Duel In The Sun

Dr Kane—no, Lucas, had to concentrate and she was able to sit quietly and look him over. Closer to, he wasn’t so fair as she’d first thought; his hair was brown but had been bleached by the sun, as if he didn’t bother to wear a hat. He had a natural air of authority and she guessed that he didn’t often need to browbeat his staff. Catriona wondered why he had with her; to show her how angry he was, perhaps, or maybe just because she was female and needed to be put in her place. Fleetingly she wondered if he was married, then decided he couldn’t be. He didn’t act as if he’d been gentled by constant female company. He hadn’t offered to carry her luggage or open the car door for her, hadn’t asked if she’d had a good flight. And even more important, hadn’t asked if Omar Rafiq had attempted to coerce her to stay. But maybe he didn’t have to ask; maybe he knew.

There was hostility between the two men; she’d not only sensed it but had seen it in their eyes, their actions. On the surface it was like verbal fencing, but she wondered what it would take and what passions would be unleashed if they ever came to open enmity. And she was intrigued to know what had caused two such dissimilar men to have clashed in the first place.

They had circled the outskirts of the town and the traffic wasn’t so heavy now. Some of the cars they passed had lights on, some hadn’t bothered; it seemed to be a matter of personal taste—or perhaps just whether the lights worked. Her eyes flicked back to Lucas’s hard profile.

‘So what are your conclusions?’ he asked in a conversational tone.

‘On what subject?’ she asked warily.

‘Me. You’ve been studying me long enough.’

She blinked, taken aback, but thought she might as well satisfy her curiosity, so said, ‘I was wondering why you and Omar Rafiq were so—abrasive.’

‘Abrasive!’ He laughed. ‘A good word. I have no reason to like him.’

‘Why not?’

He gave her an assessing look. ‘Why the interest?’

Catriona shrugged. ‘I’d like to know what you rescued me from.’

‘Wouldn’t he let you leave?’

‘No.’

Lucas laughed again, really amused this time. ‘I suppose you had visions of ending up in his harem. Did you tell him you were headed for my dig?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘That’s why, then; he only wanted to keep you there to inconvenience me.’

An egotistical remark that Catriona found extremely annoying. ‘What if I’d decided to stay?’

With a shrug, Lucas said, ‘It’s hypothetical; you didn’t.’

‘He offered me far more money than you’re paying me. Double, in fact,’ she goaded.

‘Then you were a fool not to accept,’ he returned calmly.

Catriona let him negotiate a busy road junction, then said, ‘You still haven’t told me why you don’t like him.’

‘I know I haven’t.’

‘So why?’

He shot her a frowning glance. ‘What an extremely nosy woman you are. Do you really want to know about excavation politics so soon?’

‘Yes.’

His lips twitched a little at her unequivocal response. ‘All right, if you must know; Omar offered to sponsor the dig but then backed out at the last minute.’

So that was all it was about, just money. Catriona felt a fleeting moment of disappointment, which changed to anger when she realised she had been used as a pawn in their disagreement. Had Omar, then, merely been amusing himself by trying to frighten her? Had the danger she’d felt all been in her imagination? It certainly seemed rather silly now to have thought herself a victim of white slavery. But she had been alone in a strange land, denied her freedom, and had known distinct unease, if not outright fear. And all because two men disliked each other!

They left the street lights behind and were driving through open country, but it was completely dark and Catriona could see nothing that wasn’t illuminated by the car’s headlamps: trees and the occasional mud brick house.

‘How far is it?’ she asked.

‘Only a couple of miles. We turn off into the desert soon. Have you ever been to Egypt before?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’re either going to love it or hate it; there are no half-measures where Egypt is concerned.’

‘How long have you been out here?’

‘On this excavation site, for three years, but I’ve spent a lot of time here during my career.’

‘You discovered a new tomb, didn’t you?’

‘You’ve been doing some reading. Yes, nearly nine years ago. It wasn’t a major find, though, and it had been robbed, of course, but there were some extremely good wall paintings.’

‘You must have been young then,’ Catriona remarked without thinking.

‘Oh, yes, I was very young—then,’ he agreed sardonically.

