Sara Craven - Temple Of The Moon

‘Come now, Miss Christow. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that Merida is also known as Little Venice—among other things?’ he added with a sardonic curl of his lips.

‘No, they didn’t, Mr Lennox.’ She kept her voice cool. ‘That’s why I’m wearing sandals—not waders.’

Again she had to endure that look of total assessment that seemed to reach her shrinking skin.

‘I’m sure your job requires that you get your facts straight,’ he drawled. ‘It’s Dr Lennox, not Mr. And there’s no need to paddle, as long as you’re prepared to forgo your liberated woman’s principles yet again.’

He placed her camera case in the back of the jeep and before she could speak or move, reached for her in turn. He lifted her as easily as if she had been a doll, her legs dangling helplessly as she was held for an endless, unbearable moment against his hard muscular body, then with almost insolent ease he deposited her none too gently in the passenger seat. Gabrielle sat up, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair with hands that shook in spite of her efforts to control them, while he strode round to the other side of the jeep and swung himself into the driving seat.

He grinned at her, as he switched on the ignition.

‘We get more than our feet wet in the rain forest, Miss Christow,’ he said laconically. ‘Count yourself lucky to be out of it.’

‘We’ll see about that, Dr Lennox.’ Her tone held a restrained fury that could not have been lost on him. A moment’s pause and she added, ‘Male chauvinist pig isn’t a phrase I ever thought I would use, but in your case I have to make an exception.’

‘Well, don’t feel badly about it, Miss Christow.’ The jeep set off with a perceptible jerk and Gabrielle realised that her jibe had actually got to him. ‘There’s bound to be a female equivalent and I should have no hesitation in using it about you—if you’re around that long.’

And there was no answer to that, Gabrielle thought with a sinking heart.

IT was a relatively short drive to the Institute headquarters, but it seemed longer to Gabrielle. The silence between them seemed to crackle, but neither she nor her companion made the slightest attempt to relieve the tension by introducing some casual topic of conversation.

There was plenty she would have liked to have asked him, especially when she caught a glimpse down a side street of the huge pale lemon mass of the sixteenth-century cathedral. It was infuriating to think she had been kicking her heels in the hotel waiting for the Institute to contact her, and now that she did have a chance to do some sightseeing, it was being spoiled for her like this.

It was hard to maintain her reserve when they swung into a wide, busy boulevard lined on each side by big houses, most of which had the unmistakable appearance of having seen better days, and built in a crazy jumble of varying architectural styles. Gabrielle’s hands itched for her camera. She found all this forlorn grandeur intensely appealing, but the jeep sped on and she had to be content with promising herself a return visit on her own before she left Merida.

They turned off presently into a narrower thoroughfare, where the exotic topiary hedges gave way to high white walls, interspersed with anonymous wooden gates, and it was outside one of these that the jeep eventually drew up. The drainage must be better in some parts of the city than others, Gabrielle thought, as she noticed that the narrow pavement on which she was about to descend seemed to have escaped the recent flooding.

Dr Lennox had already reached into the back of the jeep and recovered her camera case. Now he stood unsmilingly, holding it while he extended his other hand to help her out of the jeep. Perversely, she ignored his proffered assistance and climbed down unaided, uncomfortably aware as she did so that the manoeuvre had revealed more of her slim legs than she had intended. But if she had expected some pointed comment, none was forthcoming. He merely unlatched the gate and stood aside to allow her to precede him.

The courtyard they entered was surrounded on three sides by an attractive two-storey building in white stucco. A covered verandah ran the length of the ground floor and was echoed by a series of connecting balconies on the upper floor. A fountain played lazily in the centre of the tiled yard and brilliant blossoms flowered in tubs or swarmed in heady splendour over the columns of the verandah.

Gabrielle drew an appreciative breath, but her companion seemed oblivious to the charm of their surroundings and showed no disposition to linger. He strode across the yard and up the steps to a pair of imposing louvred doors set in the middle of the verandah facing them. Gabrielle followed him, aware of a sudden pounding in her chest, and damp palms which owed nothing to the prevailing humidity.

She found herself in a large entrance hall, looking across the exquisitely blocked parquet floor to where a graceful staircase with a wrought iron balustrade swept up in a leisurely curve to the floor above. There were several doors in the hall, all forbiddingly shut, but from behind one of them came the sound of typewriters. Dr Lennox walked to this door and threw it open with an impatient twist of the elaborate handle.

It was a large room, giving an impression of space in spite of the efficient desks, filing cabinets and small switchboard it contained.

Two girls were busy typing while a third seemed occupied with a mass of official-looking forms, but she looked up with a smile at the newcomers, her gaze lingering questioningly on Gabrielle.

‘ Esta es la señorita Christow,’ Dr Lennox remarked, apparently to the room at large. He indicated the camera case he was carrying. ‘Isabella, could you find a safe place for this, por favor ?’