“I’ll be back tomorrow.” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” It was earlier than Georgia had dared to hope.

“You sound...pleased?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I got it right. And have you had the chance to go and buy that dress as I suggested?”

“Oh, it was a suggestion? I took it more as a command!”

“Ah, right. I’m glad you got the message.”

“And I bought something. It’s—”

“Don’t tell me,” Nathan interrupted swiftly, then added mysteriously, “it might be unlucky. But I’ll be back about nine tomorrow night. Be ready then. Timing is all-important. Be ready to be whisked away for a very special occasion.”

Alexandra Scott was born in Scotland and lived there until she met her husband, who was serving in the British army, and there followed twenty-five years of travel in the Far East and Western Europe. They then settled in North Yorkshire, and, encouraged—forcefully—by her husband, she began writing the first of around fifty romance novels which were to be published. Her other interests include gardening and embroidery, and she enjoys the company of her family.

Desert Wedding
Alexandra Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT relief it was to escape the overwhelming heat. Even among the shady palms about the pool Georgia had felt limp, utterly exhausted after a bare half-hour. But here in the air-conditioned coolness of the club, the day’s brilliance filtered through smoky glass, the splash of fountains in her ears—here was blessed relief, soothing, refreshing.

Her eyes were finding it hard to cope with such an abrupt change from brassy glare to shadowy gloom, which probably explained why she didn’t at first focus on the figure who appeared from nowhere to greet her.

‘Miss Maitland, isn’t it? Georgia?’ The short man was familiar, at least vaguely, and her frown brought elucidation. ‘Grev Canning. We met the other evening at the Kimberleys’.’

‘Of course.’ She smiled then—that amazing reaction, that slow burnishing of her features, almost an incandescence which illuminated an already striking face. ‘I’m sorry; for a moment I couldn’t see. I’ve not really adjusted yet.’

‘Well, it can take some time. How about a drink to help—something long and cool?’ he said persuasively.

‘I had decided to go back to the flat. I was just on my way to call for a car.’

“Then...while you’re waiting you might as well have that drink.’

‘Oh, go on, then.’ She wasn’t, after all, in any great hurry. ‘Pressed orange with masses of ice.’ Sitting down, she let her eyes follow him, watched as he gave his order to the waiter, an immensely tall Arab, his height and slenderness emphasised by brilliant white cotton robes.

The latter had an interesting face—Georgia’s artistic senses automatically absorbed such detail—hawkish, a mite condescending, with a red velvet hat at a slightly rakish angle above the grizzled curls and... Grev was back beside her on the green leather settee.

‘Did you swim?’

‘No.’ With a shrug she indicated her beach bag. ‘Meant to, but it was too much trouble.’ And also, though she didn’t explain to him, she still had the after-effects of a bug picked up on the journey out.

‘It can be a bit of a shock at first,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you know it’s going to be, but nothing quite prepares you for it. Don’t worry, though; you’ll soon adjust.’ Producing a cigarette packet, he offered her one and, when she refused, proceeded to light his own, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs with an air of desperation.

Vaguely she listened while he spoke about his job—something to do with the harbour board, she gathered—but her attention was detached. She glanced about her with interest, at the groups spaced about the large room, all unknown to her—except there was one... She frowned in concentration. There was a man among the group congregated at the far end, close to the bar.

Her attention was elsewhere when a young woman came thrusting aggressively through the plate-glass doors, not giving the doorman time to hold one open. For a moment or two she glared about her before coming purposefully across to where Georgia was sitting innocently with her companion, her mind wholly taken up with the pleasure of freshly squeezed oranges.

Not until the newcomer reached her table did Georgia notice, and even then that it was more to do with Grev’s sudden apprehension, the widened eyes and air of deflation as he put down his glass and got to his feet.

‘Greville.’ The tone was ripe with all kinds of inflamed suspicion. The woman was red-haired, florid, and dressed most unbecomingly in loud Bermudas and a loose shirt. She grasped Grev firmly and possessively by the arm, at the same time turning the battery of her dislike on Georgia. ‘You are going to introduce us, I imagine?’ And she pulled him down with her onto the sofa.

‘Of course I am.’ The guilt and helplessness warring in Grev’s expression brought a burn of indignation to Georgia’s face. Of all things, she hated to feel conspicuous, and the last thing she wanted was to be involved in another marital spat. ‘Of course, love. This is Georgia Maitland. You remember, she was at the Kimberleys’ the other—’

‘And you remember I didn’t go to the Kimberleys’. You persuaded me not to, and now—’ her voice, already loud enough, rose a few decibels ’—now I’m beginning to understand why.’

Heads were starting to turn in their direction. The hum of conversation in the room became subdued, and only pride stopped Georgia from grabbing her bag and making for the exit. Instead, she raised her glass to her mouth and drained it. She gave herself a moment to control her irritation and anger before getting lazily to her feet, to stand looking down at the couple, he sheepish and embarrassed, she challenging and truculent.

‘You—’ in contrast with the other woman’s, Georgia’s voice was calm, modulated, melodious even, and, in spite of the surge of indignation revived by the sheer animosity that she was facing, she smiled ‘—you must be Greville’s wife.’

‘And you—’ the words were thrown coarsely in her direction ‘—had better remember it.’

Georgia’s hands clenched till she could feel her fingernails biting into her palms. Her expression was icily detached, and when she spoke it was with a brittle edginess. ‘I think...’ She bent to pick her bag up from the floor, taking a first step in distancing herself. ‘I think—’ again she was aware of being the focus of attention and so forced herself to speak more lightly ‘—in fact I’m sure everyone present will remember, but as for me...’ She shrugged, but her final cutting remark died on her lips when she saw the expression on Grev’s face, and she knew that she couldn’t add to his humiliation. The words were choked back and she took another step then turned briefly. ‘Oh, and thanks for the drink, Grev. Kind of you to take pity on me.’ Then, calm as she could, chin high, Georgia threaded her way through the tables, her entire manner underlining her detachment.

