Dark Enemy

‘What can’t?’

‘Me, being out here!’ Paul fumbled for his cigarettes and then muttered: ‘Thanks’ as Jason offered him one. When it was lit he continued: ‘I suppose you’ll get all the sordid details from Dad so I might as well tell you my story first. There was this girl—’

‘There always is,’ remarked Jason laconically.

‘Yeah, I know. And I’m always the sucker! But this doll was crazy about me, and I’m only human after all. How was I to know she’d take me seriously? Anyway, it turned out her dad was an ex-wrestler or something. He practically kidnapped me one night after I’d stopped seeing her. He went berserk!’ Paul’s young face blanched at the memory. ‘Anyhow, to cut a long story short, the police were called and the press got to know and there was a God-awful stink! You can imagine what kind of coverage it got. The girl said she was pregnant, but she wasn’t, our doctor proved that, thank heaven! But naturally it’s left a pretty nasty situation, and Dad thought it was time I got out of the country for a while. I agreed. I didn’t know he had this in mind.’

Jason’s dark brows were raised. ‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I guessed as much. How old are you now, Paul – twenty, twenty-one? Hell, I don’t ever remember being as young as you!’

‘I’m twenty-two, actually,’ replied Paul sullenly. ‘You’re not so different. What about that Ellis woman?’

Jason shrugged. ‘A little different, I think, Paul. Anyway, that’s beside the point, I suppose. You’re here now, and we’re stuck with you. But by heaven, you’re not going to lie around here. You’ll work, boy, believe me, you’ll work!’

Paul’s colour deepened again. ‘Dad knew what he was doing when he sent me here, didn’t he?’ he muttered. ‘Home from bloody home!’

‘Never mind, kid. He may take pity on you. But that still doesn’t explain that girl’s arrival. Who the hell is she? If she’s not your girl-friend, what is she?’

‘You’d better wait and ask Dad,’ retorted Paul, sniffing. ‘Now, where do I shack down?’

Jason straightened, and opened the door, pausing momentarily in the aperture. ‘I guess you could share with young Collins,’ he said. ‘He’s one of the drilling crew. He’s about your age.’

‘I’d prefer to be alone,’ said Paul moodily.

‘I expect you would. However, there are only a certain number of bungalows here, and Caxton’s is only empty because he’s home on compassionate leave. His wife’s just had their fifth child. So for the present, you’ll have to be content with sharing with Collins. That is, unless you can persuade your travelling companion that her journey wasn’t really necessary?’

‘I’ve told you,’ exclaimed Paul. ‘Nicola is not my concern.’

Jason studied him a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Okay, let’s go. I’ll drop you off and introduce you to Collins on my way to my bungalow. He’ll take you over to the cookhouse later, and see you get a meal. Tomorrow we’ll consider what we can find for you to do.’

After he had got Paul settled with young Tony Collins, Jason drove thankfully to his own bungalow, and after parking the Land-Rover, mounted the steps wearily. Ali met him in the hall.

‘At last you have come,’ he said complainingly. ‘The meal – it has been ready this half-hour.’

Jason grimaced. ‘Well, I guess it’ll have to wait another half-hour, Ali. I’m hot and sweaty, and I need a shower, not to mention a change of clothes.’

Ali pulled a long-suffering face, but Jason merely gave him a pat on the back and walked into his bedroom. The shower, despite being lukewarm, was refreshing, and clean cotton pants and a thin cotton knitted shirt felt good. He combed his thick hair, and re-entered the hall to cross it to the lounge. The bungalows were simply constructed with one long room serving as dining room and lounge, and the other side of the central hall was divided into bedroom and bathroom. The oil company erected these air-conditioned living quarters wherever they went, providing civilized accommodation for men who spent hours daily in entirely uncivilized conditions. Ali’s quarters and the kitchen were out back, while at the front of the building was a verandah where one could sit in the cool of the evening. And the evenings could be very cold.

But now Jason was glad to accept the iced lager that Ali had waiting for him in the lounge and stifled an angry exclamation when the telephone rang insistently. Lifting the receiver, he said: ‘Wilde speaking,’ in a curt tone.

‘Jason? Is that you?’ The voice was faint but familiar.

‘Yes, Harold, it’s me,’ said Jason dryly, recognizing the voice of his superior back in London.

‘You sound angry, Jason,’ said Sir Harold Mannering, chuckling. ‘I gather Paul and Nicola have arrived. Am I right?’

