. I hope we're nearly there," he sighed heavily.

"Bound to be." She took his hand in hers and put the other to collect Janet.

If Wasn't grasped by another small hand as she had expected.

"Janet... ?" She turned. The clearing was empty. There was no sign of the flouncing blonde pony-tail. "Janet!" she called again, louder, struggling to keep the alarm out of her voice.

The only sound was the scuffing of Mark's shoes against the log, and then blissfully in the distance came Janet's gay treble.

"Here I am! I'm following the tracks like you said!" Julie let out a quivering sigh and called somewhat shakily,

"Stay where you are, darling, or we'll never catch you up!" With Mark hanging on she moved off in the direction of the voice.

"Jan ... et!" she called, making a game of it now. "Where are you?"

"Jan ... et!" Mark followed suit happily. "Where are you?"

"Here I am! Here I am!" came back the delighted voice. At last the three met up and Julie took Janet by the shoulders.

"I don't want you to wander away, pet, because we want to get on quickly, don't we? But never mind, perhaps we won't have to stop again."

She looked down expectantly, but the earth that didn't sprout coarse grass was smooth and unbroken. A small pulse began to work at the base of her throat.

"I ... thought you said you were following the tracks?"

"I was, but I lost them," Janet replied, absently stripping the leaves from a nearby bush. "When are we going to have a drink?"

Julie raised her head. She ought to have noticed. The trees were grouped much closer together here. A car would never have got through. She had been so intent on recovering Janet that all thoughts of the car tracks had flown. Well, there was nothing for it but to retrace their steps. Now ... she though carefully ... which wav had she and Mark come through? Past the grey gnarled trunk on the left? Or was it over there by the tangle of blossom? No, she would have remembered its vivid colours. Over there, then, where the trunks were slender and the sunshine dappled the earth?

Doubt gnawed at the edge of her mind. Was it that way?

How many times had she turned since speaking to Janet? The children, sensing her uncertainty, looked up with eyes tinged with fear. It wasn't good to dither in front of them, she decided, and turned her back on the tangle of blossom. It had to be the grey gnarled trunk.

Yes, it must be this way! With every step her confidence increased. The trees grew sparser, open ground was plentiful. Her heart almost sang. Soon now they would come upon the road, this was obviously the edge of the forest skirting it. There was no need of the car tracks now to guide them to safety. If they kept going in this direction it might only be a matter of minutes.

The sun beat down with equatorial intensity too grudging to let the merest breeze trickle through. Julie had never known such heat at this altitude; she could only assume that they were traversing some sort of valley that trapped the sun's rays and held them.

It must be more than an hour since they had lost sight of the car tracks ... her watch had stopped long ago. Still no sign of the road. The ground was humped and uneven and splodged with corn-yellow grass. The only trees now were the ugly baobabs with their warped prickly trunks. Blunt branches strained to the sky as though they would be rid of the handful of leaves that clung.

For the third time in the last few minutes Mark whimpered. His hand was dragging Julie's further and further back. Every now and again he stumbled over the rough ground. Janet made no comment, but wide brown eyes swivelled in concern from Mark to Julie and then at their surroundings.

After a few more steps Julie made a decision. They would have to get back amongst the trees or all go down with sunstroke. They were lost. It would be madness to jolly herself along any longer. She blinked back the tears furiously. There was no road. She doubted whether there had ever been one.... Worse still, she was beginning to doubt if they would ever see one again.

That was ridiculous. She squared her shoulders. Back amongst the trees at least she would be able to think clearly. Out here in this blinding heat.... She swept Mark up into her arms.

"Take a hold of my dress, Janet, and we'll see if we can find some shade. What we all need is a nice long rest."

"Will we have a drink and something to eat then?"

"We will as soon as we can, yes. Let's try over there where the trees start."

She never thought she would be glad to see the myriad of trunks again, but their blissful coolness was like balm to flaming cheeks. A reasonably green patch on a small rise of ground looked an ideal spot to deposit Janet and Mark. It was hemmed in on three sides by small trees and thick bushes.

"Now listen, Janet, I want you to sit here next to Mark and not move. Not for one second, do you understand?"

"Are you going to fetch Clay?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that."

"Where are you going, then?" A smudge on her cheek and over-bright eyes Janet took Mark's hand. As she looked up the lower lip quivered dangerously.

Almost on the verge of tears herself, Julie didn't know where she found the strength to say cheerily,

"I'm not going anywhere, pet. You'll be able to see me the whole of the time and I'll be able to see you. I thought I might explore this area. I expect I'll find the car tracks," she said with false optimism, "and maybe I'll hear a stream and then we can all have a drink."

