Buch lesen: «Dark Oasis»

CHAPTER ONE

‘KIT! Where on earth are you? Everyone’s absolutely frantic here and David’s been tearing his hair out. As well he might! Are you all right, for goodness’ sake?’

‘I’m fine.’ Kit took a long, deep breath. She didn’t even want to hear David’s name. ‘It’s over between us. Did he tell you?’

‘Yes.’ Her friend’s voice was scathing. ‘He’s such a fool, Kit, he always has been, even if he is my brother. To mess about with Virginia of all people—Virginia! Never has a name been more un-apt, or at least the first six letters.’

‘Emma...’ Kit closed her eyes briefly and prayed for her voice to sound cool and calm despite her racing heart. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. I found them in bed and our engagement is over. That’s it. End of story. Now, I’ve arranged for my half of the rent for our flat to be paid—’

‘But where are you?’ Emma interrupted urgently. ‘You wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’

‘Of course not!’ Her voice had risen and she breathed deeply before speaking again, her tone a few decibels lower. ‘I’m having a short holiday in the sun to think where I’m going to go from here, that’s all. I’ll contact you in a week or so, OK? Bye for now and take care.’

She put down the receiver and leant back against the small booth in the hotel lobby, shaking violently. The brief phone call had brought David vividly to mind and it was as though his face were there in front of her, his mouth a snarl as she had faced him in the doorway of the flat they were buying together for their intended marriage four months away, Virginia’s naked body hidden from her sight now behind the closed bedroom door that he had slammed shut as he had raced after her. ‘Damn well listen to me!’ He had pulled the towelling dressing-gown more tightly round him as her large grey eyes flicked disgustedly over his rumpled appearance.

‘There is no point, David.’ She was working on automatic, she knew it, but she blessed the shock that was keeping her from disintegrating in front of him. ‘And I think this belongs to you.’ As she deliberately removed the diamond engagement ring from her finger and held it out to him, his pale good-looking face flushed red, a hint of unease and panic replacing the aggressive bravado with which he had met her stunned face.

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he spat angrily. ‘You’re not throwing me over because of that?’ He flung back a contemptuous hand towards the closed bedroom door through which she had walked so innocently minutes before. ‘I was just easing myself; she was available—Kit!’ He caught hold of her arm and she was made to turn without a word. ‘Kit, you can’t mean it? We’re getting married, we’ve got this flat, furniture, everything—’

‘Keep it.’ Let me get out of here with a little dignity, she prayed desperately. ‘Keep it all.’ She was tall at five feet ten, her slender figure carrying an unmistakable air of cool composure, and she had never been more glad of it as she met him eye to eye, her mouth curling with contempt. ‘I wouldn’t marry you now if you were the last man on earth.’

The torrent of abuse that followed her as she made her escape polluted the very air, mixing with the picture on the screen of her mind of Virginia’s sprawled naked limbs beneath David’s heaving thrusting body, and now, as Kit relived the sickening episode, she felt the need to breathe in some fresh clean air. As she left the pleasant coolness of the air-conditioned building and stepped into the Moroccan heat, it was like stepping into an oven, the iridescent blue sky shimmering with heat Casablanca. Kit squared her slim shoulders as she walked towards the little red convertible she had hired for her stay, pushing the bitter hurt and painful humiliation back into the closed box in her mind. She’d face that, and the tangles that would undoubtedly ensue over the little design business Emma, David and herself had started eighteen months ago, later. Enough of licking her wounds; today she was going to explore, and if tonight in the quiet of her room she cried hot, angry tears again, well...only she would know.

She travelled southward along the Atlantic coast from Casablanca making for Essaouira, meaning small fortress in Arabic. The hotel manager had fired her interest, explaining that the large harbour in the town had been used for thousands of years, ancient Romans frequently visiting to obtain a brilliant colouring material produced from shellfish and used for dyeing their robes purple. Ancient cannons still lined the main street and, after wandering its length, she turned into a quieter area. But, then, just as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a warning about the footsteps behind her, a heavy blow on the side of her head turned the light into splintered glass, and as her shoulder-bag was wrenched from her arm she fell. Fell into a hot blackness that seemed to race up from the dusty ground to consume her.