Jason swallowed half his lager at a gulp. ‘You’re damn right,’ he answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘What’s the idea? Unloading your problems on to me?’

‘Oh, you can handle Paul, Jason. Has he told you what happened here?’

‘His version,’ remarked Jason coldly. ‘Okay, I admit, Paul doesn’t cause many problems, but why send the girl?’

Sir Harold laughed. ‘Now you must confess, it wasn’t such an unpleasant surprise, was it?’ he said cheerfully.

Jason’s brows drew together frowningly. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Harold?’ he muttered. ‘Sending a girl like that out here when I already have problems enough with the men!’

Sir Harold sounded less amiable. ‘Steady on, Jason,’ he said shortly. ‘You aren’t chairman yet, you know.’

Jason breathed hard through his nose. ‘Harold,’ he said tightly, ‘I want Nicola King back in England at the earliest opportunity.’

Sir Harold cleared his throat. ‘Are you ordering me, Jason?’

Jason sighed. ‘Hell, no, Harold! Look, try to see it my way, if Paul needs a feminine shoulder to cry on, let him take himself off to Gitana like the rest of the crew. Why should he bring his girl-friend out here? I warn you – the men won’t like it.’

Sir Harold’s amiability returned. ‘Now I know you’re joking, Jason,’ he said, chuckling. ‘You know damn nicely, Nicola’s not interested in Paul.’

Jason ran a hand across his forehead. He was tired and in need of sleep, and Sir Harold’s words were not making sense any more. Making a last attempt to understand the situation, he said:

‘Okay, okay, Harold. Why is she here?’

Sir Harold seemed to hesitate. ‘Well, she’s a pretty good secretary, Jason. She’s worked in my office for the last eleven months, and I’m pretty sure you need some help with those reports. Don’t deny that they’re always late in arriving. Look here, the girl wanted to come out with Paul, and while I know it’s irregular, well – I’m sure you can handle it.’

Jason shook his head, finished his lager and signalled to Ali to provide him with another. ‘How long am I expected to keep her here?’ he said tautly. ‘I warn you – this is your responsibility, not mine.’

Sir Harold sniffed. ‘Well, I must admit, you’re a pretty ungrateful devil, Jason,’ he said broodingly. ‘Anyway, Nicola has another assignment. She’s to keep an eye on Paul for me. I don’t trust that boy out of my sight.’

‘Short of running amok in a harem, there’s little trouble he can get himself into here,’ returned Jason sarcastically. ‘Anyway, to introduce more mundane problems, I’m happy to state that the men return to work tomorrow.’

‘Ah, you’ve seen Mohammed, then?’

‘Yes, this afternoon.’

‘What percentage?’

‘Three.’

‘Good, good!’ Sir Harold sounded delighted. ‘You’ve done well Jason. I’m immensely pleased. I’m sure the board will be, too.’

Jason grimaced. ‘Don’t I warrant a bonus?’ he asked dryly.

‘You surely do.’

‘Then take the girl back!’ Jason’s tones were flat.

‘Give her a chance, Jason,’ exclaimed Sir Harold. ‘Heck, she’s just arrived. Let her prove herself. Don’t be so stubborn!’

‘Prove herself?’ Jason shook his head again. ‘You’re losing me again, Harold. Okay, okay, leave it for now. I’ll handle it. I’m too tired right now to argue with you.’

Sir Harold hung up chuckling, and after he had replaced his receiver Jason sat staring at the phone with puzzled eyes. It wasn’t like Sir Harold to be so obtuse. What in hell did he think he was doing? Unless he imagined that by sending a suitable applicant out to Castanya he might persuade him to give up his bachelor status. For long enough Sir Harold had been trying to get him settled. Maybe this was his final effort. Even so, it was an unsatisfactory solution, but the only one he could come up with.

CHAPTER TWO

IN the absent Caxton’s bungalow, Nicola King was taking a shower. The water which sprayed from the tank was warm, but invigorating, and she moved beneath its spray sensuously, loving the feel of the water against her hot skin. Despite the primitive conditions she was experiencing a sense of well-being and satisfaction. She was here, at Castanya; and there was absolutely nothing Jason Wilde could do about it.

