of desert between the rocks and the camp, and entered the small community of bungalows. The oil company had provided every amenity for its men, even to the extent of mounting a swimming pool, the water of which was rarely cool but always refreshing. There was a canteen, but some of the men preferred to cater for themselves. Jason was one of these, and as he also had rather a good cook-boy in the person of Ali, he managed very well. He had known Ali for several years, first meeting him when he was working on the Gulf. Since then, Ali had visited a great number of places with him, but he always liked to return to his desert birthplace.
As he reached the office building where the paperwork of the site and its accompanying pipeline was maintained, his second-in-command, Graham Wilson, came dashing out to meet him, waving his arms about vigorously, obviously desiring Jason to stop.
Jason brought the Land-Rover to a halt, and wound down the window, reaching for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his cream denim shirt.
‘Yeah!’ he said resignedly. ‘What now?’
Wilson wrenched open the door of the Land-Rover and slid inside. Glancing round rather surreptitiously, he said: ‘How are things with you?’
Jason frowned. ‘Could be worse. Why?’
Graham Wilson hunched his shoulders. ‘Get an eyeful of that, over there!’ He pointed towards a low-slung black limousine, now sadly covered in fine dust but still magnificently designed.
Jason looked, put a cigarette between his lips, and as he flicked his lighter, said: ‘Who’s arrived?’ rather laconically. He didn’t feel he had the strength to instil himself with any more annoyance today, not after the last couple of hours with Sheikh Mohammed.
‘Mannering!’ said Graham dramatically.
‘Mannering!’ echoed Jason, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. ‘What in hell does Mannering want? I thought he left it to me to deal with this!’
‘Not Mannering, senior,’ exclaimed Graham, with the air of one who is imparting a confidence. ‘Paul Mannering! And he’s not alone, either. He’s brought his – er – secretary with him!’
‘God Almighty!’ Jason stared at Graham disbelievingly. ‘That little punk out here! What in hell for?’
Graham half-smiled. ‘I thought you’d be pleased, Jason. Wait till you get a load of the secretary, though!’
‘I’ll get a load of nobody!’ snapped Jason violently. ‘For heaven’s sake, Graham, is old Mannering going out of his mind? Sending that pip-squeak out here! But why? Why?’
Graham shrugged. ‘Well, as I hear it, old Mannering’s cut up rough about the way Paul’s been living. You know what I mean. Anyway, there was a cable came, just after you left for Abyrra, announcing that he was sending Paul out here to learn the oil business from the bottom up. He said he’d be getting in touch with you to give you a fuller picture.’
‘Decent of him!’ muttered Jason savagely. ‘But where does this secretary come in? I mean – does Daddy know about her?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Graham, shrugging. ‘Quite honestly, I can’t believe he does. But I’m not grumbling. It’s so long since I’ve seen a white woman—’
‘Pack it in, Graham,’ said Jason bleakly. ‘It’s exactly three months since you saw a white woman. Besides, remember you’ve a wife back in England!’
‘Just because I’ve bought a book doesn’t mean I can’t join the library,’ retorted Graham, with a grin. And then: ‘Anyway, it’s not my problem. It’s yours.’
Jason nodded. ‘Where are they?’
‘In there.’ Graham jerked his head back towards the office building. ‘I didn’t know what else to do with them until you returned. Coming to meet them?’
Jason shrugged and then slid wearily out of the vehicle. ‘Do I have any choice?’ he questioned dryly. ‘Okay, okay, let’s go. But I could surely use a shower and a change of clothes.’
Graham led the way up wooden steps into the air-conditioned office building. They entered a long narrow hallway with several doors opening from it. Graham opened the first of these and they entered a room of generous proportions entirely dominated by the heavy desk that stood square in the centre of the polished wooden floor. Perched on a corner of the desk was a young woman smoking a cigarette and passing the time by blowing smoke-rings into the air. At the far side of the desk a young man was standing staring through the meshed grill of the window, but he turned abruptly at their entrance and gave Jason a derogatory glance. ‘Well, well,’ he remarked, rather sarcastically, ‘Wilde himself! Surprise, surprise!’
The girl had slid off the desk now and also stood regarding him, a strange expression in the depths of eyes that were amazingly green. They were set in a face that while not possessing actual beauty held character and animation, and Jason understood why Graham had been so enthusiastic. Honey-gold hair hung to her shoulders, and was at present controlled by a wide band round her head. She was wearing mud-coloured levis and a cream shirt, and the masculine attire accentuated rather than detracted from her femininity.
‘Well,’ said Paul Mannering again. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Jason? I gather from Wilson that you didn’t know we were coming.’
‘No, I did not,’ agreed Jason, folding his arms and regarding them coolly, his cigarette between his lips. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me first of all why this young woman is here. You – we can leave till later!’ There was insolence in his tone.
Paul Mannering’s face flushed with colour, but the girl didn’t turn a hair. She merely took a final draw on her own cigarette, blew a couple more smoke-rings, and then stood on the stub, almost defiantly. Jason felt angry. How dared Harold Mannering send his son out here without warning, with or without announcement? Who the hell did he think he was? Why should he, Jason, have to make a man out of a layabout like Paul Mannering? And what was more to the point of the infuriation he was feeling, how dared Paul Mannering bring his current girl-friend with him, just for kicks? Surely he knew his father wouldn’t stand for that!
‘This young woman is Nicola King,’ said Paul now, his colour subsiding a little, and a belligerent expression taking its place. ‘Contrary to the lurid ideas that are buzzing round your brain she is not my responsibility. She’s all Dad’s.’
Jason’s brows drew together in a dark scowl. ‘What does that mean?’
The girl moved, and a half-smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘It means, Mr. Wilde, that I am what I told your Mr. Wilson I am, a secretary, nothing more, nothing less.’
Jason gave her a scathing look. ‘And what are you doing here, Miss King? Inter-Anglia needs no secretaries in the middle of the Abyrra desert. Or has Mannering taken leave of his senses? After all, sending Paul out here is hardly the action of a sensible man!’
‘You watch your tongue,’ snapped Paul Mannering angrily.
‘I’m not a contortionist,’ muttered Jason, taking his cigarette out of his mouth. ‘Miss King, suppose you explain a little more!’
Nicola King stretched, drawing attention to the curving slenderness of her body. ‘Mr. Wilde, we have been travelling since early this morning. I am hot and tired, and as we have been hanging around here for the best part of two hours waiting for you to return I don’t think it’s unreasonable to request that we be allowed a shower, a change of clothes and something to eat before feeling inclined to answer your rather obvious questions. Believe me, my reasons for being here are strictly non-social. If I had wanted an exciting life, I would hardly have chosen an oil drilling rig, miles out in the desert, where the heat and the flies and the total absence of civilized pursuits make my toes curl!’
Jason’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. She had more confidence than Mannering’s son, even if he had had a public school education and delighted in making the headlines with one or