Egyptian Honeymoon (7 page)

For her hair was hanging about her face, and her make-up smudged.

'I don't want any dinner,' she muttered.

'Oh, don't be childish,' he said impatiently. 'Do you want Marcia to think we've quarrelled?'

'I don't care what Marcia thinks,' she snapped, but she did. If Marcia thought they had disagreed, she would be triumphant, and if Steve went into the restaurant alone she would join him. She had not appeared to have anyone travelling with her.

Mechanically Noelle moved to the dressing shelf, it was not much more than that, and began to rearrange her hair. Then she touched up her make-up, while Steve watched her, standing coolly aloof with folded arms.

Then he said firmly:

'Whatever your private feelings I expect you to behave with dignity in public—you owe it to my position as well as your own. You must be polite to Marcia, however inopportune her presence is—we don't want to advertise our personal relationships to the whole ship's company. Now, if you're ready, we'll go to dinner, and please try to act like a demure little bride and not like a termagant.'

Noelle's heart swelled with indignation. He did not care how outraged she felt so long as she preserved a facade of wedded bliss. Resisting a desire to smack his face, she turned from the inadequate mirror and said sweetly:

'I'm ready to accompany you.'

But you wait, she thought angrily, somehow I'll get even with you!

They descended the stairs to the lowest deck where the restaurant was situated, and before they entered it, Steve crooked his arm, and she laid her hand within it. A waiter indicated their table and pulled out her chair for her. Noelle seated herself sedately opposite to her husband, a picture of wifely submission, but when she raised her eyes to his face, they were sparkling with suppressed fury.

Noelle's indignation gradually subsided in the face of Steve's bland indifference. Like all emotions it needed stimulus to stoke it, and short of repeating her accusations, which seemed to have made no impression on him, the only course left to her was to retreat into dignified silence. One cannot have a row if one's opponent won't play, and a public dining room was not the place for altercations, as she had already been told. She was not of a sulky disposition and she found herself responding politely to Steve's chit-chat as if nothing provoking had occurred. There was a humorous gleam in his eyes as if he were well aware of her suppressed feelings. That they amused him added to her rancour, but she betrayed no outward sign of it.

It helped that Marcia was not visible. The small dining saloon was full, and if she was there she was concealed by the other diners. Noelle had half expected that she would approach them and request a seat at their table, although it was only laid for two, but she had not done so, and Noelle began to wonder if her presence on board was in truth a coincidence, thereby lessening Steve's offence, but she was still convinced he had known Marcia was in the Cairo hotel, and he had had her in mind when he had taunted her about a more welcoming bed. .

Nobody was wearing evening dress, though most of the women had put on skirts or dresses. Since it was an expensive trip, the majority of the passengers were middle-aged, but a younger man at a nearby table attracted Noelle's attention, principally because he kept staring at her.

Although he was clad in European dress, a lightweight grey suit with a collar and tie, he was obviously of Eastern origin. His very black hair, liquid black eyes and brown skin could have been Spanish or Italian, but somehow he did not look like a Latin. Noticing the direction of her gaze, Steve looked round and saw him.

The man smiled, disclosing very white teeth, and raised a long-fingered brown hand in salutation displaying a gleam of gold cuff links in his immaculate white shirt, and Steve nodded to him.

'You know him?' Noelle asked.

'Oh yes, he dabbles in all sorts of things. He's Omar ben Ahmed, a princeling from one of the Oil States. What you might call a playboy of the Eastern world. I shouldn't have thought this trip would have been exciting enough for him.'

'He's handsome,' said Noelle, giving the man a provocative glance. 'And I suppose he's rolling?'

'More money than sense,' Steve growled, scanning his wife's pale beauty with a frown. He knew how it would appeal to the dark Lothario across the way.

'Married?' Noelle enquired nonchalantly.

'Probably. He's allowed four wives, and divorce is easy—for the man—in Islam.'

Noelle played absently with a spoon, a half formed project in her mind, she didn't think Mr Ben Ahmed would need much encouragement to be… friendly.

'Women are still second-class citizens in his country,' Steve went on, 'and infidelity on the lady's part is severely punished.'

'So unfair!'

Steve shrugged. 'What would you? A man likes to be sure his children are his own.'

'Nowadays there needn't be children, but all the same it's still a man's world. Men everywhere have the best of it, except possibly in America.'

Steve laughed indulgently. 'A profound statement, my love!' Again the derisive intonation. 'But you've hardly had enough experience at your age to be an authority on the subject.'

Noelle met the eloquent eyes of the dark man.

'I could gain it,' she said meditatively.

Steve returned silkily, 'Though I promised I won't force myself upon you, you're still my wife, and I won't condone extra-marital strayings.'

On her part, but what about himself? Noelle threw him a mutinous glance, and turned her head towards the moonlit scene outside through the window beside her. The silvered water glided past with a dimly visible coastline on the farther bank. Palm trees were etched blackly against the lighter sky, with here and there a village, its position marked by a few points of light.

