“That’s true of half the men one meets. I think in that dire
c
tion Mike will be different in future. There’s nothing like losing the things you value for a while to give you a true perspective on things that matter.”
“Pint-size wisdom,” he said mockingly, but his fleeting glance at her was sharp. “As soon as Mike responds to treatment you’ll have to abandon the sugary
.
Go
professional on him.”
She smiled. “Very well, sir. I’m well up in self-defence.”
“It won’t be in the least funny if he falls for you.”
“Of course not; it’ll be touching, but nothing to worry about. Actually, our best bet would be to have a girl ready for him—someone really fetching.”
He grinned. “You’re a sane child, Sally Yorke. I wonder if you’ll be as wise over your own affairs of the heart?”
“I hope so,” she said apprehensively. “I want my love affair to be one of those certain things in life—smooth from the beginning and lovelier every day. Are they ever like that?”
“They are—for cold fish.”
“How do I discover whether I’m a cold fish?”
He sounded bantering, but the faint sharpness still edged his tones. “You experiment, little one. If I kissed you, I could tell you straight away.”
Sally’s eyes widened, and she stared rather hard at the yellow road ahead. “Bit drastic, though, isn’t it? How would you know?”
“If you hated it, you’d fight. If you like it, you might still fight, but in a different way. If you were a cold fish, you’d break it off just as it became interesting, look at me sweetly and say ‘That was nice’.”
A tremor of laughter ran through her. “You blind me with your experience. If I ever go in for experiment I’ll do it with someone my own weight.”
“Tony?” he asked casually.
“Why not?” she replied lightly. “At least he wouldn’t treat me as a piece of research, or go too serious. Falling in love is a grave business, but I think the approach to it should be gay.”
“That’s the farmhouse wench in you,” he said tersely. “You were reared on gambolling lambs and dancing grass. On the whole, it might be best for you to save your first love affair till you get back to England.”
It was strange, but in that moment Sally knew a sudden ache of knowledge—that she hated the lightness with which he was able to regard her as a temporary acquaintance. Hated it more, because she felt certain that he took a peculiar pleasure in reminding her of her own impermanence here in Shiran.
“Where are we going?” she asked offhandedly.
He accepted the change of topic without comment. “I promised Pierre that I’d look at the date plantation Tony’s keen on. It wouldn’t be fair to turn down the proposition completely without seeing the place first. Thought you might like to go along.”
“Yes, I would. I’ve never seen a date plantation.”
“You’ve never seen a kasbah, either. I have an invitation to bring a party of Europeans to a function in a kasbah next week. Care to be one of us?”
“Why, yes, I’d love it!”
“Good. No special dress, except that your frock must be high at the neck.” He gestured towards a small township of flat-roofed houses that shimmered whitely among flowering bushes and lawns. “There’s a military post behind the houses, and a medina behind that. The men of the medina work at the phosphate mines inland.”
“Is your mine inland?”
He nodded. “I’ve told you before that it isn’t my mine.
Cécile
Vaugard and I are directors of it, and there are two other directors—a technical man and a lawyer. I own about a quarter of the shares.”
“Is one permitted to ask about your other business interests?”
“One is. There’s a coastal trading company and another company that runs a small fleet of freighters.”
“No date plantations?”
“None,” he answered laconically. Then: “How much have you found out about Tony?”
“There’s not a lot to find out, is there? He was educated in England, came back to Morocco and couldn’t settle in a job. If Monsieur de Chalain had married again, he might not have spoiled Tony.”
“So you don’t think it’s wrong of Pierre to consider bankrupting himself in order to give Tony the plantation he wants?”
“That’s difficult to answer. Tony thinks that with you holding the reins, the plantation would be sure to succeed. If it did, his father would get his money back, plus interest.”
“You’re gullible, young Sally. Tony’s convinced you that he has stay
ing power. Mike used to like goo
d times and plenty of cash to throw about, but he was quick and thorough at his job. Tony’s only a few months younger and he’s never even picked on a career, let alone worked at it.”
“But the difference between them proves something, don’t you see?” she protested quickly. “Tony could get what he liked from his father, and each time he failed at something he was excused and helped. Mike had you, not a sentimental parent.”
“Don’t give me that,” he said scoffing
l
y. “Mike had it in him. Tony’s just a nice-looking parasite.”
“If you like Pierre,” she said firmly, “you’ll try to convert Tony.”
“I’ve enough on my hands. Tony’s twenty-six and old enough to think for himself. At his age I was managing a trading company.”
“You probably started managing something or someone the moment you were bo
rn
!” she returned warmly. “Haven’t you any sympathy at all with the weak?”
He glanced at her in mild astonishment. “Not a lot, when the weakness is Tony’s type. You haven’t been here much more than a week. Why should you care whether I help Tony?”
Sally couldn’t explain. Impossible to say to him, “I’d like you to give in over something important—just once.” But that was how she felt. And somehow, she was convinced that Tony would put the best of himself into the plantation if he had the chance.
She lifted her shoulders. “It’s not my concern, is it? Tell me about the countryside.”
After a few moments, he did. They passed sudden gulfs and chasms, and plantations of cork oaks, where strippers were peeling bark which looked like watered silk. There were forests of argan trees where goats wandered, not only on the ground but high among the gnarled branches, nibbling the new green shoots and stepping daintily among the twigs in search of more. The car had to slow down for a camel train which was making for a distant kasbah with loads of spices and silks and leather, and then they came to a sandier soil, where strange mauve and scarlet flowers grew among wild olives and rough tan-colored rocks.