‘I didn’t mean to imply that you’re no longer young, just that you must have been young to find a tomb,’ she excused, afraid that he’d taken offence. Though he would have to be very vain to feel insulted by such a chance remark.

‘I know what you meant. I was twenty-four—which some people seemed to think too immature to be put in charge of a dig and handle a find.’

So that was it. Catriona gave him a mental apology; obviously it was the criticism of his professionalism that rankled. Changing the subject, she said, ‘How many people are there in your team?’

‘Five principals: I’m the field director, and my deputy is our surveyor, Bryan Stone. Then we have a pottery expert, Harry Carson, who’s in Cairo on leave at the moment, and a seed and plant man, Mike Pearson. The fifth man is Mohamed Shalaby, who’s also the inspector from the Egyptian authorities.’

‘No women?’ Catriona asked with mixed feelings.

‘There’s Lamia, Mohamed’s wife. She’s not officially part of the team but she’s supposed to run the house, make sure the servants do their work, that kind of thing.’

They had left the fertile area with its trees and fields, the road was no longer tarred, had become just an uneven, pot-holed track. Ahead she could see some lights which turned out to be those of a small village of mud houses. They drove through it, went on for another few hundred yards, and then Lucas drove through an arched gateway and pulled up in the courtyard of a house. Like the Garden of the Nile, the house was two-storeyed, had a gate and was surrounded by a wall. There the similarity ended. There was no garden, no fountain playing, no open door with welcoming servant, and, once inside, definitely no air-conditioning or the faintest hint of luxury. It was just a roughly made house, built to last for the duration of the dig and nothing more. The furniture was old and shabby with no attempt at style. But at least there was electric light, even if the bulbs didn’t possess shades.

Catriona stood in the hallway, looked about her, and laughed again.

‘Having second thoughts?’ Lucas enquired as he dropped her cases on the floor.

‘Second, third and fourth,’ Catriona admitted.

He grinned, and she liked it. ‘I thought you might have. Come and meet the others.’

He led her through a curtained doorway into a room off to the left that evidently served as a communal sitting room. There was a television set in the corner but the programme was in Arabic and only one man was watching. Two other men were seated at a small table, playing chess, and a woman sat on a worn settee, reading a magazine. They all looked round when Lucas led her in. For a long moment there was total silence and Catriona felt rather like an exhibit at the zoo as their eyes assessed her. It was one of the men at the table, middle-aged and weather-beaten, who spoke first.

‘So you found her.’

‘Yes. She ended up at Omar Rafiq’s house.’ Lucas turned to Catriona. ‘This is Bryan Stone, the surveyor. And this is Mike Pearson, our plant expert.’

The other chess-player stood up to shake hands. He was younger, around thirty, and there was an abstracted air about him, as if he was thinking of something else. ‘Hello. Catriona Fenton, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Hello.’

‘And this is our Egyptian colleague, Mohamed.’

The man who had been watching television also stood up. ‘Kayf haalak, tasharafna be-mearefatak,’ he said, bowing over her hand.

‘“How do you do? Pleased to meet you”,’ Lucas translated.

Catriona smiled and came out with her only Arabic word. ‘Shokran. Thank you.’

‘And this is Lamia, Mohamed’s wife.’

Catriona had quite liked the look of Mohamed, but his wife was something else. She didn’t bother to get up but reached up an indolent hand to let it be shaken. In her early thirties, she was dark-haired and attractive, but there was antagonism in her eyes. ‘Hello.’ Catriona smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry I don’t speak Arabic.’

The friendly overture was ignored as Lamia answered in perfect English. ‘How odd that you got lost.’ Making it sound as if she also thought it extremely stupid. ‘How was Omar?’

‘You know him?’

‘Of course, or why should I ask?’ Again as if she thought her a fool.

But Catriona could give as good as she got. ‘He was very well,’ she answered. Adding, ‘How strange, when you know him so well, that he didn’t send you his regards—or even mention your name.’

She thought she heard Lucas give a soft chuckle behind her but couldn’t be sure. Lamia’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak Lucas said, ‘We haven’t eaten. Is there any food ready for us?’

