Sally Wentworth - Duel In The Sun

‘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.’