"And we can catch some fish," Janet replied with gravity.

"And me a drink, please, Doolie," Mark said, clutching his sister's hand.

"And you a drink, sweetheart." She pushed a lock of hair back from the damp forehead. "Now remember, per- fecdy still."

They wouldn't move, Julie was confident. Just the same, she had no intention of letting them out of her sight. Every few steps she turned back to see two pair of eyes following her every movement.

It was much greener in this part of the forest. The vegetation was quite lush. Wax-like blossoms draped almost to the ground and colourful berries, some as large as plums, hung just an arm-stretch away. Just like plums ... Julie stared harder. They did look tempting ... round and fat and mouth-wateringly succulent. She licked her dry lips, realising that her mouth hadn't been capable of watering for some time. Almost automatically her hand lifted, but she dropped it quickly.

The berries might look tempting, but they could be poisonous.

How many times had they had it drilled into them at school? Never eat strange berries! That was in England and this was Africa, ten times more lethal. Well, she had " talked herself out of that! Dragging her eyes away from the golden baubles, she walked on a little, listening for the sound of running water. There was only the prattle of the children's voices.

She looked back. They had relaxed a little and seemed to be enjoying the grassy bank. If only that was what it was ... a grassy bank alongside some peaceful river, with Mark and Janet romping and Clay and ... She plucked jerkily at a head of blossom, forcing herself to examine its waxlike beauty. Surely the petals would crack in her fingers? Surprisingly they were as supple and smooth as satin.

Once again she strained her ears for the sound of water, and realised with a slight chill that there was no sound at all. Instantly she turned and breathed again. The children were still on the bank. They seemed to be enjoying some kind of situation. Mark had his hand to his mouth and Janet, turning a little, had her arm outstretched, reaching for ... Oh no, not the berries!

Julie ran forward, her legs almost doubling under her.

"Janet, no!"

The words were little more than a croak in a parched throat. She must have stumbled across the clearing in a matter of seconds, but orange stains around small mouths told her she was that many seconds too late.

It was necessary at that moment to school herself into believing her feet were firmly riveted to the floor. She wanted to fly around waving her arms, shouting for help, but what good would that do? Who would come? There was no one to hear. No one to hear ... and no one to help.

Julie bit back a sob and threw a half-eaten berry away. If Janet and Mark were poisoned what could she do? Shouldn't they be given milk or something like that? Milk! ... the sob rose again in her throat, bubbling close to hysteria ... there wasn't even the luxury of water. No wonder the children had clutched at the berries. Young as they were, they knew the juice would be balm to parched throats.

But instead of warning the children against them she had been too busy mooning over the blossom.

There was a slight sigh. To her horror she saw Mark, who had been staring up, puzzled, ever since she had lunged across the clearing, droop forward in a doze. Within seconds she could hear his heavy breathing. Janet wasn't far behind. Without any of the fight she usually put up to keep eyelids firmly hinged back till the last possible moment, she lolled over close to her brother and lay still.

Help. I must get help--

Julie started to run. She stopped, looking back at the two tiny inert figures. How could she leave them here alone in the forest? And how could she get help if she didn't go?

In an agony of indecision she allowed the tears to rise like a spring in her eyes. Everything seemed to be against getting out of here. From the moment she had started out in the car last night things had gone wrong. She had overshot the village, lost the road, even the car tracks had disappeared. Instead of being half way to the coast they were here, lost. Lost in an African forest.

Unable to take another step, she sank down on the damp earth and stared white-faced through a gap in the trees. How long she sat there she couldn't be sure. It might have been minutes or hours ... she thought she saw a movement. It must be a trick of the eyelids or a shimmering leaf. There was the crackle of twigs....

Somebody ... something was moving out there.

A vivid picture rose in her mind. The dark shape outside the car last night ... those brooding, luminous eyes. The memory brought a trembling to her limbs. She waited to see its hairy shape materialise, steeled herself for its spring....

"I keep telling you this isn't Kensington Gardens!" She stared stupidly at the thick suede shoes, drill slacks, and check shirt. The tanned face had a greyish pallor, sweat coursed down the temples....

"Oh, Clay!" Julie would have leapt to her feet, but his arms were there helping her up. What must she look like with her scratched legs, stained dress and lank hair? And what did it matter? He held her for a long palpitating moment, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Clay!" she broke frantically loose. "I've been so worried ... the children ... they've eaten some berries!"

She stumbled to show him the tree, and grim-faced, he handled a cluster. She saw the lines smooth away from his brow.

