it. ‘What a sheltered life you have led.’
He slanted her a smile, his brows slightly raised, an invitation to confide. Tahira was not so foolish as to do so, but she was tempted, and felt oddly disloyal having to shrug instead. ‘Why do you think this place was abandoned, when the well is clearly not dry?’
‘It’s quite far off the main route to the city. Perhaps they found another well in a more convenient location. Lucky for me. I’m very comfortable here.’
‘But how on earth did you find it? You would hardly know it’s here.’
Christopher laughed. ‘It seems I have a nose for water buried underground, as well as minerals and ores. They say I have the Midas touch.’
‘That sounds like a talent that could make a man very rich indeed.’
‘If one were so inclined.’
‘But you are not?’
‘I am not inclined to become a speculator and all that entails. The exhaustive political manoeuvring involved when dealing with avaricious land-owners like the Egyptian pashas. The need to be ruthless and cut-throat in business and financial matters. The need to protect your interests when so many covet what you have. None of that appeals to me.’ Christopher grimaced. ‘It would also be inordinately time-consuming. Time I can spend on my excavations is more precious to me than money. So I am content to sell my services to the highest bidder to fund my digs and in return to levy another, non-financial charge.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Like most of the ruling families in Arabia, in Egypt the pashas care very little for preserving their heritage, unless it has an intrinsic value. But they do care a great deal for accumulating new wealth, and that’s where I come in. Rather than a share of profits from the gold, diamond, copper, whatever find my survey indicates, I earn myself the right to excavate in their kingdoms, and the promise that they will preserve what I find.’
‘That is positively genius,’ Tahira said, quite awed by this.
He laughed. ‘Ingenious, perhaps.’
‘Have you discovered other potential mineral deposits here in Nessarah?’
It seemed to her a natural question, but to her surprise, Christopher’s smile died. ‘I have, and there are certain individuals who would very much like to get their hands on such valuable information, but I aim to disappoint them,’ he said darkly.
But before she could ask him to elucidate, he picked up the lantern and guided her out of the well house, through the ruined garden to the front of the house, where a fire had been set but not lit. ‘We’ve done enough work for tonight. I can continue in the morning, provided I am careful.’
‘But what if you are discovered!’
‘I won’t be. Trust me,’ he said firmly. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
And he would do it, regardless of the risk. A dangerous man. A reckless man. Suddenly, she didn’t care why she was here with him, only that she was. ‘Very well, I shall place myself in your hands, whatever it is you have in mind,’ Tahira said.
His eyes blazed heat at her unwittingly suggestive words. The look he gave her made her blood heat, and made her wonder if the words had been so unwitting after all.
Then he gave himself a little shake, her a lopsided grin. ‘What I have in mind is rather mundane, to begin with. Food. Do you know how to light a fire? No, of course you don’t. One look at your hands tells me you are not of peasant stock.’
Tahira froze. ‘My family have a certain status,’ she said carefully.
‘Then let me show you.’ Hunkering down, indicating that she join him, Christopher handed her a long spill. ‘You can kindle this from the lantern. Light the straw and rushes first, then the—er—the fuel will catch.’
‘Fuel?’ She peered at it, wrinkling her nose. ‘What is it?’
‘There’s a reason why the Bedouins say that they would rather lose their wife than their camel,’ Christopher replied. ‘The ships of the desert aren’t just a means of getting from one place to the other, you know. They are most generous in their other offerings.’
Tahira eyed the smouldering fire. She took a tentative sniff and got a nose full of smoke for her trouble, but nothing more noxious. ‘You are teasing me?’
‘I think you must be teasing me. You surely can’t be so cloistered?’
She could feel herself colouring, and turned away. ‘It appears that I can. You must think me a fool.’
He forced her to turn around, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘I think you are extraordinary. And I think this fire is ready for cooking. Are you hungry?’
When she nodded, he smiled, reaching behind him for the rush basket which he had brought from the well house. ‘Desert hare,’ he said, skewering the jointed meat with practised ease, and rubbing it with a handful of delicately scented herbs, before setting it carefully over the fire. ‘There’s a surprising amount of them in this part of the desert.’
In the desert, men hunted with a hawk and a dog, she knew, but Christopher had neither. Had he a gun? She decided she didn’t want to know. The scent of roasting meat was making her mouth water. He placed some flatbreads made from flour, water and salt on a griddle to cook. They puffed up in a matter of seconds. A simple repast, the likes of which she had never eaten, the likes of which would most likely appal her fastidious sister-in-law. Which certainly added to its appeal. Tahira smiled to herself as she watched Christopher tend to their dinner, and settled down to enjoy the ritual of a fire, a meal, and the forbidden company of an extremely attractive man.
* * *
‘That was delicious,’ Tahira said some time later as they drank their refreshing mint tea. ‘Thank you so much for taking such trouble.’
‘It was no trouble,’ Christopher replied, which was not entirely a lie. Hunting for his dinner had become a way of life here in Arabia. Hunting something fit for Tahira to consume—yes, that had been a challenge, but one he’d enjoyed. ‘There’s no shortage of good hunting out there, if you know where to look,’ he said, making a sweeping gesture towards the desert.
‘I know. Sayeed, my pet sand cat, has brought me back many examples, though nothing so big as a hare.’
‘Sayeed, meaning hunter? He is well named then. I thought sand cats were feral creatures, hardly suitable as pets.’
‘Oh, they are, but I found Sayeed abandoned and half-dead when he was just a new-born kitten. I hand-reared him and nursed him back to health, and so he deigns to tolerate me.’ Tahira chuckled. ‘And only me. My sisters have learnt from bitter experience to give him a wide berth. He has a penchant for the vulnerable flesh of bare feet. One of his favourite games is to hide behind a divan and pounce on unsuspecting passers-by. Another is to clamber up on to my shoulder and to perch there imperiously. His claws are sharper than scimitar blades, they make short work of my clothing, let me tell you.’
‘But you let him out at night? I’m surprised he comes back in the morning.’
Tahira grimaced. ‘As