Nevertheless, her hands were shaking slightly, her cheeks were on fire and there was the shaming sting of tears behind her eyes by the time she reached the desk at the end of the room, where she began to ask the steward to arrange a car for her.

‘Cancel that.’ Again she had failed to notice someone approaching from behind, and the flashing upward look she turned on the man was not meant to disguise her anger at the intrusion. ‘I’m going your way, Miss...?’

The cool, assessing look, the enquiringly raised dark eyebrow did little to dispel her idea that he knew exactly who she was, and she still had this feeling that she had seen...

‘Miss Maitland, isn’t it?’

‘How clever of you!’

Disregarding her simmering anger, he transferred his attention to the steward, who had paused with one hand on the telephone. ‘I’m going in Miss Maitland’s direction.’ And, quite as if she had co-operated in the plan, he put one hand under her elbow to propel her in the direction of the door—a touch which she was so burningly aware of that she shrugged it off the moment they stepped away from the desk.

She spoke through clenched teeth. ‘But what makes you think that Miss Maitland has any inclination to go in the same direction as you?’

His grin—a momentary flash of white against tanned skin—was disconcerting in its mischievousness. ‘I promise you, you have. If only to put one over on your erstwhile adversaries back in there. But, apart from that, we’re living in the same block of flats.’

‘But that’s not to say...’ Of course. Now she remembered seeing him in the foyer one day.

‘Of course it isn’t. But, as I say, it will add a dash of spice to the afternoon gossip. It would be a pity to deprive all the ex-pats of a little idle speculation, wouldn’t it? Besides, I thought you would want to get out of there as quickly as you could, and that a little moral support might be welcome.’

‘I’m not in need of support, especially not the moral kind,’ she snapped. ‘And if I were—’

‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘I know. If you were I’d be the last man you would—’

‘Not exactly,’

Though her manner was irritated, Georgia was struggling with a disconcerting inclination to grin. It was, after all, such a stupid scenario. She was even faintly amused that she was allowing him to control the situation, permitting herself to be guided with quite implacable gentleness out through the smoked glass doors towards the parking area.

‘I was going to say that if I ever decided I was in need of moral support then a man would be the very last person I would approach.’

‘Ah, like that, is it?’ A flick of his finger brought a long rakish saloon forward.

The parking attendant got out and held open a door for Georgia, who, before she had time to consider, found herself being driven along the palm-shaded drive towards the gates of the club and into the traffic madness of downtown Raqat.

For a time she just sat there quietly fuming, though her brain was busy registering all the sights and sounds which were still comparatively novel. Then familiar landmarks made her realise that they were approaching the block of flats which had for the past two weeks been home.

She glanced at her companion. ‘Thank you very much, Mr...?’ How strange that until this very moment she hadn’t thought to ask his name.

‘Trehearn.’ He slid the car into the shaded parking area, ‘Nathan Trehearn.’

‘Nathan?’ Already she had noticed the accent. ‘American?’ It was close to being an accusation.

‘Guilty as charged.’

‘I should think so too.’ Self-mockery was the only defence for her bad manners. She began to smile. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘I should think so too.’ By now he was holding open her car door, and she was walking with him towards the foyer of the block of apartments. ‘Anyway, only half-guilty, since my mother is English and I’ve spent a lot of time there.’

‘I was being a bit touchy about...oh, about that silly episode back at the club.’ The flicker of amusement had been swiftly replaced by vexation. Tears were closer to the surface than she liked. ‘I’m sick of married men who...’

‘Ah.’ The range of understanding implied by that single sound, especially when compounded by, ‘I see,’ uttered in such a thoughtful tone, was impossible.

‘No, you don’t see.’ How could anyone see, or understand the humiliation which she...? ‘You couldn’t possibly.’ No man could.

They were being swept upwards by the lift.

‘No one could,’ she said aloud. The movement stopped. In relief she took a step forward, then said, ‘Oh, I thought... But this isn’t my floor.’

‘No, mine.’ Again his hand was on her arm—a touch which made her hold her breath, grit her teeth—propelling her across the hallway towards the single door. ‘And since we are neighbours I thought it was time I offered you a cup of coffee.’

‘No.’ She pulled away. ‘Really, I’m not in the mood.’

He stood looking down at her—half-amused, half-exasperated, if his expression was anything to go by.

And to underline his intentions he held up his hands. ‘No strings.’

Through the open door she glimpsed a dark-skinned, white-clad figure hovering, and for some reason the presence of the servant weakened her resolve. She found, even as she repeated her protestations, that she was being ushered inside, through the cool marble hall into a spacious, shady salon, where she stopped, holding her breath. Wide, fretted arches led onto a veranda where palms, hibiscus and bougainvillea bloomed, filling the air with their fragrance.

A wonderful room. A delight to her artistic senses. Such calm and simplicity was a salve for her ruffled feelings. Subdued gentle colours, sofas covered in natural raw silk, light walls. Two glazed oriental vases—man-size—in dense blue and white were the only touches of colour in the room. At least...

Her eye was drawn to an alcove where, carved in polished black stone, was a head. Ancient Egyptian, she would have thought, and catching marvellously well that haughty bearing that so many of the local people seemed to have.

Intrigued and momentarily forgetting her companion, she took a step forward until a movement in the mirror behind the sculpture startled her and she flicked a glance to the reflection of the man behind her. And he, there was little doubt, was intent on her.

He was tall—she tried to be objective—taller than she had at first realised—at least six-two—slim but somehow giving an impression of power, though that could have had something to do with his total confidence. Not exactly good-looking—too contained. Except... She began at once to shift her ground. Except for the eyes; that luminous grey was unusual, and when fringed with the longest sooty lashes that she had ever seen...

Still he was looking at her, one slender eyebrow raised assessingly so she blushed, one hand going up to fiddle with the rope of amber beads that she was wearing, the other to push the fall of thick hair from her forehead. ‘What a delightful room.’ She gave a tiny self-conscious laugh as she moved away, ‘Have you been here long?’

