Gate of the Golden Gazelle

GATE OF THE GOLDEN GAZELLE Dorothy Cork

Natalie Jones had got herself into a rather complicated and mysterious situation in Morocco -- and somehow she persuaded her friend Josian Jones to take her place. This led Josian into a lot of adventures -- with or without the disturbing Raymond Laurent!

CHAPTER ONE MARRAKECH the Red, the fabulous - Marrakech the Pearl of the South! And, unexpectedly, full of the scent of orange blossom. Josian Jones had dreamed of it for months - a dream invoked by the holiday-in-the-sun posters displayed in the windows of the travel agency she passed each day in London on her way to the dress shop where she worked. And now, on this late afternoon in spring, she was actually walking across the crowded and fantastic Place Jemaa el Fna itself. It was all exciting beyond words, and her first sight of the city, as the coach came in from Casablanca less than two hours ago, still lingered like a lovely vision in her mind. The haze of dust, the olive trees, the tall date palms, the red secretive walls; and floating above it all, beyond the silhouette of the Koutoubia minaret, the long line of remote and delicately snow-capped mountains of the High Atlas, gauzy and unreal in the heat. The one flaw in Josian's delight - and it was really quite a large flaw was the fact that she was alone. For her sister Francine, who was to have come to Morocco too, had become engaged, and David to her was more exciting and important than any trip in the whole wide world. So she had cancelled her bookings and made other plans for her carefully saved up moneys and Josian had come alone. Well, she would soon pick up with other people, make friends. And by a curious coincidence, a girl she had known at school had travelled on the coach from Casablanca - another Miss Jones, Natalie. She was about Francine's age, four years older than Josian who was twenty, but Jo hardly thought that she and Natalie would be getting together to do any sightseeing. Judging from the stories Francine occasionally related, Natalie Jones would find a girl like Jo just too ingenuous and unsophisticated...Now, Josian stood for a moment to watch a group of dark-faced Gnaoua dancers in white robes and beaded, tasselled caps,

as they leaped about exuberantly to an accompaniment of wild drumming and the clacking of iron castanets. The tassels of their caps swirled, their white teeth gleamed, and Jo found the crowd watching them just as fascinating: robed men in turbans or caps or hoods, veiled mysterious women, bright-eyed shabby little boys with heads shaved but for a single lock, determinedly pushing their way through to the front. When, after a few minutes, she moved on, it was to witness a completely different scene. A man in patched djellaba and scruffy yellow babouches appeared, wheeling a dilapidated perambulator through the crowd. He stopped not far from Josian where the ground was marked out into a long line of rectangles, reminiscent of an outsize hopscotch. One square was evidently his pitch, for on it he spread a strip of worn matting, and then proceeded to unload from the pram a jumbled assortment of old and decidedly second-hand European type shoes and sandals, some of them all but falling to bits. There was about him an air of almost complacent matter-of-factness as he lovingly arranged his goods. It was as if he said, 'Here am I, and here is what I have to offer to the world. Allah wills it thus, and it is so...' And suddenly, Josian found herself caught between a terrible compassion and shaky laughter. And it was at that precise instant that an English voice exclaimed, 'Hello! Am I glad to see a familiar face! It's - Josian Jones, isn't it?' Jo turned, surprised, a smile in her wide amber-gold eyes. It was Natalie, of course, and she had changed out of the smartly practical denim pants and shirt outfit she had worn on the; coach, and now looked eye-catching in a sleeveless silk dress of an unusual deep indigo colour. Even at school she had been famed for her beauty, but now she was sophisticated and expensive-looking as well. Yet, marvelled Josian, she had gone to the same secretarial course as Francine, and she had not yet acquired the wealthy husband which had been her admitted ambition even at school. In fact, reflected Jo,

recalling the last tale about her that Fran- cine had related, she had only lately called off her marriage to Tony Greyhurst, the son of the plastics millionaire, Blyth Greyhurst. And Tony, it was rumoured, had gone away to forget her. It was all rather surprising and puzzling, for they had spent part of the winter together in the south of France. Jo's thoughts tumbled through her mind in a flash, even as she was saying, 'Yes, it's Josian. Hi, Natalie! Isn't all this just as exciting and marvellous as you'd expect it to be?' Natalie shrugged shoulders that, like her face and arms, were prettily tanned from her winter in Cannes. She flicked back a strand of shining blonde hair and frowned, a look of distaste on her face. 'I'm not impressed. Everyone looks so poor and drab - and the noise! It's shattering. As for the beggars, they're unspeakable. You have the feeling that someone's going to sneak up behind you in those awful yellow slippers and snatch your handbag or cut off your hair or something. Frankly, it's not my scene.' She uttered a half-stifled shriek as a grey-robed figure touched her arm, and held out a fine chain from which hung a silver charm that flashed and spun in the late sunlight - the hand of Fatima. 'Engleesh?' the Moroccan asked, his eyes taking in Natalie's fair hair and her darkly shimmering dress. 'Come in my shop - come!' He gestured enticingly towards the long row of shoddy, tent-topped stalls a few yards away. Natalie drew away from him as though he were poisonous. 'Go away! I'm not in the least interested in your junk.' She seized Josian's arm and started to hurry her off while the man stared after them, his dark eyes hostile.

'Oh God!' said Natalie, looking back. 'You simply can't move without having someone hassle you. It's going to be hell in the souqs, and that's where I have to go. You'll just have to come with me, Jo—' So much for sophistication, thought Josian wryly. Francine would laugh when she wrote that Natalie was leaning on her! She would have liked to stay and watch the snake-charmers or the story-tellers or the acrobats, but she wanted to see the souqs too, and after all there was always tomorrow, so she said obligingly, Tine. I'd like to see the souqs. But what do you mean, it's where you have to go?' 'Oh, I have to find a carpet-seller who has a message for me from a friend I expect to meet here.' It sounded faintly mysterious, and Josian was intrigued. Of course the friend was a man, but it was odd that he had to be contacted through a carpet-seller in the souqs of Marrakech! 'How's your French?' Natalie wanted to know as they walked along together. 'I just don't have any talent for foreign languages at all,' 'I can get by,' admitted Jo cautiously. As a matter of fact, she had been brushing up her schoolgirl French ever since she had planned this holiday, which had been months ago, and she had been fortunate enough to be able to borrow language records from a customer at the dress shop. 'Thank heaven for that,' said Natalie. 'Ask someone how we get into the souqs, will you? And then I expect we'll find this merchant quite easily - and I won't feel half so scared if I'm not on my own.' She was wrong about the ease with which they would find the carpet souq, as it happened. But Josian asked for directions to the souqs, and presently they had walked past the stalls where pottery was being sold, and entered the kissaria, the covered market, with its maze of

narrow alleyways covered by a trellis through which the sunlight made a dazzling pattern of shifting strips of light and shade on the crowds of robed Moroccans and the scattering of Europeans who walked there. Josian felt she had stepped straight into the middle of a dream - a dream from which she had to wake occasionally to ask hopefully, 'Les tapis, s'il vous plait?' - and be directed on, past many beautiful and decorative archways of intricately Carved plaster, past exotic and sumptuous shops, past tiny crowded stalls. She smelt the sweet scent of cedarwood, saw piles of spices and dates and nuts, and of the coarsely broken dull green leaves that were henna. They passed the dyers' souq where garlands of red and blue and yellow wool hung high overhead, while below a small dark recesses the dyers could be seen fishing the yam out of huge metal dye pots. They saw stalls where silver and brass and copperware were sold - trays and teapots and coffee-pots, knives and small handleless drinking vessels. They went through the leatherwork souq where there was a dazzling assortment of shoes and slippers, of jewelled belts and fringed handbags. Soft voices entreated endlessly, 'Come! Come in and look!' Black eyes flashed, hands reached out - 'Hey, fren'! Hello! Come into my shop - not very much money - just looking!' Veiled women in djellabas offered bead necklaces, handmade caps of thick cotton, woven reed and cane baskets. A woman with a baby on her back plucked and plucked at Natalie's bare arm, proffering a handful of blue and orange and white beads.'Qmtre dirhams, madame - pour le bebe - merci, madame!' Natalie bit her lip and pulled away, but Josian, looking into the dark eyes ringed with kohl, beautiful but unreadable above the concealing square of veiling, yet still the eyes of another woman, could not be indifferent, and out came her purse, money changed hands and the beads were hers. Not that she really wanted them, but how could one

say no when one had an acute sense of the poverty of the majority of the people in this teeming, fascinating market that tugged at one's heartstrings even while one felt one had taken, a step way back in history? 'Bdek! BalekP The two girls pressed themselves back against the side of the alleyway as a laden donkey came past, its side baskets almost completely filling the way. That, for Natalie, was the finish. Her dress was soiled, and someone, she insisted, had made a grab at her handbag. She darted into the haven of a small square where there were shops with real glass windows behind which gleamed jewels - Russian emeralds, agates, stones that flashed pink and green fire and were set in intricately worked silver. There she took shelter in a doorway, and exclaimed passionately, I have had enough!' 'What's the trouble, honey?' asked a woman, obviously American, who had just emerged from the shop. She was with a friend, and Jo remembered seeing both of them at the hotel. 'We're trying to find the carpet-sellers' souq,' said Natalie wearily. 'It's completely hopeless.' 'Afraid we can't help. We're heading back to the hotel right now - we know our way back to the square, but that's about all.' Natalie was literally shaking, largely, Jo thought, with frustration. 'I've just got to find that carpet-seller.' She looked at Jo accusingly. 'Your French doesn't seem to have done us much good.' 'Go get yourself a guide out in the square, honey,' one of the women advised, practically. 'You pay only a few dirhams for a couple of hours.'

'I don't want a guide,' snapped Natalie. 'I want one souq - one little souq, one little carpet-seller, that's all. And right now I don't feel I can stand another minute of life in this - this phrenetic madhouse! All I want is to get back to the hotel where it's decently civilized and take a long hot bath, and-' Josian said cheerfully, 'I'm not tired, I'll carry on for you, if you like.' Natalie brightened at once. 'Good! You always were an obliging little thing.' She turned quickly back to the hovering Americans. 'Hang on a minute and I'll be right with you,' 'Take your time,' the older one said agreeably, and they sauntered on to pause before another glass window. Natalie opened her handbag quickly and took out a folded slip of paper. 'Here, this is the name of the souq I want. Ask the merchant if he has a message for Natalie Jones - show him this slip of paper. And don't be surprised if he stares at you. You're supposed to be young and pretty and blonde.' She narrowed her grey eyes as she looked critically at Josian's hair which was long like her own, but a soft, very light brown. 'I suppose you'll pass - in a place like this,' she decided not very flatteringly. 'Anyhow, be sure you tell him very firmly that you're Natalie Jones. And if tie man I'm looking for turns up, bring him back to the hotel with you.' Josian nodded, wide-eyed. It was exciting and vaguely ridiculous, like some mad schoolgirl adventure, and suddenly she had to smother an impulse to laugh. 'It's all quite simple,' said Natalie. 'Okay?' 'Okay.'

In less than a minute, Josian was back in the main, stream of the crowd, and Natalie had disappeared with the friendly Americans. Alone, she felt suddenly carefree. She wasn't worried about finding the souq - it just might take time. And in a way, getting lost was fun. You found all sorts of unexpected things, and there was the never-ending pageant of people to watch. Natalie wasn't interesting in just looking, but Josian was already deeply under the spell of Marrakech. She decided all the same that she would look out for some small boy who wished to earn himself an honest dirham by guiding her to the carpet-sellers' souq, and she was considering from afar a boy of ten or so with bright face and shaved head, when a voice asked her in English that had a faintly foreign inflection, 'For what do you search, mademoiselle?' 'Oh!' Josian raised her tawny eyes. The rose red light of evening fell slantingly through the trellised roof of the kiss-araia, and she could not see the stranger clearly. But a bar of light struck across eyes that burned with a flashing fire, reminding her startlingly of the Russian emeralds she had looked at a quarter of an hour since. Dark eyes whose expression she could not read. The voice had a seductive undertone, and Josian half expected to find herself confronted by a Moor in turban and djellaba of spotless white, but instead she saw a tall man, dark-browed, with heavily waving dark hair, his skin struck into rich burnished red- brown by the light that came through the trellised roof. His pale trousers and shirt were banded by that confusing golden light, and he seemed to merge into his background as would an animal in the jungle - a tiger, perhaps, thought Josian fancifully. There was a litheness about him, a feeling of tension wires, something finely balanced, perfectly disciplined, infinitely controlled and intelligent.

She heard herself murmur, 'I wish to find the carpet- sellers' souq— 'Then come - it will take but two minutes. I know the souqs intimately, mademoiselle.' His eyes looked down at her and she looked back into them fractionally, her attention riveted almost hypnotically. Though so blindingly perceived, he was intensely felt, and whether he was Moorish or French she did not know. She only knew that there was an aura about him that made her feel as if she had fallen into a trance, so that everything seemed a little larger than life. She had the bizarre feeling that if she were now to look into the eye of a violet or on to the wing of a butterfly, she would see it all magnified, new, magnificent, scintillating, as under the lens of a microscope. 'Come,' the voice beside her murmured. She felt a firm hand on her arm and she began to walk - or to drift - at the side of this man through the flickering, dazzling, bemusing bands of shadow and sunlight that filtered into the souq., 'You wish perhaps to buy a carpet?' To buy a carpet! Spoken in that voice, it sounded romantic beyond words. Never had a voice affected her like this. 'I must be crazy,' thought Josian. But it was the light - the flashing psychedelic effect of sunset through the trellis here in the Berbers' market in Marrakech... 'If you desire the unusual, the Chechouan carpet has much to recommend it,' the voice murmured. Josian made an effort. 'No - really - I don't want to buy a carpet. I'm - I'm looking for one particular carpet-seller—' Tucked in the outside pocket of her handbag was the slip of paper Natalie had given her. She found it and handed it to the man at her side.' And as she looked up, and as he took it, her gaze locked with his and she felt a shock all through her being

that seemed to wake her to reality once more. Never had a man looked at her this way before, his eyes seeming to burn right through to her very heart, that now began to pound as if she were a teenager. Fabulous Marrakech and a man of such extraordinary personal magnetism and charm that it must be suspect. His heavy rather dark lids fell, the eyes that were almost black were veiled from her sight, and he unfolded the strip of paper and read the words that were written on it. She watched his mouth - the long line of a mobile mouth whose curves suggested a trace of the sensual. She saw the hard line of his jaw, and then again, compulsively, her eyes met his as the strip of paper was refolded and returned to her. Suddenly the eyes that had been so mysteriously full of fire looked at her assessingly, and now Josian no longer saw a tiger, a mysterious and exotic figure - she saw a man, a man with a man's appetites and a man's curiosity, and she felt herself shiver. What was she doing, putting herself in the hands of such a man? The fires of sunset had faded and a few lamps were beginning to shine, artificial and weak, in the shops along the alleyway. Josian felt she had awakened from a trance. 'I know the souq you seek, Miss Jones, Allow me to conduct you.' Dark eyebrows tilted, he took her arm again, and now his fingers seemed cold rather than warm. He walked with a long stride, drawing her closely against him as he pressed through the crowds that surged along the narrow way. He was a formidable man, a tall man, a man with a forceful presence, and the way cleared before him effortlessly as he strode along. He said nothing to Josian, and she felt half confused, half embarrassed, by his closeness. She could feel the warm silk of his shirt, the muscles beneath it— In two minutes, as he had predicted, they had reached the souq where carpets were sold, and the man beside Josian presently paused and

released her. He indicated a narrow shop half concealed beside a sumptuous one of glittering lights and carved archways, where superb carpets and heavy camel rugs draped the walls. There were leather-covered hassocks and silken cushions scattered about, and all was a rich opulence of oriental colour. In the big fondouk, the merchant wore immaculate white, an elaborately swathed turban in which a coloured stone glittered. Surely this must be the souq Natalie was seeking! But as Josian was about to move forward— 'No, not here, Miss Jones,' the stranger told her ironically. And with a gesture he directed her to the next shop - ill lit, and vaguely sinister. Jo glanced inside and blinked. Well, if this was it, this was it. 'Thank you for your help, Monsieur—' 'Laurent,' he said, though she had hardly expected him to introduce himself. 'Raymond Laurent. I shall await you.' Now his French accent was very marked, and his eyes seemed to glint down at her assessingly. Josian had no idea what to say, whether or not to protest that he must not wait for her. The expression in his eyes made her feel suddenly far from sure of her own wisdom, her own ability to take care of herself. Looking doubtfully back at him as he stood before the many glittering lights of the big shop, she wondered how she had ever come to think he might have been Moorish. He was infinitely French. And - 'desperately handsome', she thought, the word surfacing surprisingly in her mind, perhaps because of the darkness around his eyes, the leanness of his cheeks that together gave him the look of a man who has suffered some kind of deprivation. But his mouth, even while he smiled at her, was cynical. He moved aside as the merchant from the shabby shop came forward ingratiatingly, then withdrew to study with deep concentration a

carpet that hung, long and silky and luxuriant, from the ceiling of the next souq. 'You wish to see carpets?' the merchant asked Josian in French, and stumbling a little over the language, she protested quickly, 'Mais non, monsieur. I am - I am Natalie Jones. And I think you have a message for me.' It was only then, as she opened out the slip of paper, that she read the words written beneath the address of the souq. 'Please give the bearer, Miss Natalie Jones, the letter I have left with you.' And the signature - the signature was Tony Greyhurst! Josian felt a shock of surprise go through her. So this was where the playboy son of the plastics millionaire had gone to forget Natalie Jones. But forget? It didn't look as though Natalie was to be forgotten after all. She had handed over the piece of paper, and she became aware of the fact that the carpet-seller was unable to read the writing. She repeated insistently, remembering her instructions, 'I am Natalie Jones. You have a letter for me from Tony Greyhurst.' The black eyes grew shrewd, and they looked at her over so thoroughly and so frankly that she coloured more than a little. Her long light brown hair, her fair skin, her black- lashed golden eyes, her generous mouth; her figure, slim and pretty in beige pants and matching top, with the bright splash of an orange vermilion scarf at the throat - all were inspected thoroughly. Her colour had subsided and to her relief the merchant seemed satisfied. But now his eyes went craftily to her handbag. 'I do not have your letter, mademoiselle, but I can tell you—' He paused, smiled slyly, and Josian, realizing what was required, opened her handbag and took out her money purse. She looked at him squarely,

'Where is the letter, please?' He held out his hand. 'You must go to Si Kembouch, mademoiselle. But the way to his house is not easy for a foreigner to find. Come again tomorrow and I shall have news for you.' 'Tomorrow? But I must see this man today - now,' Josian insisted. He had taken the money she proffered and she was annoyed with herself for having handed it over too soon. 'Tell me how to get to his house or find someone who will take me there.' 'No, no - not at this hour. It would be useless. Tomorrow - in the morning - you come again to me. Si Kembouch is my friend. I will visit him tonight and make all arrangements.' 'Hmm,' thought Josian, although she knew she was defeated. 'And then there will be more money to pay out.' Mainly to satisfy her curiosity, she asked, 'Is Tony Greyhurst at Si Kembouch's house?' A smile, a shrug. 'Tomorrow you will know everything ... Now, you will please to look at my carpets. Come, a little visitHe actually had her by the arm, ignoring her protests, when to her relief the Frenchman reappeared and rescued her. Reluctantly the carpet-seller released her, and in a moment she was in the alleyway once more. 'You have conducted your business satisfactorily, Miss Jones? You have received your letter?' Josian shook her head ruefully. 'No, I've only made a start. He was too clever for me. It appears I must come back in the morning.'

'It is often the way here,' he said smoothly. 'Even the most charming jeune fille cannot always have her own way ... Now perhaps you need help to find your way back to the Place.' 'I would appreciate it,' admitted Josian, a little puzzled by his suave solicitude. 'I haven't the remotest idea where we are, and fascinating though it is, I must get back to the hotel for dinner.' 'Ah yes! We must return you to the safety of your hotel. It is not wise to wander alone at night, and alas, I am not free. But we do not want anything to befall you in Maroc, Miss Jones.' There was a dry, sceptical note in his voice that puzzled her. He was certainly concerned for her, although she was a complete stranger, but she did not quite know what to make of his apology for not spending the evening with her. He had sounded as if he thought she would expect him to make the offer, and it had certainly not even occurred to her. Josian felt quite confused. He had appeared so - godlike, in the dazzling shadow and sunlight of the kissaria, but now something had changed, and changed drastically ... They emerged from the souqs into light a little deeper than twilight. There were sweet, nutty scents on the air, and Josian saw a row of tiny uncovered mobile stalls, each with its own oil lamp burning where sugary confections or freshly roasted nuts were on sale. A robed boy in a tight-fitting Berber cap carefully cut into chunks a huge swirled slab of nut-topped sweet that looked like nougat. The twanging of a stringed instrument sounded on the air; a beggar pushing a legless youth in a rickety old wheelchair came by and Josian put a dirham into the cap he held out to her with a cheerful grin. A group of acrobats did lightning-quick cartwheels on a strip of thin felt laid along the ground, and the Moorish equivalent of a clown, rag-clad and with cheeks powdered white, followed, clumsily sprawling on his back arms and legs flying out wildly, as he he failed to keep his balance. An older man came round the crowd with a cap - if they

wanted to see the real performance, then they must make a contribution. Raymond Laurent negligently tossed down a couple of coins, and Josian, adding fifty francs, reflected that she would have to watch it if her money was to last out for her holiday. One thing was for sure, and that was that she would have to move out of the luxurious tourist hotel and find herself cheaper lodgings. Meanwhile, she was aware of a faint feeling of anticlimax, and it annoyed her to realize that the Frenchman had something to do with it, though in exactly what way she could not say. At any rate, she was tired. There had been so many things to take in. A taxi pulled up at the side of the square, and she was handed into it. 'Your hotel, Miss Jones?' She told him, and he gave directions to the driver. Then - 'I wish you success tomorrow. Irish'Allah, you will have your letter in the morning... We shall certainly meet again, Miss Jones.' His eyes looked down into hers with an expression that was decidedly cold and calculating, and suddenly, shockingly, Josian thought, 'He doesn't like me!' Why? As she was borne away in the taxi, her heart beat fast with fright. He didn't like her, and yet he had said they would meet again. Was that just some sort of polite formula? Right now, anyhow, she was far from certain that she wanted to see him again. He was fascinating, but he was also unnerving. And far too worldly and sophisticated for her - he must be well into his thirties, she mused. Oh well, what did it all matter? She decided to put him right out of her mind.

If she could... Back at the hotel, Natalie Jones was waiting for her in the reception hall, and as Josian came through the arched doorway the other girl rose from the lounge chair she was occupying and came to meet her. 'You got it? Did you find out where he is?' Then without waiting for her to answer, 'Come into the cocktail lounge and tell me what happened.' Josian was hustled into the lounge to a low table near the tiled wall, where she and Natalie seated themselves on a leather-covered divan under the soft light of a copper wall lamp. 'What'll you have? A Martini? Yes,' Josian nodded, and when Natalie had ordered from the smartly uniformed brown-skinned drink steward, she turned to ask again, 'Did you find the souq? Have you got my letter from Tony?' 'I found the souq,' said Josian. 'But - I'm sorry - the carpet merchant said he would have to see someone called Si Kembouch about the letter.' 'Well, for God's sake,' said Natalie, frowning, 'couldn't you have done something about it? I mean - why didn't you tell him to go ahead? Why didn't you wait while—' She broke off as the waiter brought their drinks, and when he had withdrawn Josian said once more, 'I'm sorry. I gave him a few dirhams, but all he would say was that I - you,' she corrected herself, 'must come back in the morning, that by then he would have arranged everything.' Natalie's smooth pretty brow was creased. 'The souqs again? God forbid! You just can't have given him enough money.'

Josian sipped her drink and said nothing. She had done her best and that was that. 'Oh well,' sighed Natalie after a moment, 'I suppose you did what you could. But the whole thing does seem rather frenzied. I mean, all I want is to let Tony know I'm here, at the hotel. It will keep till tomorrow, I suppose.' She swallowed down half her Martini and smiled at Josian over the small glass. Josian looked back at her curiously. It really was weird being mixed up in an affair like this - even on the very fringe. Francine just wouldn't believe it! Josian didn't yet know what it was all about, but she did know that the love affair between Natalie Jones and Tony Greyhurst hadn't after all come to a dead end. Francine had confided, 'Someone said they must have called the marriage off because they discovered at Cannes that they were incompatible!' But now, it didn't look as though that were the case at all.; Josian, sipping her Martini and shuddering a little at the taste, wondered if Natalie would confide in her at all. She had once actually seen Tony Greyhurst, and now she could visualize him quite clearly. He was far from the suave sophisticated playboy type she would have imagined. In fact, he had come with his mother into Mrs. Wentworth's dress shop in London, not long after he had returned from the south of France - with Natalie. 'Heavens!' thought Josian suddenly. 'And here am I sipping Martinis with Natalie in Marrakech of all places!' It was all so unlikely that she almost laughed at her thoughts ... Tony had looked surprisingly young, only a year or so older than herself. He had blue eyes and fair hair that was rather long, and he was beautifully tanned from his weeks in the sun. Yet he had appeared nervy and tensed up, and Josian had actually felt a little sorry for him. Sorry for the son of a millionaire! But he had had such an aimless, lost look, she had thought, and of course you could be like that if life was all leisure, and there was no struggle for existence - for

anything! At that moment she had felt years older than Tony Greyhurst. Only a few days later, Francine had heard it said that the marriage was off, and that he had gone away to forget. They didn't know then that he had gone to Morocco. And - to forget? Josian glanced at Natalie and wondered... 'I know what you're wondering,' said Natalie unexpectedly. 'I used to say at school that I was going to marry a millionaire, didn't I? And I suppose you read all the gossip about me and Tony in the social columns.' Josian hadn't, but Francine had, so she didn't protest ignorance, but merely nodded. Natalie, glass in hand, looked very pensive and very young and innocent with her blonde hair and her smooth golden tan. But when she raised her thick eyelashes and looked straight at Josian, that air of youth and innocence vanished very quickly. Her grey eyes were hard and worldly-wise, and Josian knew it was very likely that, apart from the winter in Cannes, there had been other - incidents - in Natalie's life. She mixed with a set that was very different from the one the other two Jones girls were used to. Natalie continued matter-of-factly, 'Of course I wanted to marry Tony. He's sweet. But—' She leaned back against the padded leather cushioning (of the wall, took a cigarette from a gold case, offered it belatedly to Josian who refused, then lit up, her eyes half closed. 'But his parents didn't think I was good enough, or something. And let's face it - well, you know I wasn't born with rich parents. But would you believe it, Dinah - his mother - as good as accused me of seducing Tony in Cannes? As though he were a child - and of course he'd asked me there himself, and he's just madly in love with me. They kept harping on the fact that he's so fating, and good lord, he's twenty-two and he's been around, and money's never been any object... So then his father talked of cutting him off - all that incredibly old-fashioned melodramatic nonsense. So, eventually we

called the whole thing off. I mean, what else was there to do? Anyhow, Tony said not to worry, we'd wangle it somehow, and he does have a fertile imagination.' She drew on her cigarette and exhaled, and Josian sat listening fascinated, and completely oblivious of the other people sitting around in the cocktail lounge. 'So what are you going to do?' she asked, wide-eyed. 'Well, Tony persuaded Blyth to let him come to Morocco to do sociological research on the nomad herdsmen of the south. It sounded absolutely convincing, because he did a year of Sociology at university after he left school. So Blyth was impressed. Though the real point from his parents' angle was that it was going to get their darling boy away from me and my evil influence.' She smiled a little and looked at the glowing tip of her cigarette. 'So, he came to Morocco, and then he quietly disappeared - for just long enough to have them really worried. No letters, nothing. It was a really tricky bit of psychology. Dinah was quite frantic. She even forced herself to ring me up in case I'd heard, and I just told her calmly, "Not yet". Then, exactly at the crucial moment, he wrote and told them that he was going to marry me, and that if they ever wanted to see him again they'd have to accept it. Dinah arrived at my apartment that evening, and was she relieved to find I was still there! I'd had a letter earlier, you see, and Tony had explained the whole thing. I got the carpet-seller's address - and that was strictly for me - but they got nothing, and I simply said that Tony was going to contact me through a friend in Marrakech. They actually tried to buy me off, but when that wouldn't wash, they agreed to pay my expenses - return - to Marrakech, which Tony and I had counted on. But they made me promise as a condition that we wouldn't get married before we came back to England.'

'And then they'd - they'd allow it?' 'So they said,' agreed Natalie cynically, and quite evidently she didn't believe it. They were both silent. Josian wondered whether the Greyhursts believed Natalie would keep her promise - and if Natalie would— 'Blyth came to see me off,' Natalie recalled. 'But it was all very hush-hush - dark glasses, turned-up coat collar, the whole mad disguise. No publicity, no "This is my future daughter-in-law". Well, that was all right - Tony and I don't want publicity, people hanging around, trailing me. It could ruin everything. Then Blyth got all earnest and serious and said I must bring Tony back to England and safety the minute I met up with him again - "We don't want him getting hooked on these goddam drugs or ruining his insides living on a diet of dates and grass". Anyhow,' concluded Natalie, mashing out her cigarette and looking into her empty glass disappointedly, 'let's hope we locate Tony tomorrow. And even if today's effort went down the drain, I really do appreciate your help, Jo.' 'It was nothing,' said Jo carelessly. 'I enjoyed it.' Natalie grimaced. 'I can't say I did. Well, I'm off to dress for dinner. Those Americans introduced me to the nicest people. I'll see you later.' 'See you later,' echoed Josian, and she too went to her room to change. She felt a little thoughtful about the morals of Natalie's story, but if she and Tony were so badly in love - well, it was not her business, anyhow. Hers was a lovely luxurious room with windows looking over a narrow balcony on to a garden where there was a swimming pool surrounded by tall date palms, orange trees, and great tubs full of

cascading flowers. Lights had been lit, and some of the guests were enjoying pre-dinner drinks at small tables on the tiled terrace. Josian was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she was" quite alone, and despite her earlier resolution to forget him, she thought of the Frenchman whom she had met in the kissaria. Supposing he had taken her to dinner tonight - would he, in the romantic glow of soft restaurant lights, have drawn her under his peculiar spell again? She thought not - because it is unpleasant to feel yourself disliked, and she was sure she was not mistaken about his feelings for her... As it was, she dined circumspectly with two English girls who were booked on a tour, and leaving on the coach the next morning at eight o'clock. The next day, after breakfast, she encountered Natalie once more in the reception hall. 'Sleep well, Miss Jones?' the other girl asked jokingly. 'Any special plans for today?' 'I thought I'd take a look around the medina - maybe visit the Bahia Palace,' Josian said. 'I suppose you're off to the carpet souq.' 'Well—' Natalie gestured unobtrusively towards three people standing near the small boutique that opened off the reception hall - a middle-aged couple and a distinguished- looking man with silvering hair. 'I've got some friends who've invited me to go into the new town and do some shopping where we won't be heckled. I suppose you couldn't—' She broke off and looked at Josian with a little inquiring smile. 'Pick up your message for you?' completed Josian cheerfully. 'All right, I don't mind in the least. And if Tony should be there, what do I do? Tell him to come to the hotel? And what if he thinks I'm from the Press or something?' she added half jokingly.

Natalie looked thoughtful. 'Just in case - you'd better take this. Here—' She slipped from her finger a ring that looked valuable, that was surely a real emerald set in minute flashing diamonds. 'Show him that. He gave it to me. Better wear it, it will be safer that way.' Hesitantly, Jo slipped the ring on to the third finger of her right hand, and it fitted perfectly. But it looked so valuable that she took it off again. 'I might lose it.' 'Of course you won't' Natalie's smooth fingers closed over her hand and the ring was once again on her finger. Half an hour later Josian was in the souq again, and this time, by some lucky chance and with the aid of a little memory work, she actually managed to find the carpet-seller without any assistance. She did not in the least mind coming back to the kissaria for Natalie, though if she had been Natalie, she would have come herself. Imagine if Tony should actually be there, waiting for her! Josian practically imagined herself into Natalie's role, and the ring that flashed on her finger helped to make it all seem real. She was hurrying to meet her lover in fabulous Marrakech! It was a romantic thought, but she blinked away shock when she realized that the man she saw in her mind's eye waiting for her at the souq was not young and fair and English, but a tall dark-faced man with strange eyes and a faint French accent. Well, that was because he was the only man she had met in Marrakech, she assured herself. And she was far from certain that she would want to have him waiting for her. She switched her thoughts abruptly and began to think about Tony. Perhaps he had got possession of some lovely Moorish house in the medina like those she had read about hidden away in the labyrinthine alleyways, blank and unprepossessing on the outside, but inside there would be a courtyard, flowers, orange trees. Maybe a fountain. And of course there would be Moorish servants.

However, there was no Tony Greyhurst waiting at the carpet-sellers' souq. There was no Si Kembouch either. And in fact, there was no letter. It was not until Jo had handed over five dirhams that the carpet merchant would tell her anything at all. Then it was merely, 'Si Kembouch will meet you at the Menara Gardens at sunset.' Absurdly, Josian felt a strong sense of disappointment 'Si Kembouch? But - but where is Tony Greyhurst?' A shrug. 'I know nothing. The Menara Gardens at sunset..' Si Kembouch will tell you all then.' As she moved from the narrow shop back towards the alleyway, a shadow blurred the doorway and then was gone. Jo looked instinctively to her left, almost expecting to see Raymond Laurent there, though why she did not know. Instead, she encountered the unnerving stare of a man in a grey djellaba, the hood pulled well forward over his face. She felt a shiver of fear go through her, and suddenly she knew how Natalie must feel. But this was real - that man had been watching her, she was sure of it. And she had the feeling that he had been lingering in the doorway of the small souq, listening that it was his shadow she had seen move so swiftly. She turned and began to walk fast along the narrow alleyway, to lose herself in the crowd, but she could not rid herself of the idea that she was being followed. And in her pale beige pants and floral tunic, she was conspicuous amongst the robes and turbans and djellabas, her head uncovered, and her long light hair tied back with a flowered silk scarf. She was very conscious of the ring flashing so fierce a fire on her right hand, but she could hardly take it off now, and it would be by no means safe in her shoulder-bag. Behind her, a man's voice was shouting loudly, she felt herself jostled, pushed, then suddenly, just as the way ahead miraculously cleared, there was another shout.

Something struck her heavily on the left shoulder and side and she felt herself flung off balance, her shoulder-bag sliding down her arm. Then hands gripped her above the waist and she was dragged into the doorway of a small souq. Her breath was coming fast, her mind had gone completely blank with shock, and she was only vaguely aware of the donkey with laden side baskets that ambled past, of the man who shouted 'Balek! Balek!' Those hands gripping her - the man with the hood— With a superhuman effort she twisted quickly and a voice close to her ear said, 'Be still, Miss Jones.' Miss Jones! She turned her head and it was Raymond Laurent who towered above her, his strong hands still gripping her firmly. Jo's vision suddenly went crazy. Everything began to swim, to float, to drift into a swirling dazzling blue of colour, and in the centre of it all was that face, dark-browed, dark-eyed. And she knew that she was about to faint.

