she retorted quickly in surprise before she had time to consider her words.
‘I lied.’ The deep voice was quite unrepentent.
As her stomach turned over in one flying leap she hunted for something to say, a casual remark that would defuse the sudden tension, but couldn’t think of a thing, and as the miles continued to be eaten up by the beautiful car she forced herself to relax and concentrate on the changing scene outside the car window. And it was fascinating. Varied as Morocco was in its geography and climate, ranging from dry, gravelly plains extending for hundreds of miles and bleak shifting sand-dunes to rich tablelands in the Middle Atlas Mountains that furnished grazing for sheep and goats, the higher slopes covered in oak, cedar and pine and rich in ski resorts for the wealthy where rocky springs, lakes and ponds abounded as well as streams well stocked with trout, still nothing could be more varied than the spectrum of people who inhabited the land.
Every town and city had its Moroccan and European businessmen in traditional European dress side by side with Berbers and Arabs in flowing robes and wide, loose hoods, the women veiled and dressed in sober grey and black. And the transport... As Kit stared out of the window, the odd sumptuous car rode alongside decrepit taxis, wicked-eyed camels, horses, donkeys, bikes and every other mode of transport known to man. The buildings were piercingly white, Moorish architecture showing its grace and beauty in sunlit streets lined with orange trees... She sank back against the upholstered seat with a small sigh, her senses sated. She couldn’t live here; she must be on holiday—it was all too new and exciting. Holiday? But she’d left because of an argument, a ring...? She glanced down at her ringless hands and her brow wrinkled and that sick feeling of dread reared its head, before both the image and emotion faded as quickly as they had come.
‘What is it?’ She suddenly realised Gerard had been talking to her and she hadn’t heard a word, and now saw they had left the confines of the town and were out on the boundary road. ‘You have remembered something?’
‘Not really.’ She rubbed a damp hand over her brow as she shut her eyes for a brief moment. ‘It was gone before I could make sense of it. I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I wondered if you had ever seen goats climbing trees before,’ he said drily. ‘Over there, look.’ As he brought the car to a standstill she peered where he was pointing, and saw a host of argan trees, their low spreading limbs covered with green leaves and small fruits that looked like olives, and then as her eyes rose upwards she was amazed to see several goats high in the branches nibbling away at the leaves and fruit, one or two of the sure-footed little creatures having ventured far out on the branches as they stretched for the tenderest morsels.
‘They really are goats!’ she breathed in surprise, her eyes stretched wide.
Gerard laughed softly, delighted with her astonishment. ‘These trees are not found anywhere else in the world,’ he said quietly as he started the engine again after several long minutes, ‘and the goats adore the fruit. The seeds you see on the ground there—’ he pointed to the mass of fruit seeds scattered under the trees ‘—are gathered up and washed and cracked and from the inner nut is drawn a fragrant oil used for cooking. Not that the goats care about that, of course.’ He eyed her lazily before drawing on to the dusty road again.
The little incident had broken the tension for 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