‘Eighteen months.’ An outstretched hand encouraged Georgia towards one of the sofas, while he perched on the arm of a chair opposite. ‘Now, I did promise you a drink, so what would you like? Coffee? Gin and tonic? Or...or what? I think we have quite a range. I usually have a sandwich about now too.’

‘Oh...oh, I couldn’t.’

‘Couldn’t what?’ Not giving her a chance to reply, Nathan looked over her head and spoke to someone out of her sight. She imagined it was the servant who had been hovering since their arrival. A few words were exchanged before he reverted to English. ‘It’s all organised. Ismail will rustle up some coffee, but, in the meantime—’ getting up, he crossed to a cabinet and she heard the clink of glass ‘—what do you say to a gin and tonic?’

‘Fine.’ It was her own voice, but shadowy and distant—a reflection, perhaps, of how she was feeling. It was as if her own fairly firm decision-making capacity had been removed. ‘But very weak, please.’ She must not let him think that she couldn’t assert herself.

‘Couldn’t be weaker.’ He handed her a glass, placed a table conveniently close and sat opposite, taking a swallow of his own drink while managing to keep his attention firmly fixed on her face. Leaning forward, he put his own glass onto the tiled table which separated the settees. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ He leaned back, his long legs stretched sideways, crossed at the ankle.

She determined to be guarded; he struck her as the kind of man to whom it might be too easy to unburden oneself. ‘That might take some time and could be extremely boring.’

‘Well—’ he grinned, teeth gleaming white against tanned skin ‘—it is Sunday, after all. We have plenty of time—and I promise not to be the least bit bored by what you say. But you don’t have to go too far back. What brings you out here to Raqat, for instance? That seems a reasonable place to begin.’

It was a safe enough starting point. ‘I’m here for just a short break. You see...’ Georgia paused to take a sip from her glass—‘I’m in fashion design.’ And minus a job at the moment, though there was no way that she was prepared to admit as much to this seemingly highly successful man. ‘I felt I was running out of steam, was in need of inspiration, and I’ve always had a hankering to see the desert so...’

Leaning forward, she placed the glass with great care on the table. There was something unnerving about such total concentration, however friendly it seemed. ‘So here I am.’

‘Ah...’ He paused while Ismail wheeled in a trolley and placed it conveniently for his employer. ‘Thanks, Ismail. It all looks very good.’

That was undeniable. The scent of the coffee and the sight of so many tiny savouries reminded Georgia that she had gone without breakfast that morning. She swallowed, accepted the strong fragrant brew when the cup was passed to her and was disinclined to argue when plates of food were offered.

‘And the Taylors?’

‘What?’ Her mouth was filled with a delicious mix of feather-light pastry, cheese and spinach, which had to be swallowed hastily. She dabbed her mouth with the napkin. ‘I’m sorry...?’ She frowned.

‘The flat you’re in. The one directly under this. It belongs to a young man who teaches locally. He and his wife have gone on leave, I understand.’

‘Oh, that... Well, that’s not a long story. His uncle is a friend of my father’s, and it was a long-distance arrangement. I offered to rent the flat for the month that the Taylors are away. So far, it seems to be working out pretty well.’

‘But I understood...’

‘What?’

‘No, I’ve obviously made a mistake. Let me fill up your cup.’

‘It’s a tiny flat, of course. Just one bedroom—not a bit like this.’ Slightly envious of so much space, she looked about her. Then she helped herself to another asparagus roll—wafer-thin bread, buttered and wrapped round stalks of steamed asparagus. ‘You must have the entire top floor to yourself. At least, I didn’t see another door on the landing.’

‘Yes.’ Nathan sat back, frowning as he stirred his coffee. ‘Yes.’ There was an edge of impatience in his voice. ‘You’re right. I have this vast flat to myself. But tell me how you came to get mixed up with the Cannings.’

‘Oh, the Cannings.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Entirely by accident, I assure you. I simply walked through the club to order a car to bring me home and he seemed to appear from nowhere. I couldn’t even remember where we had met till he reminded me. And then he persuaded me to have a drink. Oh...maybe I didn’t need such a lot of persuading. I might even have been glad of some company, I don’t know.

‘Anyway, no sooner had I put the glass to my lips than his wife appeared and practically accused me of alienating his affections; would you believe it? All in front of a hugely entertained audience. I should think,’ she said moodily, ‘everyone in Raqat will know about it by now.’

‘Well—’ he smiled ‘—you mustn’t mind them. Living in such a restricted community means that the most minor drama turns them all into theatre critics. I imagine most of them had to sit on their hands as you delivered your last line.’

‘Oh, dear.’ There was a rueful side to her laughter. ‘I wish I hadn’t. But I was, in fact, about to add something worse. I did so want to let her know that poor Grev, married or single, was safe as houses. But before I could I caught sight of his face, saw how crushed, how utterly humiliated he looked and decided to call it a day. Poor man,’ she said.

‘Yes, poor man. He has the reputation of being totally under her thumb. Whether or not she has any reason to suspect him I don’t know, but seeing her in full flow... Could anyone blame him?’

‘In fact I found it decidedly unpleasant.’ She refused to be persuaded that it had been amusing.

‘I’m sure you did. But not, I hope, to the extent that you’re wholly disillusioned by men in general, which is what you implied. Surely it wasn’t “poor Grev” who had such a profoundly adverse effect?’

‘Not him at all,’ Georgia agreed sweetly. ‘And I don’t know that I would agree that the effect was adverse.’ And, having no intention of pursuing the conversation as it was currently directed, she got to her feet, placing her crumpled napkin on her plate. ‘But now I really must go. Thank you for the help and sustenance; it was exactly what I needed.’

‘Oh, must you? What a pity—just when the conversation was set to become interesting...’ Nathan was teasing, she knew that, but she was feeling bruised and touchy.

‘I’m sorry if I bored you earlier.’

‘Did I say that?’ He was still amused.