CHAPTER TWO 'You are safe now,' said a voice from a long way off - the voice of the Frenchman - and Jo tried to hang on to her senses a moment longer. 'You must learn to move quickly out of the way when you hear the cry of balek.' Jo's lids fluttered down. The swirling colours had gone and everything was grey, and she could not understand what else was said to her, for the voice that spoke was now faint and muffled. When she opened her eyes again she was lying on something luxuriously soft and comfortable, and she saw sunlight and a garden, beyond the shadows of a finely ornamented archway. She could smell orange blossom and see big yellow roses, and two birds that flew about a dark-leafed tree. Where was she? With an effort, she sat up. She was on a silk-covered divan in a long narrow room whose three wide arched doorways gave on to a riad. The divan was piled with silk and velvet cushions, and Raymond Laurent, arms folded, stood looking down at her watchfully. His eyes, she saw now, were not black or brown, but a dark, dark green - jungle green. It was a crazy thing to think and a crazy thing to notice just now... A young boy in a very white robe over dark trousers appeared from somewhere with a copper tray that held a great silver jug and a small handleless silver cup. He placed it on a low marble-topped table and went away silently. Raymond Laurent stepped forward, stooped, poured water into the silver tumbler and handed it to Jo. 'Drink, Miss Jones. And do not look so alarmed. You are 'perfectly safe. Your possessions too,' he added dryly - for Josian, suddenly remembering, was looking frantically for her shoulder-bag, checking her finger for Natalie's ring. 'Your jewellery - your sac.' With a slight

inclination of his dark head, he indicated her shoulder bag, half concealed by the pile of cushions. She took the silver cup with a hand that shook more than a little, and looked at him warily. 'It does not please you to find yourself a stranger in the world,' he said, his long mobile mouth curving mockingly. 'But I am surprised that the kissaria should frighten you out of your senses.' Jo drank some of the ice-cold water and felt the colour coming back into her face. She was angry that her body had behaved so badly, for she had not been frightened of the kissaria, only of the man in the hood. Though not, she was sure, as frightened as all that. It was the blow she had received from the load the donkey was carrying that had knocked her out - that and the shock of those hands that had seized her so unexpectedly - Raymond Laurent's hands. She raised her head. 'I am not at all frightened of the kissaria. Why should I be? It was that bump I got from the donkey - it must have have touched on a nerve or something, so I blacked out.' Her eyes dared him to challenge that She was quite certain he would laugh her to scorn if she suggested that someone had been watching her perhaps following her. He was the one who had been following her, and at the thought, sudden understanding flashed into her mind. Of course! He had wanted to bring her here - for this, surely, must be where Tony Greyhurst was waiting for Natalie. The Frenchman, knowing she was looking for Tony, must somehow have discovered where he was. She asked impulsively, 'Is Tony here? - Tony Greyhurst?' One dark eyebrow was raised. 'Tony Greyhurst here? Mon dieu, mais non! This is my house, Miss Jones. And having perceived you, I was on the very point of asking if you had contacted your friend when

there was that little contretemps with the donkey ... So I am to conclude that you have not been successful?' Jo did not answer immediately. She drank down the rest of the water with a slight sense of puzzlement. Was it pure coincidence that she had met Raymond Laurent again? Or had something - surely no more than polite concern -brought him back to the caipet souq this morning with the intention of making this encounter? Finally, she said frankly, 'No, I haven't been successful yet. But Si Kembouch will be at the Menara Gardens this evening to tell me—' She faltered. To tell me, she had said, as if she were Natalie Jones. Well, what did it matter to this man? He called her Miss Jones, and she was Miss Jones. She looked up cautiously, and his dark eyes were watching her speculatively, curiously. She thought he was not really listening to what she was saying, he was more intent on studying her, though she could not think why. Suddenly she felt nervously conscious of the outfit she had made herself - a copy of some gear at Mrs. Wentworth's shop, and surely a good one. But it was at her he was looking, not at her clothes. Abruptly she slid her feet to the cool tiled floor and stood up, feeling her legs just the slightest bit shaky. He watched her still as she set her cup down on the tray, and his eyes seemed to burn, though certainly they were not burning with admiration, and she had once more the chilling feeling that he did not suffer her gladly. Perhaps he just didn't like tourists - or English girls. It could be something like that, she thought, trying to shrug it off. She collected her shoulder- bag, glanced at her watch, put a hand briefly to her hair to adjust her floral scarf. 'I must not bother you any longer, Monsieur Laurent,' she said distantly. 'Thank you once more for your kindness, and I do apologize for having caused you so much trouble.'

'It is nothing. And bien sur, a beautiful girl need never apologize for being a trouble,' he said dryly. He accompanied her through the archway and conducted her across the garden, and there was the fountain, a tiny one, tossing its crystal water into the air, to fall into a shallow marble basin tumbled about with yellow roses. It was all so like the garden she had imagined in Tony Greyhurst's hideout that she could not help smiling. She knew the Frenchman was looking at her, and tried to stifle her inexplicable amusement. He let her go ahead of him through another doorway that led into a small room that was bare except for a divan and a carved table that held a white telephone. The floor was tiled and there was an ornate copper lamp in the painted ceiling. The boy who had brought the water appeared, but now he wore a dark djellaba over his white robe. He opened a heavy / wooden door and Jo saw a narrow street outside - not one of the streets that ran through the souqs, but a rather dirty street where a few shabbily robed figures lounged or strolled along. 'Ahmed will take you to the Place Jemaa el Fna or wherever you desire, Miss Jones,' the Frenchman said. He bowed slightly and in another moment, Josian and the boy Ahmed were in the narrow street, the door had closed behind them, and it was as if the Moorish house, the garden, and Raymond Laurent himself had never existed. Josian drew a deep breath. This time, he had not said, 'We shall meet again.' Pretty or not, she had bothered him enough, she concluded, and found that she was biting her lip in vexation.

Natalie did not come back to the hotel for lunch, and for Josian an afternoon - a whole precious afternoon in Marrakech - was wasted. She should have gone out to find herself a cheaper place to stay, but instead she stayed first in the cool reception hall, and then in the

garden, waiting and watching for Natalie, feeling vaguely restless and trying not to think back to what had happened in the morning. Though what had happened? Exactly nothing. Except that she had been carried away by her imagination, had thought she was being spied upon, and had then been nearly knocked down by a donkey! Put like that, it seemed almost ludicrous - but her rescue had had a strong and strange element of romance or fantasy in it, for her, not for him, she reminded herself. And for her, only because it would be a tale to tell to amuse Francine. But oddly, in the hotel garden, once again she felt she was being watched. She had left the cushioned chair where she had been sitting and wandered into the cool shade of some palm trees, when someone in the deeper shadows turned and moved silently but hurriedly away. It was a man in a djellaba, and she felt her heart give a leap of fear, and was immediately annoyed with herself. There was no reason on' earth why anyone should be spying on her. She glanced at her watch. The afternoon was disappearing fast, and she thought of Si Kembouch who would soon be waiting in the Menara Gardens. If Natalie didn't return very shortly, it would be too late for her to keep the appointment. Where on earth had she got to? After all her talk about Tony, Josian would have expected her to hurry back to the hotel for lunch to see if Josian had a letter for her. She wandered edgily back inside, and asked at the reception desk if Miss Jones from room thirty-eight was back. No, her key was still there, she was told. Did she wish to leave a message? Without even knowing she was going to say it, Josian told the clerk, 'Please tell her that I - Miss Jones,' she added with a smile, 'have gone to the Menara Gardens to keep an appointment for her.' She went up to her room feeling suddenly lighthearted, glad that she had decided to take action. Si Kembouch would not wait in vain.

She changed out of her sleeveless tunic, slipped on a long- sleeved blue-green blouse, and switched from the floral scarf to a white headband to keep her hair tidy. Using the bedside telephone, she asked the clerk to call her a taxi to go to the Menara Gardens. Within twenty minutes she was inside the clay walls that enclosed the gardens, which disappointingly were no more than huge olive groves, and the taxi stopped below the great pool, which had been built, so she had read, in the twelfth century. She paid the driver and stood for a moment debating where she should go next to wait for Si Kembouch. Nobody walked in the olive groves, and anyhow they were too vast. So the pool was the obvious place, she decided, and she fnoved towards the steps. A few cars were parked there, a couple of taxis - and there were even two or three donkeys! There was a grey-robed gardien, and there was a Moroccan selling Pingouin ice cream. Josian climbed the steps through the wall that surrounded lie pool and looked about her. The only other European she could see was a young man of twenty-five or thirty, with dark beard and moustache, who leaned against the wall some distance away, a book in his hand though he was not reading it. At least Si Kembouch should have no trouble recognizing her, she reflected. And with that little problem settled satisfactorily, she felt free to join the slow parade of walkers who strolled by the edge of the water. She was fascinated particularly by the Moorish women, some with small children running ahead and frolicking about. Beneath well-cut dark djellabas, she caught glimpses of high-fashion shoes, of flounced skirts, of embroidered caftans - even once or twice, on a young girl, of smart modern-looking slacks. She passed the young man with the beard, and though he gave her a smile, he did not speak, but resumed his contemplation of the pool, which was at least a couple of hundred yards long. There were

fountains, but they were not playing, and the water entered by two jets at one end, near a beautiful little pavilion with a green roof. Josian reached the pavilion and turned back. Si Kembouch was bound to turn up soon, for the sun was now rapidly descending. Jo could see the mountains of the High Adas, snowy, remote, clouds clinging to their tops. The dark shapes of tall palms and fine cypress pines were darkly etched, the rose-coloured light of sunset touched the snow, touched the green pavilion roof, and the waters of the great pool grew still and glassy. A fish leaped and disappeared into the weeds, the circle of ripples widened and vanished. The red light began to fade and all the strollers were moving in the direction of the steps, and still no Si Kembouch had come to speak to Josian. For a moment she wished she could ask advice from that man with the beard - he looked rather nice, she thought - but by now he too was vanishing down the steps. She felt, frustratedly, that she had wasted her time, and now probably she would find all the taxis gone and she would have to wait. What a fool she had been to keep Natalie's appointment for her! And yet she knew she could not have resisted. It was almost as though fate had decided that she must come. Kismet! She smiled a little wryly as she went down the steps. The man with the Pingouin ice cream was still there, but sure enough the taxis had gone, and so had the cars - all but one, which had been started up and was now moving in her direction. As it came closer, she saw that the driver was the young man with the beard, and her heart lifted hopefully. She was delighted when, a few seconds later, he pulled up and asked her with a friendly smile, 'Can I give you a lift back to town?' His accent was American, and now that he was smiling at her with friendly blue-grey eyes, she liked the look of him even more. 'Keep away from the drifters,' Francine's fiance David had warned her, but

certainly this was no drifter. No scruffy sandshoes and jeans here. He wore a cream shirt and plain dark tie, light tan slacks and good-looking shoes, and Josian said with alacrity, 'Thank you very much! That would be marvellous. I seem to have missed out on a taxi.' 'You surely do.' He reached across and opened the door for her, then when she had climbed in and they were on their way, he added, 'The gardens are great, aren't they? Not spectacular, just peaceful, particularly on sundown.' Jo agreed. She decided to forget about Si Kembouch's failure to appear. It was Natalie's problem, not hers, thank goodness. But it was puzzling, just the same. 'My name's Kit Garrett.' He sent her an inquiring look. 'Jo Jones.' 'Hi, Jo. Which is your hotel?' She told him and he asked, 'Do you want to go straight back? Or can I take you for a drink first?' Josian thought of Natalie, possibly waiting for her impatiently by now. Well, bother Natalie, she had wasted enough time on her affairs already. And now that she had met someone nice and friendly and unlike that Frenchman - uncomplicated, she was sure - she was not going to pass him up just to go back and report something that could very well wait until tomorrow. So she said gaily, 'That would be nice. I do have a thirst.' He took her to another hotel, as luxurious as the one she was staying in, and as it was just about dark, they settled for the cocktail lounge which had windows all along one side looking across a narrow gallery towards the inevitable swimming pool where a few young

people still splashed about. Josian asked for squash with just a dash of gin, and Kit had the same, and after they had both drank rather thirstily he asked, 'What are you doing in Marrakech all by yourself?' 'Sightseeing,' she said promptly. 'Holidaying. What about you?' 'Ditto. I'm a Peace Corps worker - was, I should say. I've just recently finished my stint - been teaching school to the Moroccan kids. Now I've hired myself a car to take a good look around the country before I go home to the States. And don't ask me if I've been saving up for it a Peace Corps worker can't save. I'm just lucky my old man's both well- heeled and sympathetic, and he's sponsoring my sightseeing.' He leaned towards her across the low table and smiled into her eyes. "Now tell me about you.' Before she could reply, he had asked her another question. 'How do you like Marrakech?' 'Fabulous!' said Jo. She put her right hand out of sight suddenly because he was looking at that showy ring, and she felt embarrassed about it. 'Though I just wish I wasn't all on my own.' Her glance, that had gone casually along the room, was suddenly caught, and her heart beat suffocatingly fast. What she had been saying went clean out of her mind. Raymond Laurent sat at a table some distance away. He had been watching her, for she had caught his eye. He was not alone. The girl with him was young and very, very attractive, with a smooth pale tan skin and dark lustrous eyes, and a lovely mouth. She was also quite plainly Moroccan. Her hair glowed with the reddish lights that henna gave, the palms of her hands, and her knuckles too, were hennaed and she wore a pale grey djellaba, the hood thrown back and caught by a jewelled pin.

'All alone?' Kit said, and he sounded as if he were repeating it. 'I had the idea you were expecting someone, when I saw you at the Menara Gardens.' 'Oh, I was just - waiting for someone,' said Josian abstractedly, refusing the cigarettes he offered. 'But he - he didn't turn up.' Resolutely she forced herself not to look at those other two, to look instead at the pleasant young American opposite her. 'Now what sort of a guy wouldn't turn up to meet a girl like you?' Kit mused, smiling into her eyes over the smoke from his cigarette. 'I suppose it would be no use asking you to eat with me tonight? You'd have a date.' Of course Jo didn't have a date. But Natalie would be waiting for her for sure, and besides - besides what? Her reluctance could surely have nothing to do with the fact that Raymond Laurent and the Moroccan girl would most assuredly be dining here too ... 'I'm not free tonight,' she said after a second. 'I have to get back to the hotel - I really do.' He looked his regret, but he didn't insist. Jo finished her drink and as she set her glass down she glanted cautiously along the room. The girl who had been with the Frenchman had disappeared, and he had left his table and was coming towards her. She watched him almost as though she were hypnotized, her heart beating fast. What did he want? There was something so purposeful about his firm tread, about the hard line of his mouth, and the steadiness of his jungle green eyes. He stopped by the small table where she and Kit sat and looked at her levelly. 'Bon soir, Miss Jones. I am surprised to see you once more. Will you not introduce me to your friend?' Josian knew a moment of strange shock, then the surprising thought flashed through her mind - 'He thinks this is Tony Greyhurst, the man

I've been looking for!' Smiling ironically, she said, 'Of course! This is Kit Garrett. Kit - Monsieur Laurent.' "Hi,' said Kit casually, though she had the feeling that he was on guard - that he didn't want a rival around. As if there were any chance of Raymond Laurent's being a rival! That was funny! Raymond Laurent bowed slightly and said 'How do you do?' and then unexpectedly he asked Josian, 'You are going back to your hotel presently?' 'Yes,' she said uncertainly. 'Then I should like to escort you.' He turned to Kit and said confidently, 'You will excuse me? I wish to talk to Miss Jones, and I must go that way.' 'She must please herself,' said Kit. He looked at Josian, who was biting her lip. What did one do in circumstances like these? She almost wished she had the courage to say 'No' to Raymond Laurent. And yet she could not - and it was not simply lack of courage that prevented her. Of course she would let him take her back to her hotel, but she did not know why, unless perhaps it was because she wanted to know what he had to say to her. She glanced at Kit almost apologetically. 'I shall have to go anyhow—' 'Then let's break it up here and now,' he said, without a smile. He stubbed out his cigarette rather forcefully, and he was the first to rise. Josian got up reluctantly feeling she had made the wrong decision and sorry for it already, and the three of them walked across the room to the doorway, and there Kit stopped. 'I'll be in touch,' he told Josian briefly. He smiled quickly, ignored the other man, and then turned and moved away. Jo watched him go with a frown, then looked at the Frenchman accusingly. 'I can get back to my hotel without your protection,' she told him. 'If you'll tell me what you want to know, then you needn't bother with me any further.'

His eyebrows tilted. 'Already I have assured you a beautiful woman is never a trouble. I shall enjoy your company, and perhaps we can walk. It is not so very far.' Josian gave in helplessly. It even occurred to her he might have information to impart about Tony Greyhurst, which was of course, when she thought about it, ridiculous. But why else would he be bothering about her? His eyes, deliberately provoking her to answer their glance, troubled her deeply, and made her conscious of her youth and inexperience. And of the fact that she was alone. She was very much aware of that aura of a strong and dominant personality as he took her arm lightly and they left the hotel.; The night air was fresh, the sky clear and starry. Shadows of trees fell across the wide street. Josian did not know exactly where they were, but the Frenchman, who lived in Marrakech, obviously knew it well. She said politely after they had walked several yards in silence, 'What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Monsieur Laurent?' Glancing up, she saw him frown, and when he spoke it was not to answer her question, 'You are making many new friends, Miss Jones. This man you were drinking with—' Drinking with! Josian was nettled. What was she being accused of? Collecting men? Drinking with them? And even if she were, this man beside her was no more than a stranger, he had no right to intrude and carry her off as he had. She began to wish that she had not come along with him so tamely, 'Kit gave me a lift back from the Menara Gardens,' she said coldly.; 'And don't worry, Monsieur Laurent, my head is screwed on fairly tightly,' 'By that you mean you can look after yourself? I would not be so sure, Miss Jones.; Even the most worldly-wise of girls can come to grief in a foreign country.; And in Maroc, there are many more dangers to be

encountered than laden donkeys. Perhaps you are sophisticated, but also you are young - innocent-looking, more than usually attractive—' 'Thank you,' she said dryly. 'And for your information, Kit Garrett was a Peace Corps worker. After a little holiday he'll be going back to the States. He's perfectly respectable, so-' 'I would take nothing for granted,' he interrupted cynically, 'You are a girl alone - you should not give your trust.' 'Then I shouldn't be trusting you,' said Josian a little shortly, 'How do I know you're really taking me back to my hotel?' 'Would you mind so very much if I were not?' he retorted. His fingers pressed her arm suddenly, and she felt shock go through her. She was more sensitive to his touch than she liked to be, and she had an uneasy feeling that he could be a dangerous man. She knew next to nothing about him, yet she kept encountering him again and again, and in the darkness he was too real, too much flesh and blood, too drastically masculine. And when his eyes looked into hers, she knew too that he was a man of strong passions. His question had made her blood pound, and she suddenly realized that she had put herself in a very vulnerable position^ She said huskily, her throat dry, 'Yes, I would mind a great deal. And I might as well tell you I am - I am expected at the hotel. I have - a dinner appointment' 'Mon dieu! It would certainly seem you have des quantites de cordes a ton arc!' The singular pronoun alarmed her ridiculously, but his next words alarmed her even more, cynically spoken though they were. 'I would have sworn that you were attracted to me.'

'Then you would have been wrong,' Josian said quickly, thankful that the darkness hid her crimson cheeks. She pulled her arm free of him and began to walk faster. 'Anyhow, what did you want to talk to me about? If anything,' she added, sceptically. 'Ah yes - your assignation this afternoon. I would like to know if you have achieved your object - or if perhaps you need some assistance.' 'Assistance?' she repeated, and wondered how on earth he could help - apart from rescuing her when she was almost crushed against the wall by a donkey, and that sort of thing was hardly likely to happen again. 'No, thank you, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do. This afternoon was a washout - Si Kembouch didn't even turn up, though I waited and waited until everyone had gone. All the taxis too,' 'But someone was there to help - this Kit Garrett, hem}' he said dryly. 'Well, I am sure such good fortune cannot be unusual in your life, Miss Jones ... As to Si Kembouch, do not be upset. Time means little to a Moroccan; another day, another hour, Si Kembouch will meet you if it is the will of Allah. Perhaps as you cross the Place - as you enter the souqs - and it will be as if nothing had gone amiss. You must just be patient.' 'Patient!' Jo laughed reluctantly. 'But I don't even know Si Kembouch - I've never seen him in my life, and neither has he seen me. So it can't possibly happen as you describe it.' She glanced up at him in the light of the street lamps, and his dark eyes looked back at her unreadably. 'It will happen, I promise you,' he said with a faint smile that seemed almost mocking. 'Always providing it is the will of Allah. Si Kembouch will find you. Particularly' - and now there was a dry humour in his voice - 'if money is involved. And where a service is done, there is of course always money. I would be generous if I were you, Miss Jones. After all, it is Tony Greyhurst you are seeking.'

It was odd how easily the name slipped from his tongue. It occurred to Jo that quite possibly he had heard of Blyth Greyhurst, for the names of millionaires are apt to be better known than those of ordinary people. She almost told him in that second that she was not the one seeking Tony Greyhurst, but where other people's affairs were concerned, she had always thought it best to say as little as possible. And it was disagreeable to think that one gin squash could loosen her tongue. At all events, they had reached the hotel now, and though he insisted on escorting her right to the entrance, she was relieved that he then left her - no doubt to return to the beautiful Moroccan girl - with a brief and polite, and somehow final, 'Good night, Miss Jones. Enjoy your dinner appointment.' Her non-existent dinner appointment. Jo did not even manage to have a word with Natalie until after dinner. And then, though she was anxious to know what the day had brought forth, the other girl was not in the least concerned that Josian had wasted the better part of the day on her affairs. 'I hung about for an hour before dinner looking for you,' she accused. 'Where did you get to?' Jo shrugged lightly.; She slipped the emerald and diamond ring from her finger and handed it over before she replied mildly, 'I was trying to get your message for you.' 'Trying? You mean that man hasn't handed my letter over yet?' They were at the wide wrought iron door that led to the garden and the swimming pool, and Natalie took time off to wave to a group at one of the small tables, indicating that she would be joining them soon, Jo noticed that the man with the handsome silvering hair was there.

'No, I'm afraid not. In fact, he hasn't even got it. I went to the souq this morning, and the idea was that you were to be at the Menara Gardens this evening at sunset, I waited for you all afternoon, but—' Natalie's small white teeth gleamed as she bit at her lower lip in vexation. 'So I've missed out on my appointment! And now what do I do? Couldn't you possibly have—' 'I did,' said Jo reasonably. 'Of course I went along, Natalie. But this Si Kembouch just didn't turn up. I'm positive. I was there till absolutely everyone had gone.' Natalie tapped her foot on the tiles. 'How infuriating! All this cloak and dagger stuff. I couldn't be more bored - I wish Tony would grow up and simply come round to the hotel. He must know I'm here by now,,. What the hell am I expected to do now?' Jo listened and said nothing. Oddly, she found herself thinking calmly, 'If it is the will of Allah, he will come.' 'Oh well,' said Natalie with a sigh and a smile, 'you've been sweet to try. I'll just have to play it by ear from now on.' She patted Jo's hand, then went lightly into the garden, to where her friends were waiting for her. Jo, it seemed, was the one who was most concerned. Some time during the night Jo decided to wash her hands of the whole affair. She had not come to Morocco to get mixed up in other people's love affairs. Forget it, she adjured herself. Natalie Jones could always look after herself, even while she was still at school. She was that sort of girl. When she woke in the morning, silver sunlight was streaming into her room through the grilled window, making fantastic patterns in hyacinth blue on the pale floor rug. Jo slid out of bed, showered in the small bathroom that adjoined her room, then dressed in white skirt

and the flowered tunic she had washed out the night before. She tried hard to think herself back into her holiday as it should have been, but it was far from easy. She simply couldn't imagine it being any other way. Everything that had happened so far seemed to have happened because she had met Natalie Jones, instead of some other simple-minded holiday girl. Now she felt helplessly that she was somehow inextricably tied up with her. Fate had designed it this way, and it was so. All the same, she could try to go her own way, and try she would. So when she saw Natalie in the dining-room she gave her a cheery wave, but kept out of her way. She wished her luck, but she was opting out. Today she would do some of the things that she had planned to do, and if she should run into Kit Garrett, so much the better. It was too bad the way Raymond Laurent had crashed in on them last night. Him, she decided, she did not want to see. He was, in one way and another, too disturbing. Half an hour after breakfast she was walking determinedly towards the medina, determined on a day of discovery - a day which would finally see arrangements made former transfer to less sumptuous lodgings. The sky was clear and almost cloudless, the sun was already hot, and everything would have been utterly superb - if only Francine had been here too. She walked along a street lined on each side by orange trees, and saw Moroccan women in long flowered robes cutting the orange blossom and tossing it on to sheets spread on the ground under the trees. To make orange blossom water, Jo decided, and it was all very romantic and picturesque. She intended to visit the Bahia Palace today, tucked away in the narrow streets of the medina. Perhaps too she would visit the museum in the Dar Si Said. And she would buy something for Francine.

And then, as she was crossing the Place Jemaa el Fna, as in a fairy tale, what Raymond Laurent had predicted actually came to pass. She was making her way unhurriedly through the crowd of robed men, of beggars, of boys pushing bicycles, of staring children, of veiled women out to do their shopping with incongruous-looking plastic baskets, when a man in a grey djellaba appeared from nowhere and spoke to her in French. 'Mademoiselle - Mees Jones. I wish please to speak with you.' Jo almost fell over in surprise. Raymond Laurent's absurd ^prediction came at once into her mind, and without thinking, she exclaimed, her lips curving in a smile of pure pleasure, 'Si Kembouch!' 'Out, Jest moi,' he agreed happily. 'I have here a letter for you.' And he produced it from the hood of his djellaba, that was hanging down his back. His head was turbanned, he wore the usual yellow heelless shoes, and his dark eyes had a lambent light in them. Josian took the envelope eagerly. It was sealed, and on it was written in a rather round, slightly immature hand, 'Miss Natalie Jones. Por favor, Si Kembouch.' Josian opened her shoulder-bag, thrust the letter inside, and took out her money purse. How much should she offer this smiling Moroccan? Be generous, Raymond Laurent had advised, and she was sure that Natalie Jones would have been generous. But when you have scrimped and saved for months and months, made your own clothes, gone without lunch - you were careful of your money. Still, wasn't she getting rather more than a penn'orth of fun from it all? She proffered five dirhams with a slightly questioning air.

Si Kembouch appeared not to see the money at all. He kept his eyes on her face. 'You must read,' he exhorted her in French. 'You must open your letter.' Jo bit her lip. 'Not now,' she told him firmly. 'Later - when I am alone.' 'Now,' he insisted. 'You must read now, Mees Jones.' And then, because she still hesitated, he seized her sac, plunged his hand into its depths, and produced the envelope with an air of triumph. He slit the envelope energetically, and handed her the folded page it contained. Jo, a little alarmed by such forcible insistence, read unwillingly. 'Mistress Mine - Are we alone? By which I mean, I wish you had been able to lay your little hands on the requisite cash to bring you to my side without approaching the parents. Because them I do not trust. And alas, you they do not trust. Hence the paper chase that follows, to bring you to my lair where the cushions are soft and of satin and silk and velvet, and where I shall lie at your feet on my Chechouan carpet playing seductive music on the gimbri until you succumb and tumble moaning into my arms. And in that context, don't weddings and bonds and legal ties seem more than somewhat odious? 'Now - instructions, my pretty girl. From Marrakech take the Ouarzazate road, but before you get there, take the turn- off to Ain el Ourida, and there go to the Hotel el Menzeh. It's run by a Moor named Si Bouhouil, who will have another letter for you. From the crafty fellow who is undoubtedly at this instant waiting by your side, you must extract a little golden charm, for which fifty dirhams is the agreed price - a gazelle on a chain to hide within your bosom and to use as your piece d'identite when contacting our go-betweens. Peace be with you, and may Allah speed your footsteps. A thousand embraces from your devoted slave, Tony.'

Jostan read the letter quickly with a feeling of embarrassment. She was slightly amused when she looked up and found Si Kembouch watching her, smiling sweetly but most certainly a trifle craftily. What Natalie was missing! It really was rather run. 'You have something for me?' she asked. 'Ah - mais oui.' He produced immediately the gold charm - a tiny and meticulously fashioned gazelle that hung from a fine gold chain. He told her softly, confidentially - and possibly untruthfully, 'I myself have attached the ghezal to a chain - pure gold, Mees Jones - the best, the finest. It is all yours for one hundred dirhams.' Josian shook her head. 'Fifty dirhams,' she said firmly. She took the money from her purse and handed it to him with a look that said he could take it or leave it. To her relief, he took it, his eyes expressed a momentary sorrow, then he thanked her, bowed graciously and went on his way. Jo looked wryly at the tiny charm that lay in the palm of her hand. Soon she would hand it - and the letter - over to Natalie, and then her part in this crazy and romantic adventure would really be over. As she continued on her way to the Bahia Palace she admitted to herself that she was more than a little sorry her role had ended. She was on her own again, and though she thought determinedly and cheerfully of Kit Garrett, she doubted whether she would ever see him - or Raymond Laurent - again. How completely wrong she was she was soon to discover.

CHAPTER THREE Jo returned to the hotel at lunchtime, and encountered Natalie near the elevators. With a smile, she handed over the letter and the golden charm, and Natalie stared at her in baffled amazement. 'How on earth did you get hold of this? I thought everything had gone hopelessly haywire.' Jo spread out her hands. 'So it had. Then Si Kembouch simply came and spoke to me in the Square - obviously he thought I was you and I'm terribly sorry, but he insisted I should read your letter in his presence - it was because of the charm, as you'll see when you read it.' Natalie made no reply. She was reading Tony's letter quickly, frowningly, and it struck Josian as odd that it should be such a whimsical, even silly letter, because there was something very much down-to-earth about Natalie Jones, despite her air of slight fragility. Jo sank down in one of the comfortable low chairs and let herself relax completely. The Bahia Palace and its gardens had been enchanting, but she had done a great deal of walking in the hot sun and now she was exhausted, and she could do with a long cool drink. Finally Natalie looked up from her letter. 'Did you acm- ally hand over fifty dirhams for this trinket?' she asked, weighing it in one pretty well-kept hand. 'It's obviously not gold.' Jo flushed a little. 'He asked me for a hundred. But Tony said fifty, so—' 'Oh, Tony has no idea of the value of money. What would you expect, when he's always had far more than he's needed? I would imagine twenty dirhams would have been ample. And in this country, one is expected to bargain.'

'Sorry,' said Jo with a shrug and a straight look. 'But it wouldn't have done to let him walk away with it, would it? And I was only doing what Tony said.' 'Now don't get uptight,' said Natalie carelessly. 'I'm not really complaining. You did fine and of course I'll reimburse you - though I'm afraid it will have to wait till tomorrow, as I need to change a traveller's cheque.' She put her letter into the soft natural leather handbag she was carrying - obviously new - and sighed. 'Had I known this sort of thing was ahead of me, I'd have thought twice about falling in with Tony's plans. Tearing about on my own is just not my thing, and Tony really is building himself a little fantasy, isn't he? A slight case of paranoia, one might say. But to send me haring across the country from A to B and back again - no, dearly though I love Tony, it's not my idea of a good time. Positively no one's going to leap out and handcuff him or—' Her voice faded away, her eyes brightened, and she asked impulsively, 'How would you feel about carrying on for me, Josian? You might even find it fun going to this place and hunting up some crummy little hotel.' 'I might at that,' thought Jo. For here there was something irresistibly appealing in the thought of this paper- chase. It would not upset her one iota to go haring across the country from A to B, contacting odd people and seeing around. In fact, it would be great. But— But what? Why hesitate? Why not admit that she would find it fun to - to trace Tony Greyhurst to his cushioned lair? But on the other hand, if Natalie really was in love with him, wouldn't she be willing to do it herself? Well, maybe not - maybe she was used to having a man at her side to manage things for her. Josian was used to relying on herself. 'Look at it this way, Jo,' Natalie said reasonably. 'No one will try to keep tags on you, while you track Tony down. Not,* she added quickly, apparently realizing she was contradicting what she had said

a minute ago, 'not that there is anyone who'd be interested. But if by some wild chance there should be, then he'd be watching me. That's logical, isn't it?' It should have been. Yes it was to Josian Jones that Si Kembouch had given Tony's letter - not to Natalie Jones. Her doubts showed in her face, for Natalie changed her tactics. 'Well, no need to decide right away. Do just one more thing for me, though, will you, there's a pet. Find out how I'm to get to this place - and then we'll talk it over again. Maybe we could go together.' Jo smiled at her. 'All right.' Somewhere deep down inside of her, she knew that Natalie was going to get her own way, and again she had the curious feeling that it was Kismet - it was the will of Allah - that she should be caught up in this affair. It was meant. After a quick lunch, she went back into the town and found a travel agency. There was no coach that went direct to Ain el Ourida, the smart westernized Moroccan girl told her. But she could go by coach to Ouarzazate, and from there she would be able to take a taxi, or wait till the following day when there would be a coach to Ourida. Unless it were a Friday or a Tuesday. She handed Josian a sheet that showed hours of departure, fares, and Josian, studying it quickly, saw at once that it was not going to be a cheap excursion by any means. She asked hopefully, 'Is there a local bus perhaps?' 'Yes, madame, there is a local bus,' the girl said politely. Then with an appraising glance from her lovely brown eyes at Josian's white skirt and fine cotton tunic, 'But you will not care for the local bus, it is not the best means of travel for a tourist like yourself. And we do not have the timetables here,' she concluded firmly.

Someone else was .waiting for attention, and after a second, Josian said that she would think about it, and turned away. Of course Natalie would take the tourist coach. But for her pocket, it was too expensive. So it looked as though her silly ideas about the will of Allah were all wrong. Feeling definitely despondent, she stepped out of the cool shelter of the travel agency into the sunlit heat of the street. She crossed the road to walk along a colonnaded footpath where there was an outdoor restaurant where several people were still sitting at the small tables, finishing a late lunch, or perhaps drinking mint tea or coffee. One of them, Jo discovered with a sense of inevitability, was the Frenchman, Raymond Laurent - and he had seen her before she saw him, for he was already rising to his feet He wore lightweight navy trousers, and a striped white and crushed mulberry shirt with open neck and plain navy silk cravat. He bowed to Jo as she approached and invited her politely to join him for coffee. She accepted. It was strange how she kept encountering him, and it occurred to him that she might ask him if he knew anything about the local buses. 'You have come from the travel agency,' he remarked, when he had seen her seated and ordered coffee for her and another for himself. 'You plan perhaps a visite of the environs of Marrakech?' So he knew she had been to the travel agency! Stranger and stranger, thought Jo. She told him, 'I was making inquiries about getting to Ain el Ourida.' She raised her wide amber eyes to his dark intent ones and felt the familiar shock go through her, and was aware that she had coloured a little. 'I would like to take the local bus, but they couldn't give me any information there.' She broke off as the waiter, in European style white jacket, placed a cup of coffee ceremoniously before her. 'Perhaps you might be able to help me.' She was aware

that he was frowning in a disapproving way, and she told herself he could think what he liked - he might all the same be able to tell her where to go for information. He stirred his coffee, a look of narrow concentration on his face, those thick lashes hiding the darkness of his eyes. Jo watched him covertly, somehow fascinated, and conscious of a fine-drawn look about him of dark shadows around his eyes that suggested he had been ill recently. She wondered about him - she knew nothing at all of him, except that he had a quite beautiful house hidden away in the medina. She felt strongly too that he was somehow allied deeply with Morocco and its way of life. He was not Muslim, she was certain, and yet he used the phrase inskallah - if Allah wills it - asif it were second nature to him. And perhaps in a country like this, that was how it would be. Hadn't she caught herself repeatedly thinking along those same lines?... The line of his mouth was firm - even hard just now and yet it could not hide the slight sensuality of the lower lip. She started slightly and shifted her glance almost guiltily as he suddenly looked up straight into her eyes. 'It so chances, Miss Jones,' he said quizzically, 'that I too must go in the direction of Ouarzazate - and in fact, to Ain el Ourida. I should be happy if you would come in my car.' Jo drew a deep breath, then bit her lip quickly to hide her incredulous smile. She felt ridiculously excited - so she had not been wrong! But it was crazy that it should happen this way, crazy even that he should offer her transport for a hundred and fifty miles or so, when he did not like her, and when it would not make him happy, she was sure. And she found it hard to believe that so coincidentally and fortuitously he just happened to be going to the very place where she - or rather, Natalie Jones - wished to go. Surely, though, he could not be one of the non-existent people ready to leap out, and, as Natalie had

scathingly put it, handcuff Tony Greyhurst? No, Jo decided. That was right out of the question. He just didn't fit that role at all. So it must be sheer coincidence. Well, mustn't it? Anyhow, should she go, or should she not? He was waiting for her to answer. She said frankly, and now she allowed herself to smile, 'Thank you very much. But I certainly wasn't expecting that kind of help. I merely thought you might know something about the local buses.' She stopped. He was obviously impatient of her protests. 'Forget about the local buses,' he said briefly. 'For a fastidious young woman like yourself, such a way to travel would be no less than an ordeal. But I am curious to know why you have not considered the tourist couch.' 'That's easy,' said Jo frankly. 'It costs more than I care to spends' His glance was sceptical. Just as the girl in the tourist office had done, he appraised her briefly - her pretty summery outfit, the good-looking beaded handbag that had been a gift from Mrs. Wentworth at Christmas time. He glanced too, she noticed, at her right hand and observed that she no longer wore that showy and obviously expensive ring. 'I shall not be so ungallant as to doubt your word,' he said with a slight smile. 'But please do me the honour of accepting my invitation. It will suit you to go - when? Within the next hour?' Jo's golden eyes widened. Good heavens, what a rush! She was certainly not going to be given time to think it over--he had quite made up her mind for her. But it was not as easy as that. She would have to see Natalie first. And Natalie might decide that she and Jo would go together on the coach. Or if she were satisfied to hand over to Jo, there was still the golden charm - the open sesame - to be picked up. It would be useless for Jo to go without that.

