Sally Wentworth - Duel In The Sun

The operator didn’t, but eventually found someone who did. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Can you give me the number of a taxi company? I need a taxi.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Near Luxor.’

‘Dial this number.’ The operator read out a list of digits which Catriona hastily wrote down.

Again she had to wait while someone who spoke English was found, then she asked for a taxi to take her to Mem Habu. ‘Where do you wish to be picked up?’

‘At the house of Omar Rafiq. It’s called the Garden of the Nile.’

‘What district?’

‘I don’t know the district. Can’t you look the address up in the phone book?’

‘How can we come if we do not know the address?’

‘Please try,’ Catriona begged. ‘It is most important. An emergency. I must have a taxi.’

‘We will try,’ the voice conceded, then the line went dead.

Catriona put the phone down with a sigh of relief. At last she was getting somewhere. She had no idea how long it would take the taxi to get here, but she went immediately to her room and repacked all her things, but was afraid to take them downstairs in case Rafiq saw them and guessed what she was doing.

At one, Nadia came to take her to lunch and she thought it best to go, to allay any suspicions Rafiq might have. But he wasn’t there; only Mrs Aziz and the children were waiting in a small dining room. Throughout the meal, while she was trying to talk to the children, Catriona listened for the sound of the doorbell, ready to rush out and grab the taxi, make him wait while she collected her things. But the bell didn’t ring. She tried to find out the exact address of the house, but Mrs Aziz had evidently been ordered not to tell her, and stopped Nadia from doing so.

The meal ended and the children went to their rooms for a siesta. Catriona went down to the entrance hall and sat down in one of the Italian chairs to wait for the taxi, no longer caring whether Rafiq saw her or not.

She waited all afternoon but still it didn’t come.

Around four-thirty Omar Rafiq came into the hall and stood in front of her. He looked amused. ‘There is no point in waiting any longer, Miss Fenton. I rang the taxi company immediately after you had made the call and told them that you had made a mistake.’

‘You mean you listened to my call?’

He smiled unpleasantly. ‘Of course. I told them that you were ill—with sunstroke, and that they were to ignore you if you made any more calls.’

Catriona had expected as much for the last two hours. She got to her feet, her eyes bitter. ‘Are you aware of the penalty for kidnapping—because that’s what this is?’

Rafiq laughed contemptuously. ‘Nonsense, Miss Fenton. I am only trying to persuade you to accept the post I am offering you.’

‘Not persuade—coerce,’ she corrected him.

He gave a small smile. ‘You have proved my point; your command of English is excellent.’

‘So is yours. Why don’t you teach your children yourself?’

‘Unfortunately I do not have the time. My business is in Cairo. I come here for only a few days at a time.’

Deciding to have one more go at persuasion, Catriona said, ‘Look, Mr Rafiq, I’m sorry your English tutor didn’t turn up, but maybe I’ll be able to help you; I have several friends in England who might be interested in this job. If you like I could phone them and—’

‘But I want you to teach them, so there is no point,’ he interrupted impatiently. Then, using moral blackmail, he said, ‘Don’t you like my daughters?’

‘Yes, of course, but—’

‘Don’t you like this house? Is your room not comfortable?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Aren’t the wages I am offering you more than those you would earn at the excavation?’

Fearing another interruption, Catriona said firmly, ‘Money isn’t of the first concern. The job at the site would be a great help in my career; teaching your children wouldn’t.’

‘Your career? Of what importance will that be when you marry?’

‘I’m not about to get married.’

‘You will in time. All girls get married,’ he said sweepingly. Catriona gave a gasp of astonishment; the man was still in the Dark Ages! ‘So, Miss Fenton,’ he repeated, ‘I insist that you stay.’

‘No!’

‘But you have no choice, do you?’

‘This is—this is white slavery!’ Catriona exclaimed furiously.

That made him laugh, which made her feel slightly ridiculous, but then even more angry at her own helplessness. Suddenly Rafiq seemed to become bored by the whole thing. ‘Why do you not play with the children?’ he said impatiently, but it was in the tone of an order, not a suggestion.

Having nothing else to do, Catriona went to find the girls. OK, she thought, I’ll wait till it’s dark and everyone’s asleep, then I’ll sneak out and walk to the nearest town and get a taxi from there. She took the children to the pool and, in order to safeguard them while they played in the water, had to put on a swimsuit and go in herself. It was OK until Rafiq arrived, but she didn’t much like the idea of having on only a swimsuit with him around. When he took off his robe, obviously intending to join them in the water, Catriona quickly got out and wrapped a large towel round her waist, sarong-style.

Rafiq dived in and swam a few lengths in a strong crawl, then came to play with the girls. That he adored his daughters was plain enough; he was great with them, pretending to chase them until they shrieked, but very gentle when he caught them. Catriona couldn’t help but smile, but she caught him looking at her and remembered that the games he played with little girls could be quite different to those he played with big girls. She wondered what had happened to the children’s mother, but maybe she was still in Cairo, awaiting her husband’s return.

Mrs Aziz came to take the children away and Catriona went to go with them, but Rafiq, standing at the pool’s edge, water trickling down his body, caught her arm and said, ‘You will dine with me tonight.’ And it wasn’t an invitation.

She looked at him, wary, and becoming very apprehensive. No way was she going to spend another night in this house. Catriona decided to try to sneak out before dinner. But it would be better not to let him suspect, so she merely said, ‘OK. Where’s the dining room?’

‘I will show you.’ He put on a robe, led her into the main entrance hall, and pointed to a door opening off it. ‘At eight-thirty,’ he told her.

Catriona nodded and walked up the stairs to go to her room. Rafiq stood in the hall watching her go, his thick white robe hanging open.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside and then the front door was pushed open, so violently that it went crashing back on its hinges. A man strode into the hall. A fair-haired European. Tall, broad-shouldered and with arrogant self-assurance. Seeing Rafiq, he came to a stop and put his fists on his hips. A sardonic smile came to the man’s lips and he said, ‘Hello, Omar. I hear you’ve kidnapped my new textile expert!’

CATRIONA stood on the stairs, frozen with astonishment. Then a great feeling of relief filled her and she went to run down to the hall, but then stopped; Rafiq hadn’t been so taken aback and had moved forward to face the intruder.

‘Good evening, Dr Kane,’ Rafiq said smoothly, apparently in no way put out. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

So this was Lucas Kane. Catriona stood still, hidden from Kane’s sight by a bend in the stairs, but able to watch the two men as they confronted each other. Rafiq had an inborn hauteur that had probably grown through a hundred generations, but Kane had the self-confidence of a man who had carved out his own success in life. Physically Kane was much the taller of the two, a couple of inches over six feet, Catriona guessed, and where Rafiq was dark-haired and -skinned, he was fair, although he had a deep-golden tan that could only have come from long hours spent in the sun. Both men could have been called good-looking, but in entirely different ways; Rafiq’s features were soft and would one day be full, but Kane’s face would never be anything but lean, almost hawk-like. The Egyptian’s eyes were dark and long-lashed, those of Kane an intense slate grey.