The Desert Castle (19 page)

‘
The Nabateans, who came up from Saudi Arabia bit by bit and replaced the Edomites at Petra, worshipped their god
Dusares
up there. They probably adopted him from the Edomites as well as their country. His name means “He (Lord) of Shera.” Shera is the same word
as
Seir, by which name the district was known in the Old Testament Jehovah, or Jahweh, the god of the Hebrews,
was
also said to be He of Seir, and to inhabit
rock
called Beth El, the House of God. Dusares was symbolised by a Mock of stone, so they may have started out as the same person,
’
Gregory told her.

‘
But why a rock
?’
she
asked.

‘
The Israelites weren
’
t particularly artistic, and the same was true of the people on the
“
other
si
de of the Jordan” as well. Besides, they were trying to get away from the Egyptian brilliance in this field which to them
s
ymbolised the oppression and the false gods they had escaped with s
o
m
e
difficulty. A block of stone was far more acceptable as it represented the likeness of nothing in heaven above or on the earth beneath. The Nabateans, who were artistic, probably inherited the taboo as they inherited so much else from the Edomites.
’

‘
But the Hebrew god—
’

‘
It took
time
for God to reveal Himself to mankind,
’
Gregory
said
sardonically.
‘
The rock idea lingered for quite a while.
‘‘
The Lord is my rock, and my
fortress, and my deliverer
;
The God of my rock
;
in him will I
trust
.”
Haven
’
t you heard that before? And when
Mohammed entered Mecca in triumph he found the temple there surrounded by three hundred and sixty idols in the form
of
blocks of stone and pillars, which he overthrew. It wasn
’
t by chance that the three great monotheistic religions came from the Semitic people. They too had the same beginnings, not only their gods. They are all the sons of Abraham: some through Isaac, the son of Sara; and some through Ishmad, the son of Hagar.
’

‘
I suppose so.
’
she
said. She saw the bored look on Jean-Pie
rr
e
’
s face and her conscience smote her. It had been nice of him to come and
she
had done nothing so far to entertain
him.
She set herself to draw him out to the rest of the meal, asking about his work and his family, and making he
rself take
an interest in his replies.

B
ut
she
scarcely heard a word he said. With Gregory there, no other man seemed quite real to her. Would it be like that for the rest of her life? She could shut her eyes and see him as
cl
early as she could with them open. She could see the way his dark hair curled into his neck; the ste
rn
line to his mouth; the hardness of the line of his jaw; and, most of all, his observant navy-blue eyes that she sometimes thought could look right inside her and read her thoughts as easily as she could herself.

S
he must have made a better job of looking as though she was drinking in every w
or
d Jean-Pierre said than
she
had thought, because there was no getting rid of him after lunch. He followed her round the castle, never moving more than a few yards away from her, and at every turn Gregory seemed to be there, watching them with a superior amusement until Marion could have
sl
apped him—and Jean-Pierre too for making her feel such a fool.

T
here was no sign of Gaston and Lucasta anywhere. If
they had
been going
out, Marion wished they
had taken Jean-Pierre and her with them. Anything would have been better than the awfulness of trying to make him drink tea like a civilised person in the drawing
room, a habit which he considered barbaric and English, especially when he had quite another entertainment in view.

‘
You wanted me to come, no
?
’
he whispered in her ear.
‘
You
asked
for me to come
?
’

‘
Only because I didn
’
t want to play gooseberry by myself
!
’
she
retorted.

‘
Play gooseberry? What is that
?
’

S
he explained the term.
‘
Lucasta is only seventeen and it
’
s my job to lo
ok
after her,
’
she finished somewhat primly.

‘
But you are not seventeen! You were never meant to be a gooseberry,
ma petite
Marion. You were meant for much better things than that. Lucasta, she is well enough for Gaston, but you are far too pretty for anyone else but me!
’

‘
Jean-Pierre, I—
’

‘
You are shy,
a
little, no? But no one is shy of me for long. A few kisses,
ma mie
,
and you will forget all about your shyness.
’

H
e would have suited the action to the words, but Marion excused herself hurriedly and rushed out of the room. She stood in the darkened hall of the frescoes, trying to catch her breath and wondering what to do next, when she heard Gregory talking to Abou Hanim outside. The Bedu had his transistor radio by his side and the sounds of one of the famous Umm Kalthoum
’
s endless songs came clearly to her. She peeped out through one of the shuttered windows and saw the two men squatting in the dust, side by side, listening intently to the recorded voice of that most loved Middle Eastern singer. It was as if a spell had been cast on them by this latter-day idol from Egypt.