‘You implied—’

‘Perhaps I should have used the word intriguing. It would have been much more apposite. But your conversation was interesting from the first—so interesting that I want to hear more and wonder if you could be persuaded to come out to dinner with me tonight?’

‘Oh, no.’ She replied almost before he had finished speaking, with a force that caused him to raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry.’ While determined to remain firm she grew more amenable. ‘But thank you for asking me.’ There was no way she was ready for another involvement, however innocuous.

‘Perhaps some other time.’

If he were disappointed it certainly didn’t show—amused rather, she decided with a touch of pique, which might have been why she refused to reply.

But he walked with her to the door, saw her into the lift, stepped in after her and pressed the button.

‘Really, there’s no need for you to come down with me.’ There was momentary panic as Georgia tried to understand his motive.

‘I’m not. I’ve left something in the car, I’m going down to pick it up.’ Nathan’s tone was so very dry that she had little doubt he was into mind-reading, which must be highly amusing for him.

‘Oh...’ Already the lift was stopping at her floor, so she could make her escape without further explanation, ‘Thank you again.’

But the words died on her lips as she looked across the hallway to the man, youngish and struggling with suitcases, who was trying to gain entry to her flat. ‘What on earth...?’ She strode forward. ‘Do you mind telling me exactly what you think—?’

But from just a step behind she heard Nathan Trehearn. ‘Hello, Pete.’

‘Nat.’ The stranger removed an envelope from between his teeth and grinned. ‘Good to see you again. How are things?’ But as he spoke his eyes moved curiously to Georgia, obviously wondering where she fitted in.

‘Much as usual, but...’ Nathan Trehearn. seemed at a loss—curious in a man of such confidence. ‘But I don’t know that you’re expected back so soon.’ He sent a glance to Georgia, who was trying to deny the suspicion beginning to nudge at her. ‘This...is Pete Taylor.’

Still her brain was unwilling to accept the truth. ‘You...you aren’t Lew Taylor’s nephew?’

‘Yes. But—’

‘But you aren’t due back.’ It was a clear accusation—anything to force aside the reality which she refused to admit. ‘Not for at least two more weeks.’

‘My goodness!’

He struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. ‘Don’t tell me...’ He took the envelope from the pocket where he had pushed it and glanced at the handwriting. ‘For heaven’s sake... Yes, this is from Lew and...it’s ten to one they got the dates mixed up and...’

Hastily he ripped open the envelope, frowned over the single sheet of paper, then groaned deeply as he stabbed a finger at the date at the top of the page. ‘Typical. This must have arrived just after we left for Canada. I’m so sorry.’

Pushing open the door, he gestured for Georgia and Nathan to go ahead, and he followed, dropping his various packages onto the hall floor before going into the main room of the tiny flat. ‘I don’t know quite what to suggest.’ A hand was rasped over a chin much in need of a shave. ‘I’ve been travelling for thirty-six hours and my brain isn’t functioning that well. The main problem is that Angie is due in a day or so. We split up so she could have an extra day with an elderly aunt and—’

‘Look—’ Nathan Trehearn was clearly used to taking control, even, it seemed, where he had no immediate interest ‘—above all you need to grab some sleep. Why don’t you—’ he turned to Georgia ‘—collect your things and take them upstairs while we try to think of a plan? I can ring around one or two people—’

‘But...’ Her whole inclination was to argue, to protest that she had paid four weeks’ fairly high rent for the flat, but the sight of Pete trying to keep his eyes open, trying to stifle his yawns made her understand the futility of doing so. ‘Well... I’m not sure I want to—’

‘No one wants to.’ His tone was impatient, certainly; the glitter in his eyes was saying, I don’t want to be involved in other people’s problems. ‘But it is a situation which presents certain difficulties, don’t you agree? I doubt if you’d like to spend the night here.’ He indicated the four-foot-wide settee. ‘And I’m sure Pete fancies it even less after travelling halfway round the world. So, go on...pack up your things and we’ll work something out.’

She glared. Anyone would think that she was the cause of the misunderstanding rather than its victim, but on the other hand...there was no way her five-foot-ten frame would fit into that sofa. So she had little choice but to go along with his suggestion. It was becoming a habit—one she didn’t like!

‘Oh...very well.’ She knew that she was sounding ungracious, but as she pulled shirts and dresses from hangers, folded them carelessly into cases, she simmered with quiet rage.

Going back and forward to the bathroom to pick up her toiletries, she could catch the murmur of voices, one rather dominant—well, of course—and then, her packing completed, she began to pull the largest case into the hall, only to find that that was taken out of her hands as well. And a moment later, with the sound of Pete’s apologies and the sight of his undisguised relief fresh in her mind, she and Nathan were heading back upstairs.

‘Damn. Damn. Damn.’ Inside the penthouse, Georgia could control her fury no longer, and didn’t even try. ‘That’s right. Get it off your chest. You’ve every right to be angry.’

‘You surprise me. Downstairs it seemed I was the one without rights. He was the one with all the cards though why should I be surprised?’ She was allowing her anger full rein. ‘In a country like this only men have rights. Even the car is solely for the benefit of the male!’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ His mildness was an affront. ‘I did bring you home this afternoon.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ She raked a distracted hand through her hair. ‘You came home, I...’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I just...’

‘Don’t get upset.’ Frowning, he came a step closer. ‘Don’t worry. There’s no great problem. You can stay here as long as you like.’

‘Here?’ Her eyes flew wide; she stared up and backed away. ‘But... I’ve no intention of staying here. You said you would ring round some friends.’

‘You’re right. I did have something else in mind, but on reflection... There’s masses of room; you noticed that for yourself. Why, just behind you is a self-contained suite.’

‘No, I don’t want to. Besides...how can I?’ Humiliation tore at her; twice in as many hours this man had seen her humbled. ‘I would have been better staying down there.’

‘Hardly. As you’ve already worked out for yourself, four of the lower apartments would fit into this one.’

‘I’ll try for a hotel; there must be plenty of places.’

