Rose of the Desert (11 page)

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."