She smiled as she recalled his outraged anger when he had discovered her presence on the site. Perhaps he had had enough of women for the time being, but she intended to see that he changed his mind. And then …

Her expression hardened. Jason Wilde would find out that there were still some things he had to learn. He was so big, so powerful, so arrogantly assured of himself. Well, she would change all that. Just how, she was not sure. But she would find a way, of that she was certain. After all, everything had gone according to plan so far. She was here, when everything had been against her achieving such a thing. She gave a slight grimace. It hadn’t been easy. Sir Harold had had to be persuaded, cajoled, gently flattered. He was a man like other men. And Nicola knew she was a woman men found attractive. Besides, there had been a sense of power in controlling a man like Sir Harold Mannering.

She turned off the shower, and stepped out of the cubicle. Wrapping herself in the voluminous folds of a huge bathsheet, she wound it sarong-wise round her body and walked into the bedroom. Seating herself on the bed, she began to brush her thick hair until it was a sleek corn-coloured curtain about her shoulders. As she studied her appearance in the mirror of the dressing table she felt a faint twinge of regret, of conscience, almost. Was that hard-eyed creature intent on revenge really herself? Was she really determining to wreck a man’s life? Where was her warmth and gentleness? Where was the eager young woman with confidence in herself and a zest for life?

She looked away from her image. That girl was gone – for ever. Banished by the careless actions of the man she had met only half an hour ago. Not that he was aware of the havoc he had wrought in her life. She doubted very much whether he was aware of the full extent of the havoc he had wrought in her sister’s life. But he would become aware of it, of that she had no doubt. And when he did – then she would have her revenge.

She dressed in a slim-fitting shift of apricot cotton, left her hair loose about her shoulders, and applied a little eye-shadow and some lipstick. It was no good endeavouring a full make-up. The heat would cake foundation applications to her skin in no time.

As she was completing her toilet she heard a tapping at the door of the bungalow, and she emerged into the hall, and called ‘Come in!’

Graham Wilson came through the door, smiling broadly. ‘Well?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you find everything you needed?’

Nicola smiled back. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced into the lounge. ‘Won’t you come in? I think there are some drinks in the cabinet there.’

Graham flushed. ‘Er – no, thanks, if you don’t mind. Jason is expecting you, and I think we ought to be going.’

Nicola nodded understandingly. ‘Ah, I see. Mr. Wilde. You find him a hard taskmaster?’

‘Heck, no!’ Graham was youthfully vehement. ‘Jason’s a grand chap to work with. All the fellows like him. But he hasn’t much patience with late-comers, and he knows I came to collect you.’

Nicola decided this was no time to attempt to alienate the image Graham Wilson had of his boss, so she just said: ‘Hang on while I get my bag,’ and then followed him out of the bungalow.

They walked to Jason Wilde’s bungalow, and it gave Nicola a chance to take a more detailed look at the site. The rows of living quarters edged a central highway, and at the far end a long low building was brightly lit, the music emanating from its interior indicating that this must be some sort of social centre.

Graham, sensing her speculation, said: ‘That’s the clubhouse. There’s a pool out back of there, and we really appreciate it after a day at the rig. Most of the men work a shift system, and the clubhouse is open day and night. There’s a restaurant,’ – he grinned, ‘I guess you’d call it a canteen, and the men can get a meal when they finish their stint. They work four days on and three off, generally. There are no accepted weekends here, like back home, and every month the men get a full week’s leave. Usually they go down to Gitana, on the coast. There’s plenty of activity at Gitana.’

‘So I noticed,’ remarked Nicola, nodding. ‘Our plane came down there. We drove through the town. It’s a little like Port of Spain, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve been to Trinidad?’ Graham sounded surprised.

‘Just a couple of months ago. With Sir Harold.’

‘Oh, I see. I didn’t realize—’ Graham broke off his train of thought. ‘Tell me, Miss King, how did you persuade our chairman to allow you to come out here?’

Nicola smiled. ‘That’s my secret,’ she replied evenly. ‘How about you? How long do you expect to be out here?’

‘Until the pipeline’s working. Right now it’s barely a third completed. That’s Jason’s problem. The local Sheikh is making things pretty difficult for us.’

Nicola nodded. ‘I see. What do you think Paul will have to do?’

‘Mannering?’ Graham shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably Jason will fix him up. Does he like getting his hands dirty?’

‘I really couldn’t say.’ Nicola was brief, and then they had reached the bungalow where Jason was living.

‘Here we are,’ called Graham, mounting the steps ahead of Nicola, and leading the way into the lounge.

Jason Wilde was lounging in a chair, a glass of lager in his fingers, and he glanced up wryly at their entrance. ‘You’re a little late for dinner, Miss King,’ he remarked sardonically.