"They have a fancy name, but the locals call them peach berries. They're harmless."

"But look at them!" She pointed worriedly to the inert figures. "They're out to the world!"

Clay bent over the tiny figures and grinned wearily, "They're just dead beat. Probably gorged themselves, now they're having to sleep it off."

"Is that what it is?" She almost fell into his arms with relief. "I've been going nearly out of my mind with worry!"

He held her in a fierce rough embrace. "You're not the only one!" and then after a long moment, "You little idiot, I followed your trail ... you must have driven like a wild thing. How you missed hitting a tree I'll never know I"

She smiled up at him tremulously, "I suppose you could call it beginner's luck! How did you know where we were?"

"There's a pile of clothes in the next clearing." So that was it! They had come round almost in a circle. Just a few more yards and they would have been back on the tracks. Ashamed of her fears now, she asked again, "How did you know we'd gone last night?"

"I didn't. Not until this morning when you didn't show. I went to your room and found the beds hadn't been slept in. When I spoke to Temkin he told me there had been some trouble the day before ... at least I picked up from his lingo that Stephanie had lost her temper with Janet It wasn't difficult to put two and two together."

There was a long heavy silence. Julie couldn't speak. Was he thinking about the kiss? At last she managed to mumble, "Shouldn't we get the children on the move?" As if sensing her thoughts he stared down at her, reluctant to leave it there. "They'll sleep for some time. I'll come back and pick them up. What about you? Can you walk?"

Before she could answer in the affirmative he swept her into his arms. She didn't complain as a rough cheek brushed lingeringly against hers.

The late afternoon sun shone warm on Julie's bed as she opened her eyes. She lay for a moment, her mind a blank, and then the events of the morning came rushing in. She closed her eyes tightly and then, relaxing, opened them again. This was Hifta. The tangle of forest was miles away. She lay soaking up the tranquillity of the afternoon. A warm breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing with it the buzz of insects, the twitter of birds.

Could this really be the same day that had started off with her looking through an endless cocoon of green ? The same day that she had feared for Janet and Mark's safety ... and her own? She could hear the children's voices now coming up from the square, their occasional high- pitched laughter. No after-effects there, by the sound of it.

Curious to know the cause of their delight, Julie made her way to the window.

She saw Clay sprawling on a stretch of grass below with a wriggling Mark under one arm and Janet tugging with all her tiny strength at the other. Seeing Julie at the window he looked up good-humouredly.

"I thought you'd never wake. Come on down, I can't handle this alone."

She sent him a sympathetic smile.

"I'll be down as soon as I'm dressed."

It was a relief to see that Clay had removed her case from the abandoned car. It lay on the floor now, and she wondered if in her haste to leave Bongola she had remembered to pack another dress. Luckily she turned up a cornflower-blue cotton. It was old and overwashed, but the gathered waist and small cap sleeves gave her a country- field air that seemed to fit in with the surroundings.

The hotel sported a sprawling garden dotted with the same tropical trees and shrubs that Julie was beginning to recognise as part of Africa. It was here that the children's romped themselves to a standstill and eventually settled down to examine the workings of a sleepy lizard. Clay ran a finger through tousled hair and grinned in relief.

"Give me an oil-field any day!"

He led her to one of the tables in the courtyard and brought drinks. Legs stretched, he drew lazily on a cigarette, and eventually Julie asked,

"What's happening about the car, Clay? Was it very badly damaged?"

He raised an oblique eyebrow.

"Considering the punishment you gave it I reckon it came off rather well. Should be back here in a couple of hours."

"I'm ... sorry I wrecked it."

"I'm sorry you felt the need to take off in it."

Instead of meeting his gaze she looked quickly towards the garden.'

"I suppose I ought to see about getting Janet and Mark off to bed ..."

"No, leave them." There was no lightness in his tone.

She swallowed before asking,

"Are you ... going back to Bongola?"

"Yes, T am."

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but knew he was watching her steadily.

"I wish," waveringly, "I'd kept to the road last night... we could have made it to the coast, I'm sure of it."

"And then what?" Clay took a long drink and placed his glass down with a slight thud. "All right, let's have it. You bolted last night... why ? I know you were upset over the children, but what made you go tearing out into the night, risking your neck and theirs?"

"That's it," Julie hedged. "Stephanie struck Janet and..."

"Yes, there was something else." Julie fingered her glass. "I saw Stephanie in your arms ..." She had never meant to come out with it as baldly as that, but there it was.

Clay took another drink and said unhurriedly,

"Pity you didn't stick around. You would have learned that the kiss was Stephanie's rather unconventional way of saying thank you."

Ignoring her derision, he continued,

"That's right. I persuaded Mavhew that his ideas on Marubian farm development might not be so hot after all, and that perhaps he ought to get back to Nairobian night life where he knew the ropes."

"And he agreed, just like that?"

Clay shrugged. "It seems he's been doubtful of his capabilities for some time but was afraid to admit it even to himself."

"What will happen to Bongola?"

"Well, he has certain commitments to the Marubian government, but it can all be straightened out. As long as he gets someone to take over there's no problem. I suggested a couple of bachelor brother farmers I know. They would jump at the opportunity."

"And of course Stephanie is delighted they're leaving Bongola?"

Clay grinned. "I don't think Mayhew could have held out much longer. I suspect he thinks quite a bit of his wife on the quiet."

"Then why bring her out here?"

"Who knows? That's between the two of them, isn't it?"

"Clay ..." Julie had to say it. "When I saw ... you two last night... It wasn't just Stephanie kissing you ... you were kissing her, weren't you?"

As she looked at him, she saw his eyes flare. He came close to murmur harshly, "You forget I'm a man, not a hunk of rock ... and there are certain things I want from this life. The kiss ..." he raised his eyebrows, "it was easy enough to close my eyes and pretend it was ... someone else."

"Who did you pretend you were kissing?" Julie asked innocently.

He cast her a hard glance. "I'm not sure. Could be some young scatterbrain who goes careering over half of Africa in the dead of night! "

"Clay, I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you. It was stupid of me. I suppose I had some notion that I could get the children away from Stephanie--"

He nodded. "Trust a woman to go about it in the wrong way!"

Julie looked at him hard.

"You mean you ..."

"I mean that I didn't like the situation any more than you when we first arrived at Bongola. But I wanted time to weigh things up, Stephanie in particular."

"I told you on that first night she cared nothing for Janet and Mark."

"That was your feminine intuition, my dear. I wanted to find out for myself."

"And when you did, you talked John into giving up the scheme and take his wife back to Kenya. But I thought you were so keen for him to get the farm on a paying basis?"

"It seemed a fairly good plan to encourage security for Janet and Mark, but then I saw what it was doing to the Mayhews' marriage."

"Things are no different, are they? Stephanie is still the children's guardian."

"Only if she so wishes."

"You mean she's changed her mind?"

"I don't think she has any plans to take them back to Kenya with her."

Julie didn't know whether to be jubilant or sad. Janet and Mark were better away from an indifferent relative, but it meant they still didn't really belong anywhere.

"Didn't you say you were going back to Bongola?"

Clay grinned. "I've got to collect my things, and the rest of yours and the children's. We want to start back bright and early in the morning."

"Does that mean ..." Julie asked tremulously, "that Janet and Mark go back with us?"

Clay was silent for some moments before answering, then he said with deliberation, "As far as Khartoum. We'll book in at the same hotel."

"And what happens then?"

"Let's wait and see, shall we?" Letting out a harsh breath, he got to his feet. "I've had two beds moved into the room next to yours. You'd better get Janet and Mark between the sheets."

"Clay," Julie got to her feet, "can't you tell me ..."

"I said let's wait and see. I'll be back as soon as I can." He strode off towards the estate wagon and Julie sat down again. ..

What did Clay have in mind for the children? What could he have in mind? There was no other relative. She gazed sadly at the two blonde heads. Mark every inch his father in the lift of his chin, the slowness of his smile. And Janet, without a doubt the daughter of Lynn. Even the fair hair was darkening to a certain shade of brown around the scalp.

She called them to her and hugged the small bodies close. As they wriggled happily she wondered, not for the first time, what was to become of Steve and Lynn's orphan children.

CHAPTER XI

CLAY&APOS;S car was back outside the hotel almost the same time as he arrived back from Bongola. Apart from the formalities of signing a chit and receiving a smart salute from a dark-skinned mechanic there was nothing to indicate that the car had been anything but borrowed for the day. The mudguard was dented, and there were scratches along the side, but considering what the car had been through, Julie thought wryly, it had come off rather well.

John Mayhew had driven Clay down in order to take the estate wagon back to Bongola. As Clay stowed the luggage in the other car, John strolled over to Julie, his face creased in apologies.

"Sorry about everything, Julie. It's been a pretty wasted trip, hasn't it?"

"I wouldn't say that, John," Julie smiled.

"But it's true ... nothing has gone right, and it really all boils down to me, I suppose. You know, I never ought to have brought Stephanie out here when she's known nothing but entertaining. She makes a marvellous hostess, but out here ..." he looked down at his shoes, "I did think a change of environment might give her a different slant on life, but," he looked up with a sad smile, "it wasn't the slant I was looking for. Well, so long, Julie. I hope Janet and Mark make out all right."

He shook Julie's hand, and with a wave to Clay walked back to the estate wagon. Julie watched him go, noticing the droop of his shoulders.

Such a kindly man to be getting the treatment that Stephanie dished out.

The journey back to Khartoum proved uneventful. The man at the customs house welcomed them with a beaming smile. This time there were no complications concerning passports and documents. Within minutes they were on their way again. Habib was at the quayside to receive the car. His eyes wandered slowly over the dented bumper and scratches, but the smile never left his face. He drove away in a cloud of dust, waving vigorously from an open window.

The heat became more and more oppressive with every mile along the river, and on their arrival at Khartoum, Julie learned that the temperature was one hundred and twelve degrees. No wonder the merest turn of one's head could bring out the perspiration!

Clay left them immediately after arriving at the hotel, saying that he had some business to attend to. Julie and the children spent the afternoon in the swimming pool. Though the water was lukewarm it was still considerably cooler than the blanket of heat that lay over the city.

Clay hadn't arrived when Julie put Janet and Mark to bed, and a little while after she retired herself, being completely exhausted with the period of travel, and this strength-sapping heat.

The next two days were spent mainly in sightseeing. Clay said nothing about why they were waiting in Khartoum. He didn't seem unduly concerned by their prolonged stay. As for Julie, the prospect of viewing the Sudanese capital gripped her with the thrill of excitement. Still not very sophisticated when it came to travel, she couldn't help gazing at everything with pure wonder.

There were colourful stores and banyan-shaded avenues, old men squatting on carpets offering souvenirs and trinkets to the passers-by, and beautiful Greek and Armenian women dressed in the height of fashion. Clay kept a hand on Julie's elbow, occasionally quirking a lazy smile as shy dark-skinned children peeped round corners, or from behind a robe.

They went to where the rivers meet.

"The Blue Nile and the White Nile," Clay said, pointing in the distance. "One comes through the Ethiopian mountains, the other through endless miles of desert."

Julie looked to where two rivers were running incredibly side by side, before they merged. One was a light ochre, the other a dull blue.

Janet and Mark had been quite happy playing in the - hotel grounds under the supervision of an attendant, but they didn't refuse a trip to the zoo. It was there that Mark fell in love with a hippopotamus, and couldn't be persuaded to to leave. Janet tugged him and Julie coaxed him, but it was no use. He had eyes only for the creature that slithered around in its bath of slimy water.

Eventually Clay came up with a suggestion. What about going to see the steamers anchored in the Nile? He hadn't forgotten Mark's excitement when he had travelled on them to and from Marubo. The bribe worked. Mark allowed Clay to carry him shoulder-high to the hired car. The run to the river was only a matter of minutes.

They arrived back at the hotel in the middle of the afternoon. The heat was so fierce it was impossible to do anything but lie and doze on one's bed with as little on as possible. Later, when the air had cooled, Julie took the children down to splash in the pool. She and Clay sipped iced drinks on a shaded terrace at the side.

At first Julie thought her drink must be a lot stronger than she had realised ... or was it that she hadn't quite woken up from her afternoon doze?

A second ago Janet and Mark were rolling their wet little bodies blissfully on the lawn, and now there they were, the two of them, running pell-mell alongside the swimming pool towards the garden entrance!

Alarmed, and realising it wasn't a dream after all, Julie sprang to her feet. Clay laid a restraining hand on her arm.

She watched as they flung themselves into the arms of a rounded woman of about thirty.

Behind her was a thickset distinguished-looking man probably eight or ten years older, who by this time had come in for a share of the children's onslaught. Amidst the laughter and general pandemonium, it struck Julie that she had never seen Janet and Mark run to anyone quite like that before ... not since Tripoli, when perhaps Lynn had arrived back from shopping, or Steve had come on leave.

With a lump in her throat she turned to Clay for enlightenment. He winked non-committally. The man came forward, smiling, his arm outstretched.

"Clay! It's good to see you. You're looking fit as ever." Clay got to his feet and took the hand warmly,

"Hello, Ralph. I hope my cable didn't upset things too much?"

The man tossed a tolerant grin to where the woman was happily disengaging herself from small damp bodies.

"What do you think? Maureen hustled me on to the first available plane out here, and I admit she didn't have to twist my arm!"

"Clay! " The woman came forward with a radiant smile. "How lovely to see you!"

Clay grinned and drew Julie forward.

"Julie, meet Ralph and Maureen Bliss. They were pretty good friends of Steve's and Lynn's."

Julie remembered now. She had seen a photograph of the couple on Lynn's writing bureau. Maureen Bliss held out a hand, smilingly unconcerned at the damp and grass stains on a once impeccable sharkskin suit. This endeared her to Julie straight away. She took the hand, smiling shyly.

"Julie, I've been wanting to meet you. I heard what a wonderful job you were doing with the children, but I never expected to find them so bounding! You must let me know the secret."

Julie's heart lurched.

'You shouldn't have any difficulties, Maureen," Clay interjected idly. "I haven't said anything to Julie, by the way," casting her a fathomless smile. "She's inclined to fever up when it comes to the business of Janet and Mark's welfare."

He pulled up more chairs, and when the drinks were ordered Ralph Bliss leaned forward anxiously.

"Well, Clay, tell us the worst! "

Clay grinned. "There is no worst, Ralph. I wouldn't have brought you out here had there been. I'm in touch with Steve's legal men. There are no complications."

"And you say," Ralph cast a wary glance to where Jane* and Mark were floating a rubber toy in the pool, "Lynn's sister doesn't want the children?"

"That's about the size of it."

"But when we were in touch with you shortly after the plane crash, I understood no one could be considered outside this Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew ... as guardians, I mean."

Clay nodded. "Lynn's sister's name was given as legal guardian. As you know the company insist on all this information for their files. Naturally we had to follow it up. Mrs. Mayhew was willing at first but later turned out to be ..." he gave a half smile, "to put it in legal jargon, the disinterested party."

"And what about the interested party?" Ralph asked his voice a little unsteady. "Clay, you know how we feel about Janet and Mark. Are you telling us there's a chance we might be able to adopt them as our own?"

"Going through the necessary channels I can see no hitches." There was a common sigh of relief between man and wife. For a brief moment they squeezed hands across the table.

"I wish we could have saved you all this trouble." Maureen looked with concern at Clay and Julie. Clay offered cigarettes and lit them.

"I suppose it was natural for Lynn to name her only blood relative on the form. Just because she had known you and Ralph for years, it didn't necessarily follow that you would want to take care of her children."

"But how we do! " Maureen breathed fervently.

"And what's the next step ... for us now, I mean?" Ralph asked eagerly.

"You'll be hearing from the appropriate department within the next couple of weeks, I should think." Clay slapped his shoulder. "And relax, Ralph, it's going to be okay."

Ralph smiled, fidgeted and got to his feet.

"You don't mind if we don't stay on, Clay? The airport have laid on a couple of rooms for us tonight, and we fly out again in the morning." His glance locked happily with his wife's for a moment. "If it's all right with you and Julie, we'd like to get the children home."

Clay got leisurely to his feet.

"It's the best thing you could do for them. I have all the necessary papers in my room if you would care to come up with me, Ralph," and as Julie would have got to her feet he turned. "It's all right, Julie. I'll see to the children's packing."

The two men strode away, and Janet skipped up with a rubber duck. "Momo! He swam all the way to the other side. Isn't he clever?"

"Well, he's a duck, isn't he?" Maureen raised an eyebrow humorously and pushed a wet strand of hair from Janet's face. As the child skipped away again she lay back with a happy sigh.

"Momo ... it's been their name for me ever since they could get it out, and it looks like I'm stuck with it!"

Julie struggled to find her voice.

"You've known them as long as that?"

Maureen nodded.

"We live in Tunis, and as you have probably guessed my husband is in oil. He has to make at least two business trips a year to Tripoli and on past occasions we always stayed at the Rowlands'. Our visits usually lasted several weeks, so you can imagine we got to know the children pretty well."

To the question that was hovering in Julie's eyes she answered,

"Ralph and I can't have a family. I was ill just after we were married. It's physically impossible for me to bear children." She spoke the words without bitterness and her face held a sereneness that comes from making the best of what life has to offer. Her cheeks were round and full and the smile wide and unaffected. Her grey eyes held depth and seemed to reflect an affectionate nature.

"Is that how you came to know Clay, staying at the Rowlands'?" Julie asked.

"Yes, he was a regular visitor to the house, and often his leaves coincided with our visits."

Julie gazed to where Mark sat energetically poking his finger down a crack in the path. His sister sang snatches of a song as she dried the duck off with a small handkerchief.

'You're going to miss them, aren't you?" Maureen said, following her gaze.

"I'll miss them, but I shan't worry about them now," Julie replied jerkily, trying to sound bright

"Don't, my dear." Maureen dropped a hand over hers reassuringly. "We have a sizeable house on the outskirts of Tunis, with masses of lawn just aching to be trampled on. There's an English school quite near and I want to take them and collect them myself each day when they are old enough to attend. There's no question of our ever being far from them." The grey eyes clouded for a moment. "Ralph and I were stunned when we got news of the air crash, but perhaps this is one thing we can do for Steve and Lynn."

Julie nodded and gazed long at the children. After several seconds she got to her feet with a wavering smile.

"Well, hadn't we better get Janet and Mark dried off and dressed ready to go?"

After a perceptive look at Julie, Maureen rose and took her arm.

"Yes, I think we'd better do that."

The suitcases were in the taxi. Janet and Mark, neatly dressed in pale blue linen, stood staring up with polished faces as the goodbyes were said.

Julie's hand was taken and squeezed in Ralph's large brown one, and then Maureen took over.

"I hope this isn't the last we see of you, Julie. What are your plans ? Do you expect to stay on in Tripoli ?"

Clay, who had been standing a little way behind, stepped forward and dropped a hand lazily across Julie's trembling shoulders.

"Those questions are a little premature, Maureen," he smiled suavely, "but you can take it we'll look you up in Tunis in due course."

"I'm glad to hear it." Maureen looked from one to the other. With a slow, dawning smile she nodded her head mechanically. "And somehow I don't think I have seen the last of Julie!"

She continued to stare at them dreamily until Ralph grabbed her with mock roughness and thrust her into the cab. He grinned mildly. "I think it's time we were getting out of here!"

Clay got down from his tremendous height to touch a fist lightly to Mark's chin. "So long, old-timer, and you take care of that sister of yours."

To Janet he tugged gently at the pony-tail and muttered, " 'Bye, nipper."

She twined her arms about his neck. "Can't you come too, Clay?"

"Afraid not, but I'll be seeing you soon." With a tight smile he stretched up and went to say something to the cab driver.

And now it's my turn, Julie thought. With a lump in her throat the size of an egg, she bent to where Mark was staring up, his eyes like saucers, the blond eyebrows above looking like white wings.

"I'ne going to have a big bed all to myself!"

"Are you, darling?"

Julie hugged him and swallowed a tear back at the softness of his cheek. "You must show it to. me when I come and see you."

"Will you come very very very soon?" Janet pleaded, crooking an arm round her neck.

"Very very very soon!" Julie smiled brilliantly.

The children clung and she clung, nobody wanting to be the first to break away. Clay had long since left the driver's window. Time was up. She looked up to meet his gaze, pleading for a few more seconds. He looked at her face, the entwining arms.... She thought his eyes rested on the three of them for rather a long time. Abruptly he turned and thrust his head into the car.

What he was saying to Ralph and Maureen she had no idea, but as long they talked she had these few precious moments with Janet and Mark. When at last the conversation ended she thrust the children from her.

"In you both get, and see if you can wave to me from the window!"

There was a scramble for seats and before the engine had started small noses were pressed up against the glass. Clay stepped to her side and Ralph and Maureen waved. The car drew away from the pavement in a cloud of smoke and Julie could just make out two small faces at the rear before the car disappeared round the corner towards the airport.

She stood for a long time staring with damp eyes alongthe road, then Clay steered her back into the hotel grounds.

"We could have gone too," she said slowly, looking up „ at him.

"We could have."

She stopped. "Clay, why didn't we fly with them as far as Tripoli?"

Clay gave her a dark glance.

"Because, my dear, you and I have some unfinished business to attend to here in Khartoum ... a date with the River Nile, remember?" A forceful glint in his eyes, he led her back into the hotel. "I'll be along for you in a little while. In the meantime put something different on .., that mauvish thing will do."

"You mean the lilac chiffon?" she couldn't resist a twinkle.

"What ever it is put it on, and don't quibble with me, child. I want you back here within the hour."

CHAPTER XII

JULIE gazed to where the river snaked away in the distance. The air was still and sultry, and every bush, every tree along the banks of the Nile hung motionless as though transfixed by the light of the moon.

Clay flung his cigarette away jerkily and came up behind her.

"Finding it a bit of an anti-climax?"

She turned to gaze up at him as his arms slid around her waist.

"Clay, how could I? It's been such a perfect evening. I was just thinking ... all this because you and I happened to share the same terrace at the Hotel Gerard."

His eyes darkened reflectively.

"You looked so cool and lovely lying there that day. It irritated me, especially when I knew that Alan Moore was cushioning your first trip abroad. I wanted to fling you into the teeth of life, let you know what it was really all about."

