Temple Of The Moon

The hotel doors swung inwards, and she glanced up instinctively as she had done so many times during the course of the day. But this was no influx of wet, disgruntled tourists. It was a man, on his own, and somehow Gabrielle knew, as her casual gaze fixed and sharpened, that he was no tourist. He was tall and long-legged moving with an easy animal grace in denim shirt and pants with a matching rain-spattered jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He threaded his way through the chatting groups to the reception desk where a smiling clerk turned to greet him. She couldn’t hear what passed between them, nor could she lip-read, but he was obviously asking a question, and Gabrielle felt a sudden, illogical trickle of apprehension along her spine as the newcomer turned, his eyes flicking almost indifferently over the tables. She sensed rather than saw the clerk reply, and knew with all the certainty of pounding heart and pulses that they were both looking at her.

She picked up her glass with fingers that shook, and took a hasty sip. Surely this couldn’t be Professor Morgan? Martin had given her the impression of a much older man—a contemporary of James, she had decided in her own mind. For an endless moment, she made herself look down at the table, trying to pretend she was oblivious to his regard.

‘Is your name Christow?’ She had not heard his approach and she started violently, spilling a little of her drink. His voice was low and resonant, but held no welcoming warmth.

Gabrielle looked up reluctantly. He was standing over her, his thumb hooked negligently into his belt. At close quarters, the attraction she had only sensed across the room was quite devastating and she was conscious that they were the cynosure of envious feminine eyes from adjoining tables.

‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘I’m Gabrielle Christow. And you?’

His face was narrow, the cheekbones and jawline prominent, with dark hair in need of cutting springing aggressively back from his forehead. Against his deep tan, his eyes were as pale as aquamarines. They held incredulity and hostility in almost equal amounts.

He said slowly, ‘My God, I don’t believe it. The fools! The bloody, incompetent fools!’

Gabrielle stiffened, aware as he was not of the interested ears surrounding them.

She said with a hint of ice, ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you.’

‘No?’ One of the slanting dark eyebrows lifted in a sardonic question. ‘Were you naively expecting to be welcomed with open arms? If so, I’m afraid, young woman, you’re in for a sharp disappointment.’

Gabrielle was very pale. She stammered, ‘But I though—I mean, Vision made all the arrangements—I understood I was expected.’

‘We were expecting a photographer from Vision to join us—yes.’

There was no doubting the implication in his words and she glared at him.

‘Are you questioning my professional competence?’ she demanded hotly.

‘That’s the least of my concerns.’ He hitched forward a chair, and straddled the seat, his arms folded across the back of the chair. ‘In any case, I shall not be in a position to judge it.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that you’ll be on the next flight back to Europe from Mexico City as soon as it can be arranged. We’ll cable Vision and if they care to do a hasty re-think and send us a replacement before we leave, all well and good. If not …’ He shrugged.

‘A replacement?’ she echoed dazedly. ‘But why?’

‘I should have thought it would have been obvious even to the meanest intelligence.’ The cool blue eyes went over her from the chic sandals to the scooped neckline of the sleeveless white dress. ‘This assignment is not for a woman, Miss Christow.’

For a stunned moment she looked at him, then she managed a brief, scornful laugh. ‘What kind of absurd prejudice is this, may I ask?’

‘Ask away.’ He produced a cheroot from a case and lit it. ‘It has nothing to do with prejudice—just ordinary common sense. The rain forest is no place for an inexperienced girl. I should have thought your editor would have had more sense.’

Gabrielle shook her head in disbelief. It had been bad enough coming from James, but to come all this way and get the same reception from a complete stranger was almost more than she could bear.

She said coldly, ‘In Britain now women have equal opportunities with men. Legally we can no longer be discriminated against on the grounds of sex.’

‘That’s fine for Britain.’ He drew deeply on the cheroot. ‘But it cuts no ice in the Yucatan—which is where you are, in case you hadn’t noticed. The expedition we’re involved in has dangers and discomforts you’ve never even imagined in your comfortable London office. A man could—just—have made it. But you?’ He spread his hands, his eyes going over her dismissively. ‘No way.’