She came out of the buzzing whirl of unconsciousness slowly, very slowly, aware of a sick pounding in her head that dominated all her senses and made her limbs like lead. ‘Can you hear me? Try and open your eyes.’ A deep male voice and a cool hand on her burning forehead registered on her bruised mind, but as her eyelids fluttered in obedience the piercing light drove them instantly shut. ‘No matter. I am going to lift you now but you are perfectly safe. Do you understand me?’ She couldn’t reply, and in the next instant she was being carried. She knew she ought to try and open her eyes again, to speak, but somehow it was so much easier to slip back into that soft enveloping darkness...

‘Try and hang in there this time.’

‘What?’ As she forced her heavy lids open, the cool shadowed room made it easier to fix her wavering gaze on the hard male face in front of her.

‘You have been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last few minutes.’

He was dark and magnificently male, his voice the one she had heard before. The accent teased her mind. French? Italian perhaps?

‘Just lie still and try to concentrate on my face only until the dizziness stops,’ he continued softly. ‘OK?’

It was more than OK. If Michelangelo’s David was beautiful, this man’s face was stunning. His gleaming hair was a thick tawny brown worn unusually long, almost down to his shoulders. High, hard cheekbones, straight nose and sensual, almost cruel lips below eyes that were the same tawny gold-brown as his hair completed a picture of such aggressive, vibrant masculinity that Kit felt her toes begin to curl.

But who was he? And where was she? And why did she feel so desperately ill? ‘Please...’ As she tried to struggle into a sitting position on the wide leather couch on which she was lying, he moved quickly, his body carrying the same powerful grace as a beautiful wild animal.

‘I said lie still.’ His voice was firm and cool. ‘You’ve received a nasty blow on the head so just take it easy.’

‘I have...?’ As her voice trailed away on a little gulp, she felt hot tears of weakness and pain prick against her eyelids seconds before he spoke again.

‘And do not dissolve on me, not yet.’ He fixed her with that hard tawny gaze that reminded her of the piercing stare of one of the big cats watching its intended prey. ‘I need to know your name, hotel, something. You are a tourist, I think?’ His voice was cool and steady and quite unemotional.

‘A tourist?’ Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. ‘I don’t know.’

A tourist? The panic that had been at the back of her mind ever since she had opened her eyes began to claw at her throat with strangling fingers. She could be a tourist. She could be anything. She didn’t remember.

‘Just relax.’ He saw the naked horror in her eyes and recognised it for what it was. ‘You’re clearly concussed, which is not surprising in the circumstances. Unfortunately the animal that did this to you also took your bag, so we have no identification to help us. I was hoping when you awoke you could provide a few answers but as it is—’ he shrugged massive shoulders slowly ‘—the police will have to sort it.’

As he leant towards her she cowered instinctively into the bulk of the couch, flushing as he eyed her sardonically with cool raised eyebrows before wiping her face and mouth gently with a damp perfumed cloth. ‘As I said, relax’

He stood up from his crouching position at her side and it registered on her just how tall he was, well over six feet, inches over, and with a powerful hard frame that would win first prize in any Mr Universe competition. ‘My name is Gerard Dumont, by the way,’ he added lazily as he folded muscled arms to stand staring down at her impassively. French. Yes, she should have known. ‘And you are...?’

‘I...’ Her voice trailed away as her eyes widened. ‘My name... I don’t know it.’ She raised agonised eyes to the gold of his. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

‘This is not a difficulty; do not panic.’ The pronunciation of his words and correct English in that broken accent was incredibly attractive, she thought faintly as she struggled for composure. ‘The bump will heal and then you will remember.’ He smiled suddenly and she drew in a hard short breath of air. He was something. He really was something. Did he know the effect he had on women? She looked into the darkly tanned handsome face silently, mesmerised by her own unaccustomed helplessness and vulnerability and the frightening loss of memory. She had to try to remember. She must remember something. ‘The police are on their way, incidentally.’ He eyed her lazily. ‘It would seem you were perverse enough to be, how you say, mugged at the same time as a rather large jewellery robbery was under way in the middle of the town. Needless to say, you were not considered the immediate priority.’