‘Raqat isn’t Riyadh or Amman. There are only a few western-style hotels in the sheikhdom-most of them booked up in advance and very expensive.’

‘Then I’ll fly home!’ An idle threat, for it was the last thing she wanted to do.

‘That would be a pity.’ He smiled, so persuasively that Georgia was diverted and began to revise her earlier idea that Nathan wasn’t particularly good-looking. He had the most entrancing smile! The unusual eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘As well as being difficult. Flights are usually booked well in advance too.’

She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’m beginning to wonder what on earth I’m doing here, and if I’ll ever escape!’

‘As far as the first goes, you might remember it was a question I asked you earlier and which made you head for the door.’

‘Really.’ A totally inadequate reply, and, to compensate, her tone was heavy with sarcasm.

‘And secondly,’ Nathan went on, as if she hadn’t interrupted, ‘Stay. Then you might find you’ve no desire to.’ Then, taking pity on her puzzled expression, he added, ‘To escape.’

‘That I very much doubt.’

‘Well, in the meantime, why not take up my earlier proposition?’

‘Proposition?’ Georgia was twitchy, nervous as a faun.

‘I suggested we go out to dinner so you could continue your life story. I’m repeating the suggestion.’

Staring up at him suspiciously, she had to subdue an infantile inclination to giggle. ‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Right now, I’d say not much, but as far as it goes it doesn’t seem an unreasonable suggestion. Look.’ He took a step past her and opened a door which she could see led into another hallway, and she followed him into a spacious bedroom, infinitely more glamorous than the one she had been using downstairs. ‘You can use this—bathroom over there, by the way—for...well, as long as you care to stay.’

‘As long as that, eh? You sound just like the devil: tempting.’

‘No strings.’ Again grinning, he opened his hands.

‘All right. Thank you.’

‘Good’ Then he became businesslike, went out, and returned with her cases, which he slung onto the rack in the hallway. ‘If you want any help, ring this—’ he indicated a bell pull ‘—and Enna, Ismail’s wife will come. In the meantime I’m sure you’d like some tea. I’ll get her to bring some for you.’

‘Thank you.’ All at once she was exhausted, had lost any inclination to struggle against her immediate fate. Her sole concern now was to lie down on one of the beds and to sleep.

‘We’ll leave here about nine if that suits you and...’ his hesitation was momentary ‘...I’ll have a proposal to put to you.’

Nathan was gone before the last words registered. Georgia swung round as the door closed quietly, but lacked the energy to pursue him for clarification. Instead, she looked about the room—at the two double beds covered in pale grey brocade, the marble floors, veined in palest pink, with that same colour hinted at in the diaphanous hangings at the windows, and the mirrored cupboards covering one wall and adding to the impression of space. There were touches of pink in the lamps too, and in the chaise longue covered in silk. She sighed, partly in pleasure, then went forward and sank onto the stool in front of the dressing table.

The day had been endless. Given the fact that she’d woken up still suffering the vague aftermath of that tummy bug—now thankfully gone—followed by the fiasco at the club and then the indignity of losing her accommodation, she would hardly have been surprised to find that she had aged ten years, but, on the contrary, a critical glance in the mirror confirmed that she looked remarkably unchanged.

She laid the back of her hand against her cheek, smoothing the firm skin to which the climate had given a peachy glow. It seemed to enhance her green eyes and bring highlights to the dark blonde hair.

Again she sighed, this time from sheer dejection. To think that she had come all this way to try to get her life back in order and here she was apparently having exchanged one set of problems for another.

Raising her arms, she lifted the amber beads over her head and dropped them onto the dressing table. Another sideways look in the mirror confirmed that her cotton lawn dress still looked fairly fresh, even if it felt a little damp. The softly gathered lines suited her tall, slender figure and...yes, she was still recognisable as the elegant Miss Georgia, who had been assistant designer to the well-known Jordan Severs. And—the unwelcome thought almost brought tears to her eyes-very nearly his lover.

If it hadn’t been for the chance telephone call which had revealed the presence of his wife and family, she would at this very moment have been sharing a bed with him on some romantic hideaway Caribbean island, and...

A tap at the door made her reach for the just-discarded dress and hold it protectively in front of her, then she sighed in relief as she saw the maid skimming across the floor with the tea-tray. She thanked the woman, who returned her smile shyly and left the room while Georgia reached eagerly for the teapot.

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered, she lay drowsing on the oh, so comfortable bed, until a thought flashed disturbingly into her mind—one startling enough to take her into a semi-sitting position, supported on her elbows and staring into the mid-distance. Then, after a moment’s frowning contemplation, she subsided, a faint smile on her mouth.

A proposition to put to her. Was that what Nathan Trehearn had said? Or had it been a proposal? Well, he would soon see that she was expert at deflecting propositions; she had weakened only once, and that experience with Jordan had honed her skill to razor sharpness. So, unless his idea had something in it for her, he would find that he was wasting his time.

She snuggled down, her cheek burrowing into the cool softness of the pillow, and no longer tried to fight the waves of delicious drowsiness washing over her. A ‘proposal’—that had been the word, but she was fairly certain marriage was the last thing he had in mind. She smiled to herself at the very notion. And that was just as well, for she had no interest in any sort of commitment permanent or temporary; Jordan had cured her of any inclination in that direction for a very long time.

That said, the two men could hardly be more different—Jordan, with his shoulder-length mane of almost white hair, and this other, so very crisp and clean and conventional. Nathan’s very difference implied a certain degree of safety, so long as the present situation continued.

Yes, that was a reassuring thought. Georgia wriggled slightly in the supreme comfort of the large bed. Until now, she had always enjoyed the company of the slightly Bohemian type of which Jordan was a striking example. She was certain that his flamboyant temperament had had a deal to do with the immediate attraction she had felt. Much of it, as she had already guessed, was sheer affectation, but it had without doubt added to the aura of glamour with which he surrounded himself.

