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Duel In The Sun
Sally Wentworth


Shall I describe the kind of man I think you would go for? "You can't. He doesn't exist," Catriona said lightly. "Not even in your imagination, in your dreams?" Lucas Kane was a difficult man to work for. To say that he didn't suffer fools gladly was an understatement. And Catriona had wanted to get on one of Kane's famous archaeological adventures so badly that she'd lied about her qualifications.That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was thinking that Lucas cared about anything except his work. She dreaded to think of the kind of job description Lucas Kane's wife would have. It would probably involve moving mountains and other such feats.But he wasn' the only one who had high standards. The man of her dreams would be… well, unfortunately for Catriona, he'd be Lucas Kane!









Duel In The Sun





Sally Wentworth











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#udf998128-a0c9-5be9-91bb-c835790e1d30)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4b11443b-1bd2-539d-9f16-6bd9e2f0c1cf)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No car come now. I take you.’

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

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

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

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

Catriona nodded. ‘Why, yes.’

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

‘Yes, I have.’

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, not understanding.

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

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

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

‘Lady. Lady!’

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

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

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

‘Lady.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hello,’ she said again.

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

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

‘I Nadia.’

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

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

‘She Dorreya,’ the elder girl supplied.

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

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

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

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

‘Why?’ Catriona asked in astonishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘How old are you?’ he shot at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thank you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No, I’m not.’

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

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

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

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

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

Catriona shook her head. ‘Definitely not.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You are not a travel courier?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

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

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

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

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

‘I’m afraid he is busy today.’

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

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

‘Please call one for me.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘To wash,’ Catriona supplied.

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

The woman shrugged. ‘Little.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where are you?’

‘Near Luxor.’

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

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

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

‘What district?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You mean you listened to my call?’

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

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

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

‘Not persuade—coerce,’ she corrected him.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, of course, but—’

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

‘Yes, but—’

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

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

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

‘I’m not about to get married.’

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

‘No!’

‘But you have no choice, do you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER TWO


CATRIONA stood on the stairs, frozen with astonishment. Then a great feeling of relief filled her and she went to run down to the hall, but then stopped; Rafiq hadn’t been so taken aback and had moved forward to face the intruder.

‘Good evening, Dr Kane,’ Rafiq said smoothly, apparently in no way put out. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

So this was Lucas Kane. Catriona stood still, hidden from Kane’s sight by a bend in the stairs, but able to watch the two men as they confronted each other. Rafiq had an inborn hauteur that had probably grown through a hundred generations, but Kane had the self-confidence of a man who had carved out his own success in life. Physically Kane was much the taller of the two, a couple of inches over six feet, Catriona guessed, and where Rafiq was dark-haired and -skinned, he was fair, although he had a deep-golden tan that could only have come from long hours spent in the sun. Both men could have been called good-looking, but in entirely different ways; Rafiq’s features were soft and would one day be full, but Kane’s face would never be anything but lean, almost hawk-like. The Egyptian’s eyes were dark and long-lashed, those of Kane an intense slate grey.

‘A surprise, Omar?’ Kane answered, his eyebrows rising. ‘But surely you knew I wouldn’t let you get away with it?’

To Catriona’s surprise, Rafiq laughed. ‘It was purely a mistake, my dear Dr Kane. And entirely your own fault. You really should make sure that you’re on time, you know. The lady waited so long for you that when my car arrived to collect someone else she thought it was for her and was brought here. Naturally she was made most welcome.’

‘And why didn’t you phone to tell me of the—er—mistake?’

‘I didn’t find it out myself until I met the lady—this morning.’ His deliberate pause emphasised that it was now evening.

‘And since then?’ Kane queried.

Rafiq gave a small smile, knowing that Catriona was listening. ‘Why, the lady has been having a very pleasant time, enjoying my house, my hospitality. In fact I’ve been trying to persuade her to stay here—’ again he paused as Dr Kane’s head came sharply up ‘—as an English teacher for my children, of course.’