‘Oh.’ Her head felt as though it was going to explode any minute. ‘Where am I?’ It was the ultimate stage response to fit the situation, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a less unsubtle rejoinder.

‘In my office.’ The gold eyes narrowed a little. ‘Can you not remember anything at all? Look down at your clothes; they may produce a spark. It would be preferable to the mountain of questions the police may ask. Subtlety is not their strong point here.’

She glanced down at her legs stretched out in front of her encased in light white cotton trousers, the cut impeccable, and tried to focus her whirling thoughts into some sort of order. Her feet were shod in slender coffee-coloured sandals that matched her waist-length blouse exactly, and again she noticed that both items seemed expensive. Well, fine. She obviously wasn’t destitute, but who on earth was she?

‘No.’ She sank back against the couch and shut her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry.’

When the police arrived a few minutes later she discovered one thing; she couldn’t speak the language. Fortunately the two police officers seemed quite fluent in English but she couldn’t tell them much, repeating the same thing over and over again until her head spun.

‘I think the lady needs to see a doctor,’ Gerard cut into the interrogation after a time, his hard face autocratic.

‘Do I have to go with them?’ She looked up at him, her large grey eyes suddenly terrified at the thought of leaving the only person she had any knowledge of, albeit a slight one, in this strange country.

‘You will be quite safe.’ His tone was slightly abrupt, preoccupied, and she noticed as he spoke that he glanced at the heavy gold watch on his wrist before meeting her eyes, a small frown wrinkling his brow.

‘I suppose I will.’ She wasn’t aware her voice was sharp, but he couldn’t have made it more clear that she was an awkward inconvenience and everything in her rose up in immediate opposition. ‘You must be a very busy man, Mr Dumont; please don’t let me keep you. Thank you for your kindness.’ The words were grateful, the slight edge to her voice anything but. And then he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time and grey eyes met gold, the former defiant, proud and very dismissive and the latter narrowed with surprise. ‘Have you finished for now?’ She spoke directly to the older policeman, a plump hard-faced individual in his middle fifties with eyes of stone. ‘Then if you wouldn’t mind taking me to the nearest hospital, we’ll sort things out from there.’

Was she used to directing people like this? she asked herself faintly as she stood gingerly on her feet, her head thudding. It didn’t feel unnatural so she supposed she must be. She felt terrified, sick and desperately helpless but this man Gerard had made it perfectly plain he didn’t want to get involved, and she was blowed if she’d beg—she’d sort it out herself. She suddenly had the feeling she’d been doing that for a long, long time. Tears prickled under her eyelashes again and she blinked them away quickly. She’d cry later.

‘Look.’ Gerard steadied her with his arm round her waist as she stood swaying in the cool, air-conditioned room. ‘Please do not misunderstand me. I have an important appointment, that is all. I—’

‘Thank you, Mr Dumont.’ She moved out of his hold on trembling legs and offered him a slim hand, her chin high. ‘I hope you won’t be late...’ As the blackness took over again she just heard him growl something in muttered French that sounded incredibly rude as she fell, and then there was nothing, nothing but this soft enveloping darkness that cushioned her buzzing racing senses in the thick blanket of unconsciousness.

She awoke to the sterile neutrality of a small white room that smelt of antiseptic and carbolic, and the realisation that she had tried to surface several times before from the crazy world she had inhabited for the last little while, a world of whirling images and alien voices all of which were dominated by grinding, unrelenting pain in her head. But there was no pain now. She moved her head slightly on the hard pillow and winced as a flash of something hot spiked into her brain. Well, not if she kept still.

