young woman is Nicola King,’ said Paul now, his colour subsiding a little, and a belligerent expression taking its place. ‘Contrary to the lurid ideas that are buzzing round your brain she is not my responsibility. She’s all Dad’s.’
Jason’s brows drew together in a dark scowl. ‘What does that mean?’
The girl moved, and a half-smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘It means, Mr. Wilde, that I am what I told your Mr. Wilson I am, a secretary, nothing more, nothing less.’
Jason gave her a scathing look. ‘And what are you doing here, Miss King? Inter-Anglia needs no secretaries in the middle of the Abyrra desert. Or has Mannering taken leave of his senses? After all, sending Paul out here is hardly the action of a sensible man!’
‘You watch your tongue,’ snapped Paul Mannering angrily.
‘I’m not a contortionist,’ muttered Jason, taking his cigarette out of his mouth. ‘Miss King, suppose you explain a little more!’
Nicola King stretched, drawing attention to the curving slenderness of her body. ‘Mr. Wilde, we have been travelling since early this morning. I am hot and tired, and as we have been hanging around here for the best part of two hours waiting for you to return I don’t think it’s unreasonable to request that we be allowed a shower, a change of clothes and something to eat before feeling inclined to answer your rather obvious questions. Believe me, my reasons for being here are strictly non-social. If I had wanted an exciting life, I would hardly have chosen an oil drilling rig, miles out in the desert, where the heat and the flies and the total absence of civilized pursuits make my toes curl!’
Jason’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. She had more confidence than Mannering’s son, even if he had had a public school education and delighted in making the headlines with one or other of his crazy schemes. But that did not endear her to Jason. He considered her self-opinionated and hard, and he speculated cynically on her relationship to the Mannerings. If she was not Paul’s girl-friend, he deplored the methods she must have used to get Harold Mannering to allow her to come out here.
‘Graham,’ he said harshly, ‘take the lady to Caxton’s bungalow. See she has everything she wants, and after she’s improved her temper as well as her appearance, bring her over to my place.’
Graham nodded, and Nicola King was forced to accompany him out of the door. But the glance she cast in Jason’s direction was killing. Already the swift African night was falling and outside a velvety darkness melted the heat of the day. After they had gone, Jason leaned back against the door and studied his chairman’s son rather disparagingly.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘what’s the idea?’
Mannering’s eyes widened. ‘Idea? What idea? Do you mean me being here? Or Nicola?’
‘A little of both.’
‘Like I said, it’s nothing to do with me. Do you imagine I asked to come out here? Good God, if there’d been any way of getting out of it I would have taken it. But while my hands are tied, moneywise—’ He shrugged his slim shoulders. ‘Anyway, it can’t last.’
‘What can’t?’
‘Me, being out here!’ Paul fumbled for his cigarettes and then muttered: ‘Thanks’ as Jason offered him one. When it was lit he continued: ‘I suppose you’ll get all the sordid details from Dad so I might as well tell you my story first. There was this girl—’
‘There always is,’ remarked Jason laconically.
‘Yeah, I know. And I’m always the sucker! But this doll was crazy about me, and I’m only human after all. How was I to know she’d take me seriously? Anyway, it turned out her dad was an ex-wrestler or something. He practically kidnapped me one night after I’d stopped seeing her. He went berserk!’ Paul’s young face blanched at the memory. ‘Anyhow, to cut a long story short, the police were called and the press got to know and there was a God-awful stink! You can imagine what kind of coverage it got. The girl said she was pregnant, but she wasn’t, our doctor proved that, thank heaven! But naturally it’s left a pretty nasty situation, and Dad thought it was time I got out of the country for a while. I agreed. I didn’t know he had this in mind.’
Jason’s dark brows were raised. ‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I guessed as much. How old are you now, Paul – twenty, twenty-one? Hell, I don’t ever remember being as young as you!’
‘I’m twenty-two, actually,’ replied Paul sullenly. ‘You’re not so different. What about that Ellis woman?’
Jason shrugged. ‘A little different, I think, Paul. Anyway, that’s beside the point, I suppose. You’re here now, and we’re stuck with you. But by heaven, you’re not going to lie around here. You’ll work, boy, believe me, you’ll work!’
Paul’s colour deepened again. ‘Dad knew what he was doing when he sent me here, didn’t he?’ he muttered. ‘Home from bloody home!’
‘Never mind, kid. He may take pity on you. But that still doesn’t explain that girl’s arrival. Who the hell is she? If she’s not your girl-friend, what is she?’
‘You’d better wait and ask Dad,’ retorted Paul, sniffing. ‘Now, where do I shack down?’
Jason straightened, and opened the door, pausing momentarily in the aperture. ‘I guess you could share with young Collins,’ he said. ‘He’s one of the drilling crew. He’s about your age.’
‘I’d prefer to be alone,’ said Paul moodily.
‘I expect you would. However, there are only a certain number of bungalows here, and Caxton’s is only empty because he’s home on compassionate leave. His wife’s just had their fifth child. So for the present, you’ll have to be content with sharing with Collins. That is, unless you can persuade your travelling companion that her journey wasn’t really necessary?’
‘I’ve told you,’ exclaimed Paul. ‘Nicola is not my concern.’
Jason studied him a moment, and then shrugged. ‘Okay, let’s go. I’ll drop you off and introduce you to Collins on my way to my bungalow. He’ll take you over to the cookhouse later, and see you get a meal. Tomorrow we’ll consider what we can find for you to do.’
After he had got Paul settled with young Tony Collins, Jason drove thankfully to his own bungalow, and after parking the Land-Rover, mounted the steps wearily. Ali met him in the hall.
‘At last you have come,’ he said complainingly. ‘The meal – it has been ready this half-hour.’
Jason grimaced. ‘Well, I guess it’ll have to wait another half-hour, Ali. I’m hot and sweaty, and I need a shower, not to mention a change of clothes.’
Ali pulled a long-suffering face, but Jason merely gave him a pat on the back and walked into his bedroom. The shower, despite being lukewarm, was refreshing, and clean cotton pants and a thin cotton knitted shirt felt good. He combed his thick hair, and re-entered the hall to cross it to the lounge. The bungalows were simply constructed with one long room serving as dining room and lounge, and the other side of the central hall was divided into bedroom and bathroom. The oil company erected these air-conditioned living quarters wherever they went, providing civilized accommodation for men who spent hours daily in entirely uncivilized conditions. Ali’s quarters and the kitchen were out back, while
