The Desert Castle (11 page)

‘
Doesn
’
t everyone
?
’

H
e put his hands on her shoulders and swung her round to face
him,
lifting her easily on to the stool she had been using to give her extra height while she worked. Finding herself on his level for once, she found his mouth much less disapproving than she had thought. It was firm and very, very self-assured, but there was nothing condemnatory about it, not even when she made a flustered movement to escape him.
She wasn
’
t ready to be kissed by him
!
She heaved a deep breath to try and steady herself, scarcely surprised at all when his hand slipped from her shoulder to the back of her head, drawing her firmly but inevitably into the circle of his embrace. She would have protested even then, but her lips trembled so badly that she thought better of it.

‘
What a sweet fraud you are, Marion Shirley,
’
he said softly.
‘
You
’
re every bit as shy and as fearful as she is, aren
’
t you? No
w
onder you have such a fellow-feeling for her.
’

S
he hoped she didn
’
t look as ridiculous to him as she felt.
‘
I didn
’
t know—
Y
ou took me by surprise
!
’
she defended herself.

H
is lips met hers in the briefest of contacts and the
s
hock of it reached right down inside her, fountaining up again in a sensation of such warm delight that she could only wonder if she would ever be the same again. She stepped off the stool in a haze of bewilderment and sat down on it quickly in case her knees refused to support her any longer.

G
regory squatted down beside her, his navy-blue eyes very dark as he looked at her.
‘
Marion, what
’
s the matter? Are you all right
?
’

S
he managed a shadow of her usual smile.
‘
You shouldn
’
t flirt with the art woman
!
’
she rebuked him.

H
e smiled back at her, cupping her chin in his hand.
‘
Why not
?
’

‘
Denise told you not to,
’
she reminded
him.

‘
Y
ou
’
ll have to think up a better reason than that,
’
he murmured.

‘
W
hat better reason can there be? Don
’
t you want to please Denise
?
’

‘
Not to the point of having her tell me what to do. No girl, however pretty, is going to run my life for me,
’
he said firmly.

S
S
he stirred against his restraining hand, seeking to make her escape, but he had no intention of letting her
go.

‘
We
’
ll have to do something about this fixation you have about Denise,
’
he said against her lips.
‘
I don
’
t want to hear her name again this afternoon.
’
He kissed her
sl
owly and all inclination for escape died away.
‘
There
!
’
he warned her on a note of masculine triumph there was no mistaking.
‘
I
’
ll claim a similar forfeit—
’

‘
No. No, you won
’
t
!
’
Marion leaped to her feet, not even trying to hide her anger.
‘
You may have Judith in London, and Denise for week-ends, but you haven
’
t got me! I don
’
t play those sort of games—
’

‘
And you think I do
?
’

S
he nodded, unable to speak when she saw the cold mockery on his face. She would have given anything to have banished the dislike she was sure he felt for her.

‘
One day,
’
he said, weighing each word with a deliberation that appalled her,
‘
I
’
ll make you take that back, Miss Shirley. You
’
ll eat your words if you choke on them, and I won
’
t lift a finger to help you
!
’

‘
I
’
m sorry,
’
she said.

‘
You haven
’
t begun to be sorry
!
’
He hesitated, aware of the appeal in her wide, anxious eyes.
‘
I shan
’
t bother you again!
’

M
arion looked away, struggling with the bitter despair that seized her.
‘
Are we still going to Madaba
?
’
she asked, afraid he would see the tears that were gathering at the back of her eyes.

‘
Do you still want to go?
’

S
he nodded.
‘
I
’
ve said I
’
m sorry,
’
she whispered.

H
e watched her for a moment in silence, then he said,
‘
Don
’
t give it another thought.
’
He twisted his mouth into a wry
sm
ile.
‘
I
’
ll meet you in ten minutes at the car. You needn
’
t worry about being alone with me,
’
he added caustically.
‘
I don
’
t seduce frightened little girls. I prefer a more sophisticated approach
!
’

‘
Oh, Gregory, please don
’
t
!
’

H
e crossed his arms in front of him and stared at her.
‘
Don
’
t what? What do you want
?
’

S
he blinked, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.
‘
I
’
d like to be friends. I didn
’
t mean—
’

‘
Friends
?
’
He sounded as though the word had really stung him on the raw.
‘
I wonder if you know what you
’
re asking!
’
He walked over to her and touched her wet cheeks with gentle fingers.
‘
I
’
ll try, Marion,
’
he said at last.
‘
Only don
’
t cry any more and
I
’
ll
do anything you ask
!
’

S
he gulped.
‘
Thank you,
’
she said with relief.
‘
I didn
’
t mean to insult you, Gregory. It was a compliment—in a way—because most women would like you to make love to them, only—
’

‘
Only you don
’
t?
’
he finished for her.