There was a buzzer connected to a long wire lying on the white counterpane next to her right hand, and she pressed it carefully before her eyes moved to the small narrow window at the end of the room. The grey light filtering through the louvre blinds suggested it was either dusk or dawn and she realised with a little dart of anxiety that she had no idea which it was. Or where she was. Or—and here the thought became a hard thudding in her chest—who she was. She shut her eyes tightly and prayed for calm. She remembered falling in that hot dusty street and hitting her head on the rough jagged kerb. She remembered being helped into a cool shaded room and she remembered... Her thoughts stopped abruptly. Yes, she remembered Gerard Dumont. And then, as if her mind had conjured him up, the creaking of the door brought her eyes open and there he was, closely followed by a small nurse.

‘Ah, you are awake.’ The smile was as devastating as she recalled and her limbs turned to water. ‘The doctor thought a few hours’ sleep would put you to rights.’

‘Did he?’ She glanced round carefully as she hitched herself up slightly in the bed, finding that if she moved slowly her head still belonged to her. ‘I’m in hospital?’

‘Just an overnight stay,’ he said coolly. ‘And do not start imagining the worst. You have concussion and—’ He stopped abruptly.

‘And?’ But then the nurse took over, popping a thermometer in her mouth which stopped further conversation as she took her blood pressure with bright impersonal efficiency.

He leant back against the wall as the nurse went about her ministrations, arms crossed and big body relaxed as he watched her with tawny narrowed eyes. She found his presence incredibly unsettling, and as her cheeks began to burn so did her temper. Surely he didn’t have the right to be in her room like this? This was a hospital, for goodness’ sake. And she didn’t even know the man. She’d be having a bedbath next to complete the indignities! And he had wanted to be rid of her.

As soon as the thermometer was out of her mouth she spoke carefully, her eyes veiled. ‘I appreciate your help, Mr Dumont, but perhaps it would be better if you left now? I don’t want to inconvenience you further. I’m fine and this is a hospital, when all’s said and done—’

‘A private nursing home actually,’ he corrected coolly, levering himself off the wall, with a nod and a smile to the nurse as she left, and walking lazily over to the side of the bed to survey her with an expressionless face. ‘And as I am paying the bill, I do not foresee a problem.’ He knew exactly how she felt about him, she realised with a little shiver.

‘You’re...?’ She stared aghast at the tall figure watching her so closely. ‘But why? There are hospitals here, aren’t there? I mean—’

‘I know what you mean.’ He smiled, but there was no warmth in the twist of his mouth. ‘And before that active little imagination runs riot, let me assure you that I have no designs on your body.’ There was something almost contemptuous in the gold eyes as they ran over her slender form under the white bedclothes. ‘I prefer my women with a little more meat on their bones and definitely more submissive.’

I bet you do, she thought angrily as her eyes sparked. I just bet you do. And I’m glad you know I don’t like you!

‘Nevertheless you asked for my protection before you passed out at my feet, and that is exactly what I have given you, so please do not agitate yourself.’ The hard gaze was piercing as it roved consideringly over her hot cheeks. ‘Also the hospital here is perhaps not quite what you were used to in—England? Do you come from England?’

‘I think so.’ She stared at him as the anger drained and the enormity of her problem took hold again. ‘I must do. I look English, don’t I?’

‘To the tips of your feet,’ he assured her gravely. ‘And your demeanour is all English.’ Somehow she felt it wasn’t a compliment and again her temper was ignited.

‘What exactly does that mean?’ she asked hotly.

‘Cucumber-cool and twice as self-contained,’ he said smoothly, the dark tanned face slightly amused at her indignation. ‘You do not like this description?’

‘I can live with it,’ she returned shortly, and then felt immediately ashamed of her ingratitude. But then...she didn’t trust him, not one little bit. Why would a complete stranger pay for her to be cared for in a private hospital anyway? There was a catch here, she just knew it. Or was she generally just distrustful of people and men in particular? she asked herself silently. She didn’t know, she just didn’t know. The panic rose hot and fierce.

‘Is there a mirror anywhere?’ she asked weakly, as she glanced up from her musing to find the strange gold eyes intent on her face.

‘You look delightful—’

‘I don’t care what I look like,’ she said sharply before wincing as the pain shot through her head again. ‘I just want to see...to see who I am,’ she finished miserably.

‘Of course.’ Suddenly the hard face softened. ‘I will call the nurse to take you to the bathroom in case you should feel a little unwell again, yes?’ He paused as he walked over to the door and turned again, his eyes searching her white face slowly. ‘You will remember soon, little one, have no fear about that. The police are making enquiries and soon someone will notice you are missing.’

‘But perhaps I’m here by myself?’ she said weakly. ‘Perhaps I’ve rented a place even? I could have.’ She stared at him, her eyes wide and the pupils unnaturally dilated. ‘I could have a child waiting for me, pets, anything. I don’t know, do I?’

‘This is true,’ he said gravely, ‘but if you try to remember too hard I think it will be even more difficult.’

‘That’s all very well for you to say,’ she said tightly. ‘You aren’t me, are you? Not that this would have happened to a man, I suppose,’ she added bitterly.

‘You think the male sex is impervious to being attacked?’ he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing at the look of resentment darkening her face.

‘Not necessarily, no.’ Her eyes met his again. ‘But you sure as hell have things your own way most of the time. Women are just appendages of a man’s ego, that’s all...’ Her voice trailed away as she realised what she had said. What had made her feel like that? She felt something large and dark looming in the background and shut her eyes tightly. She had to remember.

‘I will fetch the nurse.’ She didn’t look up as he spoke, and as the door shut behind him she opened her eyes slowly as she sank back against the pillows. This was a living nightmare and one from which there was no awakening. She put her arms round her middle and hugged herself tightly as the panic clawed at her stomach, sending it churning sickeningly. She was exposed, vulnerable, helpless... Her heart began to thud crazily, and when the little nurse knocked and entered in the next instant she could have kissed her, so pleased was she to have another human being in the room to counter the monsters in her mind.

She was quite steady on her feet as she made her way along to the bathroom on the arm of the nurse, and after insisting that the small Moroccan girl wait outside and promising twice not to lock the door, she walked gingerly over to the cloudy square mirror above the small white washbasin and peered at herself with bated breath.

A pair of large, grey, darkly lashed eyes stared back at her nervously and then continued their inspection of the reflection. Small, straight nose, a somewhat wide generous mouth, she noted wanly, and all set in a clear skin that was real peaches and cream. Thick, sleek, chestnut-brown hair with more than a touch of red in its silky depths gave an explanation of the freckles scattered across her nose, and the short bob was expertly cut, complementing the fine features and upward tilt of her chin. Altogether reasonably attractive, although she would never win any beauty contests, she thought slowly, and it didn’t mean a thing to her. It could have been the face of anyone, the face of a stranger. What was she going to do? She sat down on the loo and put her head between her hands as she tried to think. She was all alone in a foreign country... or at least she thought it was a foreign country. For all she knew, she lived here. She groaned softly. Surely the police would find out something soon? They had to, this was horrific. And that man, Gerard Dumont. Why did she have this feeling that she had to be rid of him at the earliest opportunity? That he spelt danger with a capital D? Could she trust her instincts? They were the only thing she had right now.

He was waiting m her room when she returned with the nurse, his big frame stretching lazily as he stood up at their approach, his whole demeanour casual and relaxed but his eyes hawk-like on her face as she passed, although he said not a word as the nurse settled her back into bed.

‘I fetch the breakfast, yes?’ The small girl smiled cheerfully. ‘And then you feel a million dollars with plenty of zow?’

I wouldn’t bank on it, Kit thought silently as she smiled a dutiful response as the nurse left the room.

