The Desert Castle (16 page)

Lucasta slapped her thighs with glee.
‘
I knew
i
t
!
’
she
exulted.
‘
You have fallen for him, haven
’
t you? And if you won
’
t do anything about it, I will
!
’

‘
No, no, you
’
re not to. There
’
s nothing you can do. Your uncle would be furious if you were to interfere—
and I would be too! I mean it, Lucasta!
’’

But the girl only laughed.
‘
Don
’
t flap, darling, I was only teasing you! But you will come with us this week-end, won
’
t you
?
’

Marion
’
s panic that her young charge might call her uncle
’
s attention to her when she was already afraid that he saw far too much subsided a little, leaving her feeling more than a little foolish.

‘
Where are we going?
’

Lucasta shrugged.
‘
Gaston didn
’
t say. He hates staying in one place, though. He
’
s determined that I shall take a proper interest in my surroundings and gives me long lectures on the significance of a few du
ll
little stones in the middle of nowhere whenever I let him. He
’
s really very sweet! And very easy to distract, I
’
m thankful to say
!
’

Marion, growing used to Lucasta
’
s exaggerated speech, wondered if it would be selfish to suggest that they should go to Petra. It still stung that Gregory should have refused to take her. It was the way he had done it, just as if he couldn
’
t bear her company for two whole days. And she wouldn
’
t have imposed on him, she would have been as quiet as a mouse, but it hadn
’
t made any difference. Even if
she
had asked him, he had said he wouldn
’
t take h
er
.

‘
Let
’
s go to Petra,
’
she said out loud.
‘
Next weekend. Oh, do let
’
s, Lucasta
!
’

‘
Petra? Would Gaston like it?
’

‘
I
’
m sure he would. It
’
s a city carved out of rock. You must have seen pictures of it!
’

Lucasta remained irritatingly unconvinced.
‘
But what would we do there? Gaston likes to get off by himself,
’
she added demurely, fluttering her eyelashes.

‘
It
’
s a big place,
’
Marion told
her.
‘
I
believe it
’
s at least ten square miles inside. There
’
s only one place where you can get in to it through the hills. It
’
s a tiny little passage, cut by an old river. It
must
be interesting from an engineering
point
of view! Couldn
’
t you
persuade him that you want to see
it?
’

‘
I could,
’
said Lucasta,
‘
but I
’
m not sure I want to.
I
’
ll
think about it
.
I
’
m sorry to be maddening, but I may have made up my mind about Gaston by then and I
’
d rather
keep
our plans fluid.
’

Marion returned to her work, trying to hang on to the shreds of her good temper.
‘
All right, think about it! But whatever you decide you
’
re not going off alone with Gaston—not with Gregory away and only me to keep an eye on you, whether I trust you or not
!
’

‘
I
’
ll think
about it,
’
Lucasta repeated. She watched Marion work for a few minutes and then said maliciously,
‘
Zein told Gregory she had seen your picture on the wall. She wanted to know what you were doing there. And do you know what she told him? She said you were waiting for him!
’

M
arion
’
s eyes flew to the little
houri.
He had said more or less the same thing to her, she remembered, only she hadn
’
t seen the likeness between herself and the painted figure then. And, of course, he had been joking! She had laughed then, but she couldn
’
t find it in her heart to laugh now. Now,
she
couldn
’
t see anything funny about it at a
ll.

‘
There
’
s a letter for you. Will you come and collect it after dinner?
’

Marion nodded. She had only addressed two words direc
tl
y to Gregory all week and she wondered now why he couldn
’
t
h
ave brought her letter with him to the table. If
she
went into his study
she
would have to say something, and
she
had nothing to say to him.

She knew he was watching her all the time they were eating, but
she
refused to look back at him. If she did, she might betray herself, and he would know that she ached to ask him to come and look at the frescoes, even more to ask him if he was really going to stay with Denise this coming week-end. Sooner or later, she was going to have to
s
peak to him about the frescoes. No
m
atter how hard she worked, she couldn
’
t possibly finish even the ones in her bedroom in the few weeks of this holiday. She would need months rather than weeks to complete her task.