‘The cook had to stay on. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

Lucas let her go, not offering to do it for her. ‘I’ll show you your room,’ he told Catriona.

He picked up her cases and she followed him up the stairs with her hand luggage. The roughly surfaced walls had been painted white, presumably throughout the building, but were now very dingy, and although there had been a couple of pictures on the walls of the sitting room there was none elsewhere. On the first floor there were six rooms opening off the landing. Lucas pointed to one opposite the stairs. ‘That’s the bathroom. We all have to share it, I’m afraid. And water’s scarce so you’re only allowed two showers a week. Why are you grinning?’

‘“From the sublime to the ridiculous”,’ Catriona quoted.

He had no comment to make about that. ‘This is your room.’ He opened a door to the right of the stairs, took her cases in and dropped them on the bed. ‘See you downstairs in ten minutes.’

The room was clean and had the basic necessities: a bed, just a rail for her clothes, a wash-stand with old-fashioned jug and basin, a table with a light over it, and a chair. Catriona had seen pictures of prison cells that looked more comfortable. And it was so drab: white walls, no curtains at the high window, and a grey-coloured blanket on the bed. With a degree in art and design, it was the lack of colour that most offended her. And it would be the first thing that she would put right, she decided. If she was going to spend six months here, then there would have to be some colour in her life.

There was water, cold, in the jug, and the towels were clean. Catriona washed her face and hands, brushed her hair, added some lipstick, and went down to dine with Lucas Kane.

The dining room had just one large table with half a dozen chairs set round it. But there was a tablecloth, although it was already stained, and there was wine to drink. The food, brought by a white-robed Egyptian boy, was quite good. The conversation, though, wasn’t.

‘Did Omar tell you anything about me?’ Lucas asked her.

‘Only that he knew you.’

‘He didn’t say anything about the dig—or the team?’

‘Only that I would find the house most uncomfortable and I wouldn’t like it here.’

Lucas’s lips twisted into a grin at that, but he gave the slightest nod of satisfaction, making Catriona wonder just what Omar might have told her. Changing the subject completely, he said, ‘What experience have you had?’

Dodgy ground. ‘Didn’t you have my CV? It’s all in there.’

‘Yes, of course—but I’d like to know in detail.’

He would. With an inner sigh Catriona said, ‘I have an honours degree in art and design and did my thesis on the influence of historic costume on modern fashion. I then had a six-month placement in the textile conservation department of a museum, and after that—’

‘They didn’t offer to keep you on?’ Lucas interrupted.

‘No, they couldn’t afford to. They were under-funded and had to keep taking on new graduates for half-yearly placements because that way they didn’t have to pay very much.’

He nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘And after that...?’ he prompted.

‘I worked in various aspects of the textile industry, broadening my knowledge and experience.’ She had quoted verbatim from her CV because it was the best way she knew of covering a catalogue of odd jobs that she had been forced to take to earn a living. In the recession there had just been no jobs going for a young, ambitious girl with ideas of her own. And her looks hadn’t helped; often her qualifications had got her through to the interview stage, but museum curators and prospective employers had taken one glance at her delicate figure and fair beauty and refused to take her seriously, or else thought that she would soon marry and leave.

Once, she’d thought she’d really got the job she so wanted: designing costumes for an opera company who were launching an entirely new production. For a while all went well, but again the lack of finance had intervened, their sponsors had crashed and the new opera had been called off, making Catriona, along with a great many other people, unemployed yet again. For some time after that she’d had to work as a waitress, until she had found the job with a clothing company as a supervisor over a sweatshop of overworked immigrant women. This wasn’t satisfactory, but at least she’d been working with clothes—until the day she had felt driven to complain about the women’s pay and conditions and had been immediately dismissed. But how did you explain that to a man who had never been out of work, had been given his own excavation at twenty-four and had never looked back?

His grey eyes seemed to see into her mind. ‘Elucidate,’ he ordered shortly.

Catriona did so. She didn’t lie, but she made the most of those jobs she’d had that she thought would be an advantage and glossed over those that didn’t, and missed out the waitressing job completely.