‘The police phoned.’ Gerard Dumont settled himself back on the stool by her bed that he had vacated a minute before, and she raised her eyes reluctantly to his. ‘No luck yet, unfortunately; it would appear you are the mystery girl. The doctor will be along shortly to examine you, but if all is as he thinks there is no reason why you cannot leave this morning.’

‘To go where?’ she asked blankly as her mind raced. Was there a British embassy near here? But then she wasn’t even sure she was English.

‘Well, I do have an idea there as it happens,’ he drawled slowly, lifting dark brows as he watched her carefully, his face cynical and cool. ‘But maybe it would be better for you to eat your breakfast first and—’

‘I would prefer to hear anything you have to say right now,’ she said firmly, her chin setting at a determined angle that brought an amused gleam into the glittering gold-brown eyes trained on her face.

‘As you wish.’ He stood up abruptly, walking over to the small narrow window and lifting the blind aside so that a shaft of sunlight spilled into the austere room, catching a million tiny particles in its radiant light. ‘I was going to suggest that it would seem logical for you to remain resting somewhere until either you regain your memory or the police find out who you are, yes?’

‘I suppose so.’ She glanced at the broad back warily. ‘And?’

‘And that would pose a problem, or at least an embarrassment, as you have no money that I know of?’ He turned to face her, his eyes slits of gold light.

‘You know I haven’t.’ She stared back, hard. ‘But I can assure you that once all this is sorted out I will reimburse you for every penny you’ve spent—’

‘Do not be ridiculous.’ This time his voice was harsh, and she blinked twice before opening her mouth to respond, but he continued swiftly. ‘The money is incidental, as I am sure you are aware. I was merely stating facts.’

‘Well, now you’ve stated them I still don’t understand—’

‘It would seem practical for you to be my guest until you are recovered sufficiently to take charge of your own affairs,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘There are several guest-rooms at my home in Marrakesh, and as I am a prominent and well-known figure in business circles I am sure the police would be happy to—’

‘You must be joking!’ Tact and diplomacy fled out of the window as she reared up in the narrow bed like a small lioness. ‘You must think I was born yesterday, Mr Dumont! So that’s what this has all been about, the private room and so on! Well, if you expect me to pay for my expenses in the fashion that is as old as time, you can forget it, mister! I know your sort—believe me, you’re far from being unique! I’d rather spend the next few days, weeks or months in a prison cell if necessary compared to what you’re suggesting. Just what do you think I am—?’

‘I think you are a very absurd young lady.’ The icy voice cut short her passionate outburst as though with a knife. ‘Impolite, churlish, ridiculous... Need I go on?’ He was angry; she couldn’t believe how angry. ‘Do you seriously think that I am so short of female companions that I have to spirit one away to my home—is that it?’ He wasn’t shouting, in fact his voice was very controlled and infinitely cutting. ‘If you want me to be brutal, I do not find you sexually attractive at all. The offer was one of friendship, from one member of the human race to another in distress. That is all. That is all.’ He glared at her and took a long deep pull of air before continuing. ‘Now you have made your feeling perfectly clear, and so I will—’

What he would or would not do they never found out because at that moment Kit’s control finally snapped. The flood of tears and sensation of utter and absolute desolation blinded and deafened her to everything but her own misery, and as she raised her hands to cover her face, her body shaking helplessly, she could hear the sound of her own wailing but could do nothing to control it.

‘Mon dieu...’ His voice was a low growl but the next moment she had been lifted wholesale out of the bed and on to his lap as he sat down on the ruffled covers, holding her tight as he swayed back and forth as one did soothing a devastated child, his voice low and soft now and speaking a crooning stream of endearments in French of which she understood not a word but found infinitely comforting to her terrified mind. And she was terrified, she acknowledged faintly as the hard male bulk of him banished the frantic fear for a time. Nothing, nothing could be worse than this monstrous, gut-wrenching dread that she would never remember who she was again, that she would be left in this strange, alien half-world where even her own face was that of a stranger, with no memories, no recollection of a past life and with only an empty, uncertain future to look forward to.