In fact, now that she was out of it she could assess things so much more dispassionately. His habit of surrounding himself with tall, good-looking young women contributed to the public man, whereas Nat Trehearn.. it was impossible to imagine him descending to such theatrical tricks. She smiled to herself at the very idea.

But it was strange—her eyes flicked open for a moment—she didn’t even know what he did for a living. Strange, strange and passing strange... Here she was, in this house, alone with the man except for a pair of Arab servants—a man whom she had met just a few hours earlier. And the only thing she knew about him was his name.

Slowly, gently, her eyelids drooped, her breathing lengthened and she slept.

CHAPTER TWO

GETTING ready later in the evening, Georgia abandoned reticence, for some inexplicable reason chose to wear one of her more original outfits—the wide trousers which might, until she moved, have been a skirt.

Sheer silk organza, they drifted about her, giving tantalising glimpses of long, slender legs. Their colour—deep sea-green, a shade or two darker than her eyes—was one that she found irresistible, especially when scattered with cream polka dots. The tunic top, in the same silk but without the spots, had tiny puff sleeves with rich cream embroidery outlining the plain round neck.

It was all perfectly modest and restrained, but at the same time, standing in front of the long mirrors, she felt a qualm as she recognised the extremely potent image that she was seeing. It was as if—and this could not have been further from the truth—she were going out on a proper date, with a man she wanted to attract, for heaven’s sake.

Perhaps if she had taken less care with her make-up...only someone who knew nothing about it would imagine that it was casual and understated—that was exactly where the skill lay. Her eyes were emphasised with grey-green shadow, long, carefully curled lashes gave a romantic, luminous look, blusher merely touched the high cheekbones, and lips were barely brushed with a soft sheen.

But possibly it was hair which made the most positive statement, for, after washing it and treating it to an extravagant amount of conditioner, she had decided, after much trial and error, on a plait, which now hung over one shoulder and for some reason looked devastating. Hard to explain why. Was it the contrast between the sophistication of her outfit and the schoolgirl hairdo which gave it such appeal? Perhaps.

Perfume. Of course. She had always loved it. Turning, she picked up the bottle from the dressing table but, as she pressed the atomiser quite suddenly she panicked. This was all wrong; she wasn’t going out on a romantic date, and it was certainly the last message she wanted to send out to a man who had simply taken pity on her.

Perhaps the wisest thing would be a quick change into a simple skirt and blouse—but no... someone was at the bedroom door. Her heart started to hammer, but it was Enna with the message, ‘Master is waiting.’

‘Thank you, Enna.’ So what if she looked good? she thought. She slipped her feet into high-heeled mules, picked up her handbag and did a final check in the glass. She had always—at least, mostly—dressed to please Georgia Maitland, and this was not the moment to change the habits of a lifetime. She smiled rather grimly at her reflection and went to join ‘master’ in the hall.

And there was little doubt that Nathan, handsome or not—she still reserved judgement on that—was the kind of man who would attract attention. It had a great deal to do with his height, plus his width of shoulder. Men of his shape—powerful, slim-hipped—always pleased aesthetically, and there were other aspects that she could also approve. He was wearing dark trousers, white shirt, a tie in maroon with blue stripes and, over his shoulder, hooked on one forefinger, a lightweight dark jacket. Impeccable and...surprisingly attractive.

But was her appreciation of the more conventional style simply a reflection of her anger with Jordan...? A faint whiff of some masculine cologne distracted her and found an echo in his first remark.

‘Ah, you smell nice.’

‘Thank you.’ Not a word about her appearance. Not that she’d looked for any—didn’t want it, for heaven’s sake.

There was no conversation as they dropped to ground lift in the lift, but she was very aware of him—aware in the curious little prickle at the nape of her neck, in the slightly increased beat of her pulse. And there was little conversation in the car as they negotiated busy streets, then turned into a quieter area, through old narrow lanes which criss-crossed the ancient city, driving at last through an elaborate arched gateway, along a drive and into what appeared to have been the garden of a villa which now was a smart restaurant with tables and chairs set out under a canopy of vines and fragrant climbing plants.

‘How wonderful.’ She looked round with appreciation as Nathan held open the car door for her to step outside.

‘I thought you would like it. There’s quite a large garden. Let me show you round before we eat.’

Again his hand was on her elbow, guiding her along the path which meandered through a small shrubbery into a formal walled garden with a large fountain spilling water into a lily pond. Here, when she sat on the edge and trailed her fingers in the cool water, a brilliantly coloured fish came up and nibbled her fingers in its search for titbits.

‘Ouch.’ She smiled. ‘I came here to eat, not to be eaten.’

‘They always live in hope, but feeding the fish is not encouraged; it shortens their lives if they’re overfed. But I can see you’re feeling hungry so...’ They were walking round the side of the large, elegant villa; through open windows they could see diners inside. There was an air of wealth and opulence which Georgia supposed was a reflection of the recently arrived oil riches. ‘This is the main restaurant, as you can see, but if you prefer we can eat outside in the garden...’

‘Oh, outside! Please!’ Her appealing upward glance failed to register his changed expression, missed the way his eyes lingered on her animated features as she looked around. ‘Please,’ she repeated, this time smiling up at him, and was gratified by a slow smile in response.

‘Of course.’ His hand touched her elbow as they followed the waiter. ‘It’s what I prefer myself.’

‘Mmm. Perfect.’ She put her handbag onto the table and took the chair offered by the waiter, while her companion sat opposite. ‘How can anyone bear to be inside on a night like this and in such a setting?’

‘I prefer it to the more westernised places, though there have been lots of those since the oil came. But here you at least get the impression of reaching out to the old Raqat, brushing against the ancient culture.’ Menus appeared and he waited a moment while she opened hers. ‘I hope you’re hungry. Portions tend to be on the generous side.’

‘I’m starving.’ She forgot to be inhibited. ‘It’s the first time since I arrived. I picked up some bug on the flight out and I just haven’t felt like eating.’ Realising what she was saying, she felt embarrassed, coloured up and flicked a glance at him to see if he had noticed, and of course he had. An amused eyebrow was raised.

