Read Online The Weeping Desert by Alexandra Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexandra Thomas
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and dedicated professional.
“Hello,” said John.
“Hello! Is that all you can say? Hello —when you disappear for half the night and nobody knows where you are? Whatever happened to you? I was frantic with worry.”
“I don’t understand all this fuss,” said John. “I’m perfectly all right. Look, I’ve got to go now, Sheila. I think that was the last announcement.”
“Nonsense,” said Sheila. “It was just a crackle on the loudspeaker.” She took his arm. “I must talk to you.”
“There’s no time to talk, Sheila. Can’t it wait?”
“No, it can’t. You’re not going off like that, without a word of explanation. Three thousand miles is an awful long way, and I won’t be able to ring you up.”
John felt a surge of annoyance. He did not like the way she sounded as if she were entitled to an explanation. He ignored the dangerous flash in her eyes. Perhaps she had been worried, but that didn’t mean he had to chronicle all his movements for her satisfaction. This was a trait he disliked in women. They always wanted to know everything. Well, Sheila would be a sight more worried if she knew the truth.
“Be seeing you,” he said abruptly, moving towards the exit.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she flared. She dodged neatly round a couple and blocked his way; a slim, defiant figure, glaring up at him.
“Perhaps you think it’s none of my business,” she said. “And perhaps you are right. But you’re my friend, and I don’t like to see a friend making a fool of himself. And if I can stop you, I will!”
A sudden gust of wind blew across the runway and the huge plane seemed to quiver. Litter was hurled against the wire fencing, and clung like survivors to the diamond mesh. Sheila shielded her eyes from the flying sand.
“You sound exactly like a woman,” said John, irritated.
Sheila laughed sarcastically. “Careful now. You nearly paid me a compliment. Any moment now, you’ll overdo it and actually say something nice to me.”
“You seem determined to pick a quarrel,” said John between his teeth. “But I won’t fight you. So don’t try to provoke me. Good-bye, Sheila, I’ll see you when I get back.”
“I don’t really want to quarrel with you,” said Sheila, shaking her head helplessly. “It’s just that anything is better than this awful nothingness. I can’t stand it. You’re so nice and pleasant to me, but the moment there seems to be anything more between us, you retreat faster than a hunted gazelle and throw up a mental barrier that I can’t see through or climb over.”
John shifted his shoulders inside his suit. He was already beginning to feel sticky in the extra clothes, and wished fervently that he were six miles up and out of hearing of Sheila’s tongue.
“I know I don’t mean anything to you,” she went on in a low voice. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try and stop you. If you’re going native, then I shall do everything in my power to dissuade you.”
“Going native?” John repeated, astonished. “Is that what you think?”
Sheila nodded. “I found Arab robes stuffed in the back of your jeep, the night you were late for your own party. You reeked of scent. I can even smell something now—incense, that’s what it is. Oh John, I know it does happen. There’s that old chap in Oman Said wandering round in an Arab headdress, half mad with the sun, and more Arab than English now.”
John knew the old man: Arnold Fisher, a relic of the old Colonial Service. He’d been out in the Middle East for more than seventeen years, long before oil was found in Shuqrat. He had been a roving British Commissioner, and knew the small sheikhdoms along the desert coast of the Persian Gulf better than any man alive. He had adopted Arab clothes and Arab customs, and even given himself an Arab name. He was a harmless eccentric with a deep love of the Middle East and their people, but the European community seemed to regard him as some sort of
“Hello,” said John.
“Hello! Is that all you can say? Hello —when you disappear for half the night and nobody knows where you are? Whatever happened to you? I was frantic with worry.”
“I don’t understand all this fuss,” said John. “I’m perfectly all right. Look, I’ve got to go now, Sheila. I think that was the last announcement.”
“Nonsense,” said Sheila. “It was just a crackle on the loudspeaker.” She took his arm. “I must talk to you.”
“There’s no time to talk, Sheila. Can’t it wait?”
“No, it can’t. You’re not going off like that, without a word of explanation. Three thousand miles is an awful long way, and I won’t be able to ring you up.”
John felt a surge of annoyance. He did not like the way she sounded as if she were entitled to an explanation. He ignored the dangerous flash in her eyes. Perhaps she had been worried, but that didn’t mean he had to chronicle all his movements for her satisfaction. This was a trait he disliked in women. They always wanted to know everything. Well, Sheila would be a sight more worried if she knew the truth.
“Be seeing you,” he said abruptly, moving towards the exit.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she flared. She dodged neatly round a couple and blocked his way; a slim, defiant figure, glaring up at him.
“Perhaps you think it’s none of my business,” she said. “And perhaps you are right. But you’re my friend, and I don’t like to see a friend making a fool of himself. And if I can stop you, I will!”
A sudden gust of wind blew across the runway and the huge plane seemed to quiver. Litter was hurled against the wire fencing, and clung like survivors to the diamond mesh. Sheila shielded her eyes from the flying sand.
“You sound exactly like a woman,” said John, irritated.
Sheila laughed sarcastically. “Careful now. You nearly paid me a compliment. Any moment now, you’ll overdo it and actually say something nice to me.”
“You seem determined to pick a quarrel,” said John between his teeth. “But I won’t fight you. So don’t try to provoke me. Good-bye, Sheila, I’ll see you when I get back.”
“I don’t really want to quarrel with you,” said Sheila, shaking her head helplessly. “It’s just that anything is better than this awful nothingness. I can’t stand it. You’re so nice and pleasant to me, but the moment there seems to be anything more between us, you retreat faster than a hunted gazelle and throw up a mental barrier that I can’t see through or climb over.”
John shifted his shoulders inside his suit. He was already beginning to feel sticky in the extra clothes, and wished fervently that he were six miles up and out of hearing of Sheila’s tongue.
“I know I don’t mean anything to you,” she went on in a low voice. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try and stop you. If you’re going native, then I shall do everything in my power to dissuade you.”
“Going native?” John repeated, astonished. “Is that what you think?”
Sheila nodded. “I found Arab robes stuffed in the back of your jeep, the night you were late for your own party. You reeked of scent. I can even smell something now—incense, that’s what it is. Oh John, I know it does happen. There’s that old chap in Oman Said wandering round in an Arab headdress, half mad with the sun, and more Arab than English now.”
John knew the old man: Arnold Fisher, a relic of the old Colonial Service. He’d been out in the Middle East for more than seventeen years, long before oil was found in Shuqrat. He had been a roving British Commissioner, and knew the small sheikhdoms along the desert coast of the Persian Gulf better than any man alive. He had adopted Arab clothes and Arab customs, and even given himself an Arab name. He was a harmless eccentric with a deep love of the Middle East and their people, but the European community seemed to regard him as some sort of
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