‘And has the lady yielded to your persuasion?’ Kane asked sardonically.

‘Oh, come now, Dr Kane, you do not really expect me to tell you that, do you?’ Catriona made an angry movement and Rafiq turned quickly in her direction. ‘But why don’t you ask her for yourself? Please, Catriona, come down.’ And he added, ‘There is no need to be afraid of Dr Kane; he will not harm you—in my house.’ This last on a definitely mocking note.

Slowly Catriona came further down the stairs until Kane could see her. Her hair had got wet while she was swimming and she had undone the plait, shaking her hair loose so it could dry. The dampness had made it curl so that it framed her face and hung in twisting, golden tendrils that caressed her bare shoulders. Kane’s eyes widened and he stared at her face in arrested surprise, but then he glanced down and saw how little she was wearing and his expression changed. His eyes swept over her and then, noticing Rafiq’s partly open robe, hardened and became contemptuous. Catriona pulled the towel tighter around her, feeling strangely indecent under his scornful gaze.

‘Well?’ Kane said harshly. ‘Has he persuaded you to stay?’

Her chin came up. ‘No. Of course not.’

Kane’s left eyebrow rose in surprise at her forcefulness and his gaze lingered for a moment on her face, on the tilt of her chin. Turning to Rafiq, he said jeeringly, ‘It seems as if you’re losing your touch, Omar.’

Rafiq shrugged eloquently. ‘Catriona has been here only one day; perhaps when she has seen your house she will change her mind.’

‘Not if she has any sense.’

‘But she is so fragile, so delicate.’ Rafiq used his hands eloquently and this time both men’s eyes turned to look her over. ‘I’m afraid she will find life in your primitive house far too hard, and then she will—’

Tired of being talked about as if she wasn’t there, Catriona cut in, ‘I’ve already said that I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to the dig.’

‘So instead of just standing there, why don’t you go and put some clothes on?’ Kane demanded scathingly.

Catriona shot him an angry look, beginning to realise why he had such a tyrannical reputation. ‘My cases are already packed; I’ll be down in just a few minutes,’ she said shortly, and turned to run back up the stairs to her room. Hastily she towelled herself dry and dressed, found a bag for her wet swimsuit and shoved it in her case. She couldn’t manage all her luggage alone; going through on to the galleried landing, she looked over. The two men were standing close together and seemed to be in the middle of a heated but low-voiced argument. Catriona called, ‘Would one of you help me with my cases, please?’ and they moved apart.

Rafiq gestured to one of his servants who was waiting near the open door and the man came to help her. When she followed him down she found that Dr Kane had gone outside to wait. Rafiq, too, was waiting. Taking her hand, he didn’t shake it, but bowed over it. ‘You have graced my house, Catriona. And I am sure that you will again.’

‘I doubt it,’ she returned shortly.

He smiled. ‘Wait until you have seen the house at the excavation site. My offer is still open and you will soon be back, Catriona.’

Realising that he couldn’t be argued with, she merely said, ‘I didn’t say you could call me that.’

‘But I am going to. And I want you to call me Omar.’

‘As I won’t be seeing you again, there won’t be any need, will there? Goodbye.’

She turned to leave and saw that Dr Kane had stepped back into the doorway and had heard. He laughed, but waited until Catriona had got into the passenger seat of the waiting Land Rover and he had climbed in beside her before he leaned out of the window and called jeeringly, ‘It seems the lady wasn’t tempted, Omar. You’ll just have to make your bribes bigger in future!’ Laughing again, he gunned the car down the driveway and through the heavy wooden gates of the Garden of the Nile.

The Land Rover bumped along the worn-surfaced road, making Catriona grab for the dashboard to brace herself. The car was old and noisy, and the seat had long ago lost its stuffing. It was so exactly what she had originally expected that she laughed aloud.

