Dark Oasis

‘Stories?’ she had squeaked nervously, but the elderly man had not allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion about such an illustrious personage, parrying her questions adroitly until she had to give up gracefully. He had told her Gerard’s parents had died many years before, that his sister was engaged to be married to a French Moroccan of impeccable breeding, and that if she accepted Gerard’s invitation, which the doctor made clear he thought was an extremely generous and benevolent one, she would be treated with great respect and care as befitted the guest of such an important man. The phone call from Colette had clinched her indecision. Gerard’s sister had sounded so bubbly and natural and genuinely concerned about her misfortune and anxious to help. It had all seemed cut and dried...until she had seen him again. Then all the doubts and fears returned with renewed vigour.

‘You do not like me much, little one, do you?’ It was a statement, not a question, and after one darting glance at the harsh profile she decided silence was definitely the best policy. There was nothing she could say, after all. She didn’t like him; in fact everything about him grated on her like barbed wire even though she kept telling herself it was the height of ingratitude when he had been so kind. His height, the powerful masculine body, his arrogance and total domination of everything and everyone around him... It bothered her. Bothered her and frightened her and—She shut off her thoughts abruptly. She didn’t trust him. Not an inch. She didn’t know why and probably there was no foundation for how she felt, but it was a fact.

She glanced again at his face and saw that the hard mouth was curved in a cynical, mocking smile. And that grated too.

‘I will be interested to find out who you are, my sharp-clawed kitten,’ he said softly after a few miles had passed in complete silence, the atmosphere tense and taut. ‘I like honesty in people, men and women, and you are not short of that commodity.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ She heard the thread of amusement in the dark seductive voice, and bit her lip tightly. ‘I am clearly the lesser of two very real evils and it is a long time since I have been cast in such a role, especially by a woman.’ The glittering gold eyes moved swiftly over her wary face before returning to the road. ‘Especially such a beautiful woman.’

‘You said you didn’t find me attractive,’ she retorted quickly in surprise before she had time to consider her words.

‘I lied.’ The deep voice was quite unrepentent.

As her stomach turned over in one flying leap she hunted for something to say, a casual remark that would defuse the sudden tension, but couldn’t think of a thing, and as the miles continued to be eaten up by the beautiful car she forced herself to relax and concentrate on the changing scene outside the car window. And it was fascinating. Varied as Morocco was in its geography and climate, ranging from dry, gravelly plains extending for hundreds of miles and bleak shifting sand-dunes to rich tablelands in the Middle Atlas Mountains that furnished grazing for sheep and goats, the higher slopes covered in oak, cedar and pine and rich in ski resorts for the wealthy where rocky springs, lakes and ponds abounded as well as streams well stocked with trout, still nothing could be more varied than the spectrum of people who inhabited the land.

Every town and city had its Moroccan and European businessmen in traditional European dress side by side with Berbers and Arabs in flowing robes and wide, loose hoods, the women veiled and dressed in sober grey and black. And the transport... As Kit stared out of the window, the odd sumptuous car rode alongside decrepit taxis, wicked-eyed camels, horses, donkeys, bikes and every other mode of transport known to man. The buildings were piercingly white, Moorish architecture showing its grace and beauty in sunlit streets lined with orange trees... She sank back against the upholstered seat with a small sigh, her senses sated. She couldn’t live here; she must be on holiday—it was all too new and exciting. Holiday? But she’d left because of an argument, a ring...? She glanced down at her ringless hands and her brow wrinkled and that sick feeling of dread reared its head, before both the image and emotion faded as quickly as they had come.

‘What is it?’ She suddenly realised Gerard had been talking to her and she hadn’t heard a word, and now saw they had left the confines of the town and were out on the boundary road. ‘You have remembered something?’

‘Not really.’ She rubbed a damp hand over her brow as she shut her eyes for a brief moment. ‘It was gone before I could make sense of it. I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘I wondered if you had ever seen goats climbing trees before,’ he said drily. ‘Over there, look.’ As he brought the car to a standstill she peered where he was pointing, and saw a host of argan trees, their low spreading limbs covered with green leaves and small fruits that looked like olives, and then as her eyes rose upwards she was amazed to see several goats high in the branches nibbling away at the leaves and fruit, one or two of the sure-footed little creatures having ventured far out on the branches as they stretched for the tenderest morsels.

