walked to Jason Wilde’s bungalow, and it gave Nicola a chance to take a more detailed look at the site. The rows of living quarters edged a central highway, and at the far end a long low building was brightly lit, the music emanating from its interior indicating that this must be some sort of social centre.
Graham, sensing her speculation, said: ‘That’s the clubhouse. There’s a pool out back of there, and we really appreciate it after a day at the rig. Most of the men work a shift system, and the clubhouse is open day and night. There’s a restaurant,’ – he grinned, ‘I guess you’d call it a canteen, and the men can get a meal when they finish their stint. They work four days on and three off, generally. There are no accepted weekends here, like back home, and every month the men get a full week’s leave. Usually they go down to Gitana, on the coast. There’s plenty of activity at Gitana.’
‘So I noticed,’ remarked Nicola, nodding. ‘Our plane came down there. We drove through the town. It’s a little like Port of Spain, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve been to Trinidad?’ Graham sounded surprised.
‘Just a couple of months ago. With Sir Harold.’
‘Oh, I see. I didn’t realize—’ Graham broke off his train of thought. ‘Tell me, Miss King, how did you persuade our chairman to allow you to come out here?’
Nicola smiled. ‘That’s my secret,’ she replied evenly. ‘How about you? How long do you expect to be out here?’
‘Until the pipeline’s working. Right now it’s barely a third completed. That’s Jason’s problem. The local Sheikh is making things pretty difficult for us.’
Nicola nodded. ‘I see. What do you think Paul will have to do?’
‘Mannering?’ Graham shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably Jason will fix him up. Does he like getting his hands dirty?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’ Nicola was brief, and then they had reached the bungalow where Jason was living.
‘Here we are,’ called Graham, mounting the steps ahead of Nicola, and leading the way into the lounge.
Jason Wilde was lounging in a chair, a glass of lager in his fingers, and he glanced up wryly at their entrance. ‘You’re a little late for dinner, Miss King,’ he remarked sardonically.
Nicola, who was feeling ravenously hungry now, felt furiously angry. She was sure he was well aware of her emptiness, and had deliberately eaten early to force her into waiting until their interview was over when she would have to go to the eating place where all the men would be gathered.
However, she was an adept at concealing her feelings, and she replied, quite coolly: ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr. Wilde. I can wait until later. Perhaps Mr. Wilson would be so kind as to bring a tray to my bungalow?’
Graham was about to accept this proposition when Jason got broodingly to his feet. ‘My men are not waiters,’ he said harshly. ‘You can go, Graham. I can handle this.’
‘Yes. Yes, sir!’ Graham turned and left them, with a slightly regretful glance in Nicola’s direction.
Nicola managed to retain her calm expression, while inwardly she seethed. Obviously the task she had set herself was going to be far more difficult than even she had imagined. Back in London, planning this situation, she had vaguely imagined that after his initial annoyance Jason Wilde might conceivably come to appreciate her presence, but apparently she had underestimated him. He was far more calculating than she had thought. Hard all through, like steel. And then she remembered Louise, and her own determination hardened to match his.
Even so, it was impossible not to appreciate the man himself. She could easily see why Louise had been so impossibly infatuated with him. He was so much different from George, or Michael either, for that matter. Not that she, personally, found his raw masculinity appealing. There was something primitive about him that stirred the basest emotions inside her, and she realized she would have to work hard to achieve any kind of victory with him. His height immediately put her at a disadvantage, and the width of his shoulders owed nothing to artifice. But it was the hard, uncompromising features, and the thick hair that grew low on his neck and was repeated in the brown muscularity of his arms and chest that gave one the impression of leashed virility, and brutal strength. She shivered suddenly, hoping this task she had set herself would never get out of hand. Somehow she had the feeling that if it did she would be unable to control it.
Then she chided herself. Was she such a coward? Was she to give up simply because the task was proving more complex? She must think of David and Goliath; or Samson and Delilah, her subconscious taunted her mockingly. A smile curved her mouth unwillingly, and then she saw his eyes darken angrily.
‘What is amusing you, Miss King?’ he asked, in a hard tone. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the prospect of several weeks under conditions intolerable to most women would appeal to a butterfly like yourself!’
‘A butterfly?’ she exclaimed, in annoyance. ‘I’m no butterfly. I have to work for my living.’
‘Indeed?’ Jason’s expression was derisive. ‘And how well do you know Sir Harold Mannering?’
Nicola stiffened. ‘As well as any secretary knows her boss,’ she replied.
‘Is that so? Then how come you were able to persuade him to let you come out here? I mean – that’s no mean achievement.’
‘I don’t like your insinuations, Mr. Wilde.’
‘Don’t you? How terrible!’ he mocked her. ‘But then a woman in your position hasn’t much chance of retaliation, has she?’
Nicola’s fingers stung across his cheek almost before she could prevent them, and Jason caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘Don’t you ever dare to do that again!’ he muttered savagely, ‘or I may forget that whatever your designation I am a gentleman, and respond in kind!’
Nicola was trembling, and she wrenched her wrist away shakily. ‘Then – then don’t say things like that!’ she snapped angrily. ‘You’ve absolutely no evidence on which to base remarks of that sort!’
‘Haven’t I? Well, I have the evidence of my own eyes, and you’re simply not the kind of woman to come out here for no reason.’
‘I – I have a reason. I’m to help you – and keep an eye on Paul.’
‘Very neat.’ Jason turned away, walking to the drinks cabinet and selecting a bottle. After a stiff whisky, he said: ‘Okay, we won’t argue about your relationship with Harold. Quite frankly, I’m too tired to attempt to sort it all out. But I have my opinions. You wouldn’t deny me them?’
Nicola did not reply, but merely shook her head. As her temper subsided she felt annoyed with herself. She rubbed her wrist that pained a little. This would never do. She couldn’t have Jason Wilde imagining she was some kind of easy woman. That wasn’t at all the image she wanted to create. And somehow no matter what his own morals might be she could not see him finding a woman like that attractive. No, somehow she had to assume a much less aggressive personality. But how? How?
She considered reverting to woman’s oldest weapon, tears, but then decided against it. Somehow she didn’t think they would wash with Jason Wilde either.
Now