She didn’t fool him, she hadn’t seriously thought she would, not once she’d met him and seen the kind of man he was. When she’d finished Lucas said, ‘So beyond six months in a museum, two years ago, you have no practical experience of historic textiles, and probably none at all of ancient Egyptian.’

‘Why did your last textile expert leave?’ Catriona countered.

His eyebrows flickered. ‘Personal reasons,’ he answered dismissively.

But she wasn’t to be put off. ‘What personal reasons?’

‘They need hardly concern you. She just found it necessary to leave.’

‘She? It was a woman?’

‘Aren’t most textile experts nowadays?’ And, before she could answer, ‘Stop trying to change the subject. Have you or have you not any experience of ancient Egyptian textiles?’

‘No. But I—’

‘In other words you got the job under false pretences,’ Lucas said harshly. He frowned angrily. ‘I hate deceit. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you on the first plane back to England, and charge you for the fares we’ve wasted?’

‘Yes,’ Catriona answered promptly. ‘You haven’t got anyone else. And I know I can do this job.’

‘Do you?’ His eyes were on her earnest face and determined chin. ‘If I thought that I could get hold of another expert quickly, I’d get rid of you tomorrow. But as it is...’ He shrugged. ‘I have no choice but to give you a try.’

‘Thank you,’ she said unsteadily.

‘Keep your thanks,’ he retorted brusquely. ‘I’ll give you a trial, but just remember that I’ll be watching you like a hawk, so don’t think you can cover up your mistakes or get away with anything. And first you’re going to have to do a great deal of reading and studying before I let you near even the smallest thread of cloth on this site.’

‘I was going to say that I’ve already been doing that, from the moment I knew there was a chance that I might come here.’

‘Well, first thing tomorrow we’re going to find out just what you do know.’

Overwhelmingly grateful that she wasn’t about to be sent immediately back to England, Catriona gave a sigh of relief but didn’t let it show. ‘What time do we start?’

‘Breakfast is at five-thirty.’ He was watching her, expecting her to look dismayed, but Catriona merely nodded. ‘Then we have a break around eleven, and afterwards work on at the site until about three. We come back here for a meal at four and usually spend the evening examining finds, repairing pottery, and doing basic conservation.’

‘I see. Perhaps you could tell me something about the site you’re working on.’

Lucas glanced at his watch. ‘Tomorrow. I have some work to catch up on before I go to bed.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘You might as well go and unpack. Goodnight.’

Catriona had been waiting for the next course in the meal, but evidently that was it. ‘Goodnight.’

She followed him out of the room and saw him go into a room next door, one she hadn’t been into yet. Doing as he’d suggested, she went upstairs to unpack, hanging her clothes on the rail, and keeping her more personal possessions in the suitcases, which she pushed under the bed. The house was very quiet; presumably everybody went to bed early if they had to get up at five. Deciding to do the same, Catriona first went in search of the bathroom. It was like no bathroom she had ever seen before. To even call it that was to bestow a title it certainly didn’t deserve. It was like calling a pigsty a porcine palace. There was no bath, and the shower was a joke. It was electric but the water was always tepid whichever setting you put it on, and came out in fits and starts, to be collected in a sort of baby’s bath in which you stood, and was evidently saved and used again. Probably by the next person, Catriona thought with a grimace. Remembering that she was only allowed two showers a week and deciding that the need might be greater tomorrow, Catriona went quickly back to her room and washed herself as best she could.

Sitting up in bed, Catriona took out the textbooks she’d brought with her and began to go through them again, wanting to be as informed as possible before tomorrow. At eleven o’clock she turned out the light, but it took her a while to get to sleep, mostly because she just wasn’t tired, but also because the bed was hard and lumpy and the room too warm.

Lying awake, she went over the extraordinary events of the last twenty-four hours. She saw now how stupid she had been to think that Omar’s house could possibly be the expedition headquarters; she ought to have insisted on Omar’s being wakened and being taken back to the airport at once. Well, it was too late now; she had made a bad start with Lucas, and her lack of experience hadn’t helped either. But at least he’d let her stay, even if it was only on a trial basis. She turned, trying to find a comfortable spot, unable to resist comparing this room with the opulence of the one she’d slept in last night. Talk about rude awakenings—this must be the rudest ever! She must be mad, she decided. Fancy turning down Omar’s plush palace for this!