This land of North Africa must be unique, thought
Sally, as she caught sight of a pink stone monument set in a small thicket of cedars and pines. It was an ugly obelisk with a broken winged figure at the top, and the new white marabout tomb which stood nearby made it look tawdry. For the tomb was domed and pillared, painted white and lined with gold, and there was space under the dome for the faithful to pray. Even as Sally watched, a grey-bearded man stepped out of old gondola-toed slippers and mounted the steps of the tomb. Yet there were no houses in the vicinity, nothing but rocks and sand and struggling bushes.
She looked at Dane, noticed a little vexedly that he appeared serene. He was at home in this country; the desert and the glitter, the fine-looking dark-skinned people, the very spirit of the country, had got into him, and he had made them his own.
Eventually the scene changed. They came lower, to find olives and almonds, tamarinds and palms growing in regiments, a pale yellow or pink house here and there. A blue-clad woman walked from the road into an orchard, and was followed by another carrying a jar on her head. There was a girl, whose long braided hair was twisted with corals and thin silver chains, and a number of wide
-
eyed small boys, who waved as the car passed them.
There was a tiny Berber town alongside a French settlement, and then the date plantations began, huge-gi
r
thed palms with great green arches of branches, growing out of sandy, whitish soil that was trodden into a hard surface along the lanes. The noonday sun sucked up every drop of moisture, leaving the land, the people, the animals, the very air, parched and dusty.
Sally took off the sun glasses and looked across the palms to the mountains. The light was brilliant and searing, the shadows a queer purple. There were no half-tones or hints of pastel, just as there was nothing muted about the population; the Moors were either very rich and educated or so poor that they had to barter and beg.
At a lane which led through to a decaying white house, Dane pulled in. “This is it,” he said. “Tony’s pipe-dream.”
“There seem to be a good many dead palms,” she commented.
“Disease of some sort; they don’t often die from lack of water.”
“The place could be put right, though, couldn’t it?” Dane nodded, meditatively. “Out with the dead wood and in with new, plenty of pruning, and so on. It wouldn’t cost the earth, but Tony’s too irresponsible to see it through.”
“Not if he were watched.”
“I haven’t time to watch him.” He opened his door. “Let’s look at the house.”
The walked along the lane in the blanketing heat, went up into a narrow veranda. Dane produced a key and opened the door into a mosaic-floored room which had lost several tiles and was thick with sand and dust. Opposite the entrance, a flight of dirty marble steps led to the bedrooms, and after a cursory glance about
him
Dane nodded upwards.
“Shall we investigate? May as well weigh up the cost of repairs, now we’re here.”
“Does that mean you’re seriously considering the plantation?” she queried eagerly.
“It means I’m keeping my word,” he answered sourly. “I promised to look the place over, and I will.”
They mounted the stairs, turned a
corner
and came to a landing on to which all the upper rooms opened. The doors stood wide, and Dane chose the nearest room, a large one with a peeling balcony which looked way over the tops of the palms to a distant lilac line of mountains. Sally stared, entranced, and Dane came behind her and took in the scene.
“Well, what do you think of the vista?” he asked. “Another stock scene?”
She shook her bronze head. “It’s fascinating. It may sound crazy, but this seems far more real than the esplanade at Shiran. If I lived here and there were plenty of water, I’d force some grass and flowers to grow round the house.”
“Really?” He was cool for some reason. “And what would you do with the house itself—blow it down and build again or patch it up with Sellotape?”
“Are you always contemptuous of ideas and plans that aren’t your own?”
“I guess I’ve developed a bad mood.”
She looked at him quickly. “Through me?”
He drew in his lip and smiled cynically. “Don’t make something of it, little one. Let’s get out of this house before it falls about our ears.”
“I think it’s solid enough. Is this the balcony over the front door?”
She didn’t wait for his answer, but went to the wall and leaned over the cracking plaster. In the next second she felt her hand give way and heard Dane’s exclamation. What happened then she never clearly recalled. There was the crashing sound and the sudden sensation of completely losing balance, the clatter of more dislodged masonry on the earth below. But she never quite worked out how she had slipped and found herself dangling in air, with Dane flat on the balcony floor and gripping her with excruciating tightness about the ribs. His chin was the first thing she became aware of; it was boring a groove into her forehead.
“Keep quite still,” he said in quiet, taut tones. “The rest of this balcony could collapse at any moment. Go as limp as you can and leave things to me. For heaven’s sake don’t try to help.”
“I won’t,” she whispered, and because of the pain of his grip she closed her eyes.
Practically the whole of the balcony wall had gone, leaving jagged edges of brick and stucco which, somehow, he had to keep away from her thinly-clad body as he inched her upwards, and himself slid back into the room. With one arm taking her weight, he used his other hand as a shield, first to her ribs and then to her waist and thigh. The dress ripped in several places, it got in his way and he cursed it under his breath, but in the final stage it helped him because he was able to bunch it and lift her the rest of the way in one go. A couple of minutes later he had dragged them both into the room, and released her.
Bruised and shaken, Sally lay on her side with her face turned into her arm. She heard his hard mechanical breathing and forced herself to rise on an elbow and look at him. What she saw drove the blood from her heart.
His eyes blazed, White-hot, like bits of steel in a furnace. His teeth were so tight that muscles stood out in the lean jaws, and the hand he leant back upon was clenched whitely into a fist that looked as though it would drive straight through the stone floor.