She said carefully, 'It would be a bit of a scramble. And before I quite decide - I'd like to talk to - to my friend about it.' His dark eyes considered her. 'Your friend?' Something in his tone suggested that it was a man friend to whom she referred and she felt herself colouring with annoyance. 'Tres bien, Miss Jones. I shall be at your hotel in one hour, and if you have found it possible, well and good. Otherwise -tomorrow? If your friend can spare you then,' he concluded dryly. He rose from his chair and Josian rose too and a moment later she was hurrying back to the hotel. ' She found Natalie reclining on a lounge by the swimming pool, and she took an empty chair near her that had a man's beach robe draped over the back of it, and said softly and breathlessly, 'I've been making inquiries about getting to Ain el Ourida.' She outlined briefly what she had been told, and Natalie stretched out her slim nicely tanned legs and grimaced, then her grey eyes looked at Josian with a kind of wry supplication. 'It sounds a drag. Coaches and taxis and time lags, and messing about with arrangements. When Fm perfectly comfortable here. Besides, I've more or less promised to go for a drive to the Ourika Valley tomorrow with Richard - the poor man is lonely since his wife died.' Her glance strayed to the handsome tanned man with the silvering hair, now swimming in the pool, and obviously the owner of the beach robe. 'Of course, if I knew that Tony would be there, I'd be off like a shot. But by the sound of that letter, he's just not going to be there. I honestly don't like to impose on you, Jo - but really who else is there to ask? And after all, you know all about it now—' Well, that was true enough, and in a way she was already caught up in the web of fate - a web woven by Natalie! Deliberately? As a hopeful preliminary to - to passing the buck? The phrase that came into her mind made her smile a little, and because she smiled, Natalie smiled too,

'You'll enjoy the experience, Jo,' she said encouragingly. For some reason Jo hung out a little longer. She told Natalie honestly, 'As a matter of fact, you mightn't have to bother with coaches and complicated arrangements. Because I ran into someone who's actually driving down to Ain el Ourida - leaving in about forty minutes' time. You could - you could get a lift with him.' Natalie grimaced. 'Forty minutes! Not possibly! Besides, who is it?' 'A Frenchman. Raymond Laurent.' Josian coloured slightly at Natalie's knowing smile. 'I see ... Well, I won't ask questions. I presume you'd go with him - if you're prepared to trust him—' 'I am,' said Josian a little wryly. "He's not going to rob me - of my belongings because he is definitely not in need. Nor of my - virtue, because I don't attract him.' Natalie's expression was sceptical. 'If he's offered you a lift - and of course he has - then you can't be too repulsive to him. However, you're surely old enough to look after yourself by now, so it's up to you to take the chance - great from my point of view if you're provided with ready-made transport. But don't go talking, will you? I suppose it's too late for you to take over my name now - but it really wouldn't do for it to get to the ears of this contact of Tony's that you're not the right person, would it?' She added doubtfully, 'You couldn't persuade your Frenchman that your first name's Natalie, by any chance?' Josian felt guilty. As far as Raymond Laurent was concerned, she was Natalie Jones - if he remembered the name that had been written on the slip of paper. He also knew she was trying to contact Tony Greyhurst. So it was a little late for secrecy. She wondered if she

should admit to this, then decided against it. In her heart, she had no doubts at all about the integrity of the Frenchman's character. 'He calls me Miss Jones,' she assured Natalie, and felt foolish when the other girl laughed. 'Not really! That's priceless in this day and age. You certainly do need a little broadening experience, Jo Jones! Though I doubt whether you'll get it from your Frenchman. He sounds as if he must be somebody's grandfather.' Jo bit her lip and ignored the gibe. 'There's one other thing,' she said diffidently. 'That little gold charm—' 'Of course, you'll need that, won't you? I have it here in my beach-bag.' She fished it out and dropped it, a gleaming twist of gold, into Jo's palm. She had evidently forgotten the money she owed for it, and Josian thought philosophically, 'Well, that's a sort of deposit - to be refunded when I bring it back!' 'I'd better get my packing done and check out,' she said when she had slipped the charm into her beaded bag. 'So you had. Remember to keep in touch, won't you? And if Tony's not at this place, whatever it's called - and I really don't think he is will you carry on?' Josian nodded, knowing that she would, mad though it was. 'You can phone me here, or telegram, as soon as you have Tony's address,' said Natalie - almost as if, reflected Jo, amused, she expected it to be Number Five, Broadmeadow Lane, or some such. 'And I'll fly to his arms,' she concluded smilingly. Of course she would, thought Josian. It suddenly occurred to her that Natalie for all her sophistication was light as the froth on a glass of

beer. Fouf! - and she would be blown clean away. Of course she was in love with Tony, and wanted to join him - the millionaire's son at the foot of the rainbow. It was an amusing thought though not a very kind one, and Josian gave a little spurt of laughter then bit her lip hard. She said repentantly, 'I'll keep in touch, I promise you. I'll let you know exactly what's happening.' Natalie rewarded her with a dazzling smile. "Marvellous! I know I can trust you, Jo. And it was such a bit of luck running into you in Marrakech -1 have this weird feeling it was meant in some way.' Josian had felt exactly the same way. In fact, for both of them it seemed to be a matter of fate. That was female logic for you! She got her packing done, paid her bill, and was ready with her luggage beside her in the reception hall with a good five minutes to spare. She found a chair facing the big windows that looked on to the garden of tall palms and tumbling flowers that lay between the hotel and the street. When she heard footsteps crossing the tiled floor and stopping near her, she thought it must be Raymond Laurent, and wondered how he had managed to come across the garden without her seeing him. But it was not the Frenchman. It was, quite surprisingly, Kit Garrett. 'Hello, Jo. May I sit down? Looks as if you're off somewhere and I'm just in time to say good-bye.' His grey blue eyes looked at her in a friendly way, but she could see he was disappointed. She was disappointed too - she was sure they could have been good friends.; "Yes. I'm sorry, I'm leaving for Ain el Ourida in just a few minutes down past Ouarzazate, and I suppose you know where that is.'

'Sure I do.' He was smiling now as he perched on the arm of her chair and took out cigarettes. 'And it's the rummest of coincidences, because, believe it or not, I'm going south over the High Adas myself... You're booked on a tour, are you?' She shook her head. 'Just - seeing around. I've been offered a lift - too good to miss,' she added, uncomfortable at the necessity for avoiding the truth. There should be masses of interesting things to see.' 'Oh, for sure,' he agreed, tapping his cigarette thoughtfully but not lighting it yet. 'My rotten luck I didn't come along earlier today - you might have come with me. It was too bad we didn't have a longer session last night - I was hoping to see a lot of you. However, I'll make a point of getting to Ain el Ourida - unless you'd rather I kept out of the way?' Now he lit his cigarette and looked at her over the lighter flame. 'I'd love to see you,' said Jo decidedly. At that moment she saw Raymond Laurent enter the reception hall and begin to cross the beautiful tiled, floor in her direction. To her annoyance, her heart beat faster - but it was only because of the things he had implied about Kit last night In a second, Kit had seen him too, and his forehead creased quizzically. 'Well, look who's here! Your Latin friend coming to break it up again! Could it be he's your lift?' Jo nodded and got nervously to her feet. She was thinking how strange it was that in so short a time she had two very handsome and presentable men wanting to drive her just where she wanted to go in Morocco. And how even more strange it was that both these men at this very time' should happen to be going just where she was going. Though Kit, she modified it, was only coming to Ain el Ourida because he wanted to see more of her.

Raymond Laurent had joined them now. He nodded to Kit who offered a negligent, 'Hi,' and got to his feet too. Raymond gestured towards Jo's luggage. 'You are ready? Then we shall not delay. We have many miles to go and to travel in the dark is to miss much.' A nod of dismissal at Kit, and he had picked up Jo's luggage and was waiting for her to precede him out of the hotel. Kit smiled down into Jo's eyes, and from his rather rueful expression. She concluded that he thought she was rather friendlier with the Frenchman than was actually the case. But he said merely, 'I'll be seeing you, honey. Take care!' Then he pressed her hand and let her go - and she could not miss Raymond's sardonic look. Outside, the car - which proved to be a sturdy Land- Rover - was waiting, and as soon as Jo and her luggage were installed, Raymond climbed into the driver's seat and they were on their way out of Marrakech. Jo had removed the jacket that matched the pants she had changed into, for it was still hot enough to need no more than her sleeveless top. The golden charm she wore around her throat, though only the gold chain was visible above her neckline. 'So your friend was amenable,' said the man beside her after a minute or two of silence. 'I did not realize it would be necessary for you to consult with a friend of such short standing before you could leave Marrakech.' It took Jo a moment to realize that he was referring to Kit Garrett, and after a brief inner debate she decided not to try to put him straight. She could hardly bring Natalie Jones into it - so he must think what he liked. 'I wouldn't say consult,' she said moderately. 'But it's polite and diplomatic, as I'm sure you'll agree, to tell one's friends and acquaintances when one is moving on.'

'That is indeed beyond dispute,' he conceded. 'I was mistaken, then, in assuming you wished to discuss your movements with your friend.' Jo did not reply, and the topic was discarded. They drove through Marrakech and on to the Ouarzazate Road in silence. Presently he said without turning his head, 'We have some hours to spend together, Miss Jones. One does not cross the High Adas in a matter of minutes. I hope we can pass the time agreeably.' Jo was pleasantly surprised. In fact she had parted her lips to say so when he turned towards her briefly and with a shock the met his glance, far from as reassuring as his words - eyes jungle green and somehow dangerous with the dazzle of sunlight striking fires from them. She had seen that face banded with sunlight and shadow before and she had been strangely fascinated, put under a spell. Why now did she feel almost afraid? Nothing could possibly happen to her during the drive through the High Atlas. This man was certainly not going to carry her off to some hidden kasbah in the mountains. Fleetingly and without great conviction she wished she had been making the journey with Kit Garrett, who was so uncomplicatedly ordinary. But Allah had willed it this way. She said matter-of-factly, 'I hope so too. I'll do my best.' Marrakech in its magnificent palm grove receded quickly as they sped along the road that crossed a sun-baked plain. Raymond Laurent drove fast and expertly, and the snow- topped mountains came rapidly closer. He talked a little, commenting on the scenery, on the orange groves, the way of life of the people, and it was not long before she decided that he was probably a man with a great love for this country and its people. Perhaps before the long journey was over she would know more about him and understand him better. She

remembered the beautiful Moroccan girl at the hotel who had had henna on her palms and knuckles, and she wondered anew who she was and what she meant to this man who was so helpful yet so - so strange. Even while he fascinated her, she felt herself diminished and somehow unadmirable in his company. Soon she felt herself relaxing, and began to marvel inwardly at the very fact of being here, driving into the High Atlas on a strange quest, with a name not quite her own, and a golden charm hidden in her bosom, as Tony Greyhurst had put it. And to think that Natalie Jones had passed it all up! She enjoyed sights similar to some already seen during the coach drive from Casablanca. The biblically robed figures who wandered so unhurriedly by the roadside or in the fields; the white-bearded, white-turbanned men who sat sideways and with a casual and easy dignity on their laden donkeys, their feet drumming rhythmically up and down; the shepherds guarding a few sheep or goats; the little bands of women cutting bundles of greenery in the fields and drawing their haiks swiftly across their faces as the Land-Rover approached. Josian expressed her pleasure aloud constantly, and this appeared to please the man beside her, for he responded by pointing out something here or there that she might otherwise have missed. Soon the road was climbing into the mountain range, and it seemed they had entered a different world. The snow- covered peaks beckoned, and all about them the mountain slopes rose and seemed to go on forever - sometimes grey and stony, sometimes gashed with wild watermelon pink - but always looking down in a lordly and majestic way into the gorges below and on to the narrow road that snaked its precarious way to the pass and to the south. 'This is Glaoui country, Miss Jones,' Raymond Laurent remarked pleasantly. 'You have possibly read of the Glaouis whose name is

linked with the High Atlas, and with such oasis towns as Ouarzazate and Telouet?' 'Yes, I've read a little,' Jo admitted cautiously. 'I remember the Pasha of Marrakech was a Glaoui. But please,' she added - too impulsively, as she almost instantly realized - 'I wish you would call me Jo. Miss Jones is so formal.' 'Jo?' He didn't sound as if he particularly cared for the name. Or was it surprise in his voice? She supposed he must remember that slip of paper that had the name Natalie Jones written on it, and she cursed herself for her foolishness. Of course she didn't want to be called anything but Miss Jones. 'It is the diminutive you prefer?' She knew she had coloured, 'It doesn't matter. Miss Jones will do,' she said resignedly. Somehow, her conscience rebelled against the idea of being called Natalie. It was one thing to go to a stranger in a souq or a hotel to ask for a message for Miss Natalie Jones, but it was quite another to hear yourself called Natalie by someone who was to be your companion for some hours. Raymond Laurent's voice broke into the thoughts that were tumbling distractedly through her mind. 'No doubt you think of the Glaoui - as so many people do -as men possessing infinite wealth and few scruples. The Lords of the Atlas! Theirs is indeed a fascinating history, and now that their power has gone, one speculates endlessly. The name of Thami el Glaoui is one that provokes various reactions, and perhaps it is most usual to regard him as a villain. He was, after all, opposed to the independence of his own country, a man who allied himself with the French Protectorate—' Jo listened carefully and with interest. So this was how he intended to see that they passed their time together agreeably! He was going to

instruct her! Well, that suited her very well. In fact there was nothing she would like better... She was glad she had done some reading about Morocco before she had left home. She asked hesitantly, not quite trusting her memory, 'Wasn't it Thami el Glaoui who - who schemed to have the Sultan exiled?' He gave her an ironically surprised glance. 'You are right, Miss Jones. I confess I hardly expected you to be so well versed ... Likewise it was he who later publicly demanded his return - perhaps when he realized that the desire of his people for independence was too strong to be opposed any longer. But I think it could be that he was not merely greedy for personal wealth and power. It could be that as well, he wanted for his country such European achievements and pleasures as the French Protectorate could bring. Maroc on her own faces a vast task in attempting to catch up with the twentieth century, and though there is much to criticize in the French Protectorate, there is also much to be said on the credit side.' He broke off to concentrate on getting to the side of the rising, winding road. Another vehicle had come into sight and was hurtling towards them. It was - impossibly, thought Jo, her eyes widening and sudden laughter rising to her lips--a battered taxi, of all things crammed full of Moroccans in white turbans and striped djellabas. Coming from where, and going where? Raymond, however, made no comment He evidently took such sights for granted, and presently he continued with what he had been saying. 'This pass we go through this afternoon, the Tiz'n'Tichka, was built by the French. Also this great road that links the north with the pre-Saharan regions. Not so very long ago, Miss Jones - but before you were born,' he added sending her a slight smile, 'there was no such way for a four-wheeled vehicle to reach Ouarzazate, and very few tourists found their way there, or to the small town that interests

us both, Ain el Ourida. We are fortunate today, n'est-ce pas, that our fields of amusement have been extended?' Miss Jones. So he was not going to call her Jo, and though she was relieved, she had the chilling feeling that she had been put in her place. And she had not been invited to call him Raymond. Now, somehow, even Monsieur Laurent stuck in her throat. They went on for the next little while without talking. The road was twisting and climbing, up and up, through magnificent remote mountain scenery, and it was not until they were through the pass, the snow-covered peaks still dizzyingly high above them, and had begun to descend, that Jo began to relax again. Soon, finding a place to pull in off the road, Raymond Laurent did so, and from the back of the Land-Rover he produced a silver flask and two silver drinking vessels. 'You are thirsty?' 'A little,' Jo admitted. She watched him warily as he unstoppered the flask and poured out a clear colourless liquid that looked like water. He glanced up and straight into her eyes, and in his regard there was something deep down, almost hidden, yet very definitely there, that made her heartbeats quicken. Danger! What sort of a man was he? Again she found herself thinking that but for that faintly weary, fined-down look, he would have been a shatteringly handsome man. Even as it was— Suddenly she discovered that he was smiling ironically. 'Yes, it is water, Miss Jones,' he told her, passing her one of the cups. 'Ice cold and, I hope you will find, infinitely refreshing.' He reached across her as he spoke and his hand brushed against her breast. She felt a frisson go through her and her fingers that held the cup of water trembled. Now his long fingers flicked at the strand of hair that hung

across her shoulder, and he said casually, 'Some tiny insect caught in the shining web of your hair - Natalie.' Natalie! She could not control her blink of surprise. She was perfectly certain that there was not a grain of truth in what he had said - that he had deliberately touched her. And of course he had been aware of her over-emotional reaction. As a cover-up, she exclaimed sharply, 'I asked you to call me Jo.' His eyes smouldered down into hers, and she didn't know whether he was amused or puzzled. 'So you did,' he agreed. 'But mon dieu! do you need to look at me as if you would like to put a knife in my heart because I have not complied? After all, you do not call me Raymond - yet surely you must be aware of the pleasure it gives a man to hear his name on the lips of a beautiful woman.' Jo went scarlet, and wished she had kept silent. She knew she simply could not call him Raymond, and now she could not understand the half-cynical, half-provocative way he spoke to her. She took silent refuge in her thirst, which was genuine enough, and devoted her attention to drinking down the water which had just a dash of lemon juice in it. Then she let herself be persuaded to leave the Land- Rover to stretch her legs and to look at the view. They stood together in silence on the stony verge looking down a steep mountain slope into a gorge where deep shadows flung their violet shapes, and late sunlight lit dramatically a thread of blue water and a rectangle of lush green that looked like crumpled silk and was probably a patch of barley. There were fruit trees in flower, and Jo caught the smoky smudge of palest pink blossoms on almond trees beneath which a few minute-looking black goats and two figures moved. 'You see the dwellings - Miss Jones?' He was cool and imperial, and very faintly mocking now.

'Dwellings?' Jo looked hard, and then she discerned them on the barren pinkish-grey terraces that rose steeply from the small fertile strip by the narrow river. They were low, flat-roofed dwellings, almost windowless, one above the other, and resembling the rough work of a child. Hard to pick out because they were made of the same pink earth on which they stood. Humble, unbelievably humble places of habitation, that must be almost pitch dark inside and looked as if they would disintegrate in rain. 'They look so - fragile,' she exclaimed spontaneously, looking up at him with wide eyes. 'They are indeed fragile,' he agreed. 'Even a kasbah is fragile when it is made of pise. And if the river floods, then of course they may be washed away with the crops and the fruit trees. Water is important in this country in many ways - in the desert, in the mountain gorges. There must be irrigation, dams to prevent floods—' He broke off and for a moment she wondered why. She was beginning to believe that he must be connected with work entailing dam building or irrigation, but now was not the time to ask. Two children were scrambling hastily up the slope towards them, and Josian blinked unbelievingly. The older girl, who was perhaps thirteen, wore a long-sleeved tunic of glittering gold thread, tied with a vermilion sash that matched the scarf she wore over her dark hair. She wore silver bracelets, a silver necklet - and Josian blinked again, for now the girl stood only a few feet away on the dusty roadside and the rest of her clothing could be seen: incredibly shabby and dirty blue pantaloons that reached to just below her knees, flat heelless slippers stained with mud. She stood staring, first at Jo and then at Raymond, her eyes bright and hard and just a little frightened. 'Flous!' she demanded, holding out her hand. The child with her, probably a little sister, clung to her arm and half hid behind her. She

too wore a vermilion headscarf, and a soiled ankle-length cotton dress, printed with tiny flowers, so that she had a quaintly old-fashioned air. Raymond said something to the older girl that Josian could not understand, his voice gentle, and she smiled a little, and the frightened look faded from her eyes as she answered him. He told Josian, 'She wants to know if we wish to take her photograph. In her golden jacket, she is able to earn money this way. The price is two dirhams.' Josian shook her head. 'I haven't a camera, but I would like to give her some money.' 'No, no,' he said, and touched her arm briefly. He spoke to the girl again, then took some money from his pocket and handed it to her. She flashed him a smile that was lovely, then with the little one still holding tightly to her hand, began to scramble back over the dirt and stones to the place away down by the river that was home to her. 'Life here is very different from life in England, I think,* the Frenchman commented, Jo agreed, and having been unwise enough to look up at him found her gaze enmeshed in his once more. Abruptly, she turned to move back to the Land-Rover, but in the same instant her wrist was encircled, and he drew towards her with a steely strength. His dark gaze went to her mouth. 'You look at me with such invitation, Natalie. Is not this the time and the place for us to embrace? We would both, I am sure, find it infinitely pleasurable.'

Jo's heart began to pound, her cheeks flamed then paled again. 'No, thank you,' she said huskily. There had been something so calculating in the way he spoke, despite the fires that burned in his eyes. 'The pleasure would be all yours, I assure you.' She stared at him, almost petrified, her muscles tensed as if she were ready to run - which was laughable, for there was nowhere to run to, and a mental image of herself pitching down the hill the way the little golden girl had gone danced crazily before her eyes. What on earth was going to happen now? Francine would have a fit if she knew about this, and David would curse himself for not having warned her against practised seducers, like Raymond Laurent... Then suddenly the spell was broken. The glistening dark lashes that framed Raymond's eyes flicked down and up, and a dry smile tilted the corners of his mouth. 'You refuse me?' he asked, then continued in French, 'Do you not yet know, Natalie, that you have the most dangerous eyes in the entire world? I wonder how many men have been roused to passion by them, and how many have then been denied?' Slowly his grip on her wrist loosened, and his hand fell to his side. 'Now, shall we continue our journey?'

CHAPTER FOUR Jo was aware of sudden blankness. So nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Released, she turned blindly towards the car and felt herself stumble a little. Nothing had happened - and yet she would never feel safe with this man again. She was baffled by his sophistication, his maturity. They had been on their way for a good half hour before her nerves had quietened and she had pulled herself together. Common sense told her to forget - to ignore - what had happened, or what had not happened, on the edge of the mountain slope, and she asked him with a calmness that amazed her, 'Was it Arabic you were speaking to the little golden girl up in the mountains, Monsieur Laurent?' He gave her a quizzical look, and told her coolly, 'It was Berber Miss Jones.' She coloured a little at his intonation, but persisted, 'You must have lived in Morocco for some time—' 'I was born in Maroc,' he told her, 'and in Maroc I received much of my education. When independence came, I had begun my engineering studies in France.' 'You work here, I presume?' 'Yes. To me this is my country - the land to which I owe my life, my allegiance. My grandfather has bequeathed to me vineyards in France, and my father has left me plantations in Maroc.' He gave her a quick hard glance that seemed to be at variance with his next words. 'My heart is in Maroc, and here while I am needed, I shall work, and here I shall live. For it is a country where every able and intelligent man is required to play his part. I am an engineer, Miss Jones. My interest is in irrigation and water.'

'I thought perhaps it was,' said Josian as he paused. 'Where do you work, Monsieur Laurent?' 'Wherever I am needed. Recently I accompanied geologists and surveyors to the desert where water is life itself to the nomad herdsman, to the Arab with his camel train. Such remote problems would never have reached your ears, Miss Jones, but some of these distant springs that have been considered permanent have recently failed. It is such disasters as these that I and my confederates have been studying. Life is hard in the desert, even in the twentieth century. I, who have no more than touched the fringe of it, have discovered this. For water is life, and there is one very sure way of becoming truly aware of this simple fact. My body - and I am a healthy man - rebelled. For a short time I was hospitalized, and now I am unwillingly taking a vacation while my physical being readjusts itself. My life is not, I assure you, one of perpetual holiday.' Josian had listened intently. While he was being impersonal, she felt quite at her ease with him, and she realized that he was a dedicated man, a man to be admired. She knew now why it was that, despite the tan that burnished his skin, he had that look of recent physical suffering. He had merely suggested failure of water supplies, tossed off a light remark about hospitalization, but she suspected that some of the fire that burned so deeply in his eyes had been kindled by despair. The despair of a man who has been drawn to the gates of death, and turned back at the last possible minute. As she glanced at him now, the light, eerily silver-gold in the sky but reflecting back red from the red ground, made those fires leap. She shivered a little, though she did not know why, and turned away to look out at the world. The sky was paling, the shadows lengthening. The high mountains had been left behind and they had left the Ouarzazate road and taken the turning that led to Ain el

Ourida. Presently she shifted her position a little. She had been deeply involved with undefined emotions and thoughts, trying to work out the truth of her feelings towards this man. For you cannot spend hours in the company of another human being and remain unaffected. She thought she was ready to forget that brief and disturbing interlude on the roadside - she was sure that Raymond would have forgotten it long ago. She had been burned by the fire of his enthusiasm as well as by the passionate fire in his eyes. She had looked on his country - on its very heart - in his company, and she knew that in some mysterious and unaccountable way her whole metabolism had been subtly changed. She was, quite simply, no longer exactly the same Josian Jones who had said good-bye a little tearfully to her sister Francine in London only a few days ago. She had grown up a little, though in comparison with this man at her side she was very foolish and insignificant. It amazed her that he had bothered at all with her and her problems - which were really Natalie Jones' problems. She sighed a little and said out of her thoughts, 'I would like you to know how grateful I am for this lift, Monsieur Laurent.' His eyebrows went up. 'It is nothing. I have told you before, a girl like you should not be travelling around Maroc on her own. You have the appearance at least of innocence, and your mirror must assure you daily that you are beautiful. Both are qualities that are an invitation to danger. Already you have all but seduced me, Miss Jones,' he added ironically, and suddenly she felt furious with him, completely exasperated. Why couldn't he leave personalities out of their relationship? Why did he insist on paying her un- ,called-for, and somehow distasteful, compliments? She was not unattractive, she knew, in a very unsophisticated way, but he made her sound a veritable siren. She said, rather more spiritedly than was polite under the circumstances, 'Without wanting to be ungrateful, I don't have to

depend entirely on you, you know, for my safety - or otherwise - in Morocco. I could have come to Ain el Ourida with Kit Garrett.' He nodded. 'I am sure you would never lack a man willing to escort you,' he conceded. 'However, as I have good reasons of my own for travelling south, I do not put myself out at all for you. You may rest assured of that.' 'Then that's fine,' said Jo with a glibness that had a touch of bravado in it. 'I needn't feel grateful - or guilty.' She would have liked to ask him about his rather mysterious- sounding reasons, but she had the feeling he would tell her nothing, so she desisted. In no time after that, as they drove through the growing darkness and loneliness of a flat desert land, Jo caught sight of a long silhouette, dark against the muted indigo of the night sky. The walled town of Ain el Ourida in its oasis of tall palms. As they drew near, the headlights of the Land- Rover showed the old red crenellated walls with their great arched gateways, and rising up from within the tower of a mosque, faintly and eerily lit. 'We do not enter the medina tonight,' said Raymond smoothly and definitely. 'I have taken the liberty to reserve two rooms at the Hotel Ahmar which lies outside the walls, in the new quarter of the town.' 'I should prefer to go to the Hotel el Menzeh,' said Josian quickly, and saw him smile slightly. 'I think not. That is in the medina. You will be more comfortable at the Ahmar.' 'But I must go to the el Menzeh,' she persisted. 'Tonight? When you must be tired and you have not yet eaten? Surely tomorrow will do.'

Josian gave in. Of course it would do. But tomorrow she would be independent, and she would find the el Menzeh herself. She would not ask Raymond Laurent for help, at any rate. They had driven past the great red walls now, and reached a wide street lit by modern lighting. There were palms and orange trees down each side, and there was a park where red hibiscus flowers and geraniums glowed in the artificial light, and the trees were laden with oranges and tangerines. The haunting fragrance of orange blossom where red hibiscus flowers and geraniums glowed in the sky, and Josian moved restlessly, very much aware that this was a night and a place for love. The time and the place … Raymond drove past the Gendarmerie, the Hotel de Ville, the Post Office, and then they reached the Hotel Ahmar, and at sight of it, Josian drew a deep breath of pleasure. If only she had been sharing this experience with Francine, how wonderful it would have been! The hotel was obviously a kasbah that had been converted to a tourist hotel. It lay hidden behind splendid walls, and they drove through wide ornate gates that were opened for them by a dark-haired boy in the hotel uniform - white embroidered tunic over white pants. Raymond parked the car in a gravelled area under the walls, and they were welcomed in French by a smiling boy who took their luggage and led them through a wrought iron doorway into the hotel. Raymond motioned to Josian to wait while he went to the reception desk, and she stood back near a huge brass vessel from which rioted a profusion of red and cream and purple flowers. She had the dazed feeling that she was in a dream, or acting a part in the sumptuous setting of a play. She was aware of the respect and flattering attention that were awarded to the Frenchman, and she felt herself in a false position. It was at least reassuring to recall that he had told her he had reserved two rooms!

She and Raymond followed the boy through a beautiful Moorish type lounge to the elevator that took them to the next floor, and Raymond left her at the door of her room with a polite, 'I shall go down to the dining-room shortly. I hope you will join me, Miss Jones.' 'Thank you, I shall.' Josian was equally formal and polite. She. was hungry, and it would be silly to protest that she • would prefer to eat alone, for she would not. Her room was both simple and luxurious, and had its own bathroom adjoining. There were a low bed, a carved wooden chest and a wardrobe, and on the floor was a thick Moorish carpet. The ceiling was painted with flowers and arabesques, and the windows looked down into a garden whose backdrop was the high red wall. Josian hung up one or two things, had a wash, and used lipstick and eye-shadow. She brushed out her light hair and let it hang freely. She was tired and she looked it, and she reflected that if she had triedto picture how it would be to take over Natalie Jones' search for her, she would never have imagined this - with a Frenchman waiting downstairs to dine with her. The dining-room, when she found it, was all but empty, for it was late. Neither she nor Raymond had much to say to each other. It was the end of a long day and a tiring drive across the mountains. Josian chose a simple meal of chicken and vegetables cooked in French style, drank a cup of coffee, then excused herself and went up to bed. She would have liked first to stroll in the garden, but not by herself and certainly not with Raymond Laurant. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, she felt self-conscious with him now. She had thought that, once in bed, she would fall asleep immediately, but she didn't. To her intense annoyance, she thought with a maddening obsessiveness of Raymond, going over and over in her mind that scene on the mountainside. She was quite certain he had

more or less accused her of deliberately provoking him, and then withdrawing, yet the truth was that she had been more than a little frightened. She would not have had the least idea in the world how to deal with the situation if he had insisted on taking her into his arms. She was too inexperienced. Restlessly, she turned on her side and thought determinedly of Kit Garrett. She hoped he would somehow find his way to Ain el Ourida. After all, she would have to leave the place somehow. That led her to the necessity of finding the Hotel el Menzeh tomorrow, and soon she was asleep. In the morning when she went downstairs to breakfast - quite early, and hoping that way to miss Raymond - she was astonished to find Kit sitting at a table half-way down the room. He was facing the doorway and he saw her at once, and rose to his feet with a friendly smile. Josian, allowing herself to be conducted to his table, felt a rush of pleasure that was compounded with relief. Now, she caught herself thinking, she could forget about her unfathomable Frenchman and turn to Kit if she needed help or advice. 'Hello there! It's great to see you,' he told her. 'Sit down- what are you eating?' She turned to the hovering waiter and asked for grapefruit, toast and coffee, then turned her attention back to Kit. His bearded face, his friendly and frank grey blue eyes already seemed familiar and she said honestly, 'I'm so glad you got here!' 'You are? I sure hoped I was going to catch up with you, Jo. And by the way, what's that short for? Josephine?' Jo hesitated. Her breakfast arrived and she made the excuse of waiting till she and Kit were alone again before she answered him, Even then she was not sure what to say. It was not her nature to lie glibly, and after all, why should she not be honest? But the scales were tipped when she saw Raymond enter the dining room and take a

table some distance away. That brought her down to earth. She couldn't be Josian to Kit and Natalie to Raymond - even though he mostly called her Miss Jones - for the two of them just might, in fact surely would, get together some time or another. With a small sigh of resignation she told Kit, 'Jo for Jones. Natalie is too much to live up to - besides, I wasn't born on Christmas Day.' She thought she had got out of that fairly neatly, and it would settle any problems. She smiled across the table. 'All my friends call me Jo.' 'Then Jo suits me,' he said. Jo began to eat her grapefruit. She caught Raymond's eye and sent him a nod of greeting, and remarked inwardly that he didn't look over-delighted to see who her companion was. Well, her friendship with Kit was her own business, and in her opinion, she was safer with him than with Raymond. She didn't think she would ever be scared out of her wits that Kit would suddenly seize her in his arms in some lonely place. The American was much more open and easy to understand. Kit, who had seen her nod, looked over his shoulder. 'Your French buddy, as I suspected. Have you known him long?' 'A couple of days,' she said. He was looking at her hand as she spooned up her grapefruit, and now he asked, 'Where's your ring? I hope you haven't lost it.' 'No, I - I'm just not wearing it,' she said, flushing, and exasperated that she could not simply tell him the whole story. Perhaps later, when she knew him a little better, she would do just that, no matter what Natalie had said.