Gabrielle stood up angrily, ignoring the speculative looks being directed at them from all over the foyer.

‘I should prefer to continue this—discussion somewhere less public,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Willingly.’ His smile lifted the corners of his firm-lipped mouth. ‘My place or yours?’

Gabrielle felt her cheeks redden in spite of herself.

‘Professor Morgan …’ she began in angry protest.

He shook his head. ‘Wrong again, I’m afraid. My name is Lennox—Shaun Lennox. Dennis Morgan is ill—a touch of fever.’

She stared at him, a glimmer of hope appearing on her bleak horizon. ‘You mean you’re not even the leader of the expedition and yet you presume to come here—to give me my marching orders as if …’

‘Yes, I do so presume.’ His brows snapped together. No laughter now. ‘Dennis is not a young man any more and he’s been quite sick. I want to spare him as many minor worries and irritations as possible.’

Gabrielle lifted her chin. ‘I suppose there’s no need to ask which classification I come under. Well, I don’t want to cause Professor Morgan any anxiety either, and I’m quite prepared to wait until he’s well again for his decision.’

‘I can assure you it will be the same as mine.’

‘Perhaps.’ Gabrielle suddenly felt as if she gained the advantage and pressed it home eagerly. ‘But I’d prefer to hear it from his own lips—if you don’t mind,’ she added sweetly.

‘Please yourself,’ he said shortly. ‘I suppose, having come all this way, you’re entitled to a few days’ holiday at Vision’s expense. They probably owe it to you, anyway, having sent you here under false pretences.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Gabrielle asserted confidently. Then a new and disturbing thought occurred to her. ‘Er—about my accommodation.’

He leaned forward and stubbed out his cheroot in an ash tray. ‘What about it?’

She flushed. ‘Well, I’m booked in here for tonight, but I understood—that is, Martin said that I would be staying at the Institute headquarters—as part of the team.’

She did not add that this assumption had also been based on the fact that she was married to a member of the team as well.

‘An excellent idea—if you’d been the accredited representative we were expecting. As things are, maybe you’d do better to stay here.’

She looked at him, frankly dismayed. ‘But they may not have a vacancy. This is the tourist season, you know.’

‘Yes,’ he said gently, ‘I know.’

His eyes were completely impassive as they met the indignation in hers. Gabrielle controlled herself with an effort and marched over to the reception desk. But the clerk met her halting inquiry with a blank face and a regretful shake of the head. There were no reservations available after that night. The hotel was full and he was unable to recommend anywhere else which might have a vacancy. Merida, he explained with much hand-waving, was full for the season—except for certain places where the señorita would not care to stay.

‘I shouldn’t be too sure,’ Gabrielle commented under her breath.

She walked back to the table, fighting an impulse to throw herself on this Lennox man’s dubious mercy and beg a lodging at the Institute. At the same time, she was deeply concerned by the reaction her arrival had caused. Was it possible that James had kept to himself the fact that the Vision photographer Professor Morgan was expecting was his wife? Was he dissociating himself from her completely. It was a troubling thought and made her position in Merida even more tenuous.

As she approached the table, she saw that Shaun Lennox had risen and was waiting for her, his hands resting lightly on his hips, a faint smile playing about his mouth. It was the smile that decided her. She would sleep in the street rather than ask any favour of him.

She forced an answering smile. ‘That’s settled,’ she said with spurious brightness. She hesitated. ‘Would it be in order for me to at least visit the Institute?’ She indicated the big square case on the floor. ‘Some of my cameras and equipment are valuable, and I’d feel happier if I could get them under lock and key there, rather than leave them in my room.’

He eyed the case expressionlessly. ‘I suppose that can be arranged,’ he said drily. ‘But don’t regard it as a foot in the door.’

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was sure she could find somewhere to stay if she no longer had her cameras to worry about. She had brought the minimum of luggage with her, feeling it was better to make up any deficiencies locally if necessary.

Besides, it was only too likely that the first person she came face to face with at the Institute would be James himself, and then her accommodation problem would surely be solved. Even James, she thought, could hardly repudiate his own wife in front of his colleagues without causing the sort of unpleasant scene that he would detest. She noted with a feeling of resignation that she seemed to have abandoned the idea of any kind of welcome from James.

‘Well, let’s go.’ Shaun Lennox’s voice broke impatiently across the depressing trend of her thoughts. ‘I’ve wasted enough time today already. That case is all you need to take, I assume. You’ll need your other luggage with you.’

Gabrielle, who had been searching for an excuse to take her large suitcase along as well, let the idea drop with an inward sigh. She could always, she supposed, tell this forbidding stranger her real identity and have the joy of seeing him eat humble pie over his rudeness to a colleague’s wife, but she was reluctant to do so. It would involve her in all kinds of awkward explanations at this late stage and if these were needed she would prefer to make them to Professor Morgan. But she hoped at the same time that they would not be necessary. James could not just go on ignoring the fact of her presence for ever.

‘Of course,’ she said, disliking him more than she would ever have thought possible.

‘Right, then.’ He glanced rather ostentatiously at his watch and she bent to pick up the heavy case, shifting her shoulder bag to the other side as she did so. It was an awkward movement, rendered even more so by the fact that she caught her sandal heel against the leg of the table and overbalanced, stumbling slightly.

‘So your much vaunted sexual equality doesn’t extend to carrying your own baggage,’ he commented drily, and before she could protest, he had swung the case to his own shoulder. ‘Can you manage now, Miss Christow?’

She glared at him impotently. ‘Thank you—yes.’

But once outside the hotel where a jeep stood waiting, another hazard presented itself. Although the rain had stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun, the street was still more like a miniature river than a highway and Gabrielle halted on the hotel steps with an exclamation of dismay.

‘Come now, Miss Christow. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that Merida is also known as Little Venice—among other things?’ he added with a sardonic curl of his lips.

‘No, they didn’t, Mr Lennox.’ She kept her voice cool. ‘That’s why I’m wearing sandals—not waders.’

Again she had to endure that look of total assessment that seemed to reach her shrinking skin.

‘I’m sure your job requires that you get your facts straight,’ he drawled. ‘It’s Dr Lennox, not Mr. And there’s no need to paddle, as long as you’re prepared to forgo your liberated woman’s principles yet again.’

He placed her camera case in the back of the jeep and before she could speak or move, reached for her in turn. He lifted her as easily as if she had been a doll, her legs dangling helplessly as she was held for an endless, unbearable moment against his hard muscular body, then with almost insolent ease he deposited her none too gently in the passenger seat. Gabrielle sat up, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair with hands that shook in spite of her efforts to control them, while he strode round to the other side of the jeep and swung himself into the driving seat.

He grinned at her, as he switched on the ignition.

‘We get more than our feet wet in the rain forest, Miss Christow,’ he said laconically. ‘Count yourself lucky to be out of it.’

‘We’ll see about that, Dr Lennox.’ Her tone held a restrained fury that could not have been lost on him. A moment’s pause and she added, ‘Male chauvinist pig isn’t a phrase I ever thought I would use, but in your case I have to make an exception.’

‘Well, don’t feel badly about it, Miss Christow.’ The jeep set off with a perceptible jerk and Gabrielle realised that her jibe had actually got to him. ‘There’s bound to be a female equivalent and I should have no hesitation in using it about you—if you’re around that long.’

And there was no answer to that, Gabrielle thought with a sinking heart.

CHAPTER TWO

IT was a relatively short drive to the Institute headquarters, but it seemed longer to Gabrielle. The silence between them seemed to crackle, but neither she nor her companion made the slightest attempt to relieve the tension by introducing some casual topic of conversation.

There was plenty she would have liked to have asked him, especially when she caught a glimpse down a side street of the huge pale lemon mass of the sixteenth-century cathedral. It was infuriating to think she had been kicking her heels in the hotel waiting for the Institute to contact her, and now that she did have a chance to do some sightseeing, it was being spoiled for her like this.