Dr Kane glanced across at her. ‘What’s so funny?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’

He thumped an angry fist on the steering-wheel. ‘Why the hell do women always say that when you ask them a question?’ he demanded. ‘Is it because you think I won’t understand the subtleties of the female mind—or is it just that your mind is a complete blank? “It’s nothing”,’ he mimicked, falsetto. ‘When I ask you a question, woman, you damn well answer it! Is that understood?’

His manner would have intimidated most women, but not Catriona. She was still overpoweringly grateful that he had rescued her from Omar. And had done it in such a satisfyingly high-handed way, too; leaving Omar discomfited on his own doorstep. She was still on a high from that, full of a crazy kind of excitement that shone in her eyes. But she managed to say calmly enough, ‘I was laughing at the age and discomfort of this car; it was exactly what I originally expected to be met by.’

‘So why on earth were you stupid enough to go off in Omar’s limo?’ Dr Kane asked scornfully.

‘Why didn’t you send someone to collect me?’ she countered, determined not to grovel.

‘I did. You’d gone.’

‘I waited for ages,’ she said accusingly.

Her words were almost drowned under the noise of the hooter as a truck, loaded with live camels, of all things, got in the way. She thought he hadn’t heard, but when they’d passed the truck, he said, as if it was her fault, ‘You were early. The planes are late so regularly that no one bothers to get there until half an hour after one’s due in.’

‘I suppose nobody bothered to phone and check?’

A warning glint came into Kane’s eyes. ‘Don’t push it; I had a devil of a job tracking you down.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘By making enquiries at the airport. But I had to wait till the night shift came back on before I heard you’d gone in Omar’s car. Of all the damn stupid things to do!’

Stiffly, Catriona said, ‘I’m sorry if I caused any inconvenience, Dr Kane, but it was—’

‘Lucas,’ he interrupted. ‘My name’s Lucas Kane. There’s no formality at the dig. And, yes, you were a damn nuisance. An official at the airport confirmed that you’d arrived but I had to bribe a taxi-driver before I found out where you’d gone.’

‘Bribe him?’ Catriona was shocked. ‘I hope you didn’t have to pay him too much?’

‘Enough—and I’m taking it out of your wages.’

She should have expected that. Catriona grinned inwardly, and sat back in her seat. The Land Rover had slowed, caught up in a snarl of traffic on the outskirts of a town. Luxor, she supposed. It was almost dark but the streets were still full of cars, taxis, tourist buses, as well as bicycles, rickety old trucks, horse-drawn buggies, and people who just stepped out into the street to cross whenever they felt like it. Everyone seemed to drive on their horns; it was hot, dusty, noisy and intensely foreign. Magic!

Dr Kane—no, Lucas, had to concentrate and she was able to sit quietly and look him over. Closer to, he wasn’t so fair as she’d first thought; his hair was brown but had been bleached by the sun, as if he didn’t bother to wear a hat. He had a natural air of authority and she guessed that he didn’t often need to browbeat his staff. Catriona wondered why he had with her; to show her how angry he was, perhaps, or maybe just because she was female and needed to be put in her place. Fleetingly she wondered if he was married, then decided he couldn’t be. He didn’t act as if he’d been gentled by constant female company. He hadn’t offered to carry her luggage or open the car door for her, hadn’t asked if she’d had a good flight. And even more important, hadn’t asked if Omar Rafiq had attempted to coerce her to stay. But maybe he didn’t have to ask; maybe he knew.

There was hostility between the two men; she’d not only sensed it but had seen it in their eyes, their actions. On the surface it was like verbal fencing, but she wondered what it would take and what passions would be unleashed if they ever came to open enmity. And she was intrigued to know what had caused two such dissimilar men to have clashed in the first place.

They had circled the outskirts of the town and the traffic wasn’t so heavy now. Some of the cars they passed had lights on, some hadn’t bothered; it seemed to be a matter of personal taste—or perhaps just whether the lights worked. Her eyes flicked back to Lucas’s hard profile.

‘So what are your conclusions?’ he asked in a conversational tone.

‘On what subject?’ she asked warily.

‘Me. You’ve been studying me long enough.’

She blinked, taken aback, but thought she might as well satisfy her curiosity, so said, ‘I was wondering why you and Omar Rafiq were so—abrasive.’

‘Abrasive!’ He laughed. ‘A good word. I have no reason to like him.’

‘Why not?’

He gave her an assessing look. ‘Why the interest?’

Catriona shrugged. ‘I’d like to know what you rescued me from.’

‘Wouldn’t he let you leave?’

‘No.’

Lucas laughed again, really amused this time. ‘I suppose you had visions of ending up in his harem. Did you tell him you were headed for my dig?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘That’s why, then; he only wanted to keep you there to inconvenience me.’

An egotistical remark that Catriona found extremely annoying. ‘What if I’d decided to stay?’

With a shrug, Lucas said, ‘It’s hypothetical; you didn’t.’

‘He offered me far more money than you’re paying me. Double, in fact,’ she goaded.

‘Then you were a fool not to accept,’ he returned calmly.

Catriona let him negotiate a busy road junction, then said, ‘You still haven’t told me why you don’t like him.’

‘I know I haven’t.’

‘So why?’

He shot her a frowning glance. ‘What an extremely nosy woman you are. Do you really want to know about excavation politics so soon?’

‘Yes.’

His lips twitched a little at her unequivocal response. ‘All right, if you must know; Omar offered to sponsor the dig but then backed out at the last minute.’

So that was all it was about, just money. Catriona felt a fleeting moment of disappointment, which changed to anger when she realised she had been used as a pawn in their disagreement. Had Omar, then, merely been amusing himself by trying to frighten her? Had the danger she’d felt all been in her imagination? It certainly seemed rather silly now to have thought herself a victim of white slavery. But she had been alone in a strange land, denied her freedom, and had known distinct unease, if not outright fear. And all because two men disliked each other!

They left the street lights behind and were driving through open country, but it was completely dark and Catriona could see nothing that wasn’t illuminated by the car’s headlamps: trees and the occasional mud brick house.

‘How far is it?’ she asked.

‘Only a couple of miles. We turn off into the desert soon. Have you ever been to Egypt before?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’re either going to love it or hate it; there are no half-measures where Egypt is concerned.’

‘How long have you been out here?’

‘On this excavation site, for three years, but I’ve spent a lot of time here during my career.’

‘You discovered a new tomb, didn’t you?’

‘You’ve been doing some reading. Yes, nearly nine years ago. It wasn’t a major find, though, and it had been robbed, of course, but there were some extremely good wall paintings.’

‘You must have been young then,’ Catriona remarked without thinking.

‘Oh, yes, I was very young—then,’ he agreed sardonically.

‘I didn’t mean to imply that you’re no longer young, just that you must have been young to find a tomb,’ she excused, afraid that he’d taken offence. Though he would have to be very vain to feel insulted by such a chance remark.

‘I know what you meant. I was twenty-four—which some people seemed to think too immature to be put in charge of a dig and handle a find.’

So that was it. Catriona gave him a mental apology; obviously it was the criticism of his professionalism that rankled. Changing the subject, she said, ‘How many people are there in your team?’

‘Five principals: I’m the field director, and my deputy is our surveyor, Bryan Stone. Then we have a pottery expert, Harry Carson, who’s in Cairo on leave at the moment, and a seed and plant man, Mike Pearson. The fifth man is Mohamed Shalaby, who’s also the inspector from the Egyptian authorities.’

‘No women?’ Catriona asked with mixed feelings.

‘There’s Lamia, Mohamed’s wife. She’s not officially part of the team but she’s supposed to run the house, make sure the servants do their work, that kind of thing.’

They had left the fertile area with its trees and fields, the road was no longer tarred, had become just an uneven, pot-holed track. Ahead she could see some lights which turned out to be those of a small village of mud houses. They drove through it, went on for another few hundred yards, and then Lucas drove through an arched gateway and pulled up in the courtyard of a house. Like the Garden of the Nile, the house was two-storeyed, had a gate and was surrounded by a wall. There the similarity ended. There was no garden, no fountain playing, no open door with welcoming servant, and, once inside, definitely no air-conditioning or the faintest hint of luxury. It was just a roughly made house, built to last for the duration of the dig and nothing more. The furniture was old and shabby with no attempt at style. But at least there was electric light, even if the bulbs didn’t possess shades.

Catriona stood in the hallway, looked about her, and laughed again.

‘Having second thoughts?’ Lucas enquired as he dropped her cases on the floor.

‘Second, third and fourth,’ Catriona admitted.

He grinned, and she liked it. ‘I thought you might have. Come and meet the others.’

He led her through a curtained doorway into a room off to the left that evidently served as a communal sitting room. There was a television set in the corner but the programme was in Arabic and only one man was watching. Two other men were seated at a small table, playing chess, and a woman sat on a worn settee, reading a magazine. They all looked round when Lucas led her in. For a long moment there was total silence and Catriona felt rather like an exhibit at the zoo as their eyes assessed her. It was one of the men at the table, middle-aged and weather-beaten, who spoke first.

‘So you found her.’

‘Yes. She ended up at Omar Rafiq’s house.’ Lucas turned to Catriona. ‘This is Bryan Stone, the surveyor. And this is Mike Pearson, our plant expert.’

The other chess-player stood up to shake hands. He was younger, around thirty, and there was an abstracted air about him, as if he was thinking of something else. ‘Hello. Catriona Fenton, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Hello.’

‘And this is our Egyptian colleague, Mohamed.’

The man who had been watching television also stood up. ‘Kayf haalak, tasharafna be-mearefatak,’ he said, bowing over her hand.

‘“How do you do? Pleased to meet you”,’ Lucas translated.

Catriona smiled and came out with her only Arabic word. ‘Shokran. Thank you.’

‘And this is Lamia, Mohamed’s wife.’

Catriona had quite liked the look of Mohamed, but his wife was something else. She didn’t bother to get up but reached up an indolent hand to let it be shaken. In her early thirties, she was dark-haired and attractive, but there was antagonism in her eyes. ‘Hello.’ Catriona smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry I don’t speak Arabic.’

The friendly overture was ignored as Lamia answered in perfect English. ‘How odd that you got lost.’ Making it sound as if she also thought it extremely stupid. ‘How was Omar?’

‘You know him?’

‘Of course, or why should I ask?’ Again as if she thought her a fool.

But Catriona could give as good as she got. ‘He was very well,’ she answered. Adding, ‘How strange, when you know him so well, that he didn’t send you his regards—or even mention your name.’

She thought she heard Lucas give a soft chuckle behind her but couldn’t be sure. Lamia’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak Lucas said, ‘We haven’t eaten. Is there any food ready for us?’

‘The cook had to stay on. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

Lucas let her go, not offering to do it for her. ‘I’ll show you your room,’ he told Catriona.

He picked up her cases and she followed him up the stairs with her hand luggage. The roughly surfaced walls had been painted white, presumably throughout the building, but were now very dingy, and although there had been a couple of pictures on the walls of the sitting room there was none elsewhere. On the first floor there were six rooms opening off the landing. Lucas pointed to one opposite the stairs. ‘That’s the bathroom. We all have to share it, I’m afraid. And water’s scarce so you’re only allowed two showers a week. Why are you grinning?’

‘“From the sublime to the ridiculous”,’ Catriona quoted.

He had no comment to make about that. ‘This is your room.’ He opened a door to the right of the stairs, took her cases in and dropped them on the bed. ‘See you downstairs in ten minutes.’

The room was clean and had the basic necessities: a bed, just a rail for her clothes, a wash-stand with old-fashioned jug and basin, a table with a light over it, and a chair. Catriona had seen pictures of prison cells that looked more comfortable. And it was so drab: white walls, no curtains at the high window, and a grey-coloured blanket on the bed. With a degree in art and design, it was the lack of colour that most offended her. And it would be the first thing that she would put right, she decided. If she was going to spend six months here, then there would have to be some colour in her life.

There was water, cold, in the jug, and the towels were clean. Catriona washed her face and hands, brushed her hair, added some lipstick, and went down to dine with Lucas Kane.

The dining room had just one large table with half a dozen chairs set round it. But there was a tablecloth, although it was already stained, and there was wine to drink. The food, brought by a white-robed Egyptian boy, was quite good. The conversation, though, wasn’t.

‘Did Omar tell you anything about me?’ Lucas asked her.

‘Only that he knew you.’

‘He didn’t say anything about the dig—or the team?’

‘Only that I would find the house most uncomfortable and I wouldn’t like it here.’

Lucas’s lips twisted into a grin at that, but he gave the slightest nod of satisfaction, making Catriona wonder just what Omar might have told her. Changing the subject completely, he said, ‘What experience have you had?’

Dodgy ground. ‘Didn’t you have my CV? It’s all in there.’

‘Yes, of course—but I’d like to know in detail.’

He would. With an inner sigh Catriona said, ‘I have an honours degree in art and design and did my thesis on the influence of historic costume on modern fashion. I then had a six-month placement in the textile conservation department of a museum, and after that—’

‘They didn’t offer to keep you on?’ Lucas interrupted.

‘No, they couldn’t afford to. They were under-funded and had to keep taking on new graduates for half-yearly placements because that way they didn’t have to pay very much.’

He nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘And after that...?’ he prompted.

‘I worked in various aspects of the textile industry, broadening my knowledge and experience.’ She had quoted verbatim from her CV because it was the best way she knew of covering a catalogue of odd jobs that she had been forced to take to earn a living. In the recession there had just been no jobs going for a young, ambitious girl with ideas of her own. And her looks hadn’t helped; often her qualifications had got her through to the interview stage, but museum curators and prospective employers had taken one glance at her delicate figure and fair beauty and refused to take her seriously, or else thought that she would soon marry and leave.

Once, she’d thought she’d really got the job she so wanted: designing costumes for an opera company who were launching an entirely new production. For a while all went well, but again the lack of finance had intervened, their sponsors had crashed and the new opera had been called off, making Catriona, along with a great many other people, unemployed yet again. For some time after that she’d had to work as a waitress, until she had found the job with a clothing company as a supervisor over a sweatshop of overworked immigrant women. This wasn’t satisfactory, but at least she’d been working with clothes—until the day she had felt driven to complain about the women’s pay and conditions and had been immediately dismissed. But how did you explain that to a man who had never been out of work, had been given his own excavation at twenty-four and had never looked back?

His grey eyes seemed to see into her mind. ‘Elucidate,’ he ordered shortly.

Catriona did so. She didn’t lie, but she made the most of those jobs she’d had that she thought would be an advantage and glossed over those that didn’t, and missed out the waitressing job completely.

She didn’t fool him, she hadn’t seriously thought she would, not once she’d met him and seen the kind of man he was. When she’d finished Lucas said, ‘So beyond six months in a museum, two years ago, you have no practical experience of historic textiles, and probably none at all of ancient Egyptian.’

‘Why did your last textile expert leave?’ Catriona countered.

His eyebrows flickered. ‘Personal reasons,’ he answered dismissively.

But she wasn’t to be put off. ‘What personal reasons?’

‘They need hardly concern you. She just found it necessary to leave.’

‘She? It was a woman?’

‘Aren’t most textile experts nowadays?’ And, before she could answer, ‘Stop trying to change the subject. Have you or have you not any experience of ancient Egyptian textiles?’