"Is that why you yanked me out into the desert?"

He nodded, and then grinned defensively.

"We did need somebody to help out in Accounts. I thought camp life would shake you, take away some of that bandbox shine. Instead I was shaken. I found myself wanting to protect you from every gust of wind, every grain of sand that might blow into those bluebell eyes."

Julie smiled reminiscently.

"Life at the oil camp was no hardship! "

"I had every intention of making it one. That's why we drove out to Guchani instead of taking the comfortable route by plane. And then you fell asleep practically in my arms. You looked such a vulnerable little thing lying there ... already I was relenting."

"And yet you weren't very friendly!''

"I was so damned jealous of anyone who looked at you. Rahmid, Purnell, Moore ... everyone seemed to be getting the breaks but me!"

"What about the night at Sheikh Mafa's encampment? You kissed me then."

"I couldn't help myself. But you didn't hesitate to let me know I wasn't in the running."

"You were in the running more than you'll ever know," Julie breathed, "but it seemed at the time as though you planned ... well, just a brief encounter."

His arms tightened about her and she added,

"Well, what else could I think? You'd drilled it into me often enough that women and oil don't mix."

"And that's another thing." Clay eyed her accusingly. "No woman has ever come between me and my job."

"And what about your job now?"

"Three months' leave and then a desk job in Tripoli offices. I'm a ruined man!"

"And I thought you were doing it all for Tamara."

"No!" He breathed the word mockingly and added, "Doctor Rahmid wasn't exactly my bosom pal either. It made me sick, the way you gazed at him all doe-eyed."

"I was sorry for him."

"Don't let's go into that again. I'm the one who needs sympathy."

"Oh! Why?" she asked lightly.

"Because ..." his voice thickened as he brushed his lips across hers, "I ache with love for you, and you've got to do something about it soon."

"Like what?"

"Like telling me you'll marry me."

"Very well, I'll marry you. When? And where?"

'When? No problem ... at once. Where? In England if you like. I'll have to meet this father of yours some time."

Serious again. Julie laid a cheek against his shoulder.

"Oh, Clay, I'm so happy! I wish we'd known all this sooner. I was so miserable at the Mayhews' ... you were always so busy, and I thought..."

"My one concern was to see Janet and Mark settled."

There was a long moment as she stared wistfully across the river.

"And now they are settled."

"That's right. We pick them up when the honeymoon's over."

"We pick them ... Clay, what are you saying?" She stared up in a dream. "You can't mean .,."

He nodded watching, her face.

"We're going to adopt Janet and Mark."

"I don't believe it!" Her eyes were starred with happy tears. "You said ..."

"I said they need family. Well, we're family." He held her close until Julie asked, her joy fading a little,

"But what about Ralph and Maureen? Won't they be dreadfully upset?"

"I think Maureen guessed from the start. You women are quick at weighing one another up. They took it pretty well."

"But to come all this way, on a wasted journey ..."

"I don't think it was. They have Janet and Mark for a few weeks ... and don't forget, we'll need a honeymoon at least once a year!"

There was a throbbing silence in which she raised her eyes to his. His mouth sought hers and for several moments no words were spoken. He kissed her long and tenderly, and later as she leaned against him he dropped a hand into his pocket.

"I had to scour the markets, but there wasn't much time. This is the smallest I could find. It will have to do until I can get you something more suitable."

The ring was of heavy plaited metal, the claw held a cluster of winking stones.

"Oh, Clay, it's beautiful! I want to keep it for all time."

He slid it on her finger, smiling at its perfect fit, then brushed his lips across her hand.

Some time later Julie queried,

"Are we likely to see anything of Alan Moore in Tripoli?"

"Doubtful. I understand his last tour was something of a final fling. From now on his contributions to the business will be conducted from the London offices."

"Why is that?"

"It would seem Sir Giles has come up with the perfect answer for keeping junior in line—a betrothal."

"I didn't know Alan was getting married." Julie looked up, surprised.

"I don't think he did himself. He's pretty much under his father's thumb, and this happens to be a very necessary partnership ... Alan and the daughter of another tycoon."

Julie murmured abstractedly,

"I could never marry unless it was for love."

"Sounds promising." Clay twinkled down at her. "Do I rate a confession?"

Quickly she looked up at him. Blue eyes misted with happiness she whispered the words shyly.

"Clay, you know I love you."

"I thought you'd never say it!" Laconically he dropped his lips to hers, and the African moon moved discreetly behind a cloud.

Table of Contents

ROSE OF THE DESERT

Roumelia Lane

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII