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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.
‘Breakfast?’ Catriona said to her, and mimed eating. ‘What time?’ and she pointed to her watch.
Spreading her hands, the woman shrugged, then showed her a bell-push within reach of the bed. Using signs, she got through to Catriona that she must push the bell and the woman would bring her breakfast. She left her then, and Catriona sat on the edge of the high bed and kicked off her shoes. The house and the car were certainly a revelation; she had always been under the impression that excavation teams were housed in almost primitive conditions, were so under-funded that they had to watch every penny. But whoever was sponsoring this team must have been terrifically generous.
Going into the bathroom, Catriona showered and wrapped herself in one of the huge, soft bath-sheets, then again laughed aloud at the sheer luxury of it all. Back home, she had been so hard up and desperate for work that she had jumped at the chance of this job, been prepared to take it on however rough the conditions. But if she’d only known that she was going to live in a place like this she wouldn’t have hesitated even for a moment; she was only surprised that someone with more experience hadn’t beaten her to it.
She slept deeply that night, the big bed soft and comfortable, the air-conditioning keeping the room at an even temperature. Waking around nine and remembering the instructions she’d been given, Catriona pressed the bell, and within a very short time the housekeeper carried in a large breakfast tray. There were two types of cereal, an omelette and tomatoes under a heated cover, rolls and strange-looking bread, fruit, and coffee. A feast! If they lived like this all the time, no wonder digs went on for years.
Feeling more optimistic than she had for ages, Catriona ate, and then dressed. Expecting to go out into the desert to the dig, she put on a pair of cream cotton trousers, with a complementary short-sleeved blouse. Then she sat down at the dressing-table to brush her long, corn-gold hair and weave it into a plait, and thought about the rumours she’d heard of Dr Lucas Kane and decided they must have arisen out of jealousy. His reputation as a slave-driver must certainly be wrong; having breakfast in bed brought to her and allowing her to sleep in to recover from her journey definitely weren’t the acts of a petty tyrant.
She looked at herself critically in the mirror, wondering whether or not to put on make-up. Her skin was pale from a long English winter and from working long hours for a clothing company until she’d been fired, the owner still owing her a month’s pay. Luckily her eyelashes were long and dark, in arresting contrast to her hair, and making an attractive frame to her hazel eyes. Her face, though, was thinner than it should have been, the result of overwork and not enough nourishing food since she’d lost the job, nearly three months ago. But the thinness emphasised the good bone-structure of her heart-shaped face, the eyes wide and candid, her cheekbones high, which, with her delicate mouth, gave Catriona a look of almost fragile elegance.
It was a deceptive look; life had been tough and she’d had to fight for everything she had achieved, both at school and at college. Not that her qualifications had been of much good getting her the job she wanted, she thought ruefully, but then brightened; until now. If she could make a success of this job that had landed so unexpectedly in her lap, who knew where it might lead? If nothing else, she would have a useful addition to her CV.
Coming to a decision, Catriona added lipstick and powder, and left it at that. As she was blotting her lipstick there was a knock at the door. Expecting it to be the housekeeper, she called, ‘Come in.’
The door was opened slowly, and to Catriona’s surprise, a child, a little girl, looked tentatively in. She looked at Catriona, caught her involuntary smile, and moved back out of sight. There was the sound of whispering, then two heads came round the door, the second that of another little girl and at a lower height than the first. Two pairs of eyes, large and dark, regarded her shyly.
Catriona turned to face them, again smiling. ‘Hello.’ She held out a hand and beckoned them in.
Slowly they came into the room, clutching hands, the younger with her finger in her mouth. The elder child looked about nine, the other about four years younger. It was evident that they were sisters; their features were very much alike, and they both had dark, plaited hair, and wore identical dark blue dresses with white collars and cuffs, and long white socks. Severe clothes for such young children, Catriona thought, but maybe it was their school uniform.
‘Hello,’ she said again.
‘Hello, lady.’ It was the elder one who spoke, her face grave, voice uncertain.
‘What is your name?’ Catriona asked, pointing and speaking slowly and clearly.
‘I Nadia.’
‘And what is your name?’ Looking at the younger child.
But the little girl only blushed shyly and hid behind her sister.
‘She Dorreya,’ the elder girl supplied.
‘My name is Catriona,’ repeating slowly at their uncomprehending looks, ‘Cat-ri-on-a.’
First the elder and then the younger child repeated it several times until they had it right. Then there were smiles of pleasure all round. They must be the children of one of the Egyptian members of the team, Catriona surmised. Another knock sounded at the door and the housekeeper looked in. When she saw the children she began to scold and to shoo them away.
‘Oh, no,’ Catriona protested. ‘Let them stay, they aren’t in the way.’
But the woman took no notice, shutting the door behind the children. She turned to Catriona who had risen from her seat, looked her up and down, and burst into a stream of Arabic, gesturing at her clothes. Not understanding a word, Catriona only shrugged. Talking again, the housekeeper touched her trousers and blouse, shaking her head. ‘No, no.’ Then she went to the wardrobe, opened it, found a skirt and long-sleeved shirt and brought them out, making signs that Catriona should put them on.
‘Why?’ Catriona asked in astonishment.
Another flood of Arabic that she didn’t understand, but it was obvious what the woman wanted, and even more obvious that it was important to her, so, with a shrug, Catriona changed into the skirt, but she drew the line at the blouse; it would be far too hot when she got outside. The housekeeper had decorously turned her back, but pushed the shirt towards her when she looked round.
Catriona shook her head. ‘No. Too hot.’
Again the woman tried to persuade her, the word pasha coming into it quite a lot, but when Catriona continued to stubbornly shake her head the woman looked at her watch, lifted her hands into the air in a gesture of angry surrender, and said, ‘You come.’
So she was to meet the team, or at least some of them; presumably most of them were out at the dig. Perhaps Dr Kane had come to meet and brief her on her duties. Catriona hoped, anxiously, that he would find her satisfactory; it was a while since she had left college and she hadn’t had a chance to do any practical work in ancient textile conservation in the last two years. But she had studied the subject and had been madly reading it up again during the last week, ever since she knew she might be coming here.
Catriona wasn’t looking forward to meeting Dr Kane. She wasn’t exactly nervous; wary would probably be a better word. It wasn’t just because of his reputation as a hard taskmaster—Catriona enjoyed working hard—but she’d also heard that he set very high standards, and to get this job she’d had to exaggerate her practical experience rather. Still, now that she was here they would have to give her a chance to prove herself, she thought optimistically. But she didn’t much like the idea of working for someone who insisted on his female staff wearing skirts. Dr Kane must be really dated and old!
The housekeeper led the way down to the central courtyard where the fountain played. It was open to the sky, a shaded garden of flowering tropical plants and the musical tinkling of splashing water. They crossed the courtyard and the woman knocked at a door, then opened it for Catriona to go in. It was a library, lined with shelves of richly bound books. Catriona walked into the room expecting to meet an elderly Englishman. But the man who looked up from his desk was quite young, dark-haired, and Egyptian.
The man’s eyes went over her and widened. He put his pen down on the desk, his eyes taking her in, and it was a few moments before he said a formal, ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’ Catriona recovered quickly from her surprise. So Dr Kane hadn’t bothered to meet her himself; this man must be their Egyptian liaison officer or something like that. Not that he looked much like an employee; he was wearing a well-cut and expensive-looking dark suit and a lot of jewellery: there was a thick gold watch on his wrist, and he wore several rings, one of them on his left hand with a stone that looked like a diamond but was too big to possibly be real. He looked to be in his late thirties, had olive skin and rounded features with the small beard favoured by Arabic men.
The Egyptian, who hadn’t stood to greet her, was looking Catriona over with just as much interest, then said, ‘You are much younger than I expected. I can hardly think that the details you sent about yourself can be correct.’
Aware of her magnified qualifications, Catriona said quickly, ‘Oh, but I’ve had quite a lot of experience. I’m sure you’ll find my work satisfactory.’
‘How old are you?’ he shot at her.
‘I’m twenty-three. Nearly twenty-four,’ she added hopefully.
The man picked up a piece of paper from his desk, glanced at it, then at her, his eyes cold. ‘Then you can hardly have had the experience you claim in this record of your work. How can you possibly have spent—?’
He broke off as there was a knock at the door and the two little girls came in. Immediately his eyes softened, but he spoke to them rather reprovingly in Arabic, and Catriona guessed they were being told off for interrupting.
But Dorreya took no notice and ran to take hold of her hand. ‘Cat-ri-on-a,’ she said, dimpling up at her.
Catriona smiled and stooped down to the little girl’s level. ‘Hello, Dorreya.’
‘Hell-o,’ Dorreya repeated, and turned to the man with a big grin, to show how clever she was.
The Egyptian was watching, and at the same time stooping to listen as Nadia whispered in his ear. He looked thoughtful, then straightened. ‘It seems you have met my daughters already.’
‘Are they your children?’ Catriona straightened and smiled at him. ‘They’re adorable. You must be very proud of them.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He was eyeing her again, and after a moment, turned to the children and gently shooed them away. When they’d gone, he said, ‘It seems that they like you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I will give you a trial. Although I cannot approve of anyone who has so blatantly lied about their qualifications.’
Catriona flushed a little; she hadn’t thought it was that bad! Stiffly, she said, ‘OK. When do I meet the rest of the team?’
‘The team?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘There is no one else; you will be in sole charge.’
Catriona stared at him. ‘But there must be other people?’
‘No. The children are on holiday from school and are entirely your responsibility, although my housekeeper, Mrs Aziz, will always be here if you need her. Surely you understood that when you agreed to take the job, Miss Welland?’
An icy feeling crept into Catriona’s chest and she swallowed. ‘What—what did you call me?’