It was the first time she had been in his study. It was a comfortable room, with a strongly Eastern emphasis in the furnishings. Marion knew that the Arabic for office was
diwan,
the same word in effect as divan, where the great man would once have lounged as he directed his minions to carry out his day-to-day business. There was a divan here too, a day-bed with an elaborately carved wooden back that looked beautiful but not very comfortable. There were some leather pouffes dotted around too, and a screen between the huge desk and the door which had some of the loveliest fretwork Marion had ever seen. It was the ikons on the wall that claimed her immediate attention, however. They were dark with age, glinting gold in the lamplight, and she knew as soon as she saw them madly valuable.

‘
Th
ey must have been what you wrote to my father about
!
’
she exclaimed, moving in closer to see them better.
‘
Oh, how he must have envied you such a fine collection
!
’

Gregory sat down in the chair behind the desk.
‘
Don
’
t you want your letter
?
’

‘
Oh yes, of course.
’
She didn
’
t even pause in her examination of the ikons. There was one particularly beautiful one of Cosmos and Damian that took her breath away. She could have done with hours to look at that one alone.
‘
Did my father ever see these
?
’

‘
He bought some of than for me in the London sales.
’

‘
I
’
m surprised he could bear to let them out of his sight,
’
she
gloated.
‘
How did you persuade him
?
’

‘
He didn
’
t seem to be a particularly envious man,
’
Gregory remarked.

‘
No, he wasn
’
t. Far from it. But these ikons are something else, aren
’
t they
?
’
She studied one of the larger ones which was carved in an arch and from which most of the paint had fallen. It had probably once been the lid of a monk
’
s chest in which he had kept the few personal possessions allowed to him. Beneath the paint, the wood was grey with age.

‘
Yes, they
’
re something else,
’
Gregory agreed.
‘
They
’
ve taught me something too, something I think your father always knew. You can
’
t own things of beauty; the most you can do is to look after them for a while. Ownership is a very relative term.
’

She was surprised that he had known her father so well when at most they could have exchanged a few letters.

‘
My father always said it was a privilege to see great works of art,
’
she
confided.
‘
He used to say that the effect they had on oneself was the only part of them one could possess. He could look at things much more objectively than I can, though. With me it
’
s a mood thing. I need to see something in every kind of mood before I know
i
t.
I
’
m
only just getting to know the frescoes in my room.
’

He
s
miled across the room at her.
‘
I
’
d say you were more appreciative than most.
’

She smiled back, forgetting her nervousness of him.
‘
I
’
d be pretty dull of mind if I didn
’
t like them a little, my father being the man he was.
’
She advanced across the room, her eyes alight.
‘
May I come back some time and look at them again? I wouldn
’
t interrupt you while you were working, but while you
’
re away at the weekend, for instance. Please, may I
?
’

‘
Who told you
I’
d be away for the week-end
?
’

‘
Lucasta.
’
She sat down on one of the pouffes, tucking her feet up under her. It was nice in here, she thought, alone with Gregory and with his ikons all about them. She wouldn
’
t spoil it by dwelling on his chosen companion for the week-end because she would spoil it all.

H
e watched her settling herself with a slight smile.

‘
Does it take you as long to get to know people
?
’
he asked her.
‘
Do you have to see them in every mood too?
’

S
he had never thought about it.
‘
I suppose people are more complicated,
’
she answered.
‘
T
hey have different moods too. It isn
’
t the same because everything they say changes what I feel all the time. Pictures are less demanding in the long run.
’

‘
They don
’
t cut up your peace like people do
?
’

H
er sober expression broke into laughter.
‘
Sometimes. Nobody ever did before—
’
She broke off, giving him an apologetic look.
‘
Peace isn
’
t
everything
!
’
she added by way of offering him an olive branch.