Her thoughts drifted to the woman who had left the dig team so suddenly. Had this been her room? Catriona was rather intrigued by her. She herself had heard of the job through an old college friend who worked at a museum with a really good Egyptology department. The friend had said that the textile expert had left at short notice for family reasons, which could mean anything, of course. But Catriona couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, especially now she’d learnt the previous expert had been a woman. Was it anything to do with Lucas? Perhaps the woman hadn’t been able to stand his overbearing behaviour. It was even possible that she’d fallen for him and been snubbed. Unlikely, although there was definitely something attractive about Lucas: his lean good-looks, and the sort of rough arrogance that a woman could fall for if she wasn’t careful.

Lying on the bumpy pillow, Catriona wondered what Lucas would be like as a lover. He’d be experienced, she guessed, physically expert as far as the sex part of it went. But if a woman wanted more, if she fell in love with him and looked for the same feelings from him... Catriona just couldn’t see it. Lucas definitely looked the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. She could imagine him becoming cynically amused and hurtfully mocking if some poor female tried to get really close to him. A good enough reason for the last textile expert to have left so precipitately.

Her alarm clock had been set for five o’clock, but it seemed that she had only just got to sleep when its strident tone shattered the stillness. For a few minutes Catriona was too sleepy to think where she was, but then remembered and sat up with a jerk. Today was going to be a testing time, in more ways than one. Quickly she got up, stood naked in front of the basin to wash herself in the now tepid water, dressed in shirt and trousers and plaited her hair into its practical pleat. No make-up today, she decided; she wanted to look as efficient and intellectual as possible—which, she’d found, in a man’s eyes seemed to require her also to look as unfeminine as possible. Which wasn’t easy; no matter how she tried, Catriona had never succeeded in looking anything less than classy.

Lamia didn’t put in an appearance at breakfast but all the rest of the team were there, although nobody talked very much. Lucas’s eyes flicked over her and he nodded when she said good morning, but apart from that he didn’t speak. As soon as they’d finished, everyone piled into the Land Rover to drive the short distance to the site. Outside, the sun was still low and it was beautifully cool. There were no trees and no other houses near by, just the long spread of the desert, broken by hills, but on the far horizon the land rose into mountains, jaggedly outlined against the rising sun. It was very still, very beautiful. Catriona paused to stand and stare, could happily have stayed for longer, but Lucas started the engine and she had to run and jump in beside Mohamed.

She was put in Bryan Stone’s charge. He took over the Land Rover and drove her round the excavation, explaining that it was a settlement site of about 1400 BC. It covered a wider area than she expected. There were the remains of temples and palaces, and large residential quarters, and Bryan told her there were tombs built into the distant desert cliffs. ‘We’re concentrating on the suburb to the north,’ he told her. ‘There’s a group of very large houses in their own estates, and also a number of smaller houses surrounding them.’

‘What about the rest of the city?’

‘Other teams, from various countries, are working on other sites, but they mainly only work in the winter when it’s cooler. The French are still here, but most of the others have gone home and won’t be back till October or November.’

‘So how come our team is still working?’

Bryan gave a short laugh. ‘It’s Lucas; he wants to get the job done.’

‘And move on to something else?’

‘Partly that, but mostly because he’s eager to find all there is to find. He’s obsessed by everything that’s hidden under the sand, and can’t wait to discover its secrets.’

A strong word to describe a man’s interest, his career, but there had been many men in the past who had shared the obsession, and had found the treasure of King Tutankhamun in the process. The buried treasure syndrome. A bug that, once caught, would, Catriona guessed, be almost impossible to shake off. And Lucas would have caught it early by finding a tomb when still so young.

‘I’ll take you back to where we’re working,’ Bryan told her.

About a dozen workers from the nearby village had arrived, tramping across the desert on foot, and were gathered round Lucas as he told them where to work. He sent two men off with Bryan, then told two others and Catriona to follow him.