‘No. But I—’

‘In other words you got the job under false pretences,’ Lucas said harshly. He frowned angrily. ‘I hate deceit. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you on the first plane back to England, and charge you for the fares we’ve wasted?’

‘Yes,’ Catriona answered promptly. ‘You haven’t got anyone else. And I know I can do this job.’

‘Do you?’ His eyes were on her earnest face and determined chin. ‘If I thought that I could get hold of another expert quickly, I’d get rid of you tomorrow. But as it is...’ He shrugged. ‘I have no choice but to give you a try.’

‘Thank you,’ she said unsteadily.

‘Keep your thanks,’ he retorted brusquely. ‘I’ll give you a trial, but just remember that I’ll be watching you like a hawk, so don’t think you can cover up your mistakes or get away with anything. And first you’re going to have to do a great deal of reading and studying before I let you near even the smallest thread of cloth on this site.’

‘I was going to say that I’ve already been doing that, from the moment I knew there was a chance that I might come here.’

‘Well, first thing tomorrow we’re going to find out just what you do know.’

Overwhelmingly grateful that she wasn’t about to be sent immediately back to England, Catriona gave a sigh of relief but didn’t let it show. ‘What time do we start?’

‘Breakfast is at five-thirty.’ He was watching her, expecting her to look dismayed, but Catriona merely nodded. ‘Then we have a break around eleven, and afterwards work on at the site until about three. We come back here for a meal at four and usually spend the evening examining finds, repairing pottery, and doing basic conservation.’

‘I see. Perhaps you could tell me something about the site you’re working on.’

Lucas glanced at his watch. ‘Tomorrow. I have some work to catch up on before I go to bed.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘You might as well go and unpack. Goodnight.’

Catriona had been waiting for the next course in the meal, but evidently that was it. ‘Goodnight.’

She followed him out of the room and saw him go into a room next door, one she hadn’t been into yet. Doing as he’d suggested, she went upstairs to unpack, hanging her clothes on the rail, and keeping her more personal possessions in the suitcases, which she pushed under the bed. The house was very quiet; presumably everybody went to bed early if they had to get up at five. Deciding to do the same, Catriona first went in search of the bathroom. It was like no bathroom she had ever seen before. To even call it that was to bestow a title it certainly didn’t deserve. It was like calling a pigsty a porcine palace. There was no bath, and the shower was a joke. It was electric but the water was always tepid whichever setting you put it on, and came out in fits and starts, to be collected in a sort of baby’s bath in which you stood, and was evidently saved and used again. Probably by the next person, Catriona thought with a grimace. Remembering that she was only allowed two showers a week and deciding that the need might be greater tomorrow, Catriona went quickly back to her room and washed herself as best she could.

Sitting up in bed, Catriona took out the textbooks she’d brought with her and began to go through them again, wanting to be as informed as possible before tomorrow. At eleven o’clock she turned out the light, but it took her a while to get to sleep, mostly because she just wasn’t tired, but also because the bed was hard and lumpy and the room too warm.

Lying awake, she went over the extraordinary events of the last twenty-four hours. She saw now how stupid she had been to think that Omar’s house could possibly be the expedition headquarters; she ought to have insisted on Omar’s being wakened and being taken back to the airport at once. Well, it was too late now; she had made a bad start with Lucas, and her lack of experience hadn’t helped either. But at least he’d let her stay, even if it was only on a trial basis. She turned, trying to find a comfortable spot, unable to resist comparing this room with the opulence of the one she’d slept in last night. Talk about rude awakenings—this must be the rudest ever! She must be mad, she decided. Fancy turning down Omar’s plush palace for this!