M
arion smiled to herself. Seeing the effect Umm Kalthoum had on her au
di
e
nce,
she
had no difficulty in believing that the British had rated it of first importance to guard this extraordinary siren during the war, in case
she
should
fall
into Rommel
’
s
hands and
be used by the German propaganda machine. She could bend and sway the emotions of men for hours at a time, as one of her songs, “You are My Life”
(
Anta
U
mr
i
)
which lasts for one hundred and sixty minutes, in its own right bears witness.

I
f Gregory was going to hear her out, she could safely take refuge in his study until Jean-Pierre tired of waiting for her and thought of something else to do. Gregory couldn
’
t possibly have minded her going into the room where he worked, but it still felt like trespassing to Marion as she opened the door and slid inside. She turned her eyes away from the pages of the book he was writing on his desk and filled in time going from one to another of the ikons on the wall, studying them in detail while there was no one there to watch her.

A
fter a while
she
forgot Jean-Pierre, and forgot that Gregory might come in and surprise her at any moment, so she nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice said from the doorway:

‘
I thought you might be here.
’

S
he coloured guiltily.
‘
Has Jean-Pierre been looking for me
?’

G
regory leaned against the jamb of the door, crossing his arms in front of him.
‘
Didn
’
t you want him to
?
’

‘
I hoped he might have a look round by himself.
’
she confessed.
‘
If
I’d
stayed around much longer I
’
d have poured his tea all over him
!
’

G
regory smiled.
‘
You shouldn
’
t have been so oncoming at lunch.
I’
m afraid he took that melting look of yours at face value.
’

‘
Oh no!
’

H
e laughed at her appalled expression.
‘
Weren
’
t you
thinking
of him at all? I rather thought not.
’

S
he smiled back at
him. ‘H
ow did you know
?
’

‘
You can
’
t hide much from me, Marion Shirley. You hadn
’
t turned the light on.
’
He laughed again.

‘
But it would be dreadful if he guessed
!
’
she protested.
‘
Only
I’
d much rather get on with the frescoes
than
entertain
him.
Is that awful of me
?’

‘
Terrible! Are you
asking
me to rescue you from the
cl
utches of that young man this week-end
?
’

‘
I expect I can cope with him.
’
she
retorted.
‘
Anyway. I don
’
t see what you could do. You can hardly ask him to go away, can you
?
’

H
e didn
’
t look as though he rated her chances of coping with anyone to be above even.
‘I’
d be a little more subtle than that.
’
he said.

S
he edged towards the door before he could cast any more aspersions on her
savoir f
ai
re.
‘
I
’
ll manage,
’
she determined grimly.
‘
I have had followers before,
’
she added just in case he had doubted it
.
‘
I
’
m quite a bit older than Lucasta and—
’

‘
As pretty as a picture
!
’
he finished for h
er
.

S
he ignored that although
she
was glad that he thought so.
‘
Yes, well, you don
’
t have to look after me.
I’
ve looked after myself for a long time now and
I’v
e never c
ome
to any harm.
’

‘
Somehow,
’
he said drily,
‘
I doubt your defences have been much tested in the past.
’

O
nly by him! She stood before him
,
a still, dignified little figure, her face completely serious.
‘
Jean-
Pierre’s ammunition i
sn
’
t of a very high calibre.
’

‘
High enough to make a nuisance of himself!
’
Gregory crossed the room and flung himself into the
chair
behind the desk.
‘
I’
m not prepared to take the risk,
’
he pronounced.
‘
I
’
m not leaving you on your own with that young cub on the prowl, and that
’
s that.
’

‘
But it isn
’
t any of your business,
’
Marion pointed out
.
‘
I
’
d rather you left things alone
!
’
She began to feel uncomfortable under his steady regard.
‘
You don
’
t
even like me! You said so
!
’