Nicola, who was feeling ravenously hungry now, felt furiously angry. She was sure he was well aware of her emptiness, and had deliberately eaten early to force her into waiting until their interview was over when she would have to go to the eating place where all the men would be gathered.

However, she was an adept at concealing her feelings, and she replied, quite coolly: ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr. Wilde. I can wait until later. Perhaps Mr. Wilson would be so kind as to bring a tray to my bungalow?’

Graham was about to accept this proposition when Jason got broodingly to his feet. ‘My men are not waiters,’ he said harshly. ‘You can go, Graham. I can handle this.’

‘Yes. Yes, sir!’ Graham turned and left them, with a slightly regretful glance in Nicola’s direction.

Nicola managed to retain her calm expression, while inwardly she seethed. Obviously the task she had set herself was going to be far more difficult than even she had imagined. Back in London, planning this situation, she had vaguely imagined that after his initial annoyance Jason Wilde might conceivably come to appreciate her presence, but apparently she had underestimated him. He was far more calculating than she had thought. Hard all through, like steel. And then she remembered Louise, and her own determination hardened to match his.

Even so, it was impossible not to appreciate the man himself. She could easily see why Louise had been so impossibly infatuated with him. He was so much different from George, or Michael either, for that matter. Not that she, personally, found his raw masculinity appealing. There was something primitive about him that stirred the basest emotions inside her, and she realized she would have to work hard to achieve any kind of victory with him. His height immediately put her at a disadvantage, and the width of his shoulders owed nothing to artifice. But it was the hard, uncompromising features, and the thick hair that grew low on his neck and was repeated in the brown muscularity of his arms and chest that gave one the impression of leashed virility, and brutal strength. She shivered suddenly, hoping this task she had set herself would never get out of hand. Somehow she had the feeling that if it did she would be unable to control it.

Then she chided herself. Was she such a coward? Was she to give up simply because the task was proving more complex? She must think of David and Goliath; or Samson and Delilah, her subconscious taunted her mockingly. A smile curved her mouth unwillingly, and then she saw his eyes darken angrily.

‘What is amusing you, Miss King?’ he asked, in a hard tone. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the prospect of several weeks under conditions intolerable to most women would appeal to a butterfly like yourself!’

‘A butterfly?’ she exclaimed, in annoyance. ‘I’m no butterfly. I have to work for my living.’

‘Indeed?’ Jason’s expression was derisive. ‘And how well do you know Sir Harold Mannering?’

Nicola stiffened. ‘As well as any secretary knows her boss,’ she replied.

‘Is that so? Then how come you were able to persuade him to let you come out here? I mean – that’s no mean achievement.’

‘I don’t like your insinuations, Mr. Wilde.’

‘Don’t you? How terrible!’ he mocked her. ‘But then a woman in your position hasn’t much chance of retaliation, has she?’

Nicola’s fingers stung across his cheek almost before she could prevent them, and Jason caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘Don’t you ever dare to do that again!’ he muttered savagely, ‘or I may forget that whatever your designation I am a gentleman, and respond in kind!’

Nicola was trembling, and she wrenched her wrist away shakily. ‘Then – then don’t say things like that!’ she snapped angrily. ‘You’ve absolutely no evidence on which to base remarks of that sort!’

‘Haven’t I? Well, I have the evidence of my own eyes, and you’re simply not the kind of woman to come out here for no reason.’

‘I – I have a reason. I’m to help you – and keep an eye on Paul.’

‘Very neat.’ Jason turned away, walking to the drinks cabinet and selecting a bottle. After a stiff whisky, he said: ‘Okay, we won’t argue about your relationship with Harold. Quite frankly, I’m too tired to attempt to sort it all out. But I have my opinions. You wouldn’t deny me them?’

Nicola did not reply, but merely shook her head. As her temper subsided she felt annoyed with herself. She rubbed her wrist that pained a little. This would never do. She couldn’t have Jason Wilde imagining she was some kind of easy woman. That wasn’t at all the image she wanted to create. And somehow no matter what his own morals might be she could not see him finding a woman like that attractive. No, somehow she had to assume a much less aggressive personality. But how? How?

She considered reverting to woman’s oldest weapon, tears, but then decided against it. Somehow she didn’t think they would wash with Jason Wilde either.

Now he said: ‘Can I offer you a drink? It’s the least I can do.’