‘They really are goats!’ she breathed in surprise, her eyes stretched wide.

Gerard laughed softly, delighted with her astonishment. ‘These trees are not found anywhere else in the world,’ he said quietly as he started the engine again after several long minutes, ‘and the goats adore the fruit. The seeds you see on the ground there—’ he pointed to the mass of fruit seeds scattered under the trees ‘—are gathered up and washed and cracked and from the inner nut is drawn a fragrant oil used for cooking. Not that the goats care about that, of course.’ He eyed her lazily before drawing on to the dusty road again.

The little incident had broken the tension for a time, but the very nearness of that big masculine body in the close confines of the car made her as jumpy as a cricket. Did he really find her attractive? she asked herself silently as the car purred on. That last look he’d given her, there had been something in the slumberous depths that had caused her lower stomach to tighten in immediate response, and she had hated herself for it, hated herself without understanding the reason why. But then there was nothing she did understand at the moment anyway, she told herself flatly. She was a mess.

They reached the small airfield where Gerard’s private plane was kept amid a cloud of dust, and it wasn’t until she was airborne, with Gerard at the controls, that she thought to ask about the location of Marrakesh. Everything had seemed so unreal, so nebulous, since she had woken up in the hospital that she still was finding it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t in the grip of a dream...or a nightmare.

‘Marrakesh?’ Gerard’s deep voice was thoughtful. ‘Let me see. Well, it is the most African city of Morocco, at the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains due south of Casablanca. The region is dry but water has been piped down from the mountains into reservoirs, so a bath will be no problem.’ He eyed her fleetingly, his expression searching and she flushed hotly. It was just as if he had undressed her.

‘We have the normal old and new side by side,’ he continued, after the twist of his mouth informed her he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Modern agriculture, training schools and various industries as well as a camel market every Thursday that dates back into ancient history, and a fair in the great square of Djemaa-el-Fna that involves snake charmers, magicians, jugglers, acrobats and even the odd medicine man demonstrating miraculous cures in their bottles. I’ll show you around once you are settled in; there are some wonderful medieval palaces and monuments—’

‘No, there’s no need for that.’ She had interrupted him so abruptly that she hastened to qualify her refusal. ‘I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all, Mr Dumont, you’ve been very kind and I’ll be gone within a day or so—’

‘Gerard.’ Suddenly the handsome face was intimidatingly cold and harsh, the profile flinty. ‘And please do not try to spare my feelings. Colette will do just as well as your guide.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

He interrupted her again, his voice dry. ‘I know exactly what you meant; you neither like or trust me so let us leave it at that. I hope you will be reassured when you reach my home but, as you so graciously pointed out, it will be a matter of days until this matter resolves itself so your opinion of me is really of no importance to either of us.’

She deserved it. She knew she deserved it but nevertheless the icy autocratic tone made her see red. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said tightly, her voice tense. ‘If it’s any consolation I don’t understand why I’m acting like this, but when all’s said and done I didn’t ask to come with you, did I? Why did you insist—?’

‘I am damned if I know,’ he bit back angrily.

‘Well, just turn the plane round and take me back to Casablanca—’ she began furiously, only to stop abruptly as she realised the import of what she had just said. Casablanca? Why had she said Casablanca? The accident had happened on the streets of Essaouira, hadn’t it?

‘Casablanca,’ Gerard repeated thoughtfully at her side, obviously catching the importance of her words too. ‘I think we should perhaps ask the police to direct their enquiries more specifically in that city, yes?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head wearily, the spurt of rage dying as quickly as it had flared into life as she stared down at the white cotton trousers and neat coffee-coloured blouse that had been pressed and cleaned by the cheerful little nurse at the nursing home. Some time, in another life, she had actually chosen these things, walked into a shop and made the purchases of her own accord. How could she not remember?

‘I will take care of it.’ He spared her a quick glance, his face expressionless. ‘And I do not intend to eat you alive, my thorny rose, but for the sake of my sanity, if not yours, could you please refrain from the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof syndrome? My ego is beginning to feel a little fragile.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at her hands miserably.

‘So you said.’ The deep rich voice was cynically mocking again and immediately the guilt she had been feeling was replaced by hot anger. A fragile ego? Him? Not in a million years.