'Any special significance in it?' he asked casually. 'You wore it on your right hand, if I remember rightly.' 'No significance,' said Jo firmly, and wished he would forget it, and for the time being at least it seemed he was going to. 'Any plans for today?' he wanted to know. 'Or are you free to wander around with me?' 'Fairly free,' she said cautiously. 'I have to call in at the Hotel el Menzeh - on behalf of a friend,' she added rather vaguely. 'Someone who's been here before.' 'It's not a definite appointment? I mean, will you be lunching or partaking of mint tea - lingering—?' 'I don't think so. But I do have to find the place - I haven't the least idea where it is.' 'I'll help you find it,' he offered. He poured himself another cup of coffee and smiled at her. 'I'd love you to,' she said gratefully, and cast a quick triumphant glance in Raymond's direction, but of course he wasn't looking at her and wouldn't have known what it was all about if he had been. 'The only thing is,' said Kit, 'I have a bit of mail to deal with first - and I'll have to get it to the Post Office.' 'That's all right, there's no hurry,' said Josian agreeably. She decided that she would stroll into the medina by herself, and look around the souqs or go to the local market. She might be able to buy a souvenir for Francine, too. Tony Gteyhurst's message could wait - imagine having to read another of those very personal letters, written to

another girl! - and she ought to see as much as she could while she had the opportunity. After she left the dining-room, she managed to avoid Raymond unless perhaps he was avoiding her! - and later she met Kit in the lounge. It was a lovely room with low tables and leather-covered hassocks, and big clear windows with jewel-coloured insets of thick glass, and it looked down into a garden where there was a swimming pool shaped like a keyhole, its waters blue and inviting. She arranged to meet Kit somewhere around the market square and they parted company, he to deal with his mail, she to walk to the medina.; Once inside the high walls of the old Arab town, she was much pestered by friendly children. 'Bonjour, madame, Qa va? Tu veux les souqs?' Yes, she agreed finally, she wanted the souqs. She chose a thin boy of about twelve to be her guide. His head was shaven and he wore a loose blue robe trimmed with braid over a white cotton tee shirt. When they reached the street of the souqs, she gave him a dirham, her thanks and a bright smile and headed for the shaded arcade off which the tiny souqs opened, each one having its display of clothing, jewellery, camel sandals, brass mirrors and so on outside, to tempt the stranger inside. She bought some trinkets for Francine from a pleasant Berber boy - a bracelet of silver coins linked by chains, and a ring to match it The price asked was small, and she decided against bargaining and was surprised when, having wrapped her small purchase in a scrap of bright pink paper, he took something from the shelf and handed it to her with a smile. 'Un petit cadeau, madame - une rose de sable.' A present! It was one of those strange sand roses that; come from the desert, its thin crystalline petals sharply edged and faintly glittering,

the soft rose colour of the earth. Josian looked at it with eyes that shone.; 'Merci! But why?' He gave her a smile that was sweet and his dark eyes were friendly and guileless. 'Parce que tu es gentille—' Josian thanked him again and he wrapped the rose and she took her purchases and went on along the arcade. The little compliment the Berber boy had given her gave her infinite pleasure. It was far more heartwarming to be called nice than to be told that her eyes were dangerous and inviting ... She wandered slowly along in the shade of the arcade, admiring the goods on sale and reflecting that the people here were different from those in Marrakech - simpler, perhaps, less geared to tourism. A quarter of an hour later, quite by chance, she found herself in the market place, where boys wheeled bicycles and donkeys stood waiting patiently, their side baskets stuffed with greens; where small handcarts were trundled along, loaded with oranges or vegetables, with baskets or pottery. A little bewildered, and aware that she was being stared at in her beige pants and blouse the soft blue-green of beryl, that matched her headscarf and pretty sandals, she looked about her, hoping to see Kit. She made her way slowly through the market. All around were flat-roofed, pink buildings with signs written in Arabic, and sometimes in French as well. The market stalls were shaded by big flat umbrellas of cream cotton, and the merchants either sat on chairs behind laden tables or on the ground, with their wares spread out before them on woven rush mats. There were spices and incense and henna leaves, bananas and oranges and lemons; carrots and potatoes and onions, dried figs and dates and - Josian stood for a moment to stare at a stall that displayed dried lizards and lizard skins amongst other unrecognizable objects. This must be the

local magician, and, feeling a slight shiver go through her, she walked on. Kit was still not to be seen when she passed a little gathering of women in voluminous black robes, beneath which could be glimpsed gay skirts, bare ankles, and feet thrust into slippers, and came upon a fortune-teller in black djellaba, a veil covering the lower part of her face. She was seated on the ground, her tarot cards scattered before her on a strip of carpet. She looked up at Josian and gestured invitingly, saying in French, 'Come, madame - let me read the cards for you.' The appeal in her eyes, one of which was clouded, was too much to resist, and Josian with a little smile succumbed. From nowhere, a low wooden stool was produced for her to sit on, and in the time it took for her to arrange a price, she and the fortune-teller were surrounded by a small audience, mostly young men and boys, all of them eager to listen, to be entertained, and all of them with a serious expression on their faces. The Berber woman removed her veil, and her strange eyes looked fully at Jo. She selected a card from the well worn pack and indicated that the girl should hold it against her heart, Josian complied, and she could feel that heart beating ridiculously fast all of a sudden - as if she were about to hear something important Though of course, she reminded herself firmly, she could expect nothing but nonsense. She looked up for an instant as the fortune-teller laid out the cards,and with a shock, she met the eyes of Raymond Laurent. Tall, bare-headed, black-haired, he stood behind the small circle that had surrounded the Berber woman. Josian felt herself flush scarlet, though why she should she did not know. He made no sign of recognition, and his expression was as serious and intent as anyone else's. Jo's heart worked harder than ever, her eyes fell, and now she

found it hard to concentrate her vision on the cards on the matting. They were battered, worn, their colours dulled by much handling. And that loud sound she heard - that was the thumping of her own heart! The fortune-teller held her hand momentarily, then took the card she held from her and placed it with the others. 'You are not married?' she asked Jo in French, and the girl shook her head. The drumming in her ears was subsiding now, but she did not dare to look up, and she felt aggravated by her impossible and inexplicable reaction to the sight of that face, those darkly green and intense eyes, that had not a vestige of recognition in them. Somehow she did not want Raymond to hear her fortune being read, but there was nothing she could do about it and she felt helplessly certain that he would stay, that he would listen. That he would also believe. And perhaps, she thought alarmedly, he would learn of her duplicity. Which was absurd. Yet not quite as absurd as she thought, as she was shortly to discover. The fortune-teller was studying the cards, that were now arranged in a pattern. She looked intently at Jo. 'You have come a long way to find the one you love, Icdla, but you must go further yet - as far as the sands of the desert--before you will truly find him.' Her dark eyes were unfocused, as if she actually saw these things. 'Yet he is closer to you than you think, much closer.' Jo frowned slightly. This was definitely crazy! What the woman had said might well have applied to Natalie Jones, who had come to find Tony - but not to her! She had come to Morocco for a holiday, not to find the one she loved. Oh well, at this rate she need not fear that Raymond Laurent would find out anything about her. She was aware of the concentration of the small circle of listeners, and most of all she

was aware of the presence of the Frenchman, as the Berber woman continued. 'You must be watchful, madame. Beware of the dark man who follows you as if he were your friend. Do not trust him--trust only the man who is in your heart.' Jo could not restrain herself from glancing at Raymond, surely the dark man who followed her! But he, although he was frowning slightly, looked not at all put out. And now the fortune-teller was gathering the cards together slowly, and Jo made to rise, thinking she was to hear no more. Then a weathered brown hand was laid on her knee, and the woman asked intently, 'Why do you play this game of deceit, lalla? It will delay your happiness, and such a one as you should be happy, for you are tres gentille. Be true - the cards ask you to be true.' She paused once more, and Jo's heart hammered and her cheeks had flushed deeply. This, ridiculously, was exactly what she had feared. But of course Raymond would not know what it was all about. 'Is there a question you would like to ask the cards?' JO sought wildly in her mind. Despite herself, she was vaguely impressed by the things the woman had said - and fascinated by that strange reading at the beginning that had applied so aptly to Natalie Jones. She simply couldn't think of any question to ask while she was conscious of Raymond standing there listening, but a question seemed to be required of her, and finally she asked only, 'Shall I shall I be happy?' 'There are troubles ahead for you, but yes, you will be happy if you remember what the cards have said.'

There was a little sigh all around as at the satisfactory ending to a story, unless Jo was imagining it, and the small circle that had gathered dispersed. Jo opened her handbag and gave the fortune-teller the agreed money and her thanks, and got to her feet. Raymond, of course, was still there, waiting for her. She' looked about but could see no sign of Kit, and there was no way of avoiding the Frenchman who was now coming towards her. 'Good morning, Miss Jones. I had hoped to find you here in the market, though I did not expect to discover you having your fortune told.' 'I hope you found it interesting,' said Jo, who was still a little flushed. She added ironically, 'I did not expect you to--follow me this morning.' 'So!' he said, raising his eyebrows quizzically and not without amusement, for he had certainly taken her point. 'You think then it was to me that the Berber woman referred me of whom you must be wary, me whom you must not trust?' He had taken her arm and they were strolling on together, though Jo had not the least idea why or where. -

'It certainly looks that way,' she said lightly. 'Not that I took any of what I was told seriously. But who else would it be?' 'I could answer that question without trouble. And I wonder is it the same man with whom you are playing your game of deceit. For I think you are not playing such a game with me.' Jo looked at him frowning. 'My game of deceit? I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Have you not? Then look around, Miss Jones, and" you will see that there is someone else who has followed you to the market this morning. Have you told him that you are looking for - Tony Greyhurst?' A glance across the square showed Josian that he was referring to Kit Garrett. His car had just pulled up, and he was climbing out of it, though he had not yet located her. Her colour deepened as she said, 'Kit isn't following me, Monsieur Laurent. We arranged to meet here. And what I have told him is - is none of your business,' she finished flatly and rather rudely. 'That is true,' he agreed dryly. 'I apologize for asking. But if you are to take the words of these fortune-tellers seriously, I would advise you not to jump so hastily to conclusions. For it would appear to be a fact that you are in the fortunate position of having two dark men interested in you,' he finished suavely. Interested, thought Jo. But not wanting to be her friend. Anyhow, she had made up her mind. So she merely shrugged. 'I'm not going to take it seriously. And I'm quite sure that you don't, seeing that I was called "gentille",' she added with an ironic smile. 'Now why do you say that?' His eyebrows tilted. 'Do you seek another compliment, Miss Jones? Have I not already admitted to finding you quite fascinante? And is that not enough?' Jo turned away chagrined, biting her lip, and was thankful to see that Kit had caught sight of her and was approaching. Raymond asked her calmly, 'What is the purpose of this meeting you have arranged, Natalie? Or do you prefer not to trust me with such a valuable secret? Is your friend perhaps merely going to help you choose some Berber jewellery? Though I see you have already made some purchases and have acquired a pretty gold necklet.' His eyes went to her breast, and with a flush that was almost guilty, she fastened the top button of her

blouse that had come undone to reveal the gold charm. She felt suddenly exhausted as though she had been arguing, battling, and the thought of a couple of hours in Kit's company was like balm. She said confusedly, 'I didn't buy that today, and these' - indicating her small pink-wrapped packets - 'are just - just a couple of gifts for my sister. Kit is going to help me find the Hotel el Menzeh, if you really must know.' 'I see.' In another second Kit had joined them, and it was plain to Josian that neither of the two men was exactly delighted to encounter the other. Raymond remarked sardonically, 'Miss Jones has been passing the time pleasantly waiting for you, Monsieur Garrett. She has had her fortune told. Perhaps she will tell you about it.' Kit smiled sceptically. 'Fortune-tellers always talk in riddles - and they usually talk rubbish. I'll bet it wasn't all that enlightening, was it, Jo?' 'On the contrary,' said Raymond smoothly. 'Well, I shall leave you two to find your way to the Hotel el Menzeh - if you are sure you would not like my help.' 'We don't need it, thanks,' said Kit briefly. 'I have the car.' 'You intend to drive? Eh bien - it is your affair.' And with a mocking smile, whose meaning Josian did not understand until later, he strode off.

CHAPTER FIVE To Josian's relief, Kit did not question her about the fortune-teller, and she asked him, 'Did you get your mail posted off?' 'Sure. I've a clear day ahead of me. Did you find out where this hotel is, or were you too busy with your shopping and your fortune-teller?' Josian made a little face. 'I was having fun - and I haven't found out a thing.' 'Never mind. I'll ask one of these guys at the stalls.' Josian went with him, and he made his inquiry, not in Arabic or Berber as she had half expected, but in passable French, of a man in shabby robe over shabbier European trousers, who was selling sweets from the shade of a large umbrella. 'Ah, the el Menzeh,' he said agreeably. 'That is not hard to find. You will walk?' 'We shall drive,' 'Ah yes, you drive,- Then—' As with the fortune-teller, a small crowd rapidly collected to listen, to be entertained, to watch. With a flourish, the sweet-seller produced a ballpoint pen and a small piece of green paper. He drew a curved line. That was the street leading from the market. He indicated a parte. 'And here' - he marked the place with a heavy dot - 'here we have a notice - you will see it. Voila - Hotel el Menzeh!' It sounded simple. Josian said, 'We might as well walk.' Kit considered for a minute. 'Then we'd have to walk back again. No, I've got the car here, we'll drive. Some of these back streets on the

medinas are pretty filthy besides, and those sandals of yours don't look like they'll take too much of a beating.' So they drove, their departure watched by a crowd of children and a handful of men. They found the porte and went through it into a narrow street, then after what seemed a long time, they found a sign with an arrow on it, pointing into a side street for the Hotel el Menzeh. Kit made the turn and they were in a street even narrower than the previous one, a dirt street with no gutters, and with high pink walls on either side. They drove on and reached another sign, and now they were in a very dirty street where children played. After several yards their way was blocked by another car, and after they had waited for several minutes, deciding what to do, a Moroccan appeared and drove the car ahead into a small recess. By this time a swarm of children had collected to run along by Kit's car, and one or two were hanging on the back. Kit stuck his head out of the window and shouted an angry-sounding, 'Fa fen!' and they dropped away. Josian had begun to feel a little alarmed, but her sense of humour bubbled up when they reached yet another sign pointing them on. It seemed the el Menzeh was a very important hotel, but it was always a little further on, and she had the feeling that soon they would be back where they had started! 'These one-way streets would drive you off your brain,' said Kit. 'But I guess we'll get there eventually. We might have found it quicker to walk, but I wouldn't relish the idea of dragging you along through streets like these.' At that moment, to their incredulous amazement, the hotel actually appeared, and Kit put his foot on the brake, then cursed softly. 'Hell and damnation! I'm not going to be able to stop!' A taxi had crept up behind him and another battered vehicle was behind that, and there was absolutely nowhere in this narrow lane to pull off. Josian

looked out speculatively at the shabby hotel with its blank pink front. It had no windows, but its door was painted meticulously in pink and white. She said, not really relishing the thought of proceeding on her own, 'I'll go in by myself, Kit. I shall be all right.' 'Wait on,' he said a little irritably. 'I don't intend leaving you to fend for yourself in a dump like this.' The taxi driver had begun to sound his horn, and Kit glared into the rear vision mirror. Jo opened the door firmly. 'It's impossible, Kit. Just don't worry, I'll manage. Thanks for the lift.' 'Then don't leave without me,' he said almost savagely. 'Anything could happen. I'll be back to pick you up.' She felt a little surprised at his vehemence, and assured him before she slammed the door shut, 'All right, I'll wait. Thanks again.' He drove off, and as she knocked on the door of the hotel using the big brass knocker made in the shape of the hand of Fatima, she reflected that though she was quite used to looking after herself, neither Kit nor Raymond Laurent seemed to want her to do so. The door was opened by a boy in a striped djellaba, and Jo stepped into a rather dark room from the ceiling of which hung a lighted, copper lamp. There was a small counter at one side and ahead a tiny courtyard in which a palm tree and a few orange trees grew. Jo asked the boy if she could see the hotel manager, since there was no one in sight, and he disappeared up a stairway in a dark corner. She waited for a few minutes, and though she saw no one, she fancied she heard voices upstairs. Then the hotel manager came quietly across the tiled floor. He wore European dress and a black and white Berber cap, and he bowed to her and asked if she required a room.

'No, thank you,' said Jo. 'You are Si Bouhouil?' 'Yes, madame.' 'I am - Natalie Jones,' she forced herself to say, and managed to smile convincingly. 'I believe you have a message for me from Tony Greyhurst.' He looked at her blankly, his dark eyes expressionless, and remembering, she drew the golden gazelle from the neck of her blouse. Immediately he smiled, and his manner changed to one of friendliness. 'Of course,' he said. 'Of course. But please, do me the honour of taking tea with me upstairs, will you not?' He waved a hand graciously indicating that she should proceed him up the stairway, and she did so with a feeling of curiosity. The stairs were tiled as were the walls, and they must once have been quite attractive. Now they were chipped and broken as, too, was the plaster that covered the walls, quite sizeable slabs of which had fallen off revealing the crumbling red pise beneath, Josian reflected that perhaps it was as well Natalie Jones had not come here herself - it would not have appealed to her in the slightest. She reached the landing and a passage that ran along the side of the courtyard, unglazed arched windows all along. She waited until Si Bouhouil stood beside her before proceeding, and again he made that gracious gesture with one hand. 'This way, Miss Jones. Your friend awaits us.' Josian's heart skipped a beat. So Tony was here! She couldn't believe it! 'Heavens,' she thought, and now her heart began to pound as she

moved reluctantly forward in the direction of the doorway that the Moorish hotel-keeper had indicated, 'whatever happens now?' What would Tony's reaction be when he found it was not Natalie who had come to find him? She was steeling herself for explanations when she suddenly stopped short in surprise. The man who was waiting in the small sitting-room was not Tony Greyhurst at all. It was Raymond Laurent. Josian's mouth all but fell open in astonishment. 'Oh! It's you!' she stammered out 'I thought it was—' 'Tony Greyhurst?' The Frenchman smiled sardonically. 'You are disappointed, mademoiselle. But were you not told that you must go as far as the desert to find your love?' Josian had no reply to that, and presently she was sitting on one of the low, cushion-strewn divans that were not really divans at all, but merely thick mattresses, and which, apart from a couple of long low tables, were the only furniture that the room contained. Si Bouhouil busied himself with the preparation of mint tea at one of the tables and Josian watched the process with an interest that was a little spoiled by her feeling of unease now that Raymond Laurent was there. Had she been alone with Si Bouhouil, she was suit she would have felt quite relaxed, though perhaps then, she would not have been asked to take tea with him. 'You are surprised to find me here, I think,' Raymond said mockingly. 'Si Bouhouil is a friend of mine, and this morning seemed an opportune time to call and renew our acquaintance, particularly as I knew that you were coming. What became of your American friend, by the way?' 'He couldn't park his car,' said Josian a little aloofly. She was quite sure that Raymond Laurent was already aware of this, and that of course was why he had been so mocking when he had said good-bye. He had know how hopeless it was to drive to the hotel.

She drank the traditional three glasses of mint tea - though she did not drink all of any of them - and ate some of the almonds that were offered on a silver dish. The tea was a clear yellow with a faintly greenish tinge, and though it smelled delicious, it was very, very sweet and syrupy. The two men talked to each other amiably in French, and Josian found it difficult to follow what they were saying, they spoke so rapidly. Then the hotel-keeper turned to her with a few polite questions. Did she like Maroc?Had she been to see the blue spring, and Ain el Ourida's beautiful mosque? - though alas! as she was a non-Muslim it was to be regretted that she would not be able to enter. A few minutes passed in this way, then Raymond suggested that they must be going. Just exactly as though they had come together. Josian thought uneasily about the message from Tony. Was she going to have to ask about it again? But now Si Bouhotiil had risen, and from a small silver box on one of the tables he took a sealed envelope and handed it to her. 'The letter you desire, mademoiselle.' She took it with a smile of thanks and wondered if she should offer him some money for the service. Raymond, who must have noticed the infinitesimal movement of her fingers on the clasp of her handbag caught her eye and shook his head fractionally. And so they went back down the ill-lit stairway, and the boy in the striped djellaba ushered them into the street. It was past midday now, and the bright sunlight seemed to strike Josian full in the eyes. She walked a few paces almost blindly, then suddenly remembered Kit and stopped dead. The Frenchman stopped too and after a few seconds, remarked, 'You have not yet opened your letter, Miss Jones. Such formidable patience! When one loves, one cannot wait to read—'

'When one loves?' Jo looked at him with raised eyebrows, though she knew she had coloured. 'Aren't you letting your imagination carry you rather far, Monsieur Laurent? I mean - what would you know of—' She stopped. What could he possibly know of Natalie Jones? Nothing, she was certain. So— 'What would I know of - love?' he said when she did not go on. He looked at her slantingly, and there seemed to be an ironical amusement in the darkness of his eyes, and her colour deepened maddeningly. 'Of love I know much, Miss Jones, and of the arts of love. But perhaps,' he added consideringly, 'you do not speak of love. Perhaps you ask what I know of you - and of this man you have come so far to seek. You accuse me of being over-imaginative, but I protest, a man does not need imagination in the case of a pretty girl with eyes as gold as the tournesol, and a young man who is the son of a millionaire. Is not this enough, Natalie? Or must I be cynical and add that it is all too easy to love where there is wealth? What do you say?' 'I say - I say that you are cynical - that you know nothing, absolutely nothing,' Josian stammered, confused far more by the way he was looking at her than by anything he said. 'And now I wish you would go wherever you are going, and leave me alone, because I am waiting for Kit Garrett.' Now he really did look cynical, as he said dryly, 'So thoughts of the absent lover are overshadowed by thoughts of the lover who is at hand. The petals of the rose conceal the caterpillar... But I would not count too much upon the return of your cavalier. To bring a car into these alleys can be very frustrating. I am about to walk back to the Hotel Ahmar.' He glanced down at her feet. 'Why do you not walk with me? I do not think you will damage your pretty shoes.'

'No, thank you,' said Josian, who found fencing with this Frenchman rather too much for her. 'I promised to wait for Kit, and besides, I don't really enjoy your conversation.' 'You are frank,' he said, not at all put out. 'But I am going to insist on waiting with you, and if you prefer it that way, we need not speak to each other.' Josian set her lips and looked away from him. Silence, when it was accompanied by the steady gaze of a pair of baffling green eyes, offered no comfort, and she was infinitely relieved to see Kit's car slowly approaching. 'There! I told you he would come,' she exclaimed triumphantly. 'And I,' he said ironically, 'should have guessed that he would do so. It is evident that you know even better than I the power of your beauty.' Josian looked at him quickly. Was that a compliment? Or was it more in the nature of a gibe? She had no idea and his expression left her none the wiser. 'Au revoir, Miss Jones', he said gravely, and turning began to walk briskly away. Kit, who had put on speed the minute he saw Josian, now pulled up with a squeal of brakes. He reached across and opened tie door, and Josian climbed in beside him. He did not look to be in the best of humours and she didn't blame him in the least, it was certainly no fun to be driving around these narrow streets where you couldn't pull up without blocking the way. 'I hope this hasn't been too much of a headache,' she said apologetically, as they started on their way once more.

'Sure it hasn't,' he said absently. He drove past Raymond Laurent without even suggesting that they should give him a lift, and Josian wanted to laugh. Not that she imagined for a moment that the Frenchman would care. In fact, she was sure he would refuse a lift if Kit offered him one. It was, when she came to think of it - and particularly now that she was safe with Kit - a very funny situation altogether. Here she was in a remote town in southern Morocco on the trail of a man whom she had seen exactly once (in a dress shop in London, at that!) with the two men competing with each other to take care of her, though heaven knew why. Yes, it was comical and exciting, and yet, deep down, she was vaguely troubled as well. And that, she reflected, was probably because of the seed planted in her mind by the fortuneteller earlier on. Beware of the dark man who pretends to be your friend. The problem was, there were two dark men... 'What in hell was he doing there with you?' Kit asked abruptly into her thoughts. 'I wondered who you'd picked up with when I saw you weren't on your own. Of course your French friend came because he knew you were there.' 'I don't think so,' said Jo mildly, though she was far from sure of Raymond's motives. 'He knows the manager there and he wanted to' she shrugged helplessly - 'renew acquaintance, he said.' 'You mean he was actually in the hotel?' Josian didn't know whether Kit sounded jealous or simply annoyed. In either case, he sounded far too serious, and she said lightly, 'Yes. Somehow or other he got there first. We had mint tea — I drank three glasses,' she added with a grimace. 'So that's what held you up. This was my third time around. I was an idiot not to block up the road and come in and fetch you, and let the driver on my tail sweat it out... Anyhow,' he went on, on a brighter

note, as they emerged once more on to the road that led to the square, 'how did things go? I gather you didn't see your friend.' Josian shook her head. She didn't quite know how he had got the impression that she expected to see her 'friend'. 'I was only hoping for a message,' she said. 'And I got that.' 'Oh, great,' said Kit casually, and appeared to lose interest. Josian thought of the letter, still unread, in her handbag. It was the kind of letter she would prefer to read in private - but not for the reason Raymond Laurent appeared to imagine. She read it in her hotel room before lunch, skimming quickly over the personal part till she saw the phrase, 'Next instructions.' Natalie was now to go to a town called Tarfa, and she must be there on the day of the weekly souq, because this time - Heavens! Josian found she was smiling and feeling actually excited - she had to go to the snake-charmer for Tony's next letter! Crazy, she thought, but definitely fun. She put the letter away in the drawer of the small chest where she kept her scarves and handkerchiefs, and went down to the dining-room. Right now she was hungry, but after lunch she would find out exactly where Tarfa was and on what day the weekly souq was held. And then she would deal with the problem of getting there. Would it be on her own, she wondered, or would she have two men eager to escort her? How Francine would laugh when she told her the story back home! She obtained the information she wanted from the reception desk that afternoon by asking for a tourist map, and taking it up to her room. Tarfa was not so very far distant, and it was, rather strangely, further south, towards the desert, which meant it fitted in with what the fortune-teller had said. Except of course that she, unlike Natalie Jones, was not seeking her love. The souq, most conveniently, was

held in two days' time, so she would leave tomorrow probably on the bus - unless she decided to ask Kit if he would like to take her, and she thought she might do that, Raymond Laurent would probably disapprove - he had visibly disapproved of her having lunch with Kit just now - but that didn't matter. Meanwhile, she had promised Kit that she would come down to the swimming pool. It certainly looked very inviting viewed from her window, the water a sparkling blue, the tiles around it gleaming in the hot sunlight, tall palms casting their shade on the garden beyond. What a garden to get lost in, she mused, as she changed into her bikini - a plain black one with a golden rose in the centre of the bra top. A garden that tumbled with bougainvillea and hibiscus, where the white stars of orange blossoms were set amongst shining dark green leaves. She could just imagine it by moonlight. Oh, if only Francine were here, what fun they would have had! Except that, if Francine were here, she would never have started off on this mad quest on behalf of Natalie Jones. Which reminded her, some time she would have to ring Natalie and tell her where she was going next. Or maybe she would simply write. Well, she would decide on that later. She put on a long towelling robe that reached half-way down her calves, slipped her feet into white thongs, and went downstairs. Kit was there now, a towel slung around his shoulders, strolling along the tiled surround to the pool, waiting for her. She realized for the first time what a very muscular young man he was. Though shorter than Raymond Laurent, he was both broader and heavier-looking, and stripped as he was now, and wearing only brief trunks, he looked to be in top-rate physical condition. They spent an agreeable afternoon swimming in the pool, which most of the time they had to themselves, then sun- baking on loungers in

the hot sunshine. Josian wondered once or twice where Raymond was, and thought perhaps that his 'good reasons' for coming to Ain el Ourida had taken him away from the hotel. It was only when she was going inside to shower and dress that she discovered he was sitting at a table partly hidden by a cascade of trailing white and purple flowers, that fell from a vine draping the trunk of a tall palm. Josian, in the process of pulling her robe on, caught her foot in the hem and dropped it. She had stooped to retrieve it when she felt eyes on her and discovered Raymond Laurent there. He held a book in his hand, but he was not reading it. Most decidedly he was watching her, and slowly she felt herself flushing scarlet. For some reason she recalled that scene on the mountainside and his words - 'You look at me with such invitation ... And you refuse me.' She thrust her arms through the sleeves of her robe and belted it tightly around her waist, and pushed back her long hair, darkened with water. From the pool behind, she could hear the neat- sounding splash as Kit dived into the water once more. 'You have passed an afternoon of innocent amusement, Miss Jones,' Raymond remarked softly, his long mobile mouth curving. 'You are a pretty swimmer. I have enjoyed watching you.' She bit her lip in vexation. These compliments he paid her - there was always a subtle undercurrent behind them; a suggestion of - not so much insincerity as cynicism, as though - yes, that was it, as though he were implying that beauty was only skin deep. 'Have you yet managed to snatch a moment to read your letter?' he asked as she turned to go. 'Yes, I have,' she retorted. 'And I'm sure you'll be happy to hear I'll be leaving here shortly.'

'Indeed?' His eyebrows rose quizzically. 'You misjudge me, if you think this, Miss Jones. Please remember - if I can be of any assistance to you, my car and I myself are at your disposal.' 'Thank you,' she said coolly. 'But I'm not interested, Monsieur Laurent.' And on that note she made her exit, her cheeks red, her heart hammering, partly at her own rudeness to a man who had been, at least on the surface - and that somehow was the trouble - both kind and helpful to her. It was unsurprising that he left her alone that night, and perversely she was piqued. She dined with Kit, but she could not prevent her gaze from straying to the table where Raymond sat with a lively-looking and obviously French couple, in whose company he seemed quite absorbed. Josian noticed that he smiled frequently, and that his smile was charming, and quite without that touch of mockery that so often coloured it when he was in her company. He was' a good listener, and when he spoke, using his hands in a way that was very French and very expressive, his two companions listened with obvious interest and pleasure. Kit said suddenly, leaning towards her across the small table with its white linen cloth, 'You're quite absorbed in that damned Frenchman, aren't you, Jo?' His voice was so intense that she felt her pulses leap, and she looked at him guiltily. 'No,' she stammered. 'I was - I was just watching the way he throws his hands about ... But why do you say that damned Frenchman?' He smiled ruefully, his grey blue eyes on her face with frank admiration. They had finished their dinner and were drinking coffee. The lighting was soft, and eastern-sounding music made a pleasant background of sound. The painted ceiling was like a bower of shadowy and delicate leaves and flowers, reminding Josian of illustrations to Eastern fairy tales.

'Why do you think, honey?' Kit asked, his voice low. 'Because I'm jealous - I don't like sharing your favours. And every second time I look at you, you're all mixed up with that guy.' Jo was startled by the intensity at the back of his eyes. Oh no, she thought in dismay, don't you get complicated and hard to handle too! She liked Kit. He was an agreeable and ordinary companion who made no demands, and this was just a holiday friendship. Then suddenly he smiled, and she wondered if she'd imagined that intensity. 'Okay, I'll shut up,' he said. 'You're eating with me and I guess I should be grateful for that. How do you feel about taking a walk around the town afterwards? I could do with a bit of exercise after that meal we've just dealt with.' 'So could I,' Jo agreed. Everything seemed to have slipped back into place again, and a couple of minutes later she was waiting for the elevator to take her upstairs to fetch a jacket from her room. Through the ornamental archway that separated the hall from the lounge she could see Raymond, his back to her, sitting with his friends. Well, Kit hardly needed to be jealous of him, she thought a little wryly. She enjoyed the walk in the starlit, scented night. Kit put his arm lightly around her waist and they talked trivialities. He didn't talk about his work, but he did let drop that the life he would be returning to in the States would be a good life, for his father was a wealthy man. When they came back to the hotel, they had a coffee in the garden. The outdoor tables were all deserted, though it was by no means late, but the lantern-type lamps with their coloured glass were still alight. They installed themselves at one of the tables and a Moroccan waiter brought them coffee and small almond cakes. Kit smoked a cigarette and afterwards they wandered by common consent along the narrow path that went beneath an archway draped

with crimson-flowered bougainvillea, and lost itself amongst palms and a tangle of shrubs by the high red walls. There, Kit kissed her, and of course she had been expecting it. Such an evening could hardly end without a kiss. It was romantic and pleasurable - exactly the kind of kiss one would want from a holiday friendship that would end as soon as the holiday had ended. Josian was aware that Kit was leaving it entirely to her to set the pace, and for that she was grateful. His arms held her relaxedly, undemandingly, and she was perfectly free to slip away the moment she wanted to. Now she felt quite certain it had been no more than a trick of light that had made her see that intensity in his eyes earlier in the evening. He felt as she did, and she was right to trust and to like him... Soon afterwards, she went inside and up to her room. She was tired all that swimming and walking, not to mention the mixed excitements of the morning! There she caught sight of herself in a small ornamental brass mirror that hung on the wall. A girl with flowing shining hair. A girl in a simply cut dress of ivory-coloured cotton that she had made herself and embroidered at the neck and hem in jewel colours of emerald, and amethyst and amber. She didn't know why it was, seeing that strangely metallic and slightly distorted reflection of herself, she felt suddenly very much lacking in self-confidence, and even a little bit afraid. It was after she had unclipped the green glass earrings she was wearing and felt at her neck for the clasp of the gold necklet that she found it was gone. From the long mirror over the small carved wooden chest her amber eyes looked back at her, wide with fright and dismay. Kit! It was not possible! 'Beware of the dark man who pretends to be your friend.' The thought had come instinctively and automatically, and

immediately she was ashamed of it. Of course Kit Garrett would not steal her necklet. Such an idea was utterly absurd - there would be no reason for him to do such a thing.., Hardly knowing what she was doing, she slipped into her green jacket again, snatched up her key and her handbag, and, bypassing the elevator, ran down the curving marble staircase with its ornate handrail, and into the lounge. It was completely empty of guests. And she was not sure exactly who she had been looking for. If she had found Kit there, for instance, what would she have said to him? She stood for a moment, her heart beating fast, somehow reluctant to go into the garden alone to search for the little gold charm. Because - just supposing she didn't find it? But of course she would find it. And this panicky feeling was sheer idiocy - caused by cramming too many experiences into one day. She forced herself to walk on through the deserted lounge where a couple of Moroccan boys in their embroidered white uniforms stood completely motionless and unobtrusive, then made her way past the silent glassy waters of the keyhole-shaped swimming pool into the ordered tangle of the dark garden. Her breath was coming fast when she reached the end of the path and the shadow of the high walls. They had stood just here, she and Kit - kissing. With hands that shook slightly, she opened her handbag and took out the little pocket torch that David had given her. No more than a few prisms of light, red from the red- glassed lantern, fell through the trembling leaves to illumine the ground. She knelt and flicked the white light of the torch about meticulously, hopeful that in the small pool of its light, somewhere, she would find the golden charm. Minutes passed and she found nothing. The night op-pressed her with its strange silence, the small light of the torch was beginning to blind her, for her eyes had grown tired of trying to discover what was certainly not there ... Then her heart gave a leap of fear. Some darker

shadow had fallen across the ground, the red prisms of light had disappeared. Kit! she thought instantly, and looked up, her heart beating as wildly as if he were about to menace her. The dark shadow moved nearer, and she dropped her torch nervously. 'Is this what you are looking for, Natalie?' Oh God! - it was Raymond Laurent. She asked in a voice that shook, 'What? Where?' He flicked on his cigarette lighter, and she saw by his feet the glitter of her necklet. She picked it up quickly and scrambled to her feet, holding the gold chain with its tiny weight in the palm of her hand. Maddeningly, she felt tears, warm and slow, roll down her cheeks, even though she really wanted to laugh. What an anti-climax! Whatever had she imagined? She was becoming just too melodramatic. Of course Kit was her friend. She breathed a silent entreaty to him to forgive her for having doubted him for even the fraction of a second. Result of a session with a fortune-teller! 'Tears, Natalie?' Raymond Laurent's voice taunted, for the red light fell revealingly on her face, though he was no more than a black and enigmatic shadow. She wished he would not call her Natalie somehow it confused her, and made her feel less than real. Miss Jones, however coldly spoken, was infinitely preferable. When he said Natalie, there was a caress in his voice, an intimacy that she did not understand and certainly did not like... 'Is the little golden necklet so precious, then?' Josian caught her lower lip between her teeth. The whole thing seemed absurd now - her suspicions, her panic, her tears. And yet the golden charm was important, if she intended to carry out what she had more or less promised to undertake. It was important to Natalie.

She said, with an attempt at casualness, 'It has a - sentimental value.' 'A gift, perhaps, from Tony Greyhurst?' She nodded. 'Perhaps.' And then it struck her that that was really funny - because she, Josian Jones, had paid fifty dirhams that she could ill afford for the little gazelle on its chain. And now she was biting her lip on what he must surely think was hysterical laughter. 'You are - an unexpectedly young and foolish girl,' he said slowly. 'I find you hard to understand.' His face was in deep shadow, almost invisible, but his voice - it was a voice with the power to enchant. 'Yet I find you tantalizingly attractive,' he continued in a low tone, and took a step closer to her. 'When you refused me in the mountains, I made a vow that I would leave you alone, but now - no, it is too much to ask. I must—' She never knew whether or not he finished what he was saying because suddenly she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers. She was swooningly aware of the scent of orange blossoms, of the softness of the night air, the rustling of palms high up. All her senses were reeling and his lips were demanding of her something that she did not understand. She was frightened - she wanted to fight - and yet something had happened to her will and she could feel herself submitting utterly. Then there was a pause in the middle of that never-ending kiss - attack changed to exploratory passion, then passion was held in check while he waited - oh, infinitesimally! - for her to answer in some way. Yes or no... And despite herself, despite her strong conviction that it was all wrong, she was clinging to him, answering with a passion of her own, a crazy passion that was totally unfamiliar, that she had never experienced in all her twenty years.

She stopped herself in mid-flight to drag herself from his arms and give him the right answer, that this must stop, that she was not going to be involved in his highly sophisticated lovemaking. 'No - no,' she heard herself half whisper, half gasp. But oh, she knew that it had been a kiss to remember, to dream of, and she was furious with herself, and in despair, that she had responded at all to him. Because a man like Raymond Laurent would know - he would not miss a single betraying tremor, the fluttering of a single nerve, the quickening of a pulse or a heartbeat. And her heart, she knew, had been beating so madly against his breast, and was pounding still. The pressure of his arms turned her away from the red- glassed lantern, and now it was only the muted starlight that shone on both their faces. Josian could feel him staring down at her and she stared back, deeply confused and troubled, her breathing not yet under control, and feeling that with his magnetism he could somehow draw from her the secret of her every emotion, her every thought. Yet at least he was not using his brute strength to hold her here. If she wanted - if she could - she was free to go. And she did not - could not - go. She heard him murmur on a breath, 'Mon dieu, those eyes - they shine like golden glass, like liquid golden stars in this garden. Your lips are sweet, Natalie, and your body is like a half-opened rose. Has not the flower opened fully yet? You are an enigma - a fascinating, tantalizing woman. And yet you convince me that you are no more than a girl, a sweet and tempting virgin, to whom the arts of love are still a secret.' His voice was low, passionate, and it played on her senses as if she were a violin and he the bow, and she stood dazed, listening, not really knowing how to react, what to do, completely outclassed by his experience. Uncertain even of what he meant, what it was all about.

His next words, harsh and clear, brought her suddenly back to earth with a rude shock. 'Does it mean nothing to you that you take a risk in playing this game with me? A dangerous game, I warn you, and if you persist I can make no promises that I will keep my distance—' She breathed out, sickeningly frightened by something in his tone, 'I am - not - playing a game with you. You - it was you who - who started—' He interrupted her sceptically. 'Do not take me for a fool. You play very well the part of the ingenue, but I am as aware as you are of the game we are both playing... And I think, Miss Jones, that we had better part for the night.' 'I think so too.' She was blinking back tears again. 'I hate you,' she wanted to say, and it was partly because she was so completely out of her depth and partly because of that - contempt so plain in his voice. Head up, she turned quickly away and somehow without stumbling, followed the path through the dark shadowy garden, past the empty, shining pool and back to the safety of the hotel. Whether he followed behind her she did not know and she did not care. She was intent only on reaching the privacy of her room.

CHAPTER SIX JOSIAN lay restlessly awake for a long time that night. She had been happy earlier on - everything had been fun, though there had been the spice of excitement somewhere in the background, provided, if she were honest enough to admit it, by the enigmatic presence of Raymond Laurent. Now it had all gone sour and the only thing she wanted was to get away. She would definitely go to Tarfa tomorrow. Perhaps she would ask Kit to take her there. She would be safe with him. She tried to concentrate her thoughts pleasantly on Kit, but with an inescapable compulsion, her mind kept returning to Raymond and that more than disturbing embrace, and those things he had said that she had less than half understood. He had stirred her senses unbearably, and then when she had forced herself to pull away from him, he had murmured to her in a way that was completely bewildering. Her eyes were wide open in the darkness, and she could catch the scent of orange blossom and hear the whispering of the palm leaves in the garden below the arched windows of her room. She imagined she could see again the shadow of Raymond's face, the glitter of his dark eyes. And she could hear his voice, caressing and wooing at first, then suddenly subtly cruel and sceptical. A moment later, he had accused her of - what? She tried, as though it were vitally important, to sort it all out. He had accused her of acting the part of an ingenue - of pretending to innocence - of playing dangerous games with him. And he had warned her that he would not keep his distance. In other words, that she would discover she could not manage him. As if she had ever thought that she could.

She began to shiver although the night was warm. She knew she would have to go away and forget him completely if she wanted peace again. When at last she slipped into sleep, it was to dream that she was journeying to the desert, to find Tony Greyhurst. She was veiled, and she wore a hooded djellaba like a Moroccan girl, and walked barefoot across the sand towards the red walls of a kasbah which danced, shimmering and vague, far ahead. A voice said, 'You must go to the desert to find your love,' and suddenly the gateway of the kasbah was there before her, and she knew she had only to step inside. Reluctantly she did so, and she was in an exotic Moorish room whose walls were hung with carpets. But the man who stood there waiting for her was not Tony Greyhurst, it was Raymond Laurent. And as Josian walked slowly, almost mesmerized, towards him, she caught sight of her own reflection in a brass mirror that hung on the wall behind him. Suddenly, the image was distorted and she was no longer looking at herself. The djellaba hood had fallen back revealing shining black hair. A hennaed hand was raised to remove the veil and Josian was looking into the beautiful eyes of the girl who had been with Raymond in Marrakech... The dream was with her still when she awoke, and she felt oddly subdued over breakfast, and she dreaded the thought of encountering Raymond again, and could not believe it when he did not appear. Kit was like a shield of comfort, friendly and warm and natural, and blessedly unaware of the mad and fleeting suspicions she had entertained of him the night before. Seeing his familiar face across the table from her, she felt more ashamed than ever that she had jumped so quickly to wrong conclusions about him. The best thing to do would be to forget the things the fortune-teller had said and accept people as they were.

Yet for some reason, she put off telling Kit that she was planning to go on to Tarfa that day. She ate her grapefruit, drank her coffee and pushed her toast aside. Kit said solicitously, 'What's up, honey? Didn't you sleep well last night? You looked played out.' With an effort she sent him a smile. 'I feel fine. It just takes me a while to wake up.' She was still tensed up waiting for Raymond to appear - almost ready to leap out of her chair and run away the minute he came. Last night's scene had left her with quivering nerves, and she just wasn't ready to see him again. She was waiting tensely for Kit to finish his breakfast when the waiter brought her a message that she was wanted on the telephone, and it seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to escape. Her surprise at receiving a phone call was completely overshadowed by her relief at getting out of the danger zone while it was still safe. With a quick excuse to Kit, she left the table and hurried to the reception desk, and it was only then that she allowed herself to think logically about the phone call and to reach the conclusion - which proved to be correct - that it must be Natalie Jones. 'This way, please, mademoiselle,' said the polite and immaculately clad attendant, and he ushered her into a small telephone booth which was completely private. 'Hello,' said Natalie's voice. 'I thought you'd be there. I made a few inquiries and the Hotel Ahmar seemed the only possible place to stay... What's happened?' 'Nothing much,' said Josian guardedly, though she could certainly not be overheard. 'I went to the el Menzeh, and I got another letter. Do you want me to send it on?'

'Yes do that,' agreed Natalie, and added impatiently, 'Well, go on what's the news?' 'There's no news. I - or at least you - have to go to Tarfa on souq day—' 'Tarfa? Where on earth's that? And what do you mean - souq day?' 'Tarfa's fifty or so miles south - on towards the desert.' She heard Natalie's faint and explosive, 'Oh God!' -'And souq day's the day of the weekly souq. Tomorrow in this case, as it happens by a bit of luck. There's a snake-charmer there and—' Natalie laughed briefly, incredulously. 'You needn't go on. He's got the letter. Honestly - a snake-charmerl Tony must be crazy - could be Blyth had something when he warned about hash ... Anyhow, do you want to go on with it?' She sounded almost indifferent, and there was a little pause. Here was an out for Josian if she really wanted it. And she suddenly discovered that she didn't want it - despite Raymond Laurentand her shattered nerves. She wanted very much to go to Tarfa - to see the snake-charmer - to continue with this adventure that was leading her on towards the desert and, if she was silly enough to remember what the fortune-teller had said, to her love. All the sameShe said cautiously, 'Not if you want to take over.' 'I don't,' said Natalie decidedly. 'I'm perfectly happy exactly where I am. So that's fine. You carry on - I just thought I'd check. Let me know, though, won't you?'

'The minute I find out where he is,' said Josian. There was another pause. 'You're not short of cash, are you?' Natalie thought to ask. 'I'm afraid I completely forgot about that money you handed out for your necklet.' For your necklet! Josian made a little face. 'I don't actually have a great deal to spare,' she said dryly. 'I've a hotel bill to pay, but I guess I'll manage.' The thought of that hotel bill was certainly intimidating, but Natalie said carelessly, 'Well, you'd have that wherever you were, wouldn't you? And you did get your transport free ... Anyhow, go ahead and don't spare the expense. Tony will reimburse you when you catch up with him in his kasbah or whatever ... look, I'll have to go now, Richard's waiting for me.' Richard. Her charming middle-aged widower. Josian was thoughtful as she hung up. Could it be that Natalie had found someone just as attractive as Tony, but with no strings attached? Or was this just a holiday flirtation to fill in time? Josian felt a little sorry for Tony. If she had said she didn't want to carry on, would Natalie had dropped the whole thing? Poor Tony! Imagine laying a complicated and exciting trail like this and then having no one follow it! Well, she was following it. As she emerged from the telephone booth it occurred to her that now was as good a time as any to find out how much she owed for her two nights at the hotel, and a moment later her cheeks were red as she was told smilingly by the male clerk, 'Monsieur Laurent is taking care of your account^ Miss Jones. There is nothing to pay. Do you wish to check out?' With an effort, Josian made herself smile. She had no idea what they must think her relationship with Raymond Laurent was, and yet brief reflection persuaded her that a man like him would have been diplomatic and discreet and made sure that no doubtful conclusions

would be drawn. Yet why should he pay her bill? It was an unanswerable question. She told the polite clerk, 'I haven't quite made up my mind. Could you give me any information on how to get to Tarfa?' 'To Tarfa? There is a bus. It departs this afternoon at three-thirty from the Place, mademoiselle.' 'Would I need to reserve a seat?' 'No, mademoiselle. There will be seats available. It may not be a very comfortable journey, but it is a short one - a matter of some three hours only;' Three hours for fifty miles! Josian expressed her thanks and said she would be leaving, that she would be ready to vacate her room before noon. She walked very slowly and very thoughtfully towards the lifts, her mind occupied with several matters, the most disturbing the fact that Raymond Laurent had taken it upon himself to be responsible for her hotel bill. That she did not like one little bit. She had been worried about staying here. It was not the type of hotel she and Francine would have sought out had they been together. Well, she thought, and expelled her tensely held breath gently, though she would not make a fuss at the desk, she would see Monsieur Laurent and pay him what money she owed him. There would be no discussion, no personalities, no involvement. She would simply and firmly refuse to be in his debt. She would be cool and aloof, and if he should happen to ask where she was going, she would not tell him. No, she was quite convinced that she must get away from him. And somehow it was a thought that cause her no pleasure. 'I'll go upstairs and pack,' she decided, 'and have my bags brought down.' And then? What would she do then, while waiting for the

morning to pass? She would go to the silver- workers' souq! It was, she had discovered, one of the things people came to see in Ain el Ourida. And it was only after that decision, and the resultant quickening of her step, that she suddenly remembered Kit. It was a little-disconcerting to realize that she had after all made plans for getting to Tarfa without asking his help, without, in fact, even thinking of him. So in a few hours' time, she would be on her own again. No Kit, no Raymond. Toute settle! She was not quite sure if she felt good about that or not. She had been so involved with her thoughts that she gave quite a jump of surprise when, as she crossed the lounge, Kit himself rose from one of the hassocks that were scattered about. _ 'Hi, Jo! Did you get your phone call?' She nodded, and he asked immediately, 'Who was it?' Then, 'Oh God, don't I sound inquisitive! Sorry - just forget I spoke.' After that, of course, she had to say something, and equally of course it could not be the truth. She was becoming, she reflected ruefully, just a little too adept at lying, at deception. (And hadn't the fortune-teller warned her about that?) She said almost glibly, 'It was my sister, that's all.' 'Your sister? I didn't know you had one.' His frank friendly eyes smiled questioningly down into hers. It was curious how a beard and a moustache made it difficult to discern expressions. One had to go entirely by the eyes. Well, his eyes were open and interested, and she felt guilty that she was lying to him, and she hoped it didn't show. Maybe she looked just as honest as he did. At least she did have a sister, so she said lightly, 'That's not so

surprising. I don't know if you have a sister either, or a brother. You could have half a dozen for all I know.' 'I'm an only child,' he said, without shifting his gaze. 'Isn't it often the way? The ones who can afford children don't have them ... Anyhow, I've been waiting to ask you, what are your plans for today?' Josian's lashes fell. Would she ask him to take her to Tarfa after all, or would she not? 'I'll leave it to fate,' she decided suddenly and quite illogically. 'It will be as Allah wills.' Deliberately, she did not think of that dark man business the fortune-teller had made so much of. She looked up, a faint betraying colour in her cheeks, and answered evasively, 'This morning I'd like to go into the medina and see the silver-workers. It's supposed to be a must in Ain el Ourida.' 'Are there any other musts?' 'Not that I know of. .One can't go inside the mosque.' 'Then in that case, you don't particularly want to stay on?' She merely shook her head, and then he said surprisingly, 'I'm thinking of moving on to Tarfa this afternoon. Would you be interested?' To Tarfa! Her eyes opened wide in startled surprise, and her glance flew to his. Talk about leaving it to fate - this was surely the most extraordinary coincidence. In fact, it was totally incredible. She asked on a little excited laugh, 'Why on earth Tarfa?' , 'You surely can't have heard of it!' 'I've seen it on the map—' 'So have I,' he said with a grin. 'So that makes us soulmates. It's not all that far, but it's getting close to the desert 'and it could be interesting. What do you say?'

'I'd love to come,' she said enthusiastically - but not at all as though she had already planned it. 'Great! Then we'll make it after lunch. You want to visit the souq, and I have one or two bits of business to deal with.' It was agreed, and Josian, with lightened step, went upstairs. She had forgotten to lock her door, she discovered when she reached her room. Which was odd, because she was usually careful about that sort of thing. Still, she had been edgy this morning, so she had slipped up. She began to pack her clothes, then paused and changed out of her white skirt into the beige pants which were better for travel and better for souqs. It was hot today, the sun so bright that the swimming pool, when she looked down at it from the window, reflected back a sparkling dazzle. She drew back at once, because she could see Raymond sitting at a table in the garden. Raymond Laurent - the man who was taking care of her hotel bill, who had somehow upset her whole world with a kiss and a few words, last night. From whom she had to escape. It was like the prick of a poisoned needle to reflect that she would have to confront him before she went. The very thought of it made her throat dry, made her swallow nervously. 'I am as aware as you of the game that we are both playing.' What game? She had not tried to tempt him - she would never dare, she was exactly the ingenue he had rejected ... Well, none of it mattered now, she told herself furiously as she stepped back from the window. In another second, she discovered she was hunting feverishly through the top drawer of the chest, where she had put that letter from Tony Greyhurst amongst her scarves and handkerchiefs. Where on earth was it? She located it at last, having tossed out most of the contents of the drawer on to the bed. She found an envelope and addressed it to Natalie, put Tony's letter inside and sealed it up. Then she sat down and wrote a quick note to Francine,

telling her that she had had an opportunity to go to Ain el Ourida and to Tarfa - mentioning Kit, but not Raymond, and not Natalie. Once she was home, and it was all over, of course she would tell Francine everything. But she could just imagine David's reaction if he knew the truth now. He was a fantastically nice person, but he did like everything to be just so... Her letter written her packing finished, she closed down her suitcase, her small overnight bag, locked her door and went downstairs to hand in her key. Raymond, a quick glance had shown her, was still sitting outside in the shade of the palm trees, and she decided to delay speaking to him until lunchtime. 'You are going to visit the souqs, Miss Jones?' asked the clerk pleasantly. 'Yes. I must see the silver-workers,' she said smilingly. She would have liked to pay her bill - to insist - but it was more dignified and more discreet to act as though every-. thing were perfectly all right. She put on her sunglasses and hurried through the door, along the gravelled path that passed the small shop where caftans, beads, brass and leatherware were on display, and breathed a sigh of relief when she emerged from the ornate gates on to the road. The sun was hot and the scent of orange blossom was heavy and nostalgically sweet upon the air. She called in at the post office to mail her letters, then made her way uneventfully to the medina, altering through one of the big partes and walking down a wide dirt road that had a school on one side. There was no dearth of children wanting to direct her, and though she was sure she could find the silver-workers without any help, she could not resist the appeal of brown eyes and the oft-repeated, 'Tu vetix le souq des jomillers, madame?' She allowed one of the small boys to appoint himself her guide and was conducted

along narrow alleyways, then finally through a narrow opening in a pink wall into a small courtyard off which opened several jewellery shops, all small and unpretentious. Josian paid her guide and wandered along until she found a souq where silverwork was being done, then went inside and stood watching, fascinated. A young boy in a loose robe, and an older man who wore a Berber cap on his head were at work behind a scratched glass counter beneath which a few pieces of silver jewellery were displayed. They sat on a low wooden bench, and worked on a thick slab of stone. With tiny clippers, the boy cut short lengths of metal wire from a coil. Then, using tweezers, he fitted the pieces into a curved wire framework so that they formed an intricate pattern. There was no measuring - the boy, who could not have been more than twelve, simply cut his tiny lengths the right size. The man was in the process of sprinkling silver powder on to a design that had been completed, after first painting it with a flux. Then he clipped tiny pieces from silver wire and with tweezers placed them at various points on the arabesques. With a small blowlamp operated from a gas cylinder, and a finely pointed iron that was soon red-hot, he melted the silver and spread it deftly and evenly over the piece of jewellery. They were making, Josian discovered, a set of matching pieces that would hang from a fine chain to form a pendant. She admired a bracelet, and presently it was taken from the glass case for her to examine. She asked the price and found it far too much for her purse, though it would have made a pretty gift for Francine, especially as she could have told her she had seen similar work being done. Reluctantly, she laid it down and as she did so, a voice came softly from behind her in the little shop. 'Natalie!'

Her heart jumped. She had the unaccountable feeling that the name was being repeated - that she had not been aware of it before because it was not her name. If it had been Josian, she would have heard. She turned quickly, her eyes guarded, her heart beating quickly. She was not ready, after last night, to face Raymond Laurent so unexpectedly. She could feel herself crimsoning, part with shock, part With something quite other, as she met his eyes, as steady and unconcerned as though nothing at all had happened between them last night. 'I see you have been admiring this bracelet. Will you allow me to purchase it for you, Natalie?' Was there mockery in his voice, in his somehow calculating offer? Josian was not sure, but she was very sure of her answer. 'No, thank you. I wouldn't dream of accepting a gift of any kind from you T- not ever! I don't want the bracelet in any case - I was considering it for my sister. And - and I don't think she would like it.' 'No?' His glittering dark glance grew quizzical, and an enigmatic smile lifted the corners of his long mouth. 'As you wish.' He turned away, and coolly proceeded to negotiate with the silver-worker. Somewhat helplessly, Josian stood by and waited, because she was determined to have it out with him about that hotel bill. When money had been handed over, the bracelet wrapped in a small piece of tissue paper, and the silver-worker had shaken hands with both her and Raymond, she preceded him from the shop, She wondered if he had bought the bracelet for the beautiful Moroccan girl of whom she had dreamed last night. It would no doubt look lovely on her slim brown arm. 'You like to walk about the medina?' Raymond asked her, his forehead slightly creased, his eyes regarding her thoughtfully as they emerged into the sunlight of a narrow alleyway. 'You do not mind the dirty streets, the contact with the people who have so much less than

you have - the children who pester you?' His voice was soft, his manner was kind, and somehow - somehow it hurt, and she felt her heart lurch. No one would dream he had said the things he had said last night - believe the bewildering half-accusations he had made. Josian wished that she had the same detachment, the same poise, and she answered him with an effort to match his composure. 'Why should I mind? It's all fascinating. I love the children, they look so bright. But I wish I could make some kind of contact with the women. I'm not properly used to those veils yet - they're somehow like a barrier.' She stopped, laughing a little nervously, and aware that he was listening intently and that he was looking at her intently. She had replaced her sunglasses, and for some reason her eyes were drawn to his mouth. It looked very French just now - with that sensual lower lip, and that slight tilt at one corner. How can a mouth look French? she wondered wildly, and with an effort looked away only to find she was now staring at his eyes. Heavy-lidded, almost black, the dark lashes glistening in the sun. She was suddenly and acutely aware that she found this man physically very attractive. Perhaps she always had, but now she felt his attraction in the very marrow of her bones, and it sent a strange tremor up her spine.' She had dreaded the thought of speaking to him today, she had been so sure that she wished never to see him again. And now she suspected that she had been trying to sidestep the truth the fact that— She pulled herself up sharply, refused to follow her thought right through, aware of a feeling of slight panic. Yes, most certainly he was the man the fortune-teller had warned her against... She had to say something to him about that hotel account, but she found herself unexpectedly tongue-tied. At least she had managed to tear her eyes away from him, and without either of them saying

anything further, they were strolling on together through the narrow streets of the medina. Josian was scarcely aware of the people who swarmed about, of the bicycles, the loaded patiently waiting donkeys, the handcarts. She scarcely heard the cheerful shouts of the children 'Qa va, madame?' or 'Bonjour, m'sieur, 'dame!' She was sharply conscious, though, of the man beside her, and such was the impact of her new awareness of him that she had no idea where they were going. So that's what it's all about, she was thinking dazedly, and she felt her heart burned by flames of despair. That was why she had so nearly capitulated last night. Beware of this dark man, do not trust his charm, do not - do not fall in love with him. That was the crux of the matter, and it was too late ... She would have walked straight into a trundling handcart loaded with vegetables if Raymond hadn't caught hold of her and pulled her out of the way. The touch of his fingers was like an electric shock and brought her fiercely to her senses. Fall in love with him? - a man who misunderstood her, who mocked her, who talked to her in - in esoteric riddles! 'as if I would!' she told herself angrily, and pulled herself free of him abruptly. She had opened her mouth to tell him that she objected to his paying her hotel bill when he spoke too, and she was silent. 'I have been talking to your American friend this morning, and I am going to offer you some advice.' 'About Kit?' asked Josian, her nerves on edge. 'I don't think I need advice about Kit Garrett, thank you, Monsieur Laurent.' 'I thought perhaps you would feel that way,' he said wryly. 'You are obviously attracted to him... I am going to give it, nevertheless. It is why I came to the souqs to find you... In a country not your own, and

more particularly in a country like Maroc, it is wise to be cautious in making friendships.' Josian was utterly incredulous. Such advice coming from him! He had hardly helped her to caution, to wisdom. On the contrary, in fact. She caught his eye and flushed deeply, and as if he had read her thoughts, which he undoubtedly had, he said, 'You are thinking of last night, Miss Jones. Or should I call you Jo? I recall you told me that is the name you prefer s.. I too have been thinking of last night, and I must now apologize for my intensity - my hedonism - my lack of restraint. I can only say that I am not accustomed to the company of so young a girl, and so I forget that your experience is more limited than my own. I hope you will be able to forgive me - even if you cannot forget.' Josian was quite disconcerted, and her heart began to thud. She had never for a moment dreamed that he would apologize, and she didn't know what to think, or what to say- ... 'It will not, I promise you, happen that way again,' he said persuasively, when she found herself incapable of making any reply. 'And I hope you will overcome your - reluctance - and trust me. For. believe me, I wish only to be of assistance to you, and this is why I must speak of the American.' Jo found her voice enough to ask cautiously, sceptically, 'Yes? What of him?' 'You told me he had been working with the Peace Corps. I regret that I do not believe this to be true, Miss Jones - Jo.' Was that all? Josian was surprised. She couldn't see that it mattered all that much, and in any case, she was quite certain that it was true, and she said so.

Anyhow? she added, with feminine illogicality, 'does it really matter?' They were approaching the gateway that led out of the medina and a wave of orange blossom scent was wafted headily towards them. 'If you think that truth is of no account,' said Raymond dryly when they had gone a further few yards, 'then no, it does not matter. But when one does not tell the truth, it is usually because one wishes to hide the truth, is it not so?' Josian felt her cheeks crimson and she turned her head aside. Who was she to criticize those who did not tell the truth? She was, if one put the harshest interpretation on it, acting a lie herself, even if it was in a negative way. Miss Jones - Natalie - Jo... They had stepped into the shade of the gateway, and two beggars in ragged robes and dirty turbans, who had been standing by the high red wall, moved forward quickly and sat cross-legged by the roadside. With eyes that had a strangely sightless look turned up to heaven in supplication, they began to chant in high pitched voices, lAl-lah, Al-lah, Al-lah.' Josian took money from her purse and gave it to them. Begging, she had heard, was considered perfectly honourable in Morocco, and it seemed to her that for some of the people it must be absolutely the only way they had of getting anything. She, at all events, had so much more. They walked on and the man beside her made some exclamation that she did not catch, then, clearly, 'One would give much to know what goes on in your mind, Miss Jones. But you have not yet answered my question. You do not think that Monsieur Garrett could have anything to hide?''No, I don't,' said Jo positively. 'He's perfectly respectable. He's hired a car for this trip - he has money to spend - his father is—' She broke off aware of the impatience of the Frenchman.

'Money is not always an assurance of integrity. Do you not know even that?' Josian sighed. 'All I meant is that he is not a - a drifter. And really, I don't care terribly much about this conversation, it's not going to get us anywhere, we just don't agree about Kit and that's all. What I do care about,' she added, seeing an opening and taking it, 'and what I do - object to - is having my hotel bill paid by a - a stranger.' She opened her handbag with hands that were not quite steady and took out a handful of notes. She thrust them at him, her cheeks red. 'Please take what I owe you out of this. It will save me from making a scene at the hotel.' He kept walking, looking straight ahead of him and completely ignoring the money in her hand, and she was exasperated. She, who had been telling herself only minutes ago that she found him desperately attractive - and more than that. Most certainly it was a purely physical attraction, and one that she would resist with all her might. She hurried to keep abreast of him. 'It is - insulting to have you do this to me. As if I were - I don't know what kind of a girl! And if you won't take whatever it is I owe you, I shall - I shall see the manager and expose you at the hotel.' To her fury and despair her voice had begun to quaver. In a minute she would be in tears. 'Very well.' He turned towards her, an odd smile on his face. 'I did not know it would matter to you so much, Jo. I thought, quite mistakenly, that it was a thing a girl like you would take for granted.' 'Never,' said Jo, her voice now rough with tears. 'I was wrong,' he agreed. 'But you could have bought a small piece of silver jewellery for your sister with this,' he added wryly as he pocketed some of her notes and handed back*he rest. 'I wonder if I

can persuade you to accept the bracelet I purchased just now. I am sure your sister, or any girl who loves ornaments, would like it.' Josian bit her lip. 'I want nothing from you,' she said in a low voice. 'What sort of a girl do you think I am?' 'A young and innocent girl,' he said blandly. 'As you wish it, however... You plan to leave today?' 'Yes. This afternoon. With Kit Garrett,' she added defiantly. He frowned his displeasure. 'I have told you that I am at your disposal. Yet you ask this other man - of whom you know nothing. You will be infinitely wiser to come with me.' 'That,' said Jo, 'is just a little bit funny. I don't know very much about you, either, do I? And I like Kit—' 'But you do not like me. And that is my own fault.' Josian ignored his remarks and continued rather hastily, 'Besides, it just happens that Kit is going to - to the town where I wish to go.' Put like that, it seemed most unlikely, and yet it really was so. They had reached the hotel now, and as she went ahead of him through the gates and along the gravel path, he asked from behind her, 'Which town is that, Jo?' She shrugged and did not answer. It was best not to tell him, she was sure. Best to escape from him before it was too late...

He was not in the dining-room when she went to lunch with Kit. They had a table by the window that looked into the garden, with its rioting

bougainvillea and tall palms. They ordered salads and chicken, and as she ate, Josian looked across at Kit and wondered about him, suddenly aware that he was, after all, more or less a stranger. He looked up, aware of her regard, and smiled at her. It was an open smile, and she thought his eyes were very direct, very easy to read, completely honest. So what Raymond had suggested was ridiculous. He had nothing to hide, whether or not he had told the truth about the Peace Corps. She glanced at his mouth, its lines hidden by the moustache. That mouth had been against her own last night in an undemanding friendly kiss. Suddenly she thought, 'I never want him to kiss me again.' It was a thought that took her by surprise with its quite violent - and quite unreasonable - positiveness. Rather hastily, she began to concentrate on her salad, but he asked her in his slightly drawling, but pleasant, American voice, 'What's on your mind, honey?' She looked up and asked calmly, flatly, 'Were you really in the Peace Corps, Kit?' His straight serious look remained perfectly steady. 'Now why in hell would I say I was if I wasn't?' He paused, then smiled a little without looking very amused. 'I can guess who's been putting doubts into your mind. You met up with that French guy in the souq, didn't you? He cornered me earlier on when I was on my way to the Post Office and asked me a heap of inquisitorial questions. I'm afraid I told him what he could do. I don't talk about my private affairs unless I choose to.' There was a decidedly ugly look on his face now, and Josian felt embarrassed and wished she had said nothing. It had been a tactless and stupid question to ask. 'I'm sorry I spoke,' she said briefly. 'Forget it.' He smiled a little oddly. 'Forget it? Just like that? I'm afraid I can't do that.' He leaned across the table towards her. 'Mind if I tell you

something, Jo? Your French friend is quite deliberately trying to damage my character.' 'Don't be silly, Kit,' said Jo uncomfortably. 'Why should he?' 'Are you really asking, honey? Well, okay, you .won't have to go far for your answer. Just to the nearest mirror, preferably full length. But I'll bet you're pretty well accustomed to rivalry and all its side issues of mud-slinging and fisticuffs, and all's fair in love and war tactics. So don't be surprised if I do my bit to denigrate your French boy-friend, will you? It's the law of the jungle. I don't intend to stand by with my arms folded while he sweeps you up on to his charger and rides off into the desert with you.' Jo made a little face and tried to smile, but she had the uneasy feeling that Kit was taking all this a little too seriously. As for rivalry of that kind from Raymond Laurent— She said with a brief laugh, 'I hardly think that's likely to happen. Raymond Laurent is not interested in me - not at all.' His eyebrows lifted cynically. 'Now come on, honey - don't give me that stuff, when he's trying to knock me off with a big stick. I don't know if you're being modest, or if you're just not clued up when it comes to judging the male animal, but I'll admit I'd have thought—' He broke off and found cigarettes, and when he had lit up, he started anew. 'I'll tell you what conclusions I've reached about that French guy, so listen, because I've been around. He's one of those types who's out to squeeze the last drop of blood out of Morocco. He doesn't want the people of the Bled educated - and for just that reason, he resents people like me who're concerned with education. It's not the sort of criticism that goes down well with the girls, so he suggests to you that I'm lying about my work.' Josian shook her head. 'He's helping Morocco.' She felt obstinate and she sounded it. She was a girl who believed in people - even when she

didn't like them personally. And Raymond - well, Raymond, she told herself evasively, had a kind of integrity about him. 'He's an engineer. He's concerned with - with dams, and irrigation - water—' Kit's straight eyebrows lifted again. 'Right. It's news to me, Jo, but I'll take your word for it. However, if you bring your brains to bear on the subject, shouldn't it be the Moroccans themselves who are the engineers, rather than the odd Frenchmen who are hanging on to all they can out here, even though the Protectorate's ended?' He waited, but Josian said nothing. She wished she hadn't stirred all this up. She hated arguments, and she wasn't clever enough to engage in them. And she didn't want to argue with Kit She did know, though, that engineers had to be trained, and that until they were trained, and until there were enough of them, someone had to be doing the work they would eventually do. 'As a rider to what I've already said,' Kit went on, ashing his cigarette carefully and looking at her through narrowed eyes, 'I'll add that it could be definitely to this character's advantage to concern himself with water. He appears to be pretty well heeled, and where do you suppose it all comes from? This engineering thing? No damned fear! He's hanging on to some bit of Morocco his father once lorded it over - plantations - dates, figs, almonds - I wouldn't know. Probably with a kasbah attached and plenty of cheap labour. And I mean cheap - as you only get it from uneducated people ... So that's where we came in, honey, and you've got something on your plate to think about.' His eyes were smiling, but they were challenging as well. Josian drew a deep breath and said slowly, 'I don't really know what this is all about, and I'd rather we left it there, Kit' In her heart, she was certain it wasn't about her - it was nothing to do with what she saw in her mirror, with rivalry. The plain fact was, these two men just didn't like each other. As far as she was concerned, she was prepared

to believe that Kit had worked with the Peace Corps, and she believed too that Raymond loved Morocco. She had thought, from the way he spoke when they drove across the High Atlas mountains that his heart was with this country, and she thought so still - even though he did own plantations here. 'Right,' said Kit, 'we end the discussion,' He added abruptly, 'Do you still want to come with me this afternoon? Or are you going to opt out and throw in your lot with the other unknown quantity?' Josian sighed. This holiday of hers seemed to be going right off the track. If only Francine were here, she thought futilely. Or if only she had told Natalie this morning that she didn't want to go on. When she looked back, she couldn't think how she had come to be so thoroughly involved. It had seemed like fate - and perhaps it was. How could one tell? At any rate, she could see no valid reason for switching about now. That would only lead to further trouble, of that she was convinced. She raised her lashes and looked at Kit and was slightly disconcerted to find how intently he was watching her. Was it as important as all that to him? Was she important to him? 'I'm .coming to Tarfa with you, of course,' she said matter-of-factly. 'And believe me, you're wrong if you think Raymond Laurent has the slightest personal interest in me, so let's forget him, shall we?' 'Gladly,' said Kit, and they both turned their attention once more to the business of eating. Josian discovered a shadowy little thought playing hide-and-seek through her mind. Raymond will come to Tarfa. The words were actually there, being whispered by a faint voice in her mind. And her mad illogical female mind was listening - was reassured. Even though she didn't want Raymond Laurent coming along - and that the whole

object of this exercise was to get away from him. But that was how it was. Or that was how it was before Raymond's beautiful Moroccan girl-friend arrived at the hotel. And then Josian knew that the whispering voice of her intuition had been completely and stupidly wrong.

CHAPTER SEVEN SHE was waiting for Kit who was checking out. She was in the lounge, sitting on a low divan opposite the windows, when the Moroccan girl came through, accompanied by one of the hotel boys who was carrying her luggage. Josian felt her eyes widen with shock and a pulse began to beat at her temples. The Moroccan girl wore a silk djellaba of a beautiful pale aqua colour. It was richly braided along the seams, and the hood, which was lined with almond blossom pink, was caught back with a heavy jewelled pin. Her dark hair gleamed, and she walked with a lovely grace. Beneath the hem of the djellaba, pretty beige sandals showed, and Josian caught a glimpse of a long embroidered skirt. She noticed again, too, the pattern of henna on the knuckles of her hands. She had an idea that henna was used to guard against the jnun - the evil spirits - who favoured the female as a habitation. It was odd to think that a girl who looked so highly civilized, so highly intelligent, should believe in such things - and yet, in all fairness, didn't English people hang on to some odd superstitions too? Josian drew a deep restless breath. The girl was, without the shadow of a doubt, the one she had seen with Raymond in Marrakech, and it would be too much of a coincidence for her to be here by chance. Plainly she must be here because Raymond was here. And it could even be that she was the reason why he had come to Ain el Ourida. She glanced towards the small lobby by the elevators a second or two later, ami the Moroccan girl, standing waiting for the lift, was looking at her - though her eyes flicked quickly away as soon as Josian's head had turned. Jo got up and wandered casually away to look for Kit. She didn't like the sensations she was experiencing. She had no intention of letting Raymond Laurent get under her skin and the sooner she left Ain el

Ourida the better. She couldn't fool herself that he would follow her to Tarfa now. She would be on her own. Kit turned from the desk, his eyes meeting hers instantly with a look that was searching but friendly. 'Okay?' She nodded, and deep inside her she felt panic. She thought of Francine - of David. She thought, 'There's no one here in Morocco who cares a straw about me. Only Natalie Jones.' And Natalie was caught up with her new friends. Friends? Or friend? Jo wasn't sure how much she cared about finding Tony now despite her protestations, but she wouldn't be thinking too much about her. She looked at Kit. What was there to get panicky about? He was reliable, and all she was doing was letting him take her to Tarfa - about fifty miles! So what was making her imagine she had - some sort of premonition? She turned her back on the hotel and walked with Kit out into the sunlight. After a few paces she stopped. 'I shall probably never see him again,' she thought. 'What's up?' said Kit. 'I've forgotten something,' she said, as calmly as if it were true. 'IH be with you in a minute - you go ahead and drive the car on to the road.' Before he could question her, she was on her way back to the hotel. Of course she was mad. Where was she going to find him? How? And mightn't be already be with the Moroccan girl?

She was barely inside the doorway, walking blindly, when she almost bumped into him. He caught her by the arms, just above the elbows. 'I was looking for you, Miss Jones,' he said, his voice rough, edgy. 'You have not yet told me where you are going, and I wish to know.' Josian didn't even ask why, she didn't even question that oddly urgent note. 'To Tarfa,' she said on a breath. Her resolution not to tell him had simply vanished, though it hardly mattered now that the Moroccan girl was here - she was sure of it He wouldn't be worrying about her any more - a girl he had teased and baffled, a girl on her own in a country she did not know... She raised her head and found his dark gaze fixed distractingly on her face. She knew she was pale, and that she would be tearful if she didn't watch it. So she was going to watch it. 'Just as well I wasn't depending on you for transport, Monsieur Laurent. I see your girl-friend's arrived - and I should hate to interfere With your - your fun.' His eyes burned down unreadably into hers. He didn't deny the girl-friend. He denied nothing except the fun. 'Fun?' he repeated, one eyebrow raised. 'You make an error of judgment, Miss Jones. Ziza is a serious girl - a nurse. Her heart is with her country and its needs.' 'Her heart is with you,' thought Josian. How could it not be? And her own heart ached maddeningly. His fingers were still on her arm and she could feel her nerves tingling. 'What is it you have come back for?' he asked. An echo of mockery in his voice told her that he suspected it was just for this - to see him, to speak to him, once again.

'I thought I'd forgotten something,' she said coldly. 'But I - I haven't.' She made to turn away, but he would not let her go. 'A moment, please. I regret you have not listened to me - or to the warnings of the fortune-teller. But it is not too late-' Josian shrugged. 'I must go to Tarfa... And seeing that I was warned merely against a dark man who followed me, couldn't it just as well be you? If one wanted to believe all that superstitious nonsense,' she added scathingly. He frowned and his eyes narrowed. 'Why should you be warned against me, Miss Jones?' She coloured furiously and wished that she had kept a discreet silence. Shouldn't any susceptible inexperienced girl be warned to watch her step with a man of such insidious charm as his? He had disturbed her deeply, woundingly, in the garden last night - she could feel still the dark stain of his kiss - and yet if she were back there with him now, she knew it would be an agonizing - heaven - just to live again those moments in his arms. So of course - he was the kind of man to be warned against .She said incomprehensibly, her heart hammering, 'Because - because I know nothing about you. Only what you have said. Because - there's no reason why you should be interested in what happens to me, where I go—' He studied her in silence for a moment. 'You suspect my motives, I think. But have I not apologized for last night? That is all over now. I offer myself merely as your protector.' 'But why? I already have a protector - Kit.' 'You are too easily attracted,' he said cynically.

Jo shrugged. 'By Kit? Don't worry, I shan't lose my head over him. It's no more than a holiday romance.' He frowned and his eyes appeared completely black as they met her own. 'You are too flippant. Do you not know that there are many adventurers - many scoundrels - in Maroc?' 'And many sophisticated charmers,' she flashed. Suddenly his mouth looked very French again, and an ironic smile hovered at its corners, but instead of retorting, he said merely, Unfortunately, it is difficult for me to go to Tarfa today. However you intend still being there . tomorrow?' 'For the weekly souq,' agreed Josian unthinkingly. 'You must be there for that?' He looked thoughtful. 'I shall not try to hide my natural curiosity, Jo. When first we met, I learned you were looking for Tony Greyhurst You are still looking for him?' 'Yes,' she admitted after a slight hesitation. There was no point in denying it. He nodded. 'Then I shall say au revoir. No doubt we shall meet tomorrow. Meanwhile, take care of yourself.' 'I shall be in good hands,' said Josian, and added dryly, almost bitterly, 'You needn't worry about me - I'm sure you will be too occupied with Ziza, in any case.' A moment later she had turned away and they had parted for ever. For she really did not expect to see him in Tarfa tomorrow. Outside at the car, Kit was waiting for her impatiently, and in fact had been on the point of coming to look for her. He was impatient to get

away, and soon they had left Ain el Ourida and were heading into the Draa valley. The road was not too badly surfaced, and as it was almost deserted they travelled fast - much faster than the bus would have gone. The sun was hot, but there was a slight breeze, and it could have been a lot of fun. The trouble was that Josian's mind was filled with too many confusing thoughts and regrets. To divert herself, she would have liked to ask Kit questions about his work, about the Moroccan schools, about the children. Whether they were as bright and eager as they looked, whether they were aware of the importance of learning. Whether the attitude in the Bled was very different from that in the big towns. She pulled herself up several times, a question all but asked. He might think she was prying - that she doubted what he had told her about himself. Whether she wanted it or not, Raymond's interference had subtly disturbed her previously agreeable relationship with Kit, and she found it most aggravating. Kit for his part chose to talk very little, in fact he seemed quite preoccupied, but that was possibly because he needed to give his mind to the road, and soon Josian settled back and tried to stop thinking and simply looked. They had driven through mountainous country that was stark and bare, the hard strata of the rock standing out in enormous blocks, the soft sifting away to a fine scrim that channelled down the mountainsides and spread out like inverted cones. After the administrative town of Agaz, the road followed the river Draa, and Josian found it really exciting to see water after all that aridity. Water and cultivation, though behind it all were desert wastes of uninviting grey stones. But along the river, green stretches of barley and maize and henna spread out, and the water was now blue, now green, now no more than a gleaming thread across a sandy flat. Back from the flats, pomegranate and peach and almond trees grew, and beyond them still were the date palms - thousands of them, forming a grove that seemed to go on for ever.

The road wound on, narrow and sandy, passing huge old kasbahs with red or pink walls, with crenellated towers, ornamental parapets, flat terraced roofs. Some were crumbling away, some looked almost new, and outside on the road were men with donkeys, women carrying great earthenware water jars, or balancing huge loads of grass on their heads. Josian saw an occasional woman with tribal marks on forehead and chin, head and neck adorned with bright, heavy jewellery that looked strangely out of place amongst the general poverty. She thought of Ziza and tried not to, and wished that Kit had been a brighter travelling companion. All in all, she was thankful when at last they reached Tarfa, a tiny salmon pink town set in a palm grove into which the wind had blown long dunes of pink sand. 'Well, here we are,' said Kit. 'How does it grab you? Are you disappointed? I doubt whether we'll find a tourist class hotel.' 'I don't care, as long as I can have a bath or a shower,' said Jo with a tired smile. She was hot and dusty and weary, and though it was nearly sunset, it was still burningly hot. 'I'm not disappointed at all -1 think it's fabulously interesting, don't you?' 'Sure is,' he said laconically. They found a small hotel that was clean enough, but very elementary, and soon Josian was looking down from her window into a square that had the appearance of a stage set, with its pink buildings with blue and green doors and striped awnings, with its displays of silver teapots, plastic buckets, postcards, fruit and vegetables, caftans, gas cylinders and heaven knew what else. She showered and washed her hair in a primitive bathroom, then back in her room, now full of midges and other little flying insects which came in as soon as she lit the one rather dim light, slipped into her

hand-embroidered dress. Before she went to bed she would wash out some of her clothes - they would dry in a flash in this heat. Kit had decided they would eat at a restaurant they had found on their way to the hotel. In fact, he had stopped the car, gone in, and ordered a chicken tajin meal. It was to be quite a celebration, it appeared, though a celebration of what Josian did not really know, and she felt just vaguely apprehensive. However, she enjoyed the meal, and they sat in the restaurant for hours. At least it was one way of passing the evening - and preferable to going too early to the solitude of her room where she would undoubtedly think of Raymond - and of Ziza. The big room where they ate was at the top of rough wooden stairs. It had a tiled floor, the walls were painted with flowers and leaves, rather crudely done, and there were paintings too on the pillars that supported the ceiling. Windows looked down into the street, and down there, Jo could see shabbily robed figures squatting in the doorways of shops. Upstairs in the restaurant there were, besides Josian and Kit, only three Moroccans - men in djellabas, all of whom left no more than a half hour after Josian and Kit arrived. While the chicken was still cooking, a cleanly dressed Berber youth brought a dish of hors d'oeuvres consisting of sardines, lemon slices and black olives, and, as well, a basket holding the flat loaves of bread that one saw everywhere in the souqs, and pale creamy butter pressed into a flat pat on a small pottery plate. Kit, who had relaxed after the apparent tension of the drive, was warm and affable, and good company, and Josian relaxed too. Certainly, their main topic of conversation was the food, but at least it was a safe one. The hors d'oeuvres was followed by a salad - tomato, beetroot, lettuce, and hardboiled eggs - tiny ones, like the ones Josian had seen constantly in the markets, never even as big as pullets' eggs - olives again, a sprinkling of parsley, and a squeeze of lemon juice.

'Where does it come from?' marvelled Josian, thinking of the dusty barren countryside. Before they had finished the salad, the heavy earthen tajin with its conical lid was brought and placed ceremoniously in the centre of the table. The boy lifted the lid and revealed a whole chicken, cooked with spices, raisins, prunes, almonds and onions, and smelling delicious. Afterwards there was a plate piled with oranges, then small almond cakes and glasses of thick bitter coffee. 'You're really enjoying this, aren't you?' Kit remarked with amusement. 'Those golden eyes of yours are as round as saucers you're like a kid at a birthday party. How come you're so unsophisticated? Or are you just acting that way?' Josian looked across at him puzzled, and suddenly still. Hadn't Raymond, in his own way, asked her much the same question? He had accused her of acting the part of an ingenue. It was - it was almost as though they were identifying her with the real Natalie Jones. Which was impossible. Because what could Kit or Raymond know of Natalie? Nothing, she assured herself determinedly, and she put the rather disturbing thought from her quickly. She told Kit lightly, 'I'm twenty, not thirty. Are girls my age all that sophisticated in the States? Or have you been so long in Morocco you've forgotten? How long have you been here, Kit?' 'Long enough to be about ready to get out,' he said offhandedly. And that told her exactly nothing. 'Anyhow, twenty or thirty, you're as pretty as a witch and I'm crazy about you.' He was not, of course, and it sounded like a red herring to Josian, unsophisticated though she was. Anyhow, the light was terrible, a naked globe hanging from the ceiling. It was hardly the place for being romantic, and she hoped Kit was not going to try it. She returned his smile uncertainly, suddenly

weary and reluctant to indulge in personalities. 'Tomorrow,' she thought tiredly, 'I'll see that snake-charmer and then—' And then what? She would be off on another wild goose chase looking for Tony Greyhurst. Suddenly it all seemed unreal, and for the first time too much to cope with alone. If only she could tell Kit enlist his help. But he was a stranger and just now she was very much aware of it. ' He said, interrupting her thoughts, 'What are you thinking about, Jo? You aren't with me, are you? You don't care if I'm crazy about you or not Sorry you came?' She shook her head slowly, moved her coffee glass around on the table, then looked up to say on impulse, 'It's - strange being here with you. We - we know so little about each other—' He wrinkled his brow. 'Isn't that life? You meet, you make some sort of impact - you part. You and I'll have performed some sort of alchemy on each other's lives - we'll be different because we met. Maybe I'll mend my ways because of you,' he added lightly. He paused to light a cigarette. 'Well, it all happens according to the will of Allah. So they say here. A comforting thought, maybe - absolves one from responsibility.' Jo wasn't quite sure what he was getting at. She suspected he had a melancholy streak in him - it was only too true they knew nothing about each other! She asked him, 'Do you believe in this insh' Allah thing?' 'Why not? Though I've been fighting against the will of Allah since the day I was born. I've always wanted to dictate my own terms, make my own destiny—' 'And have you?'

He crushed out his barely smoked cigarette and stared at it absently. 'Sure I have. Yes, I've made my own destiny.' He sounded almost as though he didn't like the destiny he had made for himself. She asked curiously, 'What do you mean? Coming here joining the Peace Corps—' He shrugged and flung out one hand. 'The lot. Look at it this way, you don't just sit back and let things happen.' 'But sometimes they do,' argued Josian. She was thinking of herself falling into this affair of Natalie's - it had just happened, she was sure of it. It was nothing but fate ... Would she tell him? Yesterday, she might have. But they were not striking sparks of any kind from each other tonight. There was a flatness, a constraint in the air. Even if he had said he was crazy about her. It was something to do with this hideous light, probably. She raised a hand to shade her eyes, and he said abruptly, 'You're tired, Jo. And you go right on believing that some things just happen, honey - that way you might think kindly of me...! ' He pushed back his chair. 'Now I suggest we both of us could do with a good night's sleep.' Jo got up too. She was exhausted. Somewhere along the line she had quietly made up her mind that there would be no kisses tonight, but she need not have worried. Kit took her back to the hotel and left her at the foot of the stairs. 'See you tomorrow.' She would wait till she had seen the snake-charmer before she decided whether or not to confide in him, she thought, as she went to her room. She had a very curious feeling that she would wake in the morning and find him gone. And then - unless Raymond came, which was very unlikely - she would really be alone.

She stood in her room and looked through the dirty window pane down into the small, ill-lit square. She was in Tarfa. And tomorrow was in the hands of Allah... She rose early in the morning, aware of a tension in herself, a nerviness. She thought she would not rest until she had seen the snake-charmer. Of course, Kit had not gone. He was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs when she went down, and they had coffee and bread in the small dining-room attached to the hotel. Brilliant sunshine slanted in through the blue wooden shutters, and the passing parade of men and children and donkeys made a fascinating shadow show. When Jo had finished her coffee, she said, 'I'm going down to the souq.' Kit looked up from breaking another piece of bread. 'What? So early?' She nodded. 'Before it gets too hot. But don't think you have to come along too. I suppose you've seeii these village souqs more times than you can count.' *Sure I have,' he agreed. 'But I haven't usually had apretty girl tagging along. However, you run along. It's too early for an old man of twenty-nine like me. I'll join you shortly.' That suited Jo fine. It would give her a chance to see the snake-charmer on her own. Another quarter of an hour saw her on her way, and she began to wonder hopefully if this time Tony's letter would tell where he was. She walked thoughtfully along the narrow streets to, find the market place. Even if she had to continue alone, she thought that she would manage all right. She had the strange feeling that she had been in Morocco for quite a long time, instead of just a few days. It was amazing how quickly one became accustomed to the sight of people dressed more or less as they must have done in

biblical days. She was a little sorry for Natalie Jones, who was missing out on so much. She decided that her first impression of Tarfa had been right It was a pink town, the colour beautiful, shell-like, the archways of the shopping arcades that surrounded the market square heart-shaped, like something from an Arabian fairytale. In the middle of the square was a fountain with a shallow pond all around it, but though the sun was burningly hot, the fountain did not play and the pond was empty. Water is life - and here there was not much water. Josian thought of Raymond, then put the thought of him away from her. He would not come. That was all over. She began to search for the snake-charmer amongst all the tents and tiny stalls and the goods displayed in blazing sunlight under the inadequate shade of tattered umbrellas. She saw displays of pottery tajins of all sizes, water-carriers; there were shoes with soles made from tyre rubber, there were glittering stones sold by weight, and heaps of wool - long and straight, black, brown or natural. Goats' wool, sheep's wool. And then she spied the snake-charmer. She stood back and eyed him from the shadow of a small tent from which came the sickeningly sweet scent of incense - curious many- coloured crystals and flakes and chips. There was a small crowd around the snake-charmer who sat cross-legged on a small carpet playing his bamboo flute while the snake writhed and swayed, and Jo felt for a moment like some mysterious girl in a film, waiting for a secret message from her lover. Well, she would have to wait until the performance was over and she could have, as it were, a private audience. She moved away to walk in the shade of the shopping arcades, and an old man as ragged as a beggar touched her arm and with z toothless

smile offered her a small basket of grapefruit amongst which fresh green leaves shone darkly. 'Trots cents' he said ingratiatingly. Three dirhams. Well, why not? She liked grapefruit and this old man needed the money more than she did. She bought the grapefruit, basket and all, and wandered on, keeping her eye on the snake- charmer. In one of the souqs she saw just the thing for Francine - a haik, wide and white and silky-looking, brightly embroidered above the fringe at each end. It hung amongst other shawls, caftans that shimmered with gold and silver threads, voluminous striped or embroidered bloomers. 'Combien, monsieur?' she asked the merchant. 'How much will you offer, madame}' he asked craftily. He took the shawl down and opened it out for her to admire. 'Tres belle,' he persuaded, his black eyes taking in quickly her slender form in the beige pants, her beaded handbag, her beryl-green blouse and sandals. 'How much do you want?' Unexpectedly, he indicated her sandals, In exchange for them, he would give her the shawl. Josian wanted to laugh. Somehow it made the shawl all the more attractive - she would tell Francine, 'It cost me a pair of shoes.' As to whether it was a bargain or not, she did not know, and now, misunderstanding her slight hesitation, the merchant took from a pile of clothing a pale blue cotton caftan with buttons all down the front. She could have this as well as the haik, in exchange for her shoes. Fine! But she would first have to fetch another pair of shoes to change into, she explained, and he nodded, perfectly satisfied, perfectly trusting.

By now the crowd around the snake-charmer had "dispersed, and Josian approached him quickly before he started another display. She was not at all partial to snakes and preferred to speak to the man when he was, as it were, alone. The cobra had been put back into a small closely woven reed basket that closed up rather like a purse. Jo smiled a little nervously at the man, who still sat on his carpet on the ground. 'Bonjour, monsieur.'' She showed him the little golden gazelle, and added, 'I am Natalie Jones. You have a letter for me, haven't you?' 'Mais oui!' His dark, rather devilish brown eyes lit up. He had the typical scant beard of the Berber, and a smooth bland face. From under his grey djellaba he produced a leather bag, and raising the flap, he took out a letter and handed it to her. 'Merci, monsieur.' Josian had some coins ready in her hand, but instead of taking them he gave her a smile, widened those almost black eyes, and reached for his basket. Josian bit her lip. She was to be treated to a little snake- charming - and for that of course she would feel obliged to pay just a little more. Well - insh'Allah! At that moment she caught sight of Kit coming towards her, and suddenly conscious of the letter in her hand, she thrust it quickly in amongst the fruit in her basket. There wasn't any need to involve KitBy the time he reached her, the snake-charmer had thrown back the hood of his djellaba, revealing a round shaven head with a single lock of hair on the top - kinky hair that was twisted into a tight knot. He opened his basket, lifted out the weird creepy-looking flat-headed cobra and placed it on the ground. Then raising his bamboo flute to his lips, he proceeded to play. Slowly the cobra responded, uncoiling, slithering, raising its head and making circular swaying movements, flicking out its tongue as it did so. Josian, fascinated and repelled,

discovered she was holding tightly to Kit's arm. After a few moments the Berber laid down his flute, took hold of the cobra, and inclining his head towards it put out his own tongue with a very wicked smile on his face. Jo closed her eyes and shuddered. 'Enough?' asked Kit. 'You're a devil for punishment, aren't you?' And it was he who pressed Josian did not know how much money into the snake-charmer's hand - enough at any rate to make him smile with satisfaction - before they moved off together into the crowds. Josian protested weakly, 'I should have paid for that - it was for my entertainment—' 'Forget it,' said Kit. 'Put your money back in your purse. Let's take a look at some of this famous Berber jewellery, and if you're good I might buy you something to pin in your hair.' A little to Jo's embarrassment, he actually did - a great barbaric silver chain from which hung heavy medallions studded with red and green stones. To demonstrate how it was worn, the merchant, who was quite a character, pinned it to the centre of his disreputable turban, allowing lie medallions to fall across his forehead. The end pieces he held over his ears, indicating that they should be clipped there. He swayed his body in comical imitation of a woman dancing, and while Josian was laughing, Kit made an offer, raised it slightly when the trader protested with a horrified widening of his eyes, and in a moment the heavy silver bauble had been wrapped and handed to Josian. 'No, I couldn't possible take it,' she protested, though she thought it completely fascinating and her thoughts had flown at once to Francine, who had missed out on this holiday.

Kit tucked her arm through his. 'Of course you could, honey. What else am I to do with it? Take it home to my mom? It's not her style at all. Your boy-friend need never know I gave it to you,' he added lightly. 'I haven't—' began Josian, and then stopped. To protest too loudly, that she didn't have a boy-friend could be misconstrued to imply that she was - available. And she was not. 'You're a funny kid,' Kit commented. The subject was dropped, and Jo kept the gift. After they had wandered around the market a little longer, Kit glanced at his watch. The sun was searingly hot, and the shadows were growing short. Jo remembered her sandals and the bargain she had struck, but decided not to tell Kit for fear he then offered to pay for the shawl. 'Suppose I take you back to the hotel,' he said, 'and leave you to take a shower - I guess you'd like one, in this heat - then meet you for lunch in that place we ate last night - Ali's restaurant? Would that be okay?' 'Great,' agreed Josian. The day was advancing, and She tried not to think of Raymond. Back at the hotel, Kit handed over her basket of grapefruit that he had been carrying, and she went inside and up the dark narrow staircase. From her window she saw him wandering off in the direction of the street where the restaurant was, and quickly she changed out of her sandals into a pair of shoes, dashed water on her face from the bowl that was provided, and reapplied a dash of lipstick. She glanced critically at her long silky hair, passed it, and having locked her door ran down the stairs again. It didn't take long to get back to the market square, to find the trader, to hand over her sandals and receive the haik and the caftan. They were wrapped in a just adequate piece of blue paper, and she decided to go straight to the

restaurant. She remembered as she walked along the sunlit street that she hadn't yet read Tony's letter, but that could wait till after lunch. She discovered that, as she walked along, she was looking about her with a kind of feverishness, and she admitted to herself with a wry smile that she was looking for Raymond Laurent. It was not surprising that she didn't see him, yet she felt a definite lowering of her spirits. When she reached Ali's restaurant, she went up the stairs and stood for a moment searching for Kit. The room looked very bare and rather ugly in the harsh light. There were none erf the niceties, the tables had no cloths, there were no flowers, Several Moroccans, their djellaba hoods thrown back revealing Berber caps or turbans, sat drinking mint tea, and some of them stared at her as she stood there. Josian felt awkward, conspicuous, and after a moment she turned and went back down the stairs. Perhaps Kit was ordering a special lunch from the proprietor and she would find him at the counter. But he was not there. She hardly knew what to do. It seemed very strange - she had seen him walking this way, so he must be here. She glanced at her watch. She did not fancy sitting upstairs amongst all those men waiting for him. It was possible that he had gone back to the hotel to look for her, and she decided to check up on that idea and walked outside again. At the hotel, since she had not encountered him on the way, she consulted the proprietor. 'Monsieur Garrett? But he has paid his bill this morning - and yours, mademoiselle, for tonight also, since you are awaiting a friend, nest-ce pas? He had not long since departed in his car.'

Josian felt her face grow pale and a faint perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Kit had gone! Why? - when he had arranged to have lunch with her— 'You are concerned?' the hotel owner asked. He was a shabby main in a soiled turban and European clothing that looked as if it had come from a second-hand dealer's, and his dark eyes looked shifty and cunning. Josian did not like at all the way they now roamed over her face and her figure, with a slow and deliberate curiosity. With an effort she quelled her feeling of panic, and though her hands were suddenly clammy and her face white, she said with a cool smile, 'I am not at all concerned, thank you, monsieur.' She turned on her heel and walked with deliberate lack of haste to the stairway and up to her room. There her composure left her. She bolted the door, flung down her parcel, and sank down on the uncomfortable wooden chair by the window. Why had Kit gone? Why had he deserted her? What was it all about? Her eye was suddenly caught by the sight of the basket of grapefruit on the floor. She got up and reached for it, but before she had even looked, it had come to her in a blinding flash that Tony's letter would not be there.

CHAPTER EIGHT SHE was on her knees on the floor and the grapefruit were scattered around her. There was not a sign of the letter - and not a doubt in her mind that Kit had taken it. He had had plenty of opportunity as they strolled around the market square, and now he had gone. But why? Why? Who else was interested in Tony Grey- hurst - who else wanted to find him, apart from Natalie Jones? His parents! 'Positively no one is waiting to leap out on Tony and handcuff him,' Natalie had said. She had been wrong. And Tony had known what he was doing in covering up his trail. They must be keen to stop the marriage, thought Josian. They had no intention of trusting Natalie. Fleetingly, she saw Tony's face, his nervous, lost, immature look. And Natalie, who was so worldly-wise and whose pretty grey eyes were so hard. So how did Kit come into it? Money, of course. Her cynical and intuitive reply to her own question surprised her. Raymond was right when he said Kit hadn't worked with the Peace Corps, when he had said money did not mean integrity. What was Kit, then? A - a private eye? Or simply one of those adventurers who could be paid to do anything? She didn't care for either of those answers, and she didn't at all care for the idea that he had thought she was Natalie Jones and had pretended, with cold deliberation, to be her friend. And she had liked him! Oh, fool!

Without even being aware that she was doing it, she was thrusting clothes, make-up, toilet things into her suitcase, her small hand-case, quite indiscriminately; looking hastily around to see that she had forgotten nothing. The grape-fruit, the basket - she couldn't be carting those about with her, they would have to be left here. The gift for Francine she had packed, and after a second's indecision she packed the piece of Berber jewellery that Kit had given her, too. Rather take it than leave it for that - jackal of an innkeeper downstairs. At least her hotel bill was paid, she reflected cynically as she pulled the door shut behind her and, carrying her two bags, went down the dark stairs. She left the hotel with a bare nod to the proprietor and walked rapidly across the place. She was sure she had seen a taxi there last evening. And she was going to take a taxi and go after Kit if it cost her her last dirham - or her last pair of shoes. He was just not going to get away with hoodwinking her. Beware of a dark man, indeed! Her stunned bewilderment had given place now to a cold fury. Her ego, her feminine vanity, were badly wounded. She had been a sucker! He had tricked her so easily and he had looked at her with such frank and friendly eyes. At least - at least - he had kissed her only once, and she had not made a fool of herself on that occasion. Now if it had been Raymond, it would have been a different story... Sure enough there was a taxi standing in the blazing midday heat on the far side of the place, but so dusty and decrepit and beat up that her spirits sagged. She couldn't possibly ride in such a vehicle. She stopped dead and looked around her almost desperately, paying no heed to the lounging, staring Moroccans. If only Raymond Laurent would appear now - her Hermes, her rescuer! How willingly she would put her trust in him now! But she was not to have the chance. There was not another European within sight.

So she would have to take the taxi. She could see the man who was obviously the driver sitting with his back against the wall of one of the pink buildings - turbanned, wearing a scruffy grey robe, a thin, dark-faced, sharp-eyed man, who watched her hopefully. Where in the world was she going to ask him to drive her? Well, it was no use hedging. If she wanted to follow Kit Garrett she would have to find out which way he had gone, and the only thing to do was to ask boldly. Someone would know. There were dozens of men around who Seemed to have little to do all day but to sit in the doorways of their shops, or on the side of the footpath. The taxi-driver, still eyeing her, got to his feet with quite remarkable grace as soon as she approached, and smiled deprecatingly. 'You wish to take a ride in my taxi, madame?' Glancing somewhat unwillingly at his taxi, Josian knew she decidedly did not want to take a ride in it. Worn tyres, huge dents, doors that did not close properly (and, as she soon discovered, rattled abominably), much dust and grime. And under the bonnet - who knew what? However, it was the one and only taxi, so she raised a bright smile and aid yes. She explained that she wished to follow her friend, described the car - he knew it at once, it was the only car from outside in the town - and asked if he knew which way it had gone. He did not, but he consulted a small group of friends who had sauntered up to listen, and to enjoy the spectacle. The lure of a discussion, perhaps an argument, drew several other Moors, and the gesticulating, laughing, voluble group expanded considerably, though no information was forthcoming. Josian waited with a half-despairing impatience, and then two small boys arrived and burrowed their way into the centre of the crowd. Presently they emerged triumphantly, and the problem had been solved. The monsieur had given the boys money to direct him—

The two bright-faced ragged urchins looked at Josian with shrewd eyes, and she caught on. She had deposited her luggage on the ground and she took out her purse. Four dirhams - she must be mad to hand out all that so meekly! - produced the information that the monsieur had set off for the edge of the Sahara desert, and a small oasis town called En-Nakhla. En-Nakhla! Now the taxi-driver surveyed Josian doubtfully. 'It is far, madame - across the desert of stones by the piste— Josian was in no mood for prevarication. She said firmly that to En-Nakhla she must go, and picked up her bags, put them determinedly into the back of the taxi, and climbed in after them. The driver spread his hands, rolled his eyes and exclaimed volubly and at length in Arabic, but finally he got into the front seat, started up the engine, and with a roar they were off through the crowd of men and boys, to the tune of much shouting and pointing, and a display of general enthusiasm. Josian settled back in the dusty seat when they had left the town - and wow, it was dusty! - and did her best to relax. Now that she had got her own way, she was beginning to suspect she had acted rather impulsively. She didn't even know how far it was to En-Nakhla! She was sure her deductions must be right - Kit was being paid by Blyth Greyhurst to follow Natalie Jones and make sure she didn't marry Tony. Josian, on reflection, hardly saw how she could get the better of him - particularly as she was not even Natalie Jones! With a prickling of her spine, she remembered how powerful and fit he had looked stripped, and wearing only trunks. He would undoubtedly be tough too. Speculative adventurers, with an eye to the main chance, would have to be tough - to be in complete control of their own destiny. Kit had said he was in control of his. She, Josian Jones, didn't seem to have much control over her fate, and she wondered whether Natalie

would have been so dumb, so gullible. Kit had outwitted her very easily. She writhed as she remembered how he had picked her up outside the Menara Gardens, how delighted and surprised she had been at the odd 'coincidence' that he was going to Tarfa, which was exactly where she had to go. That coincidence, she realized now, was closely tied up with her unlocked bedroom door, and with the fact that she had had to turn her drawer inside out to find that letter from Tony when she wished to post it on to Natalie. Well, there was one little thing that gave her some satisfaction something that-Kit didn't know about and that was going to hold him up - unless the letter he had stolen revealed Tony's actual whereabouts. He didn't know he would need the open sesame, the golden gazelle. The reflection cheered her no more than momentarily, for money is in itself a powerful open sesame, more particularly in a country like Morocco - and if Kit was in Blyth Greyhurst's pay, he would have plenty of that. 'Anyhow, whose side am I on?' she thought wearily. And being young, she was probably on Tony's side. She did think it was for him to decide who he should marry, not for his mother or his father. Not for Kit. And she hated being duped. Meanwhile, Natalie Jones had not the least idea that she had lost the trail, and was now tearing across a desert of stones in the south of Morocco - in a taxi that rattled and banged and jolted as if it would fly to pieces at any moment… 'I must be crazy,' thought Josian, and she didn't know whether it was laughable or whether it was plain fool- hardiness. For after all, no one

who cared had the least idea where she was. Not even Raymond Laurent, who didn't really care, knew... The taxi battled on and on across the weird stony desert on a piste that was sometimes covered by drifts of pinkish- grey sand, and was sometimes so boneshakingly corrugated that the driver chose to abandon it, and took the taxi on a wildly zigzagging course amongst the stones. Away over towards the arid plateau that skirted the great plain, Josian occasionally caught sight of the long line of a palm grove, but if there were ksour there, they were indiscernible against the background of earth and rock. They went hurtling on towards a section of the encircling wall of mountains where against the hazy blue of the sky there was a deep cleft. And now across the piste occasional drifts of yellow, wind-rippled sand appeared and Josian sat forward, staring ahead. The Sahara must be somewhere beyond that wall of rock. The Sahara and Kit, and probably Tony. For what seemed a long time she had been too absorbed in this ghastly yet nevertheless fascinating journey to think far ahead. The track began to wind steeply upwards through unrelievedly sterile desolation, and she was distracted again. She wondered if the taxi, panting and labouring and coming often so close to a standstill that she felt like getting out and pushing, would ever make it. She drew a deep breath of relief when she realized they had reached the pass and begun the descent to a further desert of stones that stretched out and out. Far, far off on the horizon she could just discern the true yellow sands of the Sahara, indistinct and blurred because of the fierce wind that blew across the plain. They had reached the comparative safety of the flat terrain and were speeding merrily along when quite suddenly the taxi coughed, bucked, shuddered once or twice and came to a very determined standstill. The driver, in a leisurely and unconcerned way, made one of two efforts to get the

motor going again and then, after looking round at Josian with an infuriatingly irresponsible smile on his thin brown face, climbed out of the vehicle and walked round to raise the bonnet. The sun coming in the window beside which Josian sat was searingly hot, and all around the wind was blowing the grit up into little swirls. She could feel sand in her mouth, sand on the palms of her hands, and she watched the driver edgily, her fists clenching and unclenching of their own accord. Of course this would happen! She should have known it. And in a way she had known it - the minute she had looked at the taxi. Though she had not dreamed the road would be as bad, or as deserted, as this - they had not seen a single other vehicle all afternoon. The wind was whipping the taxi-driver's grey robe about his legs and he fiddled about under the bonnet of the car, and Josian hadn't the least bit of faith that he would ever accomplish anything. It was an incredibly hopeless situation to be in, but there was not a thing she could do about it. And nothing the driver could do either - though he was not at all concerned. He was perfectly satisfied to leave it all to Allah. He didn't say so, but Josian knew, and if it had not been a little frightening, she might have been amused. Eventually he closed down the bonnet carefully and with a guileless expression on his face came to lean in at Josian's window and tell her that he would have to go and get help. Josian felt a ray of hope. There must be a village somewhere nearby, and she hadn't noticed it! But no matter how hard she stared around her, she still didn't notice it. She looked blankly at the driver. 'But where? Where will you get help?'

He gestured vaguely ahead over the desert. 'I shall walk,' he said confidently. 'It may take some hours. You will come? Or do you prefer to wait here?' What a choice! Josian definitely didn't feel like 'some hours' of walking. She was beginning to be uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she hadn't eaten since her meagre breakfast of bread and coffee, too. And the idea of plodding along in the hot sunlight with that devilish wind blowing was hardly to be considered. Moroccans, she knew, walked miles and thought nothing of it. Even this skinny undernourished-looking taxi-driver in his beat-up sandals thought nothing of it He would get to the village or ksar or whatever it was, and he would get back - possibly in a car, more likely in a cart, or on the back of some poor little donkey. Josian decided that, right or wrong, she was staying here, though she didn't think she was going to spend a very comfortable few hours. So presently she was watching her driver walk steadily off across the desert to nowhere, the wind flapping his robe and eventually snatching so hard at his turban that he had to rewind it. Meanwhile, she thought, sinking back on the seat - she had moved to the other side so as to be a little out of the sun's reach - meanwhile, what was happening at En- Nakhla? She didn't know how much further on it was, but Kit, in his superior vehicle, was possibly there by now. And if he was, she hoped he was having problems! Yet she found she couldn't really wish him ill. He had been aft agreeable companion, and he had his share of charm. And he wasn't really doing anything so frightful in hunting up Tony. Well, it was not the sort of thing she would do herself, but still it was not a horrible thing to do. The most horrible thing had been his deception of her - his pretence of friendship.

Of course, she too was doing her little bit of deception. 'Why do you play this game of deceit, lalla? It can only delay your happiness—' That strange Berber woman in Marrakech... Suddenly Jo felt herself weakening. She knew that, if she allowed it to happen, she would be really frightened in a minute. They had seen not a single car all afternoon. And the driver might never come back. She made a nervy movement. It was so hot here in the stationary taxi. And she was so hungry, she felt light-headed. She reached for her handbag and groped in it determinedly, and came up with an opened packet of fruit pastilles. There were three sweets left in the packet, and she ate them all, slowly, mindlessly, because there was no point in thinking. The wind blew continually. Fine sand traced ghostly fingers across the stony ground, little wraiths rose up and chased each other over the track. The one living creature that had shared with Jo the empty desert landscape - the taxi-driver - had vanished long ago into the haze of sand that blew across the ground. And now in the loneliness and silence, Jo began to hear the wind. It had a voice - a voice that cried softly and high-pitched like the voices of the beggars in the souqs 'Al-Ilah - Al-llah - Al-Ilah— It rang in her ears until she felt she stood at the door of some vast and invisible mosque where long-dead Muslims were praying ... And into this fantasy of sound an unbelievable sight drifted. A camel train had appeared from nowhere and was coming across the desert slowly and rhythmically and silent as a dream. Jo blinked hard. At first little more than grey silhouettes, the camels and their riders, the men and women who walked with them - robed, dignified - gradually assumed shape and colour and solidity. They came at right angles to the track, and they were going to cross it - right in front of the broken-down taxi.

Jo's eyes were strained as she stared into the bright sandy haze. At the head of the train walked the sheikh, carrying a heavy staff. His black turban was swathed about his face, and a wide leather belt was fastened about his robe of natural wool. There were easily eighteen or twenty camels, Jo calculated, several of them loaded up, some of them carrying women, and veiled women, blue-robed with black haiks over head and shoulders, walked alongside. In the wake of the leader came a young boy, possibly the sheikh's son, his closely cropped head bare, his long black turban cloth swathed loosely about his neck and hanging freely like a scarf. The sheikh quickened his pace - made an authoritative gesture towards Jo which she took to signify that she should not drive on, but let the train across. She leaned a little from the window of the cab and smiled at him tentatively, though her heart was beating quickly and fearfully, and he stepped across towards her, his heavy robe swinging. His face was grey-white and somehow unreal from its coating of fine sand, and Jo's heart was suddenly in her mouth. He must have seen she was a woman and alone, by now. What did he want? What he wanted was - matches! Or so she interpreted his gestures, his incomprehensible words. And Jo didn't have matches. She didn't smoke. It was crazy, but she was filled with panic. Would the Arab chief be enraged? Would he believe her? She was turning her handbag fairly inside out with hands that trembled more than a little when a shadow appeared beside that of the Arab. And Jo looked up to see with a shock so sharp that it almost made her faint that Raymond Laurent was standing there. His dark hair shone in the blaze of the sun and his white teeth flashed in a smile as he

tendered matches - money - and - exchanged a few civil-sounding good- humoured words with the sheikh. Josian leaned back on the seat and closed her eyes and felt tears force their way through her lashes and on to her cheeks. Raymond Lament! Allah be praised! She opened her eyes and turned slightly, and there was his Land-Rover behind the taxi. It was wonderful - marvellous - and utterly impossible. She felt a great surge of happiness and joy that was so close to pain sweep over her. Not just because she was frightened and he had come, but because— The camel train had halted and Raymond stepped across and leaned down to say a few quick words to Jo. 'Qa va?' The familiar phrase she had heard so often in the souqs made her want to weep again. 'You are all right, Miss Jones? You are quite safe?' 'I'm - I'm fine,' said Jo. 'And quite safe.' She smiled at him waveringly, then, disconcerted, looking beyond him-at the camel train. What noble, beautiful animals! She was sure that never in the whole of her life had she seen such splendid creatures. They could have been angels, and she looking in through the gates of Paradise! But really - she smiled at her own idiocy - really they were fascinating. As well as the majestic animals that carried great loads on their backs, there were two young ones with curly, buff-coloured coats, keeping close to their mothers, one of whom had her udders strapped up in netting to stop the young one from drinking her milk. And there was a small chorus of pretty young things, neither infant nor adult - gracefully gauche, curious yet docile, curving their necks and flashing their eyes, and responding quickly and obediently to the

handsome dark-eyed young boy who shouted out his commands in a sonorous oddly rhythmical voice. The sheikh bowed to her gravely, stepped back from the taxi, and motioned to the boy to let the camel train across the piste. The women glanced covertly, keeping their veils drawi>across their faces. Where they were going to, Jo could not imagine, nor how they could walk as they did over that rough and stony ground in their sandals. 'Now, Miss Jones,' said Raymond abruptly. 'Perhaps you will tell me what you are doing here alone in the middle of the desert in an abandoned taxi cab.' His dark eyes looked her over searchingly, a little mockingly, and she felt herself tense. She told him briefly, bleakly, 'I hired this taxi to take me to En-Nakhla, and it's broken down. The driver has gone for help. That's all.' 'So that is all,' he echoed, with the vestige of a smile. He looked down at her quizzically and her gaze fixed on that very French mouth that was now tilted at the corners. 'Well, as it chances that I too am going to En-Nakhla, I think you had better transfer yourself and your belongings to my Land-Rover, and we shall continue on our way.' Jo stared at him, puzzled and exasperated. He was heaven-sent and he looked wonderful - better than a whole train of camels! - but she just didn't believe him. He simply couldn't be going to En-Nakhla. And if he was - then why? And besides, could she ever trust anyone again? 'Now why are you hesitating?' he asked, one eyebrow raised. 'Is it not your good fortune that I came along? We both wish to go to En-Nakhla, so come—'

'I can't just go off like that,' Jo said, floundering, uncertain. 'Besides, I said I'd wait—' 'For whom? For your American friend?' His glance sharpened. 'He has vanished with the driver?' 'No,' she said uncomfortably. 'Kit wasn't with me., I must wait for the taxi-driver -I haven't paid him - I—' 'If that is all that troubles you, we shall leave your fare in the taxi. For I am certainly not going to drive away and leave you here alone under any circumstances. Nor do I wish to stand any longer in the sun arguing with you.' He opened the door of the taxi and waited for her to descend, which of course she did, though she uttered a final protest. 'You really don't have to take me to En-Nakhla, Monsieur Laurent. We can go back to Tarfa, and I'll find some other way of getting there. Ziza' - she hesitated over $he name - 'must be waiting for you somewhere, I'm sure.' 'Do not make difficulties, Miss Jones. I have already told you where I am going. As for Ziza, I shall see her in good time, and she is not a girl who is idle even while she waits.' Wonderful Ziza, thought Josian. As he spoke, Raymond had taken some notes from his wallet, and now he put them in the glove box, the door of which was, typically, missing. Then as he installed her and her luggage in the Land-Rover, he said pleasantly, 'I should be interested to know how it is that you are no longer travelling with your American friend.' Chagrined - because she had refused to listen to his warnings - Jo retorted, 'And I should be interested to know why you are following me. You can't possible want to go to En- Nakhla. I just don't believe it.'

'I am afraid you will have to believe it,' he said laconically. 'For it is true. As for following you - do you not remember that I told you I would come to Tarfa?' They had started off along the piste now. He drove easily, skilfully, like one accustomed to such rough tracks, and though it could hardly be called a comfortable ride, still it was luxury compared with the journey in the taxi, and Jo knew she had far more certainty of catching up with Kit in En-Nakhla. 'Still,' she objected, thinking of Ziza, 'I don't really expect you. And you knew I was with Kit, you knew I was—' 'In good hands?' he suggested ironically. 'But now you have found the hands not so good. Or why else is it that you have so unwisely decided to continue alone? I hope it did not Cost you too many tears to learn that I was right about Kit Garrett.' Jo bristled slightly. He was so certain that he was right, though she had not yet said a single word against Kit. 'It didn't cost me any tears at all,' she said. 'He didn't make a pass at me - it wasn't anything like that. But,' she added honestly, 'perhaps I did make a mistake in trusting him.' His profile turned and he looked at her quickly, assessingly, and she thought with a catch at her heart, 'He has lost some of that slightly haggard look.' In fact, he was madly handsome, and now that the sun was going down and the light was glowing red, his face was burnished with rich colour. 'Perhaps?' he queried. 'There is still some doubt in your mind?' Jo shook her head reluctantly. 'I suppose not. I shouldn't have trusted him. But I liked him very much—'

'And you thought it wiser to part from him. But you should not have travelled on by yourself, you know. You should have waited in Tarfa for me.' 'I couldn't wait,' said Jo tiredly. 'Why not? Come now, tell me what this is all about.' Oh, that voice! It was so persuasive! But in any event, Jo supposed she would have to tell him some of the truth. She said with a rush, 'Kit has gone to En-Nakhla. He - he stole my letter - from Tony Greyhurst - before I'd even read it. I simply must catch up with him, or I'll never find where Tony is.' ' She had surprised him far more than she had thought she would, for the Land-Rover swerved and skidded on the stone-strewn edge of the piste. 'Of what possible interest could your letter - or Tony Greyhurst's whereabouts - be to Monsieur Garrett? I think you had better explain a little, Jo. It is too late to scold you now, but you would have been wise to listen when you were offered advice. I begin to wonder if you walk about with your eyes closed, or in a dream of love. Or is it that you were more infatuated with the American than you pretend? Come now, what is it all about?' He sounded quite exasperated, and Jo sighed deeply. Yet what did any of it matter to him? Why should he be bothered about it all? At least he couldn't be in the pay of Blyth Greyhurst as well. She leaned back against the seat feeling very confused and too exhausted to deal with it all. What with the heat and the excitement, and the fact that she needed something to eat - and still more importantly, something to drink - she was hardly even capable of sensible thought.

She said hazily, 'It's all too complicated to explain, Raymond.' Dimly she was aware that for the very first time she had called him Raymond. 'I think - I think that Tony's parents must be paying Kit to to find Tony - because they don't want him to marry—' Her voice faded, wavered. Raymond's profile had become an indistinct blur and she could feel perspiration breaking out on her forehead. It was only with an immense effort that she managed to remain upright ... 'Mon dieu! As serious as that - and yet you let this man steal your letter. You are a little simpleton—' His voice sounded strangely staccato, it struck like little hammers on her brain. And the last word - the last word felled her. She felt herself engulfed by utter blackness, and with a feeling of nauseating giddiness she let go of everything - she slumped - she fell dizzyingly into space... She was in a palm grove, because she could see the tops of a million date palms, green yet not green. When she lowered her head slightly, she saw a great wall of pise with narrow slits in it. She was lying on the seat of the Land-Rover and a single shaft of burning red sunlight wavered down like the beam of a torch, and in it danced thousands of glowing red motes of dust - or grains of sand. She struggled into a sitting position and Raymond Laurent's face, strangely grey with sand like the face of the Arab sheikh, came close to hers. 'Drink this.' With hands that were intolerably unsteady, Josian took the silver cup he offered and drank. It was water with a dash of brandy in it, and she emptied the cup greedily and handed it back. She said, 'I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that... Is this En-Nakhla?' Her eyes went past him to the red pise wall, and she saw now that it was a kasbah with a

compact shape and bristling, slightly tapering towers. A kasbah? Tony's kasbah or whatever! With the ghost of a smile she asked, 'Is Tony here?' 'No. And it is not En-Nakhla. We shall not reach there tonight. By a good chance, I know the caid here, and I am sure he will offer us his hospitality for tonight... Do you feel able to walk, Miss Jones, or shall I carry you?' Josian stayed where she was. 'I would rather go on.' 'And so would I,' he agreed coolly. 'But I do not relish the thought of taking a fainting or unconscious girl any further into the desert. You may think me an unfeeling man, but that is a little too much. Besides, you need attention - rest—' 'I feel better now I've had a drink,' she said shakily, and tried to prove the truth of her words by leaving the support of the seat and silting up straight. He ignored her assertion. 'You will feel still better when you have had something to eat and have rested. When did you last have a meal, I wonder?' Josian didn't answer. She didn't care to go into detail about what had happened that day. She had been made a perfect fool of ... But just now there seemed no alternative to getting out of the Land-Rover, for Raymond was waiting and from the look on his face she was sure that if she did not move of her own volition then he would pick her up and carry her bodily. She swung her legs out and stood up as steadily as she could manage. She was quite curious to see the kasbah, though she was so exhausted she felt she was sleepwalking and she was forced to accept the support of Raymond's arm.

The kasbah looked formidable and uninviting from the outside, but once they had gone through the gateway and along a narrow covered laneway that was almost dark, they emerged in a beautiful and unexpected courtyard where there were orange and peach and almond trees, and flowers of all kinds. Jo felt embarrassed at the thought of being an uninvited guest, but the caid, with typical Moorish hospitality, welcomed them graciously. He was an unimposing man in white robe and turban, bespectacled and black-bearded with dreamy black eyes, yet he had a natural air of command and superiority. Josian was shown to a small guest house that had its own tiny courtyard. As she was a woman, it appeared she was not expected to join the caid and Raymond to eat or to talk, and though she would dearly have loved, despite her fragile state, to see the rest of the kasbah and to find out what went on, it was not to be. Raymond explained that she was travel- weary and not fit to continue a long journey, and that she needed food and sleep. In no time at all she was brought a dish of rice cooked with mutton and raisins and almonds, bitter black coffee and a dish of small cakes that had a flavour she did not know but that she found unexpectedly delicious. She ate alone, at a low table in a room whose floor was covered with carpets but which was otherwise quite bare. In the room where she was to sleep there was a bed, low and very simple. No chair, no cupboards, no mirror - no other furniture at all. She had read that many Moroccans were so poor they had no need of storage space, but this caid appeared to be quite prosperous, and she wished she could have seen his dwelling quarters - or the room where Raymond was to sleep. There was no bathroom, but in an alcove was a great copper tub that had been filled with tepid water, and on a low wooden bench a huge bath-towel had been laid. She used the water lavishly, for all of her

body seemed to be coated with the fine greyish sand of the desert, then, feeling infinitely refreshed but still astonishingly weary, she slipped into her pyjamas and got under the light covering on the divan bed. She fell asleep remarkably quickly. A long time later, she wakened from a deep and dreamless sleep to see moonlight flooding across the carpeted floor in a curved and elaborate pattern. She lay for a while, her head on the silken pillows, her hair fanned out, her hands resting beneath her slender neck, aware of the sound of her beating heart. She thought with a sense of wonder, 'I, Josian Jones, am sleeping here in a kasbak on the edge of the Sahara desert.' Somewhere not far away, Raymond Laurent was sleeping too, and tomorrow he was going to take her to En- Nakhla, to find Kit, and to find Tony. But why she did not know. Could she dare to hope that he had followed her, not just because he had some sort of feeling of responsibility towards a girl who was travelling alone in Morocco, but because - because he was just a little attracted to her? Because she could not believe he would have any real reason for going where she was going. Of course there was Ziza - but all she felt about Ziza was pure conjecture. Just now it was exciting - and it did not seem too fantastic - to think that perhaps he liked her - more than liked her... Restless now, her senses oddly stirred, she slipped from the low bed and crossed to the archway that opened on to a colonnade. Before her was the small courtyard and garden that was private to the guest quarters. And a man was pacing there in the moonlight. She could see the pallor of his shirt and the lesser pallor of his trousers, the gleam of moonlight on thick dark hair, and she knew that it was Raymond. Quickly, and entirely without thinking, she stripped off her pyjamas, put on bra and panties, and pulled a long dress of filmy cotton - one

that she had not yet had an opportunity to wear - over her head. She drew a brush quickly through her gleaming hair and dabbed a little perfume on her wrists and at the nape of her neck, then, barefooted, went silently out to the garden. It all happened as though she were guided by some deeper subconscious self, and she must obey. Nothing on earth could have kept her from going to the man who walked beneath the sweetly scented, blossoming trees. Despite her soft footsteps, he heard her as she crossed the beaten earth of the courtyard, and he ceased his pacing and turned swiftly. She heard his indrawn breath, and then his shadow fell across her, enclosed her like the wings of some strange bird, some angel - and she was in his arms - they were around her closely, enfoldingly, inescapably. Warm and strong in the soft darkness of the desert night... His lips were against hers, and it was as if he were not simply a mortal but some unearthly being, some god, some presence more spirit than physical. Which was all the more strange, because he was kissing her in the most carnal and passionate way a man can kiss. She was conscious of every part of him as he held her closely to him, and yet they seemed to be winging in great strong sweeps of flight across the heavens - high, high above this kasbah in its palm grove in the desert... And it was the most awesome thing that had ever happened to Jo. Afterwards, she thought it must all have had something to do with those small cakes she had eaten with her coffee. Love potions aphrodisiacs - how was a girl to know what she was given to help her sleep, to help her relax, in this strange country where the mystical was so deeply entwined with the everyday pattern of life? When she came back from that breathtaking flight into a sweet and delectable eternity, Jo could not find her feet again. She had no words, no thoughts. Quite simply, she was drained; no more than a

flower that droops after the heat of the day when her god the sun has hidden his face. She thought Raymond must have carried her, half swooning, half unconscious, into that room in the kasbah that gave on to the musky scented courtyard. And she slept exhausted in her flimsy sleeveless gown until dawn, when she woke shivering and forced herself to change into her night things and get under the covers.

CHAPTER NINE IT seemed only minutes later that she was wakened by a slight sound and she discovered that someone had brought coffee and coarse bread into her room - a small girl with shining black hair, melting eyes and an inclination to giggle and stare. She was barefooted and wore a patched but clean shapeless garment, and when Jo spoke to her she put her hand over her pretty mouth and fled. It was early - the shadows were long, and the tops of the palms gleamed green-gold in sunlight that was not yet hot. Josian was scarcely aware of whether she ate and drank or not, for she could think of nothing but Raymond, and a half-fearful heaven was dawning in her heart. She knew now how deep and true were her feelings for him - that she would die if she had to say good-bye. Was this what the fortune-teller had meant, she wondered, when she had told her she must go as far as the desert to find her love - yet that he was closer than she thought? The memory of those words was like an exciting discovery that seemed to set the seal on all she had dared to hope last night. She was ready to go with him now wherever he should want to take her, and the fact that Kit Garrett had tricked her, that she had lost the trail to Tony, no longer mattered one iota. She would confess to Raymond the whole story of her mad deception and let him advise her what to do. That extraordinary Berber woman had said that deceit would only delay her happiness! She was dressed in her pale green blouse and beige pants when he came to stand in the arched entrance to the guest quarters, a dark figure against the sunlight that reached down into the small courtyard, one hand outstretched to rest on the carved and painted plaster, the other low on his narrow hips. Josian looked up and saw him. Her

breath caught in her throat and she made an instinctive movement towards him when something checked her. 'You are quite recovered this morning, Natalie?' Jo, her pulses leaping, was suddenly terribly still, frozen with a kind of shock. There was something utterly remote and chilling in his voice. She had felt her heart fly out to him - she had been ready to follow it - she had - yes, she had expected that they would go straight to one another's arms. Instead, he stood there and asked coolly after her well- being. She stood rigid, her eyes fixed on him, the colour draining from her face. 'Yes, thank you, I am - quite recovered.' 'That is good. Then we shall say our farewells to the caid and continue on our way to En-Nakhla. For I am sure that you are impatient to find your lover.' Josian stared at him, stupefied. Her lover? And was he going to ignore what had happened last night? She simply couldn't believe it. He stood with his back to the light and she could not read his face at all, but she was still painfully aware that those dark inscrutable eyes of his must be able to discern in her face every fleeting emotion she was experiencing. She thought of how she had run across the moonlit garden last night and flung herself into his arms - And now he was going to say nothing. It was something he preferred to forget. Oh God, the shame of it! And for her, there were two alternatives. She could forget too, or she could make a kind of apology of her own blame it on something she was certain now had been in those cakes she had eaten, something that had relaxed her so much she had given way to what she wanted.

A moment's reflection decided her that she must do as he did, and forget. He would deduce that she had wanted his arms about her even if those cakes had contained hashish, or whatever it had been. But no matter what either of them pretended - it had happened, it was there, somewhere in both o£ their minds. For him, it was finished as well. Without a doubt, she was being given the brush-off, she was being turned over to her 'lover'. How far was it to En-Nakhla? she wondered. And she knew that however short the distance it was still too far for her to travel with Raymond Laurent, with this thing between them. Where there had been a touch of heaven in her heart there was now sheer hell. She said with an attempt at sophistication that hurt, 'I wish you would forget your - Galahad act, Monsieur Laurent. I shall be quite all right on my own.' He turned slightly and sunlight struck the side of his face. He looked, she saw with a shock of surprise, haggard, as if he had not slept all night And perhaps he had not. But not on account of her. No, it was more likely because he had not fully recovered from that harrowing experience in the desert of which he had told her so briefly. He said dryly, 'Kit Garrett has gone, Natalie. Apart from me, there is no other - knight - waiting to come to your rescue. Do you realize that you are in a kasbah on the edge of the desert? You are not even in a village. The people here are simple folk, partly nomadic, desperately poor according to western values. They cannot come to your aid with taxis, with telephones. They have,' he added tiredly, 'little more than dates to offer. So how do you propose to travel on to En-Nakhla? On the back of a donkey, perhaps?' Jo felt herself crimson. He confused her utterly. She no longer knew what she felt about him - only that she would have her tongue cut out rather than admit how much she had loved and desired him.

'You will come with me,' he said. Jo answered almost wildly. 'No! I'll wait for the taxi- driver - he may come here - he'll take me back to Tarfa. I don't - I don't want to go to En-Nakhla - it's no use now—' He watched her intently, coldly, but there was a glitter in his eyes, a fire. 'You became irrational. I think you need another little cake to calm you down, Natalie.' Jo bit her lip, half in fury, half in chagrin. So it had been the cakes! And he knew, though they had hardly - calmed her down, 'Are you quite ready?' he asked after a moment. Jo said icily, 'I've told you I don't want to go to En- Nakhla. It's too late - I've lost the trail, and you are quite wrong about Tony.' She faltered. She wanted to say, He is not my lover,' but it was too distasteful. She said instead, 'It can't matter a jot to you one way or the other, anyhow.' 'In that you are quite wrong,' he said shortly. He took a few quick steps into the room and stood no more than a foot from her. 'You have lost the trail, as you put it, Natalie, through some foolishness of your own, but you are going to pick it up again. I am ready to spend any amount of time and energy seeing that you do so.' Jo put her head up. 'You have no right to tell me what I am going to do!' His brows tilted quizzically. 'No? A little contemplation will remind you which one of us is in the better position to dictate. In any case, I too have a very good reason for wishing to find Tony Greyhurst.'

Josian looked at him disbelievingly - this man about whom she had become so impassioned last night, and who had now become a forceful, almost hateful stranger. 'Then tell it to me,' she challenged. 'Later,' he said briefly, off-handedly. 'As we travel, I promise you we shall put our two heads together and clarify the situation ... You are quite ready to depart?' His glance swept over her glitteringly, mockingly. 'Or do you wish to present your usual perfect image and change first into the sandals that match your pretty blue blouse?' 'My blouse is green,' said Josian, ridiculously and argumentatively, because it was the shade of beryl that verges on blue. "And I don't happen to possess those sandals any more -1 traded them in for a shawl for my sister.' 'Ah, your sister,' he said thoughtfully. 'You are still something of a mystery to me, Miss Jones. I wonder if I shall ever quite unravel it. I think you are really fond of your sister,' 'I am,' said Josian shortly, uncertain whether he was being derisive or not. She turned away abruptly to fetch her luggage. Her senses still whirled, and she hated herself, wished futilely that she had never even begun this adventure. It had seemed such fun, so irresistible, but it had led her to complete disaster. And how silly she had been earlier on, persuading herself to see truth in the predictions the Berber woman had made in the square in Marrakech! That had been mere wishful thinking - it was all just so much rubbish. Nothing could change the course of events. It was all as - as Allah willed it! Even as she followed Raymond across the small courtyard - now filled with such unbearable memories that she had to turn her head away from the flowers and reject the sweet scents that were almost as heady in sunshine as they were by moonlight - she was still protesting, trying to escape, yet knowing that never in a million years would she be able to get her own way with Raymond Laurent.

'I shall never find Tony now that I've lost the letter. Kit will - Kit has money - nothing will stop him—' She broke off, aware that she was babbling, incoherent, and he turned to grip her arm. 'Do not be so faint-hearted, Natalie,' he mocked, and it struck her vaguely that he had dropped calling her Jo completely. 'Love has a way of overcoming obstacles. En- Nakhla is not London or Paris - we shall find your friend, for I am determined on it.' There was nothing to do but go with him, and after he had taken her through another doorway to say good-bye to the caid, and to express her gratitude for his hospitality, they made their way back through the narrow, almost dark, winding laneways that led finally through the pise walls and to the Land-Rover. Once they were driving along the sandy track that wound through the long palm grove, Josian sat back in silence and tried to relax but she could feel tension in every nerve. A dream had become a sort of nightmare from which she could not wake. And when it was all over, she had a feeling she would be a long time recovering from it. It would be hard to tell even Francine all that had happened in Morocco.: 'You are wondering why Tony Greyhurst matters so much to me,' said the man beside her into the silence. 'And I must confess that my great regret is that he ever came to Maroc.' Josian had no idea yet what he was talking about, but she was inclined to see eye to eye with him there, at least. She too wished that Tony had kept away from Morocco, but now was not the time to say so. She would listen to Raymond first, and then she would tell him one or two things herself, and she thought he was going to be more than a little surprised to learn that Tony Greyhurst, far from being her lover, was not even aware of her existence! He had said with such emphasis that he was determined to find Tony that she knew she could not turn him

back. So she sat passively beside him and prepared to listen, and steeled herself against allowing that voice to beguile her anew. 'I have failed a little in giving you safe conduct through my country, Natalie, but my journey with you has had another object too. I look for a young Moroccan boy who has disappeared from his home in Rabat. A boy with a fine intelligence, a boy whose intellect this struggling country needs.' He paused and a quick glance showed her that his jaw was set grimly. 'A boy who has been persuaded to abandon studies that would take him to the university - by a thoughtless, indolent, selfish European.' He spoke with bitter emphasis and Josian's eyes widened. She did not know what she had been expecting to hear, but certainly it had not been anything like this. She heard herself breathe, almost fearfully, 'Tony?' 'Exactement, Miss Jones. Tony Greyhurst,' he said savagely. They had long before reached the end of the palm grove, and now on either side the desert stretched, empty, silent - low ridges of yellow sand that went on for ever, while far off on the ..horizon water mirages spread and shimmered - phantom lakes studded with tiny islands, with groups of palm trees, beautiful and unreal and beckoning. 'But why?' said Jo. 'And how— 'Why? How? Do you not understand that the youth of this country is torn in two? - particularly the educated youth of the towns, the youth that has come into contact with European living. There is the desire to help Maroc to her own maturity, her own prosperity. And there is the desire to have what you have. To discard ancient culture and beliefs and traditions and embrace the ways of Europe. But this is difficult opportunity does not often come, to most it comes never.' His brow

darkened. 'So when an immature Moroccan boy sees a doorway opening into Europe, how can he refuse to enter? How can he judge with his limited experience where it will lead? It is a temptation too great to resist...' Josian tried to take in what he was telling her, and for the moment at least she forgot her personal and emotional problems. Tony Greyhurst had somehow induced this boy to leave his studies, and the serious purpose of his life. It was thoughtless, selfish, and she supposed that Tony would be like that - even Natalie had admitted that he had too much money, and his letters hardly indicated a responsible maturity. 'Your - friend,' said Raymond, 'has given the boy money to accompany him on some senseless and purposeless journey through Maroc, as guide and interpreter. And I am told by Driss's friends that the boy hopes to make himself indispensable, to be taken to England where he imagines he will live in luxury - in the manner in which the son of a millionaire lives. He is young, impressionable. Mon dieu imagine it!' he exclaimed violently. 'A boy who in Maroc would study, would become dignified, worthy - but in your country would be' - he snapped his fingers - 'useless - nothing!' He was silent for a moment, and Jo stared out into the blinding glare of the desert sand. 'Naturally, I made inquiries through contacts in England as to what sort of a man Tony Greyhurst was. A playboy, I discovered. A young man who has never had to work - who apparently does not wish to work, to be useful An undesirable influence on a young Moroccan mind. Under the circumstances I shall not ask you to agree with me,' he added caustically. 'You are entitled to your loyalties.' Josian moistened her lips. Of course she did agree with him - and she wished he had told her all this before. She put her thought into words. 'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'I did not want the boy alerted. And - forgive me' - he shrugged, glanced at her cynically, 'I do not trust as blindly as you.' He continued after a second, 'The boy's father is dead. The old grandfather sees it all as the will of Allah. He accepts, he will do nothing. To him, a boy of seventeen is a man. And so it was to me that Driss's sister turned for help.' His sister. As he said the words, Josian was aware of slight shock, of forewarning, and instinctively her hand went to her heart and she looked away from the dark profile beside her to be dazzled once more by the sand. 'I have explained to you that I am just now free,' that faintly accented voice went on, and she heard it through a drumming in her ears - the pounding of her own blood. 'Ziza is a dedicated girl, she is devoted to both her country and her young brother. And so I promised—' He went on speaking but now Jo was hardly aware of what he said. For the moment she could think of only one thing. All this he was doing for Ziza. All this - 'ever since the first moment we met. And I am less than the dust.' Less than the dust. Had she ever thought he had offered her his help because she appealed to him in any way? Had she thought it was because, as he had said not once but many times, he did not consider it safe for a girl like her to travel alone through Morocco? She struggled with her thoughts, with a reasonless, blinding bitterness, and she tried in vain not to remember last night and her too ingenuous hopes. She was no more than a tool. All the time he had simply been making use of her. What a fool, what a simpleton you have been, Josian Jones! "Kit Garrett had used her too - he was being paid handsomely to do exactly what he had done - throw her (or Natalie Jones) off the trail - take charge of Tony Greyhurst's life himself according to Blyth Greyhurst's orders. He had flattered her,

helped her, pretended to be her friend. And Raymond - for purposes of his own - had warned her against him. Raymond had wanted to manipulate her himself. And of the two of them, it was Raymond whom Josian could not forgive - because it was Raymond who had got right under her skin, Raymond with whom she had fallen so hopelessly in love. And he thought only of Ziza. Of course she would help him now. She could not turn aside from the fact that Driss - Ziza's brother - must be found. It could be equally disastrous for him whether Tony actually took him to England or abandoned him here, in the desert. And Raymond, Josian somehow knew, would be able to persuade him back to a life that would become a worthy one - if he had the chance. She wished vainly that she had been told about Driss long ago. But Raymond had not trusted her. He had thought she might be as uncaring, as unthinking as Tony. Hardly a compliment... Her voice low, she said, 'Of course I will do my best to help you find Driss. But it may not be so easy. You see, there is only Tony's letter to tell me where to go next, and Kit has taken that. Though if there is to be a further message - if Tony isn't in En-Nakhla - then at least Kit will be having difficulties. Because he doesn't have the open sesame this little golden charm,' she finished hopefully. She unfastened it and drawing it from her throat dropped it into the hand he had held out without turning his head. He drove slowly, one- handed, along the perfectly straight sandy track - and she watched him as he examined the charm briefly. She looked at the lids that hid his dark eyes, at the glinting fringe of black lashes, at the slightly relaxed curve of his mouth. She was aware again of the worn and haggard look that somehow made him appear slightly vulnerable, and her heart beat fast with despair. For her, simply to look at him was to fall in love with

him all over again, and she longed to put her arms about him and her lips to his, to kiss away that haggard look— She closed her eyes and sat back with a faint shudder. 'A golden gazelle,' Raymond said thoughtfully. 'And it is the little charm over which you shed your tears that night in Ourida. I see now that it was doubly precious to you.' He handed it back with the briefest of glances, and as Jo fastened the chain about her neck and the tiny golden image slipped down against her breast, she could feel it was warm from his touch and her breath quickened. Somehow now she could not tell him the truth about Tony. It seemed better that he should think she was in love with someone else rather than that he should guess how madly she had lost her heart to him. A long silence fell between them. The journey became hot, monotonous, dreamlike, the air stifling. There was no shade at all, and not a scrap of vegetation to be seen anywhere - the only green those mirage palms that wavered hauntingly on the horizon. The heat of the sun beating down on yellow wind rippled dunes was intense, and devils of sand danced hypnotically across the track, Jo felt it was an effort to breathe - and, perhaps mercifully - to think. 'I puzzle still over one thing, Natalie.' Raymond spoke at last into the spell of silence. 'I am curious as to why you must find your way to Tony Greyhurst in this so bizarre way. It is simply because his parents do not want him to marry, as you suggested yesterday? They are so determined against you?' Josian nodded reluctantly, determined to say as little as she could. She said with casual, and she hoped convincing, brevity, 'They think Tony is - too young.' 'And you? They do not think you too young?' he queried dryly."

She coloured and shrugged. 'Yet you are going to marry - in sheer defiance of your lover's parents. Or is there a clever purpose in this strange game 0/ hide and seek that you are playing together?' he speculated shrewdly. 'Could it be that the disapproval is a far from passive one, and that you are using the natural love of parents for their child as a delicate instrument of blackmail? If they withdraw - shall we call it the benefits of being the son of a millionaire - then they shall lose their son for ever in the deserts of Maroc.' Jo's face paled, then flamed as guiltily as if she were really Natalie Jones. She writhed at what he said, yet he had hit on the exact truth uncannily. She had not thought of it that way before, but blackmail it certainly was. With a quick glance he had taken in her reaction, and continued sceptically, 'I think you must wish you had paid more heed to my doubts about your American friend, Natalie, and trusted yourself to me. At least we shared the same purpose, and by now you could very well have been back in the arms of your lover with your future - your bed of roses - assured.' Jo listened, sickened, weary. But one thing she did not have to continue to suffer and she said with determination, 'I wish you would please stop using that phrase. Tony is not my - my lover.' He had braked now and was bringing the Land-Rover to a standstill on the sandy track. When the motor had cut out there was utter silence. Not a thing moved in the desert landscape except those ghostly little spirals of sand that held Jo's gaze hypnotically. But they were still not as powerful as Raymond's eyes, and she was compelled after a mere moment to look at him again. His dark glance was on her with a calculating ruthlessness, and his lip curled as he said sceptically, 'Has it not occurred to you, Natalie, that my inquiries

about Tony Greyhurst brought to light also some information about you?' Jo felt a shock go through her heart. He reached into the back of the Land-Rover and produced the silver water flask and two drinking vessels. As she watched him unstopper the flask and pour the water, she could hear the pulses beating feverishly at her temples. It had not occurred to her that he would know anything about Natalie Jones, and now she was appalled at what he might have known. That winter in Cannes - and of course Natalie and Tony had bean lovers... 'Admittedly you were a surprise to me, Natalie,' he continued coolly, as with fingers that shook she accepted one of the silver cups from him. 'In fact, for a little time I even had doubts that you could possibly be the mistress of any man. You seemed simple, even innocent - Yet a woman versed in the arts of love knows also the art of drawing the veil... And the night you lost your golden gazelle, you used that art very skilfully. Even I was persuaded that it was innocence that made you retract at the very moment when you were ready to abandon yourself to me completely. I half convinced myself that you must be a sister - or perhaps some friend - of Natalie Jones. 'That "Jo" was not a soubriquet - a nickname.' 'You were right,' Jo wanted to say painfully. But her lips seemed paralysed, and anyhow it was too late. She felt herself caught in the web of fate, helpless - escape would only be escape when her association with Raymond had come to its absolute end. And that, surely, would be soon. He had paused to refresh himself with a draught of the ice-cold water. Then as he put the flask and the drinking vessels away, he went on coldly, rationally. 'Yes, to me you were an intriguing mystery. Lovely, passionate, yet possessing the charming and irresistible aura of innocence. You were like the feather of a bird, or the wing of a

butterfly, which turned to the light shows radiant colours. Then suddenly - the colours are gone and one wonders why one has been enchanted.' He stopped speaking for a full five seconds and looked deeply and steadily into her eyes, and Jo looked back, stunned, silent, her heart fluttering, fainting. Oh God, that he should know about that winter in Cannes - that he should think she was that kind of a girl. Unknowingly, she had accepted all of that when she had agreed to take over Natalie's search for her. And it explained a lot about the way Raymond had treated her. Even that time on the mountain— His eyes darkened suddenly. 'Last night, Natalie, when you flew to my arms with such desire, such lovesickness, I realized you were no stranger to passion and its fulfilment.' His lips curled ironically. 'I know now why it is that Tony Greyhurst is so determined to have you, despite his parents' wishes.' His glance had gone to her lips, and for a petrifying second Josian thought he was going to swoop on her and take her in his arms. With an all but silent moan, she turned from him. There was no way of explaining last night, and she wished only that she could awaken from this dream and find it was all over, vanished... She said, her lips dry, 'I think - I think we'd better continue our journey, Monsieur Laurent.' 'I think we had,' he agreed sceptically. He started up the motor, and as the Land-Rover moved onward once more, he said deliberately, 'It has been a - romantic pilgrimage for you, has it not, from first to last - with its little erotic adventures thrown in as a sideline. Very much to your taste, Natalie, no?'

They reached En-Nakhla in blazing sunlight, driving through a gateway into a tiny town even drier than Tarfa. The baked earth of the

square with its tiny waterless fountain threw back brazenly the heat of the sun, and the row of low, flat-roofed buildings showed blank faces that seemed to guard whatever secrets were there to be guarded. There was one small hotel - the Hotel of the Blue Men - which looked to be little more than a simple restaurant with a couple of rooms upstairs. Not another vehicle was parked in the square and Jo's heart sank. She had somehow expected to see Kit's car there, and now she wondered if En-Nakhla was no more than a general direction. When Raymond had parked the Land- Rover in a narrow strip of shade, she went into the Restaurant des Hommes Bleus to freshen up - if it could be called that - in the most primitive of washrooms. Her whole body felt gritty with sand, and the air was stiflingly hot. She looked for Raymond in, the restaurant when she emerged, but he was not there. They had had little to say to each other during the last part of the journey, and just now they had separated without a word. All the same, Jo had expected to find him waiting for her. But he had not bothered. Well, he was not concerned with her wants. And her appetite, if she had ever had one, had gone completely, though she was thirsty. Raymond was probably totally taken up with looking for Kit, and if he did find him - Kit was muscular, healthy, fit, while Raymond was still recovering from some harrowing experience in the desert. Yet Jo believed that if it came to brute force, Raymond would be the victor ... She shivered a little. He was a Galahad, but he was not her Galahad. All his. knight errantry was for Ziza and for his country 'Maroc'. Barely aware of what she was doing, she found her way down the narrow laneway that opened off the square. A few minutes of exploration convinced her that there was nowhere here that a car could be driven. The streets were built to take nothing wider than a donkey cart. She reached a small covered market place, swarming

with people. The goods looked poor and the people looked poor, and nowhere could she see Raymond. Off the market place another square opened, and here great piles of dates were spread out, and all around was a pink wall, inadequate against the sands. Jo passed through a gateway in the wall and was met by a hot wind that blew in across the desert Far away, through the blowing screen of sand, she could discern another small pink fortification and a few palm trees. Raymond was nowhere, and despite herself she felt a faint alarm. Out here in the wastes of sand behind the pink walls there were hundreds of donkeys - shaggy, bony, pitiful with their assortment of scrappy trappings and patched-up side baskets. Some of them were bawling in bloodcurdling voices and kicking up their heels. Further on there were camels, legs folded back as they rested in their ungainly way upon the sand, or standing patiently, perhaps with a foreleg doubled back and tied, as a kind of hobble. Around them, men were gathered, examining mouths, legs, feet, with an dye to buying. No one took any notice of Jo except a thin ragged boy, his face, legs and arms grey with sand, who approached her politely and offered to conduct her on a visite to a local kasbah - exactly where she did not know, and did not ask, for she had no time to be visiting kasbahs just now. She saw that the sand had blown in long dunes against the walls of the town, and she climbed up a slope and found herself unexpectedly standing on a rooftop of springy precarious-feeling pink pise and straw - looking down into the market place where piles of poor-looking vegetables and the usual trinkets and teapots and djellabas were being sold. Here and there men sat upon the ground in small groups, talking and smoking - hash, probably. There were women who looked like great bundles of sheets ready for the laundry, nothing human visible except for a pair of dark eyes at one end and sandalled feet at the other. And there were tall handsome 'blue men' from the desert, distinctive in their indigo blue robes, their black

turbans swathed around their faces as protection from the blowing sand. Josian could find no sign of Raymond or of Kit. She felt she had reached the end of the line, the race was lost. Somehow, Kit had gone on further and there was nothing to be done. But it was of the boy Driss she thought, not of Tony or Natalie. What would become of him now? It depended largely, of course, on what action Kit took. Had he merely wished to prevent Natalie from finding Tony, he could simply have destroyed the letter and played the innocent It followed, then, thought Josian, standing on the rooftop in 1 the hot sunlight, with the wind blowing, and staring down into the tiny, busy market place - it followed that his purpose was to deliver Tony over to his parents - in England? Or in - Casablanca or Marrakech or Tangier? In which case, what would become of Driss? He would be abandoned to his own resources - left in Tony's cushioned 'lair'... With a jolt, she realized that her eyes had found Raymond. He stood unmoving beside a tiny stall where minute hens' eggs, small cakes, dried lizards, cocks' combs, and a variety of other and unrecognizable objects were on display. This must be the tent of the magician, the medicine man. What on earth could Raymond want there? He might as well consult the local teller of fortunes! She saw a boy in a patched djellaba receive a small packet, then push his way through the crowd, and at that exact moment Raymond looked up as if Jo had called to him, his glance going straight to her where she stood on the springy, unsafe rooftop. Her long light hair was whipping about her face, and behind her, in that sandy waste, she could hear the sad donkeys bawling. It was a strange moment, with a touch of the mystic about it, and for a fleeting second she forgot the impassable barrier that lay between them and the fact that he believed her to be another girl, with another girl's personality and another girl's past...

And then she had turned and was running swiftly down the ramp of sand, appallingly aware of how much she depended on Raymond and of the feeling that she must reach his side, must not sense herself abandoned. She ran gaspingly through the heat, over the burning sand and towards the gate in the wall, where she all but fell against him as he came towards her, and his arms went swiftly around her to steady and quieten her. She looked up at him, and the sun that was a silver disc in a sky hazed with flying sand struck blindingly into her eyes. She had no time then to reflect on how bare and revealing was her expression at that moment. 'Calm yourself, Natalie. I have not deserted you. You should have waited in the restaurant. I have merely been making inquiries though I have been told nothing, your American friend has had ample money with which to ensure that tongues will not wag.' 'What are we going to do?' Jo asked tautly, moving away from those arms whose embrace and comfort she found unbearably painful. His dark brows rose. 'Now you look like a tragedy queen. But I have made a discovery.' 'You've found-Kit?' 'Kit?' He looked at her quizzically. 'Whose image do you treasure most, behind those golden eyes? That of the playboy - or that of the scoundrel?... Just now as I stood by the souq of the medicine man, a boy came seeking a cure for someone who is ill at the kasbah that lies behind the Gate of the Golden Gazelle.' Jo stared at him, her lips parted in a silent exclamation. 'The Gate of the Golden Gazelle!' she repeated, her fingers finding instinctively

the charm that hung against her breast. 'You think,' she half whispered, 'because of the charm—' 'It is a connection that must not be overlooked,' he agreed. 'Apart from this, I have made no progress with my inquiries, and many of these traders are nomads who have come in from the desert only for today, to sell their dates and to buy other goods. I shall go to this kasbah in any case, and learn what is to be learned. You will stay here in the restaurant - you will be quite safe.' 'No,' said Jo tautly. 'I'm coming with you.' 'You are so eager?' he asked mockingly. 'Or is it that you do not trust me - you think I shall leave you? Never fear - my Land-Rover must remain here, for I must reach the kasbah on the back of a donkey.' Suddenly Josian wanted to laugh with sheer excitement - and she had not felt like laughing in what seemed a very long time. 'Please let me come too.' 'I think not. It will not be a pleasant ride - the sand is blowing, the sun is hot, and it may all lead to nowhere.' 'But I must come,' said Jo, flushed and obstinate. 'And if someone is sick—' 'I can deal with sickness better than you. I have experience of the fever a man may have in the desert. You have not.' 'But—' she began to protest, and he said roughly, 'If it is Tony who is ill, you want to be there. Eh bien, if you must.' His fingers closed around her arm.

Ten minutes later they were both mounted on donkeys - pitiful beasts, and Jo was a little ashamed to be such a burden to so small and bony an animal, shaggy, sandy and somehow fragile despite its width, its large head and ears. She and Raymond followed a third mounted donkey away from the tiny desert town along an all but invisible track across the sand. Jo had tied her scarf around her head and across her mouth, but even so she felt her throat dry, and she knew that she was beginning to look as grey white as everyone else. She felt uncomfortable and far from glamorous, and yet it was a fact that all her senses were heightened. This had become a very special moment in time, something she would never forget. Even though she knew it was, in a way, the end of everything, she couldn't persuade herself to be utterly heartsick and despondent. She sensed too that Raymond's bitter contempt for her had been at least suspended, and the whole thing, as long as they were silent, had turned into high romance. She felt it through to her very bones. Ahead of her rode this desert dweller, in grey-white robes, his face swathed about with his turban. He sat sideways on the donkey as she did - though Raymond rode astride - and she could see his sandalled feet drumming up and down as she had seen the feet of numberless donkey riders do in Morocco. The small donkey plodded on with complete docility and resignation - he would get a tap on the nose if he did not behave himself. And Jo on her donkey - she looked at her feet in their beige sandals, and thought briefly of her green sandals and wondered who was wearing them now. It was fantastic to speculate on that, though a little sad too. She could just imagine them beneath some flapping silken djellaba, adventuring through the streets of the souqs, while she would be home in England and forgotten.

Her feet of their own accord had begun to drum up and down too and she wondered if Raymond from behind was watching her. Or was he completely absorbed in his thoughts of finding Driss - Ziza's brother? Meanwhile, the wind blew and the sand was flying, and she thanked heaven for the sun-glasses that protected her eyes. And presently she became a little preoccupied herself, trying to figure out what would happen when they reached the kasbah. If Tony was there, she suddenly realized, she was going to look a complete and absolute fool when he did not even recognize her. It would make it all terribly easy for Kit and Tony would be furious. As for Raymond - oh, how she wished now that she had told him the truth instead of imagining she could shelter behind the image of Natalie Jones! A pretty poor shelter it had been in any case. The track, which was marked with stones though they were mostly hidden under the sand, widened out a fraction and Raymond rode up beside her. She told herself firmly, 'Now is the time to tell him', and her heart began to beat fast and hard. Five seconds passed and she had said nothing. Why should he care one way or the other, she argued with herself evasively - so long as she led him to Driss? No, it was just not the time to tell the truth. Imagine it - stammering out her tale as they jogged along on two skinny donkeys whose ribs stuck out, whose sides were heaving in the heat, whose rough coats were thick with desert sand. For how long would she look back on this time in her life and wish it back - just to be here with him again, unspeaking but with him. She gave him a sudden sideways glance and found him looking back at her, and he sent her a wry kind of smile. The wind had snatched the scarf from her head and now its ends flew out behind her. She closed her eyes momentarily behind the sun-glasses, her breath catching. Oh God, that sun-tanned face, that - French mouth with the little lift at the corners - those dark eyes that burned with fires - that

broad-shouldered frame, that chest against which her own heart had beat only last night... What is life? What is it all about? Such moments of intense feeling that must vanish - vanish— 'It is not the most romantic way to go to the man you love, is it, Natalie?' Raymond said quizzically. 'On the back of a donkey. Perhaps you have dreamed of a beautiful Arab horse, or even of a camel. But never, I am sure, of a donkey.' 'Never,' Jo agreed wholeheartedly. Nor had she ever dreamed of riding across the desert sands beside the man she loved, both of them borne by the humble donkey, And it was all so funny and so sad that she wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry. Because when they found Driss - and Tony - then it would be the end.

A tear slid on to her cheek and dried instantly. It would leave its mark on the sand that was thick on her face, and soon she would wash that mark away. But the scar on her heart would take far longer to erase.

CHAPTER TEN WHEN they reached the small palm grove near the pink walls, Josian realized that the track by which they had come was not the only means of reaching the kasbah. Another considerably wider one came in from the north across the empty windy desert. Raymond, who had dismounted from his donkey, had seen this track too, and he was talking to their Arab guide about it, though as they spoke in Arabic, Josian did not understand a word that was said. She knew only that Raymond frowned as he helped her to the ground. She drew quickly away from the touch of his hands. She felt nervy and tensed up now, and she could not wait to go on. They were so close to the town and though she saw now that it was a ksar, a small fortified village, probably inhabited by partly nomadic tribes. Apart from the palm grove there were a few patches of barley outside the walls, but the whole atmosphere was one of hardship and struggle. The air was gaspingly hot as she moved ahead in the shade of the palms, making for a gateway she could see and leaving Raymond to arrange about the ride back to En-Nakhla. Amongst a few clumps of spiky dried-up grass, a couple of black goats wandered, and all along the wall camelthorn stretched, prickly and unwelcoming. She had reached the gate when Raymond ordered, 'Wait, Natalie. It is not this parte we wish - it is Bab el Ghezal, the gateway to the kasbah beyond. But I fear we have come too late and that you must steel yourself against disappointment. Your lover may well be gone.' They walked on together by the wall as he spoke, and Jo, who had removed her sun-glasses and wiped the marks of tears from her cheeks, looked at him questioningly. With a gesture he indicated that other track that could be seen through the palms, its stones glinting in the glare of the desert sun. 'That is the way we should have arrived. It joins the piste just beyond the kasbah

where we rested last night. It was not necessary to come all the way to En-Nakhla, and that is why we saw no trace of your American friend. He will have come - and conquered - and gone, if I am not mistaken.' 'But Driss,' said Jo. 'Do you think he will be gone too?' He looked at her curiously. 'Driss? You ask first about Driss? Yes, Natalie, I suppose that he will be gone too.' 'And it's all my fault,' thought Josian dismally. 'For refusing advice, for letting Kit charm me and steal the letter.' They had reached the end of the long wall that enclosed the ksar, and as they turned the angle a kasbah came into sight, across sand that was grown over with thorn bush where there were more black goats and a few ragged boys. Suddenly Josian stood still blinking in disbelief. There, not far from the gateway - the Gateway of the Golden Gazelle - standing in the full force of the sunlight and looking shipwrecked probably because one tyre was completely flat, was - Kit's car! Josian looked at Raymond triumphantly. So Kit had not gone. So Driss would still be there. And so, she reflected rather more sombrely, would Tony - who would not know her from - from Eve! Well, she would have to deal with it all when it happened, but for sure there was a showdown ahead of her. Raymond had said nothing and she followed him towards the gateway. It had sounded so splendid when he had said it - Bab el Ghezal. But in reality - heavens! if Natalie were here it would frighten her into a fit! Tony's kasbah, beyond the crumbling gateway of rose coloured pise, was a shambles. Derelict, its once beautiful walls decomposing, its slightly tapering towers with their bristling crenellations falling to ruin ... Jo stared at it half in dismay, half in

fascination. Little remained of the once rich ornamentation of deeply incised triangles and zigzig lines, of long recessed fake windows with tapering stepped-in tops. But where the decoration was still relatively unblemished, and where the sunlight created strongly contrasting indigo shadows, one caught a glimpse of how fine it must have been, perhaps long ago. But how could Tony live here? Raymond answered her unspoken question, and she realized he must have been following the unedited expressions that had passed across her face. 'Such a kasbah - deserted, uncared for - is the only possible place where a young westerner could install himself temporarily. Because of his money, Toqy Greyhurst will be tolerated. A little money is a great deal of money to these people of the desert, Natalie.' Natalie. Jo shivered slightly as they went through the gateway. They were in a courtyard where all that was left of a garden was a single tamarisk and a tall palm. Around the courtyard were several dwellings, each with its colonnaded terrace, its upper storey, its ornamentation. But the ground was strewn with fragments of pise, and there was only one dwelling that looked in the least habitable, and even there the upper storey was falling apart from neglect and weather. What an end to her journey - her search! How could Tony have ever asked Natalie to come here to find him? It was utterly ludicrous. In fact, Jo simply could not believe that Tony himself was here. There was such a heavy silence. But a minute later as she followed Raymond through a wide doorway into a cool interior, she stood open mouthed in amazement. What a contrast! Carpets, lush and silky and rich; divans heaped with silken

and brocaded cushions; a low carved table that held a great silver tray and the elaborately engraved silver teapot with its accompanying vessels that were used for mint tea. Columns supported a ceiling that was made of the long straight trunks of palm trees, and these columns had been newly plastered and painted with intertwining leaves and flowers. It was, in fact, a proper love nest. And leaning against awall that was hung with a sleek and lustrous carpet was a two-stringed instrument a gimbri. 'I shall lie at your feet playing seductive music on the gimbri until you tumble moaning into my arms.' Jo stood transfixed, imagining she could hear strange twanging music, a voice singing weirdly, resonantly.: , But there was only silence. Or almost silence. Someone was breathing. Slowly, shallowly, as if from a too heavy sleep. Josian's eyes flew to Raymond's face. He too had been standing thoughtful, and utterly still. Now he moved forward, pushed aside a flimsy muslin curtain worked with gold thread that hung across a doorway, and Jo followed him as one in a trance. Now the air was acrid, faintly smoky. And on a low divan in a room whose floor, whose crumbling walls were almost as richly draped as in the room they had just left, a boy lay. A boy whose black hair showed above the heavy striped camel rug that covered him. He was huddled under it as though he were cold, and while Josian stood speechless and faintly appalled, Raymond strode swiftly forward and stooping, drew back the heavy covering a little. 'Is it - Driss?' Jo whispered. And the man told her almost tersely, 'Yes. He has a fever - but it is passing.' He straightened after a minute and

looked about him, and now Jo saw in a corner, smoking on a charcoal under an iron grid that was probably used for cooking, the curling shape of a scaly lizard skin, partly burned away. Surely the skin that had been bought that morning from the magician in En- Nakhla. 'What can we do for him?' Jo asked, still whispering. Raymond shrugged. 'There is nothing to do now.' He indicated the smouldering lizard skin wryly. 'The fever has been treated. Driss does not need our western drugs... Will it be too much to ask you to wait here Natalie, while I go to find your - friends?' 'Of course I'll wait,' said Jo with cold dignity. She had noticed a silver jug that held water. 'If he wakes, shall I give him water?' 'Yes. I promise you I shall be away no longer than is necessary.' In a moment, she was alone. Alone with the boy who was the brother of Ziza whom Raymond loved. He lay there exhausted, unconscious in a deep sleep, his breathing unnervingly audible in the silence, the faint smoke hovering like a visible presence over the room. Through its acrid scent she was aware of another lingering scent - that of incense such as she had experienced in the souqs. She had seated herself on another divan that was little more than a thick mattress laid upon the floor, having first wiped some of the sand from her face with a clean handkerchief, and poured herself a cup of water from the silver jug. Now as she sipped the water slowly she looked across at the sleeping boy - at Driss - and wondered. Here amongst the rich hangings that concealed walls that were crumbling away, he looked young and defenceless. He had been ill, there was no doctor, and he had relied on - magic, to help him. And it had helped him. He was a Moroccan boy. And however much he hungered after the ways of Europe, it was clear that his whole being was deeply

imbued with other beliefs and superstitions that went back hundreds of years. Jo set her cup on the floor and leaned back on the cushions, determined to forget that she had some very awkward moments ahead of her. She would deal with it somehow. All too soon she would be home in England with Francine and all of this adventure would be no more real than those mirages that danced so entrancingly over the desert distances. As for what would happen when Tony came and her deception was uncovered - that was in the hands of Allah. The thought released some of the tension she was feeling, and she drew a deep breath and looked about her curiously. All this luxury that concealed decay - there was something symbolic in it. Musingly, only half aware of her thoughts, she related it to Tony Greyhurst. He had so much - and yet he had nothing. Had Driss discovered that? she wondered. Here in this deserted kasbah, Tony had created a love nest, and here he had waited for the girl he desired - a girl who had not come, though he did not know it yet. Jo had the curious feeling that there was something make-believe about it all that Tony was play-acting. It fitted in with his melodramatic secrecy, with those unreal letters he had written - to a beautiful girl whose eyes were hard and worldly, who had vowed since she was a schoolgirl that she was going to marry a millionaire. He had made that girl his mistress, and yet he did not seem fully grown up. All this was . an adolescent fantasy. 'His parents are right,' she thought. He was not ready to marry - not anybody, certainly not Natalie who was so old in the head... She was startled when into the silence a voice spoke in French. 'Ziza - I am thirsty.' It was Driss, and his eyes were opened unseeingly although they were fixed on her. She scrambled quickly to her feet, poured water from

the silver jug and took it to him, steadying his hands on the cup while he drank. Then he sank back on the cushions again, and his dark liquid eyes, his lustrous black hair, his smooth lightly brown complexion reminded her poignantly of Ziza. 'Will you forgive me, Ziza?' His hand reached out to her and she let the slender boyish fingers close over hers. 'I am sorry that I caused you pain ... You have seen my little pupils? It will please you that I have helped them with their studies - they have so little, and they know so little. The English boy has money, but he does not know its use.' He broke off for a moment and his lips curved bitterly. 'The American monsieur could not wait - they left me here—' His voice became indistinct, a mere babble, his eyes glazed over and closed, his fingers fell from her hand. Jo stayed where she was for a little while looking down at him compassionately. He had been disillusioned - and now he thought he had been deserted. But Kit's car was there, he and Tony were somewhere about, soon Raymond would return with them, and then the whole thing would blow up. She moved restlessly round the room, and it was the smoke from the burning lizard skin that made her eyes water, it was not tears... When Raymond returned a little later, he came alone, and Driss was sleeping more peacefully. Jo, who had been tensed up ready for a showdown and who knew that her cheeks were hectically flushed, felt a flood of relief. She had not looked forward to being confronted by three enemies, two of them she had deceived, the third - Tony - who could not be deceived. 'Where - where are they?' she asked stammeringly.

'They are gone, Natalie. Monsieur Garrett's car has broken down -1 can only marvel that it brought him here at all - and they have taken Tony's jeep.' 'And left Driss alone with a fever?' Jo burst out indignantly. 'With no one to look after him but some simple boy who - who burns lizard skins to cure him—' Raymond shrugged. 'It is not quite so bad as that,' he said, his look quizzical. 'There is a woman who brings meals from the ksar - Driss will not die of neglect, but he will learn a hard lesson ... You are not unduly upset that your lover has been snatched away? I regret that I have not been able to learn where he has gone. Perhaps when Driss is recovered a little he will be able to tell us and we shall be able to follow, but just now I cannot offer you my help.' So now she was stranded here with Raymond. It would be both heaven and hell, and her confusion showed plainly in her eyes. Should she tell him that it didn't really matter to her where Tony and Kit had gone - that she was not Natalie Jones? Yet there was no need to tell him now - no point in it. He need never knowShe said stiffly, 'Please don't worry about me, Monsieur Laurent. It is Driss you must think of. I can - I can look after myself.' The corners of his mouth curled. 'Such independence!' he mocked. 'But you are right, of course -1 must think first of Driss, and he cannot be moved today. We must stay here for tonight at least - perhaps tomorrow night too.' Jo's pupils dilated. Stay here with Raymond? Impossible! She said rapidly, 'I should prefer to go back to En-Nakhla. I can stay at the Hotel of the Blue Men - please—'

'You do not relish the thought of a night or two here with me? It would remind you too poignantly of Tony who has set the stage for a love drama with you.' One eyebrow tilted. 'He is the only man whom you wish to play the lead in your love scenes? Yet I would have sworn you were relieved rather than distracted to learn that he is gone.' Those jungle green eyes were studying her deeply, pitilessly, as though they would rout out all of her secrets, and she was forced to turn aside, her lashes hiding her eyes. 'I would prefer to go to En-Nakhla,' she said, and tried to put a note of cold finality in her voice. 'Is there - is there a donkey available?' He looked amused. 'You do not smile when you ask me that, Miss Jones? Yet you have always struck me as a girl who found a secret and even girlish amusement in the smallest of things. But I shall not tease you. Yes, there is a donkey available - we must speak of donkeys and not of taxis here, n'est-ce pas? And if you insist, then I shall ask Mohamed to escort you across the sand.' 'Thank you,' she said with dignity, but her heart was beginning to flutter in her breast maddeningly. She did not mean t6 stay at the Hotel of the Blue Men unless it was absolutely unavoidable. If there was a vehicle of any kind, be it broken-down motor car or merely a donkey cart - or even a camel! - going out from En-Nakhla, then she would be on it. She would - she would hitch her way back to, Tarfa somehow, she thought wildly - anything to escape from Raymond, to get away from this fantasy world and back to everyday living and being plain Josian Jones, with nothing more exciting in her past than a broken heart and a love affair that didn't ever even get off the ground. Raymond could continue to think she was Natalie Jones. He would never know what had become of her and he would not care. Perhaps he would not even wonder. He would go back to Marrakech and Ziza and his work and live happily ever after.

He let her go alone, and she was thankful for that, though at the same time she felt a dull despair in her heart. He did not know that she would have left En-Nakhla before he was ready to depart with Driss, but she was sure it would be so. She felt in her bones that the cards would fall her way as they had done so often when she needed good luck. He walked with her to the palm grove where they had left the . donkeys. Mohamed was there as they said their farewells. For Jo, it was a good-bye that was for ever. For Raymond it was a lighdy tossed-off au revoir. Jo had to put her sun glasses on to hide the tears in her eyes, and then she made a business of climbing on to the donkey's back, and simply refused to look at him again. She longed, as the donkey plodded slowly forward into the sunlight and away from Raymond, to turn and look back, but now the tears were running down her cheeks and she looked rigidly ahead. Good-bye for ever... When she reached En-Nakhla there was actually another car parked in the square beside the Land-Rover. Great, thought Jo, determinedly bright. The car was empty, but she found a courtly though shabby Moor in the restaurant who spoke French, and told him what she wanted. The car belonged to a merchant from Marrakech who had come to buy dates, he said, and he promised to make inquiries for her. After he had gone, she sat alone at a table, drinking the sickly sweet mint tea. Strangely, she felt quite safe. No one at all came to stare at her, even covertly, and she might have been invisible. When her Moorish friend returned it was with good news. The merchant would be leaving early in the morning, and he would be very pleased to take her with him. Meanwhile, there was a nice room upstairs and he had taken the liberty of engaging it for her. He asked her no questions, but she was aware of the speculation in his eyes as he looked at her pretty clothes - rather soiled now - and she felt a momentary flicker of apprehension at what she had done, and she wondered what sort of a man the date merchant was.

She felt still more apprehensive later when she met the date merchant: It was late in the evening, she had seen the hotel proprietor, who spoke neither French nor English, and been conducted to her room, which was almost bare and not spectacularly clean. Raymond had given her a spare set of car keys and a Moroccan boy had moved her two bags into the hotel room. There appeared to be nowhere to wash except the primitive room downstairs off the restaurant, and she had to do her best with that. She had changed into her white skirt and floral tunic and left the heat of her room, meaning to take a walk around the town, when the merchant spoke to her. He was turbanned, robed, and very friendly, and he stood far too close to her. She could smell his breath and she supposed he had been smoking hash as they all did. His eyes were lambent, even amorous., and it was sickening to realize that he was the man with whom she had contracted to drive all the way to Marrakech, She was mad - it was totally impossible. She thought with relief of Tarfa.: There she would opt out and wait for a bus to Ain el Ourida - and from there she could take another bus to Marrakech. It would be a tedious journey, but still, s. He asked her to take dinner with him later and Josian begged to be excused, saying she did not feel very well. 'Ah, I have a cure for digestive upsets,' he offered with a sly smile, and Jo with an inward shudder said that she already had some tablets* She escaped from him with relief and continued through the restaurant which was also the entrance to the hotel, and into the late sunlight. It was almost dark when she returned from her walk and she was hungry, but now she could not eat at the restaurant. She wondered if perhaps later, when the merchant - she could not remember his name - had dined, and gone upstairs - Oh God, she thought with sinking heart, he would be sleeping in the only other room, the one next to hers, but thank heavens there was a bolt on the inside of her door -

perhaps then she would be able to have something. Something innocuous-looking so that if he should find her there she could explain it away as a little light meal. Crossing the square, she looked at the two vehicles parked there and wished with all her heart that it could have been in Raymond's car that she was to return to Marrakech. She had failed in her mission for Natalie, and she couldn't yet even let the other girl know what had happened. The minute she reached Tarfa, she would telephone through to Marrakech. She didn't think Natalie would be exactly biting her nails with anxiety - not while Richard, who was lonely since he had lost his wife, was there.; It occurred to her now that it would really be as well for Tony if Natalie did switch her affections to Richard. She was in complete accord with his parents - he was not ready for marriage. However, it didn't look as if Natalie would have a choice now - 'Thanks to me,' thought Josian wryly. Whereas Tony, thwarted and possibly confronted by at least one of his parents, would be keener than ever. Well, he would not be the only one with a broken heart... She thought a little about Kit. She supposed that his visits to the post office had been to keep in touch with Blyth Greyhurst - who quite possibly by now would be flying over to Casablanca. How, Josian wondered, would Kit have persuaded Tony to leave the kasbah? Would he have used brute force - or some sort of cunning? She supposed she would never know. It was doubtful if even Driss would know what had happened, for what had he told her in his delirium? 'The American monsieur would not wait - they have left—' Well, at least he knew something… Her efforts while she walked not to think of Raymond had tired her, and she went upstairs to her room, bolted herself in and lay on the hard uncomfortable bed and somehow or other fell asleep.

She was wakened by sounds in the next room. So the date merchant was there! She moved warily, switched on the weak light and glanced at her watch. It was after eight o'clock. He must surely have eaten by this, and despite her aching heart she was painfully hungry. She brushed her hair and made herself look as presentable as she could, then taking care not to make any noise, closed her door and went quietly down the dingy stairs. It appeared that there was no choice of what she could have to eat, but at least she could eat, and she sat down at one of the bare-topped tables in the unpretentious restaurant, and presently was brought a bowl of stew - the boy had called it tajin. Tough cubes of meat in watery gravy, enriched by a few broad beans and pieces of potato. There was also a slab of bread. It looked - and tasted - unpalatable, but she was hungry and she ate. Some sound made her look up. Raymond Laurent came towards her from the door that led into the darkness of the night. He stood and looked down at her in more than slight amazement. 'You are enjoying your meal, Miss Jones?' he asked with a kind of polite curiosity. Suddenly Josian became aware that she was chewing and chewing on a piece of mutton - or was it goat? - that was so tough it was indestructible. She wanted to laugh - she coloured — and looked back at him as without asking her permission he seated himself opposite her. 'I am hungry,' she said with dignity. He uttered a low laugh. 'You are a mystery,' he said.

Jo looked at him a little aggressively, because now that he was here she could no longer eat, and her heart persisted in speeding up its action. What was the sense of saying goodbye for ever and then discovering that you would have to go through-it all again? And how could a heart that had hurt - that had died - be so joyful now? 'What are you doing here?' she breathed, laying down her knife and fork and abandoning her so-called tajin. 'I came to make sure that you are safe. Driss is sleeping, he is much better. Did you think I would be satisfied to leave you here alone without even coming to kiss you good night?' he added, a mocking note in his voice. 'You need not have bothered,' said Jo, refusing to look at him. She crumbled a piece of bread and remembered that her face was completely bare of make-up, that her skirt and tunic were more than a little mussed because she had slept in them. She felt somehow vulnerable, exposed. 'I am perfectly safe. I do no not need your—' 'My good night kiss? Is that what makes you blush, Miss Jones?' His dark eyes scrutinized her and she could not escape. The room seemed suddenly very empty, very silent. Somewhere, the Moroccan boy who had brought her dinner was loitering, and she wondered if he wanted to take her plates away, to get through with his work. But here in Morocco it was different from in Europe, and the boy was quite possibly happy waiting and amusing himself watching the foreigners. Jo ignored Raymond's gibe. 'I was going to say, I don't need your ministrations. And I may as well tell you that I have arranged to leave in the morning.' He gave a quick frown. 'With whom?' he asked sharply.

Jo put her head up. 'With a date merchant from Marrakech. You must have seen his car outside.' 'You act impulsively, like some silly schoolgirl,' Raymond rapped out. 'I thought you had learned your lesson. You have - met this date merchant?' Jo nodded. 'And you are satisfied?' Again she nodded - defiant now - and at that exact moment, the merchant himself appeared. He sidled across the room and sent Jo the most lascivious look from his shining dark eyes before he vanished in the direction of the washroom. Jo swallowed, and crumbled some more bread. 'So that is your date merchant! You surely need looking after! But your worldly wisdom, Miss Jones, tells you that you will be safe with him, that you will be able to hold your own? Let me tell you again, it will be no trouble to me to take you to Marrakech. I shall be taking Driss there to see his sister before he returns to his studies in Rabat.' 'I would rather - make my own arrangements,' insisted Jo in a voice that was scarcely audible. 'Come now.' His eyes were intent. 'Is it not time that you talked to me frankly? Do you not remember what the fortune-teller said? It is your deceit that lies between you and happiness. Look at me - with those great eyes that are like golden flowers. Do you know that I can read every thought behind them?' Jo's lashes fell and her heart was beating wildly. She shook her head. 'You can't,' she vowed, her voice low. Then compulsively she looked up at him and he switched from teasing her to something quite other.

'Driss's fever has passed from him - Jo. He told me that the American monsieur has taken Tony to Marrakech to meet the girl he loves. The assignation is to take place at the very hotel where you were staying. What do you say to that?' For a moment it all meant nothing. Jo's mind was completely blank. And then suddenly she laughed aloud. Oh, poor Kit! He was in for a bit of a shock when he found that Natalie was actually there! She wondered if possibly Blyth Greyhurst would be there too - and even Richard, the suave and handsome widower. What an unholy mix-up it was going to be! But she had a feeling that Blyth was going to get his way, that Natalie would settle for Richard, and that Kit was going to look a fool - and serve him right! But Tony - poor Tony - Well, he was young, like herself. He would get over it. In time. Raymond watched her in silence. 'So you are amused,' he said thoughtfully at last. 'I wonder why? Some time you must explain it all to me ... Meanwhile, Miss Jones, this is hardly the place to talk of love.' Jo was jolted into absolute and stunned seriousness. 'Of love?' she repeated, blinking. He leaned towards her and when he spoke his voice had that wooing and seductive note she had long ago noticed. 'That is why I came here - to talk of love. I have known you only a few days, but I love you to destruction. Miss Jones - Natalie - Jo - it no longer matters to me who you are -1 can no longer persuade myself you are anyone but the girl I have come to know. All that matters is that your golden eyes look at me as they do, and I must believe what they say.' Jo said, 'What - what do they say?' Her voice was husky. She added wildly, 'They don't - they don't say anything. I know about Ziza—'

'Hush. You know nothing, Miss Jones. And your eyes tell me that—' He pushed back his chair abrupdy. 'Come, I have said we cannot talk of love here.' He drew her to her feet and she walked with him in a kind of dream out of the Restaurant of the Blue Men and across the tiny square of En-Nakhla with its waterless fountain and through the arched gateway. Above them stretched the true desert sky, deep, eternal, indigo blue, hung with stars that blazed like diamond chips caught in some invisible web. And the moon - Jo stared upward, dazzled. It was a moon that no earthman had ever visited. It was a shining pearl that swung high above the tapering "tower of the mosque. Before them stretched the desert, its dancing devils laid to rest with the coming of the night. They paused in the sharp shadows of a group of palms, and the fronds clattered softly in the faint wind. Raymond took Jo in his arms and kissed her, and for a sweet endless moment she was back in that inner garden of the kasbah. Finally he put her a little from him to say laughingly, 'Now tell me your name, cherie.' 'Josian,' she whispered, 'Josian Jones.' 'Then Tony Greyhurst—' 'I've seen him once,' she admitted, as his fingers caressed her cheek, and she looked up at this shadowy face, the darkness of his eyes, the curve of that very French mouth. 'And Natalie?' 'She was one of the older girls at school. We met by chance in Marrakech and I—'

'Accepted a slightly hazardous and very romantic adventure on her behalf?' 'Not - exactly,' said Jo slowly, thoughtfully. 'It just seemed to be - the will of Allah that I should become involved and—' 'And so meet me - and learn to love?' She nodded sombrely, her eyes on his face. 'You have come a long way to find your love, my little Josian,' he said softly, drawing her towards him. 'Insh'Allah- you will never regret it. Some day you must tell me why you laughed when I told you where Kit and Tony had gone. But just now I do not greatly care about anyone in the world excepting you.' 'Not - Ziza?' she breathed half fearfully. 'Ziza I love as I would a sister. You I love with my every breath, with every cell of my body, with every part of me. You are my unreachable star, my dream. My flower, my heart's desire...'. Their eyes met again for a moment, and then she was back in his arms.