A man's world.

They were finishing their coffee—Turkish, served with the grains left in and very sweet. One only drank half the cup, and Noelle decided she did not like it much, when Omar ben Ahmed rose from his seat and came to their table. He was not very tall, but his shoulders were broad, his expensive suit beautifully cut to show off his slim elegance.

Steve stood up, and both men bowed, exchanging greetings in what Noelle supposed was Arabic. Then the bold black eyes went to Noelle's face, as he said in perfect English:

'Present me to Madam.'

Steve's face was expressionless as he introduced them, but his grey eyes were watchful.

'Perhaps you would both take drink with me in the upper bar,' the Arab went on. 'As you see, I'm on my own.'

'Thank you, I'd be pleased to join you,' Steve said suavely, 'but my wife is tired. She's going to bed.'

'I'm not all that tired,' Noelle contradicted him, 'and I'd like a drink.' She smiled at Omar.

'Madam is gracious to take pity on a lonely bachelor,' he told her, bowing again.

Steve gave her a quelling look but made no protest. The three of them left the dining saloon and ascended to the upper deck, Omar gallantly assisting Noelle with a hand under her elbow. She did not object, for she knew his action annoyed Steve and she was taking her revenge for Marcia.

Arrived in the bar, Steve rather ostentatiously sat down between them as the waiter came for their order.

The Islamic ban on alcohol did not seem to worry Omar, for he asked for a bottle of champagne.

Then Marcia came into the bar. She was wearing a scanty green dress with a slit skirt and a deep décolletage. Her red curls were loose upon her shoulders and she was heavily made up, the lines round her eyes drawn out to the edge of her cheeks, giving her a slightly sinister look. Green eye-shadow above them intensified their hue.

She saw them at once and came towards them, swaying her hips.

'Three's no company,' she drawled. 'May I join you to make the number even? I'm on my own.'

Both men rose to their feet.

'We can't allow such a beautiful lady to be neglected,' Omar told her. 'We shall be honoured if you will drink with us.'

Marcia sat down on the chair Steve had vacated next to Noelle, who caught a whiff of her expensive scent. Marcia was in full warpaint and out to kill, though whether her quarry was Omar or Steve was not apparent. They rearranged themselves, and now Noelle had Marcia on one side of her and Omar on the other, with Steve opposite to her. Omar's thigh was pressed against hers, either because space was restricted or intentionally. She made no movement to draw away, for Steve was gazing into Marcia's green eyes with an amorous expression. Two can play at that game, she was thinking, and I'm not going to act the neglected wife. What's sauce for the goose, etc. But it was not on the Arab her thoughts were fixed, but upon her errant husband. What was Marcia's lure for him? The woman was an obvious gold-digger, and though her appearance was striking, it was not in the least refined, hardly what would be expected to attract Steve, who was famed for his good taste. She must be good in bed, and Noelle sighed. That was a region in which she was still a novice, and seemed unlikely to be initiated.

The champagne foamed and bubbled in their glasses and tongues were loosened. Omar plied Noelle with flowery compliments. Marcia leaned forward so that Steve could have a good view of the cleft between her breasts and laid her hand beside his on the table.

'The friends who were to have joined me on this boat decided at the last minute to fly to Luxor,' she told them with a woebegone expression. 'So I'll be all on my own until we get there. I'm sure your wife won't mind if you look after me, Steve, since we're such old friends. I'm such a fool about tipping and ordering meals, and the stewards always try to ignore a woman alone.'

Which was blatantly untrue, and Marcia was fully capable of looking after herself. Noelle glanced at Steve—surely he was not going to fall for this helpless little woman act?—and saw he was smiling complaisantly, so apparently he had. Irritated beyond endurance, she drained her glass and with a bright spot of colour on either cheek and her blue eyes sparkling, she said sweetly:

'If you mean you want to borrow my husband until we reach Luxor, you're welcome to him. I can amuse myself quite well without him.'

Marcia gave a start of surprise, then said:

'You're very generous. I may take you up on that.'

The renewed pressure of Omar's knee showed that he had grasped the situation. Noelle knew she had spoken out of turn, but if Steve meant to continue his liaison with that brazen bitch, she would prefer that he did so openly without trying to deceive her. Steve stood up, with a brow like Jove about to deliver a thunderbolt.

'Go to bed, Noelle,' he commanded. 'You're high.'

She looked up at him defiantly, but she did not move. She had drunk rather a lot of champagne, Omar had kept surreptitiously refilling her glass. It had made her reckless.

'Perhaps you'd better go and lie down,' Marcia purred. 'You perhaps didn't realise champagne is so potent.'

'Thank you, you don't have to tell me that,' Noelle returned with immense dignity. 'I'll go to bed when I feel like it.'

'You will go now!'

At the rasp in Steve's voice, both women looked at him apprehensively. Then Omar said quickly: