She nodded. “But there’s the question of transport. I don’t want to ask for the hotel car
—
I might keep it too long, anyway. Would you trust me with your own car, monsieur?”
He said whimsically. “I have already said I would trust you with my son, mademoiselle. You shall certainly have the car. But are you sure you know the way to the plantation?”
“I’ve been there only once, but you can tell me again. I’m very grateful, monsieur.”
He threw out his hands, charmingly. “It is nothing. I am happy for Tony that you will visit him. He is working well, but one should not drive too hard a horse which has been out to grass. You and he, I think, have the sort of companionship for each other which is unusual among the French. You can be natural because you are not in love.
”
“
You’re so understanding. I’ll be very careful with the car.”
“That car,” said Pierre with a droll inflection, “would defy you to be anything but careful. It is a very old and dignified Anglo-Saxon!”
He found a pocket-sized map and pencilled the route for her, wrote names she would encounter in the margin. And then, because she had been with him half an hour and it was time for his own first refreshment of the
morning,
he insisted that she drink a glass of tea with him.
It was ten-thirty when Sally eventually left the Hotel Mirador in the ponderous vehicle which, in spite of Moroccan dust, Monsieur de Chalain kept black and gleaming. For several miles she had no need to consult his directions, and after she was accustomed to the heavy gears she drove without strain.
The morning was as brilliant as usual, and even through sun-glasses the glare over the light soil and dusty shrubs was only just tolerable. But Sally was glad of this task of keeping a very good but ancient car going at forty miles an hour, whatever the difficulties. This
mo
rnin
g
she paid scant attention to the villages and holy tombs, the plantations and chasms. She simply went on driving, till the rows of huge hairy trunks indicated the date region.
It was about fifteen minutes past twelve when she turned down the lane which was signposted in new black letters on a white ground: “L’Esperance. Antoine de Chalain.” L’Esperance! Hope
...
the most precious coin in the world. And there was Tony coming from the house, shading his eyes and staring into the familiar car, expecting to see his father. But within a second or so he recognized her, and gave a whoop of joy which she heard as she switched off the engine.
How good to be away from the Mirador and with Tony, who knew nothing whatever of the turmoil and distress of the past days. Sally smiled at him and gave him her hand.
CHAPTER
TEN
FOR an hour Sally walked among the date palms, watched lithe, dark-skinned workers climb the trunks and snip the great golden bunches of dates, and listened to technical problems which left her no wiser about date cultivation than she had been before.
“The yield is poor,” Tony said earnestly. “Good dates, but not nearly enough of them. We have to nurse the trees along for a while and plant new stuff where the dead palms have been cut out. Devil of a job to root out a palm, you know. The first one took a whole day, but after that I had to plan a routine. We’re getting along much quicker now.”
“Is it going to be a success, Tony?”
“Sure is. In a year or two I’ll be able to buy the old man a new car.”
She smiled. “He’s so pleased for you. I do like your father, Tony.”
“Hey, now!” But his grin was happy. “I like him, too. Can you stay to lunch?”
“That was the idea. A sandwich will be enough.”
“We can do better than that. My right-hand man is a peasant type who grows vegetables. The servant always cooks too much for me, and in any case, you’re welcome to my share if you can manage it Believe it or not, apart
from my father you’re
m
y first visitor.”
“Hasn’t Dane been over?”
“No, he’s coming just before the first month is up, to see how things are going. That’s soon enough for me! Like a wash?”
“Yes, please.”
He took her into a bare kitchen, where a youth dressed in white shorts, a turban and nothing else was stirring a pot over an old wood stove. Tony gave her some soap and a towel, nodded towards the sink.
“The bathroom isn’t quite ready yet, but it’s coming along. I take my nightly tub in here or out on the veranda. It’s all very makeshift, but I don’t mind it”
She soaped her hands and rinsed them. “Everyone thought you’d find it hard to live in these conditions. I’m glad you don’t.”
“Nothing hard in watching a daily improvement in the house. I wouldn’t mind seeing some life in the evenings, but I’ll stick it out. Finished? Then come into my living room. I sleep there, too, but we keep it tidy.”
The room was large and rather crowded with odd pieces of furniture which must have been spared from the hotel; they included a single bed and a wardrobe, as well as normal lounge furniture. The table had been arranged near the low window, and already the servant was setting another place and pulling up a chair. A few minutes later he brought in large fried chops which Sally suspected were goat’s meat, a mound of onions surrounded by mashed potatoes, and another dish of mixed vegetables which consisted of a base of lima beans, a layer of diced carrot and a topknot of minced cabbage.
“He does you well,” Sally commented, after the servant had left them. “The meal looks most appetizing.”
“He was trained at the Mirador,” replied Tony complacently. “Kitchen-boy, who was very observant Help yourself.”
They had left the table and were drinking coffee in the armchairs, when Sally decided it was time she gave Tony the various pieces of news. She began with Lucette, but omitted mention of Mike and
Cécile
. Tony’s mouth fell wide as he listened, but he was silent till she had ended with, “So Lucette went back to Tangier with her husband.
I hope she’ll forget it all and be happy.”
“But what a fool she was,” he exclaimed. “She couldn’t have been so sophisticated, after all. How did her husband know where to find her?”
Sally sipped her co
f
fee. “Someone informed
him
—
apparently a tip from Shiran.”
“It must have been a bit of a knock for Dane.”
“Yes, I think it was,” she said quietly, “but he’ll get over it. He may even marry
Cécile
.”
Tony said sympathetically, “It hurt you a little, didn’t it? You’re not looking so merry as you used to. Are you still working hard on Mike?”
“That’s another thing I have to tell you. Mike’s consented to have treatment in England.”
“The deuce he has! You
are
a fast worker. When is he going?”
“Fairly soon—and
I’
m leaving Morocco myself in a couple of days.”
Tony lost his smile. “Dam it, I wish you wouldn’t go yet. Just knowing you’re not far away in Shiran gives me a boost; I’m still a bit weak on self-assurance. Will you come back some time?”
“I doubt it. Don’t let’s talk about it.” She put down her cup. “I brought some magazines with illustrations of kitchens in them. They’re in the car.”
“I’ll get them. We’ve a very good carpenter on the job
—
he’s working on the back windows at this moment
—
and there’s plenty of wood, so you can choose any design you like. I want a really good kitchen, because I may hitch up one day
—
you never know.”
“Of course you will.”
But left alone for a few minutes, Sally became aware that her heart was heavy and slack. She could imagine a woman in this place, teaching the servant new dishes, arranging and re-arranging the furniture throughout the house till she was quite satisfied, making a flower-box for the veranda, singing to herself while she sewed, and laughing at life with Tony. He wasn’t a dream-man by any means, but a girl who loved him could be gaily happy with Tony de Chalain.”
Sally wondered about the balcony upstairs, thought it must have been repaired, or she would have noticed it as she arrived. Tony would have been surprised to learn that, in the days to come, the balcony of his house would provide one of her most vivid memories of Morocco. Even at that moment, when his returning footsteps sounded on the tiles in the hall, Sally could feel herself back up there, sprawled over the floor with Dane’s arm like a vice about her ribs, while his other hand bled thickly from the graze. She could see the fury in the sea-green eyes, hear the rasp of his breath as he let her go.
She got up quickly and went to meet Tony. “Let’s go into the kitchen and plan it,” she begged.
Tony looked at her curiously. “I’ll get some sketching paper and we’ll do it properly.”
In the kitchen they talked, sketched and made decisions for nearly two hours. Then Sally thought she must leave; as she was driving the car, she wanted to get back to Shiran before dark. Tony shoved a kettle on the stove, found some rubbery biscuits and fresh sweet cakes concocted by his gem of a cook. Sally made tea, English fashion, and it was just after four-thirty when they both came out to the car.
Tony patted the bonnet. “She irritates me, but bless her for bringing you. Eats up the petrol, though, doesn’t she?
”
“
I don’t know
—
I didn’t look.”
Tony peered in at the dashboard, switched on the ignition and peered again. “The tank is less than a quarter full. That won’t get you home.”
“Won’t it? What shall I do?”
“Did you fill up before you came?”
“Your father told someone to fill the tank, but I didn’t see it done, and I’m afraid I didn’t check the indicator, either. Don’t you have any petrol here?”
“I’ve a little in a can. I use a spot to start up the tractor, but after that it runs on paraffin.” He paused and meditated. “With what you have left and my gallon you can do about forty miles. It’s seventy-eight to Shiran.
”
“
And not a petrol pump on the way!”
“There’s one due west of here
—
about thirty miles away. I could take you there and fill right up, but you’d have to drop me back here and travel on in the dark. Somehow I think it would be better for you to go straight towards Shiran.”
“What about the other plantations? Doesn’t anyone run a car?”
“The roads are not tempting. In this district they use horses.” He nodded suddenly. “I’ve just thought of something. You remember the olive orchards about halfway here? A Frenchman owns them and I know he has a lorry. I’ll go with you that far and see him for you, then send you on your way tanked up. I can get back here under my own steam.”
“Thank heaven you thought of that. Sorry, Tony.”
“That’s all right. It means I don’t have to say goodbye to you yet'!”
The sun was already well down when they left the plantation. Gold dust lay over the miles of arching green branches and the distant mountains were a blur of purple and yellow outlined in flame. Plantation workers straggled to their grubby stone dwellings, a desert coolness came on the breeze and plumes of smoke began to rise into the sunset. Sally, sitting beside Tony, knew a wrenching sadness, a desperate premonition of loneliness. A few weeks ago she would have said it was impossible to feel part of this country and the people she had known a comparatively short time, but now she had to admit a need to belong here that was frightening in its violence. It was unbearable.
* * *
At about this time, in Shiran, Pierre de Chalain was looking at his watch, and wondering. Ten-thirty in the morning till six at night covered rather more hours than were appropriate for a young woman to be alone at the house of a young man. Of course, these English were extraordinary; indeed, it was known that a couple could be friendly for weeks without even attempting the most casual embrace. But Tony wasn’t all English, and that made this particular couple slightly different. He would be glad when Miss Yorke returned.
From his office he spoke over the telephone to the reception desk. “The Caid has left?”
“An hour ago, monsieur.”
“And Monsieur Ryland ha
s
returned from the airport?”
“He is here now.”
“Bien.
You will tell him that the samples have arrived from the mine—that they are here in my office.”
Pierre rang off, clipped a cigar and poured an aperitif. He was in the act of lighting the cigar when Dane came in.
“A drink,
mon ami?”
“Thanks. Make it whisky.” Dane cast a jaded eye over the half-dozen tightly-wrapped rock samples. “I’ll get someone to call for them, for analysis. Do you mind having them in here till tomorrow?”
“Not at all. Soda?”
“A splash.” Dane tried the drink, put it down and shoved his hands into his pockets. He walked over to the window and looked out at an angle of dark garden. “Sometimes, Pierre, I feel as if I’ll get out of this hotel, for good.”
Pierre showed consternation. “But no! While you remain unmarried you are part of the Mirador.” Then he smiled. “Drink up, my friend. It will help you to feel less lonely, now that
Cécile
has gone. The plane was late to leave, it seems.”
“Engine trouble. We had to kick around for a couple of hours. It was wearing.”
“Naturally.
Cécile
would have arrived in Casablanca as quickly by road. She has made the usual new contract with Le Perroquet?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
The uncompromising negative left Pierre a little dazed, but he nodded agreeably. “She could have it if she wished, I am sure. She sings like a nightingale, that one.”
“That’s a little trite and not exactly true, but you mean well.” Dane finished his drink and turned towards the door; there, he paused and said in non-committal tones, “They told me at the desk that Miss Yorke telephoned the travel agent—twice. Know anything about it?”
“Mademoiselle said nothing to me. I know she is leaving, of course, but no details.”
Dane went oddly still. “Leaving? She actually said so—to you?”
Pierre said quickly, “It was only this morning. You cannot have seen her since then.”
“No, I’ve been out most of the day.”
Dane moved suddenly towards the door, and Pierre hastened to ask, “You go up there now—to see her?”
The reply came through tight lips. “I’ve more right than anyone else to know what she’s up to. It’s bad enough being chased up by the Caid and having to spend futile hours at the airport, but I’m damned if I’ll let
...”
“Just a moment!” Pierre was anxious. “Miss Yorke is not in her room. She is out. This morning I gave her permission to use my car. She left for the date plantation to say goodbye to Tony.”
Dane said something that Pierre thought it wiser to ignore, and demanded swiftly, “And she’s not back? What time did she leave?”
“Mid-mo
rn
ing.”
“Did she say when she’d return?”
“No, but it was agreed that she would stay with him for lunch. You need have no concern about the car, Dane. It may be old, but always I keep it in first-class condition. Miss Yorke is not a careless one. She would not drive too fast
.
”