It was hard to maintain her reserve when they swung into a wide, busy boulevard lined on each side by big houses, most of which had the unmistakable appearance of having seen better days, and built in a crazy jumble of varying architectural styles. Gabrielle’s hands itched for her camera. She found all this forlorn grandeur intensely appealing, but the jeep sped on and she had to be content with promising herself a return visit on her own before she left Merida.

They turned off presently into a narrower thoroughfare, where the exotic topiary hedges gave way to high white walls, interspersed with anonymous wooden gates, and it was outside one of these that the jeep eventually drew up. The drainage must be better in some parts of the city than others, Gabrielle thought, as she noticed that the narrow pavement on which she was about to descend seemed to have escaped the recent flooding.

Dr Lennox had already reached into the back of the jeep and recovered her camera case. Now he stood unsmilingly, holding it while he extended his other hand to help her out of the jeep. Perversely, she ignored his proffered assistance and climbed down unaided, uncomfortably aware as she did so that the manoeuvre had revealed more of her slim legs than she had intended. But if she had expected some pointed comment, none was forthcoming. He merely unlatched the gate and stood aside to allow her to precede him.

The courtyard they entered was surrounded on three sides by an attractive two-storey building in white stucco. A covered verandah ran the length of the ground floor and was echoed by a series of connecting balconies on the upper floor. A fountain played lazily in the centre of the tiled yard and brilliant blossoms flowered in tubs or swarmed in heady splendour over the columns of the verandah.

Gabrielle drew an appreciative breath, but her companion seemed oblivious to the charm of their surroundings and showed no disposition to linger. He strode across the yard and up the steps to a pair of imposing louvred doors set in the middle of the verandah facing them. Gabrielle followed him, aware of a sudden pounding in her chest, and damp palms which owed nothing to the prevailing humidity.

She found herself in a large entrance hall, looking across the exquisitely blocked parquet floor to where a graceful staircase with a wrought iron balustrade swept up in a leisurely curve to the floor above. There were several doors in the hall, all forbiddingly shut, but from behind one of them came the sound of typewriters. Dr Lennox walked to this door and threw it open with an impatient twist of the elaborate handle.

It was a large room, giving an impression of space in spite of the efficient desks, filing cabinets and small switchboard it contained.

Two girls were busy typing while a third seemed occupied with a mass of official-looking forms, but she looked up with a smile at the newcomers, her gaze lingering questioningly on Gabrielle.

‘Esta es la señorita Christow,’ Dr Lennox remarked, apparently to the room at large. He indicated the camera case he was carrying. ‘Isabella, could you find a safe place for this, por favor?’

‘Si.’ The girl rose, quietly composed in her dark dress, her black hair neatly confined at the nape of her neck. ‘Perhaps I should put it in the strong-room.’

Her voice rose questioningly and Dr Lennox turned to Gabrielle. ‘Does that satisfy?’ His voice was chilly.

‘Thank you.’ Gabrielle moistened her lips and smiled over-brightly at Isabella. ‘Gracias. That will be fine. You’re very kind.’

‘No hay de que. De nada.’ Isabella lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. She paused. ‘You—are going to work here, señorita?’

‘I hope so,’ Gabrielle said awkwardly, acutely aware of the tall man who lounged beside her in the doorway, listening.

‘Don’t they say “Hope springs eternal in the human breast"?’ he interjected drily before Isabella could begin the polite reply which was already forming on her lips. ‘My advice to you, Miss Christow, is to book your return flight and save yourself and everyone else a lot of needless argument and trouble.’

‘That might be more convenient from your point of view, Dr Lennox, but I am here to work, not to creep home with my tail between my legs because of some whim of yours. I prefer to wait for Professor Morgan’s decision!’

‘As you wish.’ He shrugged negligently. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Isabella will arrange for Carlos to drive you back to your hotel. Unless common sense prevails with you in the meantime, I expect we shall be in touch. Hasta luego, Miss Christow.’

Gabrielle felt curiously solitary as the tall figure vanished. She turned back to Isabella, but the girl was already busy at the switchboard, presumably summoning the unknown Carlos. She was to be summarily hustled off the premises, it seemed.

She gave the other girl a perfunctory smile and wandered back into the hall. The building was very quiet suddenly. Even the distant traffic sounded no louder than the drowsy hum of bees. It was a surprisingly tranquil place, she thought. Too tranquil for someone as abrasive as Dr Lennox. She stared round restlessly at the quiet elegance of the hall, and her attention sharpened as she realised that some of the tall carved doors bore neat name-plates. Could they be the private offices of some of the Institute employees? If so, one of them could be James’. He might be working in there now, totally unaware of her presence. Her fingers clenched a little as she registered the bareness of her left hand. While things remained as they were between them, she had decided not to wear her wedding ring. It was in her small jewellery box at the bottom of her suitcase and it would stay there until matters were resolved.

‘You want something, señorita?’ Isabella was standing in the office doorway watching her. She was smiling no longer, and her piquant face held a faintly suspicious look.

‘It’s all right,’ Gabrielle said quickly. ‘I’m just—absorbing the atmosphere. It’s such a lovely building, isn’t it?’

Isabella shrugged, a little dismissively. ‘Es muy viejo—very old,’ she enlarged unwillingly, but she did not offer to show Gabrielle around any of it as she had half hoped she might. In fact, her earlier friendliness had evaporated—with the departure of Dr Lennox, Gabrielle realised ironically.

She badly wanted to read the names on some of those doors—but not while she was being watched. She glanced around, improvising rapidly. ‘It’s very hot, isn’t it? Muy caliente. I wonder if I could have a drink?’

Isabella frowned slightly. ‘There will be fruit juice. You want that I fetch?’

‘If you would be so kind.’ Gabrielle made herself smile winningly at her.

Isabella muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, then with an ungracious, ‘Be good enough to wait here, señorita,’ she disappeared down the hall. Gabrielle waited until the click of her heels had died into silence, then whipped across and began examining the nameplates. She had worked down one side of the hall and was just beginning on the other, her ears straining to catch the sound of Isabella’s return, when she found what she was looking for. ‘Dr. J. A. Warner’, the card stated. For a moment she hesitated, then lifted her hand determinedly and knocked. When there was no reply, she knocked again more loudly, then turned the carved handle and went in.

The anti-climax was complete. The room was quite empty. But it was not merely James’ physical presence that was lacking, Gabrielle realised as she glanced round. Both desk and filing cabinet seemed oddly bare—no comfortable clutter of papers or maps—no pen thrown down as if the room’s occupant would soon be back to resume his interrupted work. The waste basket was empty, and the bookshelves looked as if their contents had been severely pruned. There were a few standard works which Gabrielle recognised as also occupying a place in James’ study at home and a sprinkling of rather dog-eared pamphlets. Gabrielle felt oddly disturbed. At home, James had stamped his personality on the flat—obsessively so. Here, he seemed to have made no impression at all. There was no trace of him—not even an empty pipe.

Engrossed in her thoughts, her first consciousness that she was no longer alone came with Isabella’s shrill ‘Que hace usted aqui? What are you doing here, señorita?’ from behind her.

Gabrielle turned hastily and saw the other girl standing in the doorway, holding a glass of fruit juice.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised quickly. ‘I—I wanted somewhere to sit down and there were no seats in the hall.’

‘Es privado. Entrance is not permitted to these rooms—there are items of value. If you wish to sit, there is a bench in the courtyard.’

Gabrielle stiffened. Was Isabella insinuating that she looked like a thief? But she controlled her temper with an effort. After all, her conduct was questionable and Isabella was justified at least in judging her a snooper. It would have been far better to have introduced herself properly and asked for James quite openly, she thought unhappily, but having embarked on this course, she would have to continue with it. She had no intention of explaining herself to Isabella.

She made her voice equable. ‘I didn’t know these rooms were private or I wouldn’t have intruded. But I don’t see any valuable items—in fact the place looks deserted. Does—does anyone use it?’

‘Si, Dr Warner uses it.’

‘Do you know where he is?’ Gabrielle found she was holding her breath.

Isabella stared at her. ‘Why should I know? It is not my concern. There is much work now because soon an expedition starts to the Chiapas. Maybe Dr Warner is in Villahermosa making arrangements. Who knows?’