The fierce heat of the day was dying when they reached the huge strip of ground on the outskirts of Marrakesh which formed part of Gerard’s estate. As he taxied the light plane into the hangar she saw a beautiful white Ferrari parked some distance away, its tinted windows and enormous side grilles proclaiming it a Testarossa. ‘Your car?’ She gestured resignedly towards the magnificent vehicle.

‘My car,’ he agreed gravely, his voice bland. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s very nice.’

She heard a snort at her side and turned to see that he was surveying her with a dark frown, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he drawled slowly, the relaxed tone belying the sharpness in his eyes, ‘for some reason you disapprove of the car.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Why do I get the feeling that if anyone else had owned it you would have given it the appreciation such functional beauty deserves?’

‘I said it was very nice,’ she protested carefully, aware of the truth in his words, ‘but a car is just a car, isn’t it? A grown-up child’s toy?’

‘A toy?’ He shut his eyes briefly after killing the engine of the plane, and then opened them slowly, the narrowed slits gleaming gold. ‘There is a six-year waiting list for this toy, as it happens.’

She hadn’t noticed the middle-aged Arab standing to one side of the hangar but now, as Gerard jumped down from the plane and reached up to assist her, she saw the hangar doors being closed before the small man hurried across to them.

‘Assad...’ The two exchanged greetings and then Gerard turned to her, his face relaxed and smiling now. ‘This is my great friend and man of all trades, Assad. You would not have noticed him at the time, but as chance would have it he was just entering my office building when you were attacked and saw it all,’ Gerard continued quietly, ‘not that it proved much help in the event. He speaks French, Spanish and Arabic but little English incidentally. None of my house staff does, unfortunately.’

‘Oh.’ She stared at them both feeling completely out of her depth, and as she turned away to glance again at the Ferrari she missed the softening of Gerard’s mouth that indicated he was aware of just how she felt.

‘The house is just a few hundred yards away but I asked Assad to bring the car in case you were tired. Shall we?’ He indicated the car with a wave of his hand. ‘Assad will see to the plane and follow shortly.’

She found, as she walked to the car, that she was tired, a deep exhaustion taking hold of her body and mind that made even the smallest response a superhuman effort. As Gerard held open the door she climbed slowly into the luxurious interior, her head pounding. ‘Thank you.’ She raised dull eyes to his and saw him frown slightly before he left to walk round the bonnet and slide in beside her.

‘You need a warm bath and plenty of sleep,’ he said levelly as he nosed the car out of the hangar and along a dry dust road towards a mass of trees in the distance. ‘Both of which will prove no problem at Del Mahari. My home,’ he added at her glance of enquiry.

‘Del Mahari?’ She let the foreign name slide over her lips. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘It means “Racing Camel”,’ he said expressionlessly, although she was sure there was a thread of amusement colouring the deep voice. ‘My father enjoyed the sport, although I prefer to keep horses rather than camels. I find the latter singly unattractive creatures and more than a little bad-tempered, although that trait is not confined to camels, of course,’ he added smoothly as he kept his eyes fixed ahead. She glanced at him warily, knowing it was a gibe at her but unable to respond to such an indirect insult. ‘At the moment I have several beautifully trained horses of great speed and stamina who have mingled Arab and Berber strains in their blood line. Do you ride?’

The question was casual and she answered before she considered, the reply instinctive. ‘Oh, yes, I love...’ Her voice trailed away for a second before she recovered. ‘Yes, I know I ride,’ she said more firmly. ‘I don’t know how I know but I do.’

‘Good.’ They had reached the trees now which she saw were fruit trees, mainly orange, surrounding the outside of a rosy pink extremely high wall in which two huge iron gates were set standing open ready for the Ferrari to pass through, but Gerard stopped the car just before the gates and cut the engine slowly, turning to her and touching her face gently with one finger as he turned her face to his. ‘Welcome to my home, little kitten,’ he said softly, seconds before his warm, hard mouth captured hers.

CHAPTER THREE

IF SOMEONE had poured boiling water over her head Kit could not have reacted more violently. For a split-second, just an infinitesimal moment of time, she had frozen as his firm sensual mouth had captured hers, the smell and feel of him all-encompassing, and then she jerked away so savagely that her head ricocheted off the car window with a resounding bang that caused the air to vibrate.

‘What on earth?’ Gerard looked as shocked as she felt as he surveyed her beneath dark frowning brows. ‘I was only kissing you, girl; what the hell did you think I intended?’