a time, but the very nearness of that big masculine body in the close confines of the car made her as jumpy as a cricket. Did he really find her attractive? she asked herself silently as the car purred on. That last look he’d given her, there had been something in the slumberous depths that had caused her lower stomach to tighten in immediate response, and she had hated herself for it, hated herself without understanding the reason why. But then there was nothing she did understand at the moment anyway, she told herself flatly. She was a mess.
They reached the small airfield where Gerard’s private plane was kept amid a cloud of dust, and it wasn’t until she was airborne, with Gerard at the controls, that she thought to ask about the location of Marrakesh. Everything had seemed so unreal, so nebulous, since she had woken up in the hospital that she still was finding it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t in the grip of a dream...or a nightmare.
‘Marrakesh?’ Gerard’s deep voice was thoughtful. ‘Let me see. Well, it is the most African city of Morocco, at the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains due south of Casablanca. The region is dry but water has been piped down from the mountains into reservoirs, so a bath will be no problem.’ He eyed her fleetingly, his expression searching and she flushed hotly. It was just as if he had undressed her.
‘We have the normal old and new side by side,’ he continued, after the twist of his mouth informed her he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Modern agriculture, training schools and various industries as well as a camel market every Thursday that dates back into ancient history, and a fair in the great square of Djemaa-el-Fna that involves snake charmers, magicians, jugglers, acrobats and even the odd medicine man demonstrating miraculous cures in their bottles. I’ll show you around once you are settled in; there are some wonderful medieval palaces and monuments—’
‘No, there’s no need for that.’ She had interrupted him so abruptly that she hastened to qualify her refusal. ‘I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all, Mr Dumont, you’ve been very kind and I’ll be gone within a day or so—’
‘Gerard.’ Suddenly the handsome face was intimidatingly cold and harsh, the profile flinty. ‘And please do not try to spare my feelings. Colette will do just as well as your guide.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
He interrupted her again, his voice dry. ‘I know exactly what you meant; you neither like or trust me so let us leave it at that. I hope you will be reassured when you reach my home but, as you so graciously pointed out, it will be a matter of days until this matter resolves itself so your opinion of me is really of no importance to either of us.’
She deserved it. She knew she deserved it but nevertheless the icy autocratic tone made her see red. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said tightly, her voice tense. ‘If it’s any consolation I don’t understand why I’m acting like this, but when all’s said and done I didn’t ask to come with you, did I? Why did you insist—?’
‘I am damned if I know,’ he bit back angrily.
‘Well, just turn the plane round and take me back to Casablanca—’ she began furiously, only to stop abruptly as she realised the import of what she had just said. Casablanca? Why had she said Casablanca? The accident had happened on the streets of Essaouira, hadn’t it?
‘Casablanca,’ Gerard repeated thoughtfully at her side, obviously catching the importance of her words too. ‘I think we should perhaps ask the police to direct their enquiries more specifically in that city, yes?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head wearily, the spurt of rage dying as quickly as it had flared into life as she stared down at the white cotton trousers and neat coffee-coloured blouse that had been pressed and cleaned by the cheerful little nurse at the nursing home. Some time, in another life, she had actually chosen these things, walked into a shop and made the purchases of her own accord. How could she not remember?
‘I will take care of it.’ He spared her a quick glance, his face expressionless. ‘And I do not intend to eat you alive, my thorny rose, but for the sake of my sanity, if not yours, could you please refrain from the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof syndrome? My ego is beginning to feel a little fragile.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at her hands miserably.
‘So you said.’ The deep rich voice was cynically mocking again and immediately the guilt she had been feeling was replaced by hot anger. A fragile ego? Him? Not in a million years.
The fierce heat of the day was dying when they reached the huge strip of ground on the outskirts of Marrakesh which formed part of Gerard’s estate. As he taxied the light plane into the hangar she saw a beautiful white Ferrari parked some distance away, its tinted windows and enormous side grilles proclaiming it a Testarossa. ‘Your car?’ She gestured resignedly towards the magnificent vehicle.
‘My car,’ he agreed gravely, his voice bland. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s very nice.’
She heard a snort at her side and turned to see that he was surveying her with a dark frown, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he drawled slowly, the relaxed tone belying the sharpness in his eyes, ‘for some reason you disapprove of the car.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Why do I get the feeling that if anyone else had owned it you would have given it the appreciation such functional beauty deserves?’
‘I said it was very nice,’ she protested carefully, aware of the truth in his words, ‘but a car is just a car, isn’t it? A grown-up child’s toy?’
‘A toy?’ He shut his eyes briefly after killing the engine of the plane, and then opened them slowly, the narrowed slits gleaming gold. ‘There is a six-year waiting list for this toy, as it happens.’
She hadn’t noticed the middle-aged Arab standing to one side of the hangar but now, as Gerard jumped down from the plane and reached up to assist her, she saw the hangar doors being closed before the small man hurried across to them.
‘Assad...’ The two exchanged greetings and then Gerard turned to her, his face relaxed and smiling now. ‘This is my great friend and man of all trades, Assad. You would not have noticed him at the time, but as chance would have it he was just entering my office building when you were attacked and saw it all,’ Gerard continued quietly, ‘not that it proved much help in the event. He speaks French, Spanish and Arabic but little English incidentally. None of my house staff does, unfortunately.’
‘Oh.’ She stared at them both feeling completely out of her depth, and as she turned away to glance again at the Ferrari she missed the softening of Gerard’s mouth that indicated he was aware of just how she felt.
‘The house is just a few hundred yards away but I asked Assad to bring the car in case you were tired. Shall we?’ He indicated the car with a wave of his hand. ‘Assad will see to the plane and follow shortly.’
She found, as she walked to the car, that she was tired, a deep exhaustion taking hold of her body and mind that made even the smallest response a superhuman effort. As Gerard held open the door she climbed slowly into the luxurious interior, her head pounding. ‘Thank you.’ She raised dull eyes to his and saw him frown slightly before he left to walk round the bonnet and slide in beside her.
‘You need a warm bath and plenty of sleep,’ he said levelly as he nosed the car out of the hangar and along a dry dust road towards a mass of trees in the distance. ‘Both of which will prove no problem at Del Mahari. My home,’ he added at her glance of enquiry.
‘Del Mahari?’ She let the foreign name slide over her lips. ‘That sounds nice.’
‘It means “Racing Camel”,’ he said expressionlessly, although she was sure there was a thread of amusement colouring the deep voice. ‘My father enjoyed the sport, although I prefer to keep horses rather than camels. I find the latter singly unattractive creatures and more than a little bad-tempered, although that trait is not confined to camels, of course,’ he added smoothly as he kept his eyes fixed ahead. She glanced at him warily, knowing it was a gibe at her but unable to respond