Sally Wentworth - Duel In The Sun

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.’