Her thoughts drifted to the woman who had left the dig team so suddenly. Had this been her room? Catriona was rather intrigued by her. She herself had heard of the job through an old college friend who worked at a museum with a really good Egyptology department. The friend had said that the textile expert had left at short notice for family reasons, which could mean anything, of course. But Catriona couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, especially now she’d learnt the previous expert had been a woman. Was it anything to do with Lucas? Perhaps the woman hadn’t been able to stand his overbearing behaviour. It was even possible that she’d fallen for him and been snubbed. Unlikely, although there was definitely something attractive about Lucas: his lean good-looks, and the sort of rough arrogance that a woman could fall for if she wasn’t careful.

Lying on the bumpy pillow, Catriona wondered what Lucas would be like as a lover. He’d be experienced, she guessed, physically expert as far as the sex part of it went. But if a woman wanted more, if she fell in love with him and looked for the same feelings from him... Catriona just couldn’t see it. Lucas definitely looked the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. She could imagine him becoming cynically amused and hurtfully mocking if some poor female tried to get really close to him. A good enough reason for the last textile expert to have left so precipitately.

Her alarm clock had been set for five o’clock, but it seemed that she had only just got to sleep when its strident tone shattered the stillness. For a few minutes Catriona was too sleepy to think where she was, but then remembered and sat up with a jerk. Today was going to be a testing time, in more ways than one. Quickly she got up, stood naked in front of the basin to wash herself in the now tepid water, dressed in shirt and trousers and plaited her hair into its practical pleat. No make-up today, she decided; she wanted to look as efficient and intellectual as possible—which, she’d found, in a man’s eyes seemed to require her also to look as unfeminine as possible. Which wasn’t easy; no matter how she tried, Catriona had never succeeded in looking anything less than classy.

Lamia didn’t put in an appearance at breakfast but all the rest of the team were there, although nobody talked very much. Lucas’s eyes flicked over her and he nodded when she said good morning, but apart from that he didn’t speak. As soon as they’d finished, everyone piled into the Land Rover to drive the short distance to the site. Outside, the sun was still low and it was beautifully cool. There were no trees and no other houses near by, just the long spread of the desert, broken by hills, but on the far horizon the land rose into mountains, jaggedly outlined against the rising sun. It was very still, very beautiful. Catriona paused to stand and stare, could happily have stayed for longer, but Lucas started the engine and she had to run and jump in beside Mohamed.

She was put in Bryan Stone’s charge. He took over the Land Rover and drove her round the excavation, explaining that it was a settlement site of about 1400 BC. It covered a wider area than she expected. There were the remains of temples and palaces, and large residential quarters, and Bryan told her there were tombs built into the distant desert cliffs. ‘We’re concentrating on the suburb to the north,’ he told her. ‘There’s a group of very large houses in their own estates, and also a number of smaller houses surrounding them.’

‘What about the rest of the city?’

‘Other teams, from various countries, are working on other sites, but they mainly only work in the winter when it’s cooler. The French are still here, but most of the others have gone home and won’t be back till October or November.’

‘So how come our team is still working?’

Bryan gave a short laugh. ‘It’s Lucas; he wants to get the job done.’

‘And move on to something else?’

‘Partly that, but mostly because he’s eager to find all there is to find. He’s obsessed by everything that’s hidden under the sand, and can’t wait to discover its secrets.’

A strong word to describe a man’s interest, his career, but there had been many men in the past who had shared the obsession, and had found the treasure of King Tutankhamun in the process. The buried treasure syndrome. A bug that, once caught, would, Catriona guessed, be almost impossible to shake off. And Lucas would have caught it early by finding a tomb when still so young.

‘I’ll take you back to where we’re working,’ Bryan told her.

About a dozen workers from the nearby village had arrived, tramping across the desert on foot, and were gathered round Lucas as he told them where to work. He sent two men off with Bryan, then told two others and Catriona to follow him.

‘This is the courtyard of one of the houses,’ he explained when they came to a certain part of the ruins. ‘I want you to work along this wall, carefully brushing away the sand and sifting through it. When you’ve filled up one of these baskets, Gamal here will take it and dump it out of the way.’




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