Castles Of Sand

Mrs Forrest had turned away, but she glanced back now over her shoulder. ‘For what, dear?’

Ashley shrugged, a little awkwardly. ‘Well—for being there.’ She hunched her shoulders, pushing her hands into the pockets of her pants. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Mrs Forrest disappeared back into her flat with a wave of her hand, and with a sigh Ashley closed her door again, leaning back against it with a feeling of intense disillusionment. It had all gone wrong, hopelessly wrong, and her only consolation was the realisation that she had provoked Alain. He had not been able to deny his desire for her body, and although this was small comfort when he had been capable of walking away from her, given the same circumstances, she might be able to repeat her success. She squashed the uneasy recollection that she had been as. aroused by his lovemaking as he was. It was a sexual response, nothing more. Any woman, kissed by a man as virile and attractive as Alain Gauthier, would find it extremely difficult to keep a cool head in such circumstances, and in her case, the memories of the past kept intruding. Once she had succeeded in exorcising those painful images she would be able to control her own destiny again. She had loved him in those days. She did not love him now. But she would use him, in any way she could, if it meant she could be near her son.

Shaking her head, she moved away from the door. Was she really so determined about this? she asked herself with sudden uncertainty. Why, after all these years, was she even considering such a course of action? The answer was simple. It was as she had always known it would be. So long as her son was unknown to her, so long as she had no image of him in her mind, she could pretend he didn’t exist. But now she had seen him, he had smiled at her; and she would move heaven and earth to be near him again.

She was still trying to formulate some plan of action when the telephone rang. Picking up the receiver, she wondered if Alain was ringing to taunt her with her helplessness, but it was Malcolm Henley at the other end of the line.

‘Ashley? My dear, I just thought I’d tell you, your resignation will not be necessary.’

Ashley moistened her lips. ‘It won’t?’

‘No.’ Malcolm sounded pleased. ‘I’ve just had a telephone call from Gauthier—you know, your brother-in-law?’

‘Yes?’ Ashley’s hand trembled.

‘Yes.’ Malcolm paused, as if timing his announcement. ‘He’s asked me to withdraw Hussein’s name from the register. He’s changed his mind, apparently. He’s going to have the boy educated in Murad.’

Ashley drew an unsteady breath. ‘I see.’

‘Isn’t that good news?’ Malcolm was obviously disappointed at her response. ‘You don’t know this, but he actually came to see me this morning, bringing the boy with him. He’d read your name on the—–’

‘I know.’ Ashley was too disturbed to allow him to go through the whole rigmarole of telling her something she already knew.

‘You know?’ Malcolm sounded bewildered. ‘But how?’

‘Alain’s been here, too,’ she replied unwillingly. ‘He—well, I encountered them in school this morning, and he came here to offer me a private position, with some family in Egypt.’

‘I see.’ Malcolm was perturbed. ‘So you met the boy. How unfortun—–’ He broke off abruptly, then added crisply: ‘You told Gauthier you couldn’t take the job, didn’t you?’

Ashley opened her mouth to say yes, then closed it again. She had no intention of discussing her plans with Malcolm, and it might actually be simpler if he thought she was considering a post with some unknown Egyptian family. It would give her a breathing space.

‘I—I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ she said now, and heard Malcolm’s impatient intake of breath.

‘But if Gauthier is withdrawing—well, there’s no need for you to consider another job,’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know why he’s changed his mind, but he has. I did tell him that you’d resigned, and I thought he seemed satisfied, but now—this!’ He hesitated. ‘You—well, you didn’t say anything which might have influenced him, did you?’

Ashley was indignant. ‘Malcolm!’

‘It was only a thought. I’m sorry.’ He was apologetic. ‘But you must admit, it’s strange that he should back out—now.’

Ashley moved her shoulders. ‘Perhaps he’s decided to—employ a private tutor,’ she ventured, hardly daring to hope, but Malcolm’s diagnosis was not encouraging.

‘I think he’s decided there are too many temptations for a young boy growing up in this country,’ he remarked sourly. ‘You should know how strictly they cling to the old traditions. I’m more inclined to believe he’ll be sent to one of those military establishments when he’s older, where the discipline is more severe.’

Ashley could not prevent the involuntary cry of protest that escaped her then, and as if just realising he was speaking to the boy’s mother, Malcolm cursed his reckless tongue. ‘Of course, I don’t mean that the boy will suffer in any way from it,’ he declared hastily. ‘I may be entirely wrong.’ He sighed. ‘In any event, I’m sure his uncle will keep a careful eye upon him.’

‘I’m sure he will.’ Ashley’s tone was taut with suppressed emotion.

‘So—I’ll see you tomorrow, shall I?’ Malcolm suggested uncomfortably. ‘Nine o’clock, as usual.’

‘I don’t know.’ Ashley was confused, and Malcolm made a sound of impatience.

‘Oh, come along, Ashley! It’s not the end of the world, you know. I realise seeing the boy must have been a traumatic experience for you, but it’s over now. He’s going back to Murad, and there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t continue in your position here.’

Ashley could feel the tears pricking at her eyes again, and sniffed them back. ‘I—I don’t know what I shall do, Malcolm,’ she said, which was the truth. ‘Right now, I—I’m not feeling very well. I—I may take tomorrow off. It’s not necessary for me to be there, is it? School doesn’t really begin until the next day.’

‘No. No, but you know how hectic everything is at the start of the new year. Boys arriving from all over the place, beds to make and allocate, timetables to be explained—–’

‘It’s not really my job, is it, Malcolm?’ Ashley reminded him tautly, feeling mean, but needing the time to think. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘I’m sure you will, my dear.’

Malcolm’s words were intended to be conciliatory, but Ashley couldn’t forget the insensitivity he had just displayed. He had said he cared about her, but all he really cared about was the school, and the significance of her meeting with Andrew was lost on him. He thought she should dismiss the fact that she had just met her son for the first time, and carry on as if nothing untoward had happened. He expected her to go into the school tomorrow and help organise the domestic staff while he concerned himself with names and addresses. Addresses!

Her hand shook so much she could hardly grip the receiver, but she managed to hold on. ‘By the way,’ she said, as he was about to ring off, ‘did you have an address for—for the Gauthiers?’

There was silence for a moment, then Malcolm said rather doubtfully: ‘Yes. Why?’

Ashley took a deep breath. ‘Alain—he forgot to give me the address to write to, about—about this job I mentioned. Whether I decide to take it or not, I’ve got to let him know, but—–’

‘Oh, I see.’ Malcolm sounded relieved, and she heard him riffling through the papers on his desk. ‘Yes. Yes, here it is. I thought you’d have known it. It’s the Askar Palace in Khadesh.’

Ashley’s momentary excitement dispersed. ‘No,’ she exclaimed, ‘I—I meant in England. Wh-where is he staying?’

Malcolm checked again. ‘That’s the only address I have. Besides, as he’s flying back to Murad tomorrow, I hardly see—–’

‘Tomorrow!’ Ashley’s hand flew over the mouthpiece of the telephone to prevent Malcolm from overhearing her horrified exclamation. Then: ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. I—I’ll contact him there.’

‘That’s the best idea,’ Malcolm approved. ‘And—Ashley?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t do anything you might afterwards—regret.’

He rang off before she could ask him what he meant, but it made her see he was not indifferent to her state of mind. He knew she was distraite, and he was trying to tell her not to do anything foolish.

Pacing the flat later, she wondered whether he was not right, after all. She was considering action which, by any standards, could be regarded as reckless. She could conceivably hurt herself more than she was likely to hurt Alain, with Andrew the innocent pawn in the middle. But then she remembered her son’s smiling face, and knew that whatever happened she had to make the attempt.

But how? How? If Alain was planning to leave the following day, he could have no intention of agreeing to her suggestion. He had only agreed to think it over to placate her. His determination to remove the boy from temptation had not faltered.

Straddling a chair by the window, she draped her arm along its back and rested her chin on her wrist. Where was he likely to be staying in London? Not the apartment. She shivered. He had given that up after—well, when she married Hassan. And if the Gauthier organisation had any other property, she was not aware of its whereabouts. Which only left hotels …

Getting up, she rescued the commercial edition of the telephone directory, and turned to the relevant section. There were dozens of hotels in and around the London area, but she knew Alain would choose somewhere exclusive, and quiet. Running her finger down the list, she jotted the numbers of half a dozen of the more elegant establishments on to a pad, then picked up the telephone receiver.

Half an hour later she was no further forward. Even when she claimed kinship with the family, none of the receptionists would admit that Prince Alain was staying at their hotel, and while she suspected they might not tell her even if he was, the suspicion was growing that he was staying elsewhere. But where? With relatives? With friends? Or in some other apartment, high above Regent’s Park, with a magnificent view over the city?