Nicola bit her lip. ‘Just a fruit juice, please,’ she said quietly, and suffered the look of scorn that crossed his face before he turned and supplied her with an iced lime and lemon. Just then Ali appeared in the doorway, his huge dark eyes widening when he saw Nicola.

‘Is there anything you want, sir?’ he asked importantly, but Jason merely shook his head. However, Ali was not one to waste his opportunities, and he looked questioningly at Nicola as he said: ‘Perhaps the lady would like something to eat, sir? Or has she already eaten?’

Jason’s eyes darkened, and then, before he could reply, Nicola said: ‘Why, how charming of your – er – houseboy, Mr. Wilde. And how thoughtful, too. Particularly as you were so disappointed that I arrived late for dinner.’

Ali grinned. ‘I will get the lady some curry and some fruit, yes?’ he asked, looking at Jason. ‘And perhaps some good coffee!’

Jason gave an exclamation, and then shrugged. ‘Oh, do what you like,’ he muttered broodingly, and Nicola hid a smile. She seemed to have scored at last.

‘May I sit down?’ she asked, subsiding on to a chair without waiting for his agreement. ‘These are quite comfortable bungalows, aren’t they? I mean – air-conditioning and so on. Not exactly what you’d expect to find in the middle of the desert.’

Jason leaned against the drinks cabinet, surveying her intently. ‘Just what did you expect to find, Miss King?’ he asked lazily.

Nicola sighed, and lay back in her chair. ‘I thought we’d agreed to stop this baiting,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you travelled much, Mr. Wilde?’

‘I imagine you would think so,’ he returned broodingly. ‘Have you?’

‘Since coming to work for Sir Harold, yes,’ she answered. ‘We went to South America in March, and Trinidad in August. This is my first visit to the Middle East.’

‘And what do you think of it?’

She shrugged. ‘Primitive – but with definite possibilities.’

Jason shook his head. ‘How old are you, Miss King?’

‘I’m twenty-four, Mr. Wilde. How old are you?’

Jason was taken aback. ‘Thirty-seven,’ he replied shortly.

‘And you’ve never got married?’

She saw a strange look cross his face. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘How about you?’

Nicola sighed. ‘I was engaged once. It was broken off a year ago.’

‘Is that so? About the time you came to work for Sir Harold, in fact.’

‘Sir Harold had nothing to do with my broken engagement,’ she replied, rather shortly, and realized he didn’t believe her.

However, Ali returned just then with a faultlessly laid tray containing a delicious-smelling dish of chicken curry, and another containing an assortment of citrus fruit. A jug of coffee completed the meal, and Nicola smiled at him gratefully.

She glanced at Jason. ‘What is your man’s name? I’d like to thank him.’

But Jason didn’t have to answer. Ali was perfectly capable of doing that for himself. ‘I am Ali, miss,’ he said, bowing low. ‘And it was my pleasure to prepare a meal for so beautiful a lady as yourself!’

Nicola smiled, offered her thanks, and then endeavouring to ignore Jason applied herself to the food. The curry was very hot, and Jason remarked, rather mockingly:

‘Ali makes the food so hot that the climate seems cool by comparison.’

Nicola nodded, taking several gulps of the lime and lemon to cool her mouth. However, it was very enjoyable, once she was used to the spiciness of it all, and she cleared her plate, and ate some grapes and an orange to finish. As she drank her coffee, Jason Wilde offered her a cigarette which she gratefully accepted.

‘What are you going to give Paul to do?’ she asked then.

Jason shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Something energetic, I think. To take a little of that pugnaciousness out of him!’

‘You don’t like him – why?’

‘I neither like nor dislike him. He’s merely an example of the futile waste of youth.’

Nicola lifted her shoulders. ‘Were you never young?’

‘Not as young as him, no!’ Jason flung himself into a chair. ‘As you’re here, Harold says I have to use your – er – secretarial talents.’

‘I know. I don’t mind. I like working.’

‘You amaze me. Who did you work for before you joined Inter-Anglia?’

‘A small advertising company. I was the secretary there.’

Jason bent his head, digesting this information. Then he said: ‘Anyway, as you are here, I think I ought to warn you that this is not England, and the customs of this country have, to a certain extent, to be adhered to.’

‘What do you mean?’ Nicola frowned.

‘I mean that there are a number of Arabs working on the site. Their encampment is beyond the camp. You’ll see it in the morning. They live there with their wives and children. It’s their normal life. They’re naturally nomads. But their women are protected to a far greater degree than are ours. And you being here might cause a positive furore when the Sheikh gets to know.’