B
ut she did
!
She liked it far too much
!
‘
I didn
’
t dislike it,
’
she compromised, and wondered why he laughed, his face clearing as if by magic.
‘
But it didn
’
t mean anything, did it
?
’

‘
Oh, I wouldn
’
t say that,
’
he said, and turned on his heel and left her alone with the little
houri
she was re
storing.

M
arion made a face at her, admitting to herself that they were two of a kind.
‘
You can
’
t wait for ever
,
’
she addressed the painted wal
l.
‘
He might not com
e.
He might never get to heaven and what will you do then?
’

B
ut the
houri
made no answer. Only Marion knew quite well what she would have said if she could. She would have pointed out that Gregory was in the
same
world as Marion and yet
she
hadn
’
t fared very well either.

‘
I only
want
to be his friend
!
’
Marion declared out loud, and flung a
cl
oth at the simpering dis
belief
on the face of the
houri.
Well, she didn
’
t believe it either! But if she didn
’
t want that what else was it that she
did
want?

M
arion tied her scarf round her head, pulling it so tight that she almost strangled herself. She reached up her hands and began to pull herself up into the front of the Land Cruiser when two strong hands lifted her easily and dumped her on to the canvas-covered seat
.

‘
I
’
ve left a message for the others,
’
Gregory said,
‘
We won
’
t be ba
ck
till late.
’

Marion said nothing. She clutched the edge of her seat as they set off across the rough ground, her spirits rising by the minute. It was grand to have the sun on her face and the wind pulling at the edges of her scarf.

‘
How long will it take us to get there
?
’
she asked as Gregory eased the Land Cruiser through the rusty iron gates.

‘
To Madaba? More than an hour. To the Dead Sea, rather longer. I thought we
’
d go by way of Mount Nebo so that you can see where Moses looked down into the Promised Land before he died.
’

‘
The very spot
?
’
she insisted, sounding doubtful.

‘
Why
not? It wasn
’
t very long ago in
the
historical
perspective of a land like this.
’

‘
Three
thousand years,
’
she
pointed out.

‘
Practically
modern
times,
’
he teased her.
‘
I
’
m sure if you asked around you
’
d find someone who remembered him passing through their village.
’

‘
They
’
ll remember you,
’
she asserted.
‘
What made you want to live in a castle
?
’

‘
It was there I saw the difference the Spaniards were able to make when they restored the frescoes of the most famous of the desert castles, Qasr Amra, and I wanted to do the same for my castle. It
’
s too far out for it to be on the tourist circuit, and there isn
’
t enough money to go round anyway. It seemed almost too good to be true when I heard about you
!
’

‘
You used to write to my father,
’
she said shyly.
‘
My mother told me so.
’

‘
That didn
’
t mean you had followed in his footsteps.
It was Lucasta who told me about your evening classes. My sister could hardly believe her luck when I offered to have Lucasta for the holidays—providing you came along too.
’

M
arion squinted into the sun.
‘
That child is left alone far too much,
’
she said severely.
‘
Isn
’
t your sister afraid she
’
ll get, into trouble
?
’

‘
I fancy she feels the risks are less in London than if she were to drag her off to some of the parties she and my brother-in-law go to. Lucasta is too young to keep her head amongst the jet-set just yet.
’

‘
You don
’
t seem to mind if Gaston turns her head. He
’
s quite a bit older than she!
’

G
regory grinned.
‘
He won
’
t do her any harm. He
’
s still wet behind the ears compared to the sort of gentlemen I
’
m thinking about. Lucasta will run rings round him and he won
’
t even know it. He
’
s a decent enough young fellow.
’

‘
But, at seventeen—
’

‘
Lucasta is as old as Cleopatra compared with her would-be chaperon,
’
he mocked her.
‘
You don
’
t have to worry about any niece of mine, Marion.
’

B
ut she did have to worry about herself
!
She sat back in her seat, half wishing that he would give her something more to worry about. The desert was more beautiful than ever and
she
amused herself by trying to judge how many miles she could see in any given direction. They met the old King
’
s Highway, the ancient trade route the caravans of old had travelled between Cairo or Mecca in the south, and Damascus, the Lebanon, and even Antioch, which was now the ruined Roman city of Jerash, in the north. The new,
modern
Desert Highway that cut several hours off the journey went off to the left.

‘
That
’
s the way to Aqaba,
’
Gregory told her.
‘
And to Petra, the “rose-red city half as old as time
.”
’

P
etra had been a dream of her childhood, but
sh
e had never thought
sh
e might go there herself.

‘
I don
’
t suppose Lucasta would be interested,
’
she
si
ghed.

‘
Probably not,
’
Gregory agreed, too promptly not to be convincing.
‘
You
’
l
l
have to get someone else to take you.
’

S
he felt snubbed and supposed she deserved it
‘
Have you been there often
?
’
she asked in a
small
voice.

H
e turned
to
look at her.
‘
Are you
asking me to
take you
?
’
he said bluntly.

‘
No, of course not.
’
She tried to leave it there, but
sh
e could not
.
‘
If I asked you, would you take me?
’
sh
e asked.