‘Ah?’ A short sound could speak volumes.

‘It was nothing much really, but I was afraid to risk anything much beyond an omelette.’

‘I’m glad you’re past that stage now. Maybe best to avoid anything too spicy, though. Couscous can be very easy to eat and comforting. A Scotsman I know says it has the same beneficial effects as porridge. And some of the lamb dishes are very good.’

‘Then I shall trust you to choose for me, Mr...’ She paused, feeling foolish that in these informal times she hadn’t got round to using his name directly. ‘Help!’ Best to make a joke of it. ‘I don’t know what I should call you.’

Because he was busy with the waiter he made no immediate reply, but when they were alone again his eyes sparkled. ‘For my part, I’ve no intention of calling you anything but Georgia. And my friends call me Nat.’

‘Nat,’ she repeated reflectively. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known a Nat before. Well, thank you for bringing me; it’s a magical place.’ She sat back in the chair, turning her face up so that she could see through the trellis to the sky. ‘Why—why is the sky so different here? Millions of stars on a backdrop of black velvet.’

‘That’s why you came, isn’t it? You were curious about the desert.’

‘Yes, of course. At least, one of the reasons...’ her voice faded.

‘And the others?’ Nat looked up to nod at the waiter who had filled their glasses, then looked enquiringly at her when the man had withdrawn.

‘Don’t let us bother about that.’ Adopting her most consciously seductive smile, Georgia leaned her elbows on the table and took the glass to her mouth. ‘Mmm, delicious. I’m sure it would be much more interesting, even intriguing to know what you’re doing here.’

‘That—’ his eyes were intent on hers as he leaned forward, his manner relaxed and amused ‘—I contradict completely. But... I’m quite happy to tell you anything you want to know.’

‘Just what I said.’

‘Ah. Just that?’ His tone implied disappointment. ‘Then, by profession I’m a marine biologist, and by chance, when we were both at Cambridge, I got to know the present Sheikh of Raqat. He’s a very liberal, westernised ruler, in spite of your comments which suggest otherwise.’

‘Women drivers?’ she queried, eyes wide with assumed innocence.

‘Of course, he has to move slowly—religious attitudes are deeply ingrained. And I suggest—merely suggest—that many western men might have some sympathy—’

‘Don’t say it!’

‘All right.’ Now he was grinning. ‘Provided you don’t wave the feminist flag too wildly. It’s neither the time nor the place.’

‘It’s not exactly wild to want to drive yourself in your own car!’ With an effort she damped down her excitement, which was more than likely the effect of the alcohol on her brain... ‘But please carry on.’

‘Thank you.’ Grey eyes glittering with laughter seemed to add to her exhilaration; there was a challenging encouragement in them which she must ignore. ‘As I was saying, a liberal regime operates here, and has done since oil was discovered.

‘You probably know it is a fairly limited field so far; it won’t make the sheikhdom enormously rich, but it will make a difference to the people. You can see the benefits even now. But the Sheikh is desperately anxious that the wildlife, especially the marine life in the Red Sea, should not be harmed. So, he contacted me. I took a two-year break from teaching at Princeton to come out here and draw up a plan, give some guidance on a long-term strategy. As I told you, I’m three-quarters through the project now.’

‘Oh.’ Georgia hadn’t come close to identifying Nathan’s profession, hadn’t once thought of him as an academic. ‘It must be fascinating.’

‘And exciting,’ he added, and she noticed how his manner had changed from slightly laid back to animated. ‘I’ve done a lot of diving but I’ve never seen a reef with such a variety, such an exciting range of life as the one just to the south of the port. Not even the Australian reefs can compare, and it would be a global tragedy if that breathtaking world should be damaged.’ He paused. ‘Have you done any diving?’

‘A little.’ The words were out before she thought to monitor them. She had no wish to let him know that she had belonged to a college subaqua team—mainly due to the presence of the man she had been dating then. ‘But, it was a long time ago, and I’ve lost—’

‘You can’t lose the ability; it’s like riding a bike. Besides, it can’t be that long ago.’ By now the food had arrived, and she began to fork up the grainy couscous. ‘You’re not old enough.’

‘Quite old enough.’ Georgia had always mistrusted insincere compliments and it was time to change the subject. ‘Mmm, this is delicious.’

‘I’ve always liked it. Some of the food is not for the faint-hearted but you can graduate to that in due course. Now you can tell me your real reason for coming to Raqat. The bit about the desert and stars won’t wash.’

What point was there in being coy? she thought. Besides, it might not hurt to talk about it. ‘The reason, which I’m sure you’ve guessed, is that I made a complete fool of myself over a man.’

Nat’s hand came out, covered hers fleetingly, not giving her time to shrug him off, but it would have been mere pretence to deny the comfort that she found in his gesture. ‘That, Georgia, I find hard to believe. Unless he—’

‘True, nevertheless,’ she cut in before he could say more, then she applied herself to her food.

‘I think there must be much more to it, but I shan’t probe further.’

‘There isn’t a lot to say about it, simply that I realised in time what was happening and got out as quickly as I could, but...’ With her fork she traced some spirals on the couscous while she struggled with the painful memories.

‘But?’ he prompted, cutting through her musings, giving her the strength to shrug and smile. She even felt and enjoyed the movement of her silk tunic against her skin as she did so—such an...arousing experience...

‘It was just unfortunate that he happened to be my employer.’

‘I can see that might make life awkward’

‘It did.’ There was a certain defence in turning disaster into a joke. ‘I lost the job-and the man, which made it doubly annoying.’ She raised her glass and sipped. ‘And now that incident in the club this afternoon.’

‘You were simply unlucky.’ Both his expression and voice were contemplative. ‘I’m sure if Grev had been talking to any female, sixteen to sixty, his wife’s reactions would scarcely have varied.’

‘That, I promise you, doesn’t make the memory of it any more pleasant.’

