Duel In The Sun

Duel In The Sun
Sally Wentworth

Shall I describe the kind of man I think you would go for? "You can't. He doesn't exist," Catriona said lightly. "Not even in your imagination, in your dreams?" Lucas Kane was a difficult man to work for. To say that he didn't suffer fools gladly was an understatement. And Catriona had wanted to get on one of Kane's famous archaeological adventures so badly that she'd lied about her qualifications.That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was thinking that Lucas cared about anything except his work. She dreaded to think of the kind of job description Lucas Kane's wife would have. It would probably involve moving mountains and other such feats.But he wasn' the only one who had high standards. The man of her dreams would be… well, unfortunately for Catriona, he'd be Lucas Kane!

Duel In The Sun

Sally Wentworth

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE (#udf998128-a0c9-5be9-91bb-c835790e1d30)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4b11443b-1bd2-539d-9f16-6bd9e2f0c1cf)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS almost midnight when the plane landed at Luxor, bumping down on to the runway. The passengers, pleased that it had arrived ahead of schedule, eagerly collected up their hand luggage and waited to disembark. Catriona was seated towards the rear of the plane but considered herself lucky to be on it, only a last-minute cancellation making a seat available for her.

She left the plane in her turn, blinking to adjust her eyes to the warm, velvety darkness outside. It had been a charter flight, full of holidaymakers, who now hurried to go through Customs and get on the coaches waiting to take them on to their hotels or cruise boats. Catriona followed more slowly; the tourists were here for only a week or two, but she was staying for much longer and was laden with the bag containing her equipment, as well as a hold-all and a bag of duty-free drinks. An impassive customs officer stamped her passport, she found a trolley and collected her luggage from the carousel, then walked through to the front of the airport in the wake of the others.

There was some confusion at first because a couple of coaches hadn’t yet arrived, but soon the couriers were shepherding away their flocks of tourists. Catriona stood to one side, looking for a smaller means of transport: a four-wheel-drive vehicle, or possibly a pick-up truck. One by one the buses filled and left, until she was standing alone under the harsh lights of the entrance. It was suddenly very quiet, the grinding noise of the coach engines fading in the distance. She stirred, beginning to feel uneasy. Back in England that morning, as soon as she’d known she was able to get a seat on the flight, Catriona had telephoned the head of the Egyptology department at the university, and he had promised to telephone the excavation headquarters in Egypt so that someone could meet her. But what if everyone at the dig was out? What if the message hadn’t got through? She certainly didn’t like the idea of just waiting here indefinitely.

Pushing her trolley back into the concourse, she saw a man who looked European and went up to him. ‘Excuse me? Do you speak English?’ And when he nodded, ‘Are you from Dr Kane? From the dig at Mem Habu?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I work here at the airport.’

Catriona thanked him and went back outside. Still no car. I’ll give them half an hour, she decided, then I’ll have to try and find out the number and phone the dig myself.

There was nowhere to sit. Catriona pulled her trolley over to the wall and leaned against it, tired after her journey and the mad rush to get ready for it. Over near the car park there were two taxis optimistically waiting for fares, their drivers leaning on one of them as they chatted. The two men had glanced across at her several times, and after a while one came over.

He was young, dark-skinned, and had a flashing smile. ‘You wish taxi?’ he enquired, his eyes running over her.

Catriona shook her head. Fat chance, when she hadn’t had time to get any Egyptian currency. And even if she had, she would certainly have hesitated before she’d trust herself to this man.

But he reached out to get hold of the trolley. ‘I take you Luxor.’

‘No, thank you.’ She made it sound very definite. ‘I am waiting for a car.’

‘No car come now. I take you.’

Catriona grabbed the trolley. ‘No! I have no money,’ she told him, hoping he would be put off.

But he evidently didn’t believe her because the man just shrugged and said again, ‘I take you.’

For a couple of minutes they had a tug-of-war with the trolley, the man laughing at her, but then a car drove up, its engine so quiet as to be almost inaudible. Catriona didn’t notice it until it stopped and the driver got out. He said something in Arabic, so sharply that the taxi driver immediately swung round, saw the car, and hurried back to his cab.

He had let go of the trolley so suddenly that Catriona fell back against the wall, but she quickly recovered and looked again at the car. She gave a sigh of disappointment; it was a big, black Mercedes, new and luxurious, certainly not the type of car that would be owned by a dig. But the driver came up to her and said in very broken English, ‘You lady from England?’

Catriona nodded. ‘Why, yes.’

‘You come work here?’ he added slowly, to make sure.

‘Yes, I have.’

Satisfied, he said, ‘I take you house.’

Thankful that her lift had arrived at last, Catriona went to help him load her luggage, but he held the back door of the car for her to get in, and loaded everything himself. The car was gorgeous, the upholstery of soft leather that still smelt new, the windows tinted, and it had the coolness that could only come from air-conditioning. Settling back into her seat, Catriona gave a sigh of relief; she had started to get a bit worried back there. Not that anything would have happened, of course; she need only have screamed to bring the airport guards hurrying out to help her. But it would hardly have been a good start to her stay in Egypt, especially if the field director got to hear of it. She had heard, back in England, that Dr Kane had no time for fools, and she had an idea that having to be guarded at the airport would definitely put her under that heading. Although it would have been his own fault, of course; he shouldn’t have kept her waiting.

Thankfully pushing the imaginary scenario out of her mind, Catriona had to admit that Dr Kane had certainly made up for his tardiness by sending this car. She had expected a bumpy ride in an old truck, or a jeep at best.

The driver got in and soon they had left the airport buildings behind and were purring along in the darkness. ‘Is it far?’ she asked him.

He shrugged, not understanding.

Leaning forward, Catriona said clearly, ‘The house; how long? How many miles, kilometres?’

Lifting his hand, he opened and closed it five times.

Twenty-five, then. But whether that was minutes, miles or kilometres she had no idea. And anyway, what did it matter? It was nice to just relax and stretch her long legs in luxurious comfort, so different from the cramped sardine tin of the plane. There was nothing to see outside; the night was completely dark except for the odd street lamp at a road-junction. Soon Catriona’s eyelids drooped and she fell asleep.

‘Lady. Lady!’

Opening her eyes, Catriona found that the driver had the door open and was trying to wake her. She sat up quickly, realising that they must have reached the excavation house, where all the members of the team lived. Glancing at her watch as she got out of the car, Catriona saw that it was nearly two in the morning. Presumably everyone would be in bed by now. Expecting to be in some desert village, she glanced round in surprise at finding herself in front of a large house with what looked to be a garden all round it. The door of the house was standing open and a woman was waiting to greet her.

The woman was obviously Egyptian, but she wore a very severe Western-style dress with long sleeves, a high-neck, and the skirt low on her calves. She was middle-aged, too old to be the wife of one of the team, so perhaps she was some sort of housekeeper. She beckoned. ‘You come, lady.’

She led the way into the house, but Catriona paused in the hallway to stand and stare. The house was sumptuous, there was no other word for it. The hall was high and richly decorated, with ornate Italian-looking furniture and a Venetian glass chandelier.

‘Lady.’

The housekeeper again beckoned her on, leading her up a wide staircase to a galleried landing, the driver following them with the luggage. She turned to the right, went through a doorway into a corridor, and out on to another gallery, this time overlooking a big central courtyard in which a fountain played. It was dimly lit, so Catriona couldn’t see very much, but even in the semi-darkness it looked a delightful place. Opening a door a few rooms down, the woman indicated that she should go in.

Catriona caught her breath; the room was the complete opposite to what she had expected. Again it was luxuriously furnished, although much too opulently for her English taste, with a large gold-painted bed, big wardrobes, and a dressing-table wide enough to accommodate a chorus line. Everything seemed to be on a large scale, as if big was beautiful. But it looked so comfortable and was so cool that Catriona was more than grateful. And there was even her own bathroom, as the woman demonstrated when she opened a door in the right-hand wall. The bath was so huge that Catriona couldn’t help but laugh.

The woman frowned, not understanding, but Catriona gave her a big smile and she relaxed again.