‘Of course it doesn’t. But, just think, there are large numbers of unattached men here in the sheikhdom.’

‘Yes?’ It was difficult to see where the conversation was going.

‘Yes.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table; he was frowning slightly—whether at her or at the glass he was holding she couldn’t decide. ‘And you, I hazard a guess, are sure to attract a good deal of attention. Of the Canning variety.’

‘So...?’ She was frowning, disconcerted more by the way his eyes were fixed unswervingly on hers now than by his words, which were casually spoken. ‘I think I can deal with anything like that.’

‘I believe you—especially after seeing how you dealt with Myra Canning! But...wouldn’t life be easier for you if footloose males were to imagine... well, to put it bluntly, if they thought you were in a regular relationship?’

‘Maybe it would be—’ she didn’t like the direction this discussion was going ‘—if I were, but... I’m not.’

‘I know that.’ Nat sighed as if she were being singularly obtuse. ‘You know that, but no one else needs to.’

‘You mean...?’ The idea was so ridiculous that Georgia laughed. ‘You mean that you and I should...? But we don’t even know each other; I hadn’t even seen you until today.’

‘Does that matter? Besides, I had seen you several times, even if you had refused to see me.’

‘Well, perhaps I did just catch a glimpse of you once...’

‘I’m grateful for that.’

‘I’m sorry.’ To her own surprise she giggled. ‘But when you’re trying to get over a broken heart—’ heavens, was she really making a spontaneous joke about it? ‘—and trying to throw off a stomach upset...’

‘Well, you’re over that, judging by how much you’ve eaten.’ Her hissed protest made him grin but he carried on. ‘But, as for the broken heart, it might help divert your thoughts to perpetrate a con trick on the ex-pat community here. Besides, imagine how Myra Canning would feel if she thought she had put her foot in it so completely.’

‘Well, that might give me a certain amount of unkind pleasure but...’ Georgia’s mind was churning with the effort of trying to balance so many conflicting ideas. ‘But...’ and this was the nub of the matter ‘...I can’t see—what is in it for you. You’re not, I imagine, so much into philanthropy that you’d risk damaging your reputation to help me out—someone you barely know.’

‘Reputation? Well, I doubt if it’s worth saving, but...of course you’re right. I do have an interest, rather along the lines of your own in fact; there’s someone I want to—how can I put this?—some-one I would prefer to discourage.’

‘Oh, of course.’ It was an irresistible opportunity for sarcasm. ‘Men are always being pursued against their inclinations.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ He. was amused rather than irritated—that was made clear when he leaned across and touched the tip of her nose with a reproving finger. ‘But surely you realise there are times when a man as much as a woman has to deal with unwelcome advances? What I’m suggesting could be the easiest way of going about it. Anyway, that is the proposal. So, what do you say?’

‘Well, I suppose...’ There was her accommodation to think of; even if an alternative were available she would never be able to afford it. ‘It would only be for just two more weeks—’

‘Not necessarily,’ Nat intervened swiftly. ‘It can be for as long as you choose to stay.’

‘I think—’ hurriedly Georgia made up her mind ‘—it’s a silly idea. I don’t for a moment believe I’ll be propositioned by anyone.’

‘You don’t?’ The assessing eyes scanned what he could see of her above the table. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Especially if you go about dressed like that.’

‘What’s wrong with this?’ It was close to a wail.

‘I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. Rather the reverse. What I was saying was if you go about dressed like that every frustrated male in the territory, and quite a few of the others, will be homing in on you.’

‘Oh.’ She smiled, blushed, pleased in spite of her normal scepticism with the implied compliment. ‘But I wore this specially to...’

‘Yes?’ Nat was laughing. ‘You wore it specially to what?’

‘Oh...’ She shrugged, wondering how she had embarked on this particular conversation.

‘You do realise—’ he leaned across the table ‘—that lots of men are turned on by—by that particular look?’

‘What?’ She frowned, the darkly etched eyebrows coming together in a look of concentration. ‘I’ve no idea...’

‘This.’ He tweaked the end of her plait. ‘A lot of men find the schoolgirl look irresistible.’ The corners of his mouth twitched.

Avoiding Nat’s eyes, she raised her glass and stared at it. ‘I’ve always thought that some men have the weirdest hang-ups.’

‘Well—’ his voice trembled with suppressed amusement ‘—don’t say you weren’t warned. Anyway, you began to say something; I’m afraid I distracted you. You wore your present outfit specially to...to what?’

‘Oh.’ She felt the colour begin to rise again. ‘I suppose to give me courage, to soothe my battered ego.’ She gave a self-deprecatory shrug. ‘You see, when you told me you had a proposal I... I had no idea what you had in mind and... I decided the best thing I could do was to bring out the big guns.’

‘I’m very glad you did.’ Though he was no longer smiling, there was a warmth about him, a generosity that raised her pulses very slightly. ‘So glad,’ he went on softly, ‘that it seems almost a pity...’

‘What?’ After a moment Georgia found her voice, which was not easy when his eyes were so compelling, almost mesmeric-but surely that had a lot to do with the reflection of so many flickering candles. ‘What seems a pity?’ Still she sounded breathy and unfamiliar, as if she had just competed in a hundred-yard dash.

After a seemingly endless pause he answered, and there was something slightly forced about his grin. ‘A pity not to show it off a bit more than you’ve done so far, so why don’t we...after we’ve finished eating...go on to the club? They usually have dancing about this time, so why not embark on the great deception?’

It was strange that his explanation should be such a disappointment. She tried to view the situation with detachment, curious that she was so instantly aware that a rising sense of excitement had to be damped down and... Her eyes searched his face as if trying to discern some flaw. ‘You mean—?’

‘I mean,’ he interrupted, laughing, ‘just what I said. Why don’t we finish the evening by dropping into the club on the way home? It will give them all a lot to think about.’

‘But what if we see Grev there, maybe even his wife?’ It was almost a wail.

‘So? You’re going to bump into them sooner rather than later, in fact I shall be disappointed if they aren’t there.’

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