Singing in the Wilderness (2 page)

‘Are you a tourist?’ she asked him abruptly.

‘No, I’m here for a while. Is that what you’re doing? Seeing the country?’

She shook her head. ‘I work here,’ she proffered shyly. And how glad she was that she did! How awful it would have been to be flying home with her father
now
!
She caught up her thoughts, the colour running up her cheeks, and she averted her face from his bright blue eyes.

‘What do you do?’ he enquired. ‘You must have a very easy employer, to be free at this hour.’

‘It’s a special occasion. Until today I worked for my father, but he’s going back to England today, or rather tomorrow. He’s flying up to Tehran this evening.’

‘I see. And you’re staying on
?
’

She nodded. ‘The work he was doing isn’t—finished.
I’m going to stay on with the new man. I’ve been here from the beginning of the contract.’

‘A very valuable person,’ he congratulated her. ‘I could do
with
my
predecessor’s
secretary
in
my
job. I’m coming
in right in the middle of things. It’s my speciality, you might say, clearing up the mess other men leave behind them. I don’t like staying anywhere too long, and that, coupled with a determination not to get involved locally, helps to put most of our less efficient projects back on their feet.’

‘I’ve always heard Americans are ruthless business men,’ she observed. ‘You are American, aren’t you
?
’

‘We believe in getting things done,’ he answered. ‘I’m Casimir Ruddock. Most people call me Cas.’

The Ruddock part had a familiar sound, but Casimir made him seem something strange and exotic.
Casimir
! What kind of a name was that?

‘My name is Stephanie Black,’ she told him.

He picked up her left hand in his.
‘
Miss
Stephanie Black,’ he said with obvious satisfaction. ‘Well, Miss Stephanie Black, how about having dinner with me this evening and showing me the sights of the city? Would you have time after you’ve seen your father off?’

‘Tonight?’ she repeated. ‘I have to move into my new apartment—’ She broke off, staring up at him with wide eyes. ‘Yes, please, I’d like to. I’d like to very much.’

‘Right,’ he said. He gave her an amused look. ‘Was it such a difficult decision to make?’

‘In a way,’ she acknowledged. She didn’t want him to know how inexperienced she was at allowing herself to be picked up by strangers. He was the kind of man who knew many women and he wouldn’t have any time at all for the insecure, the gauche, or those who couldn’t look after themselves.

‘Am I such a bad risk?’ he pressed her.

‘I don’t know.’ She looked about her. ‘I’ve never known a Casimir before!’

‘Don’t hold it against me,’ he smiled at her. ‘I come from Polish stock on my mother’s side.’

Stephanie herself was English through and through. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Does it put me outside the pale?’

She blinked. How could he think that? Belatedly, she realised he was teasing her and that he knew very well how she was feeling. She made a studied effort to retrieve the situation. ‘Why should it?’ she said. ‘I’m fairly broad-minded.’

He laughed. ‘I’ll remember that!’

She took a step away from him, feeling dwarfed by his great height. ‘I ought to be getting back to my father,’ she tried to assert herself. ‘I’ve stayed out for longer than I intended.’

He put a friendly arm round her waist and a fountain of joy began to play inside her that he had no intention of letting her go so easily. It was delightful to think that he could hold her beside him with such a minimum of effort. She doubted if he would even feel her attempt to break free—if she were to make one, and she didn’t think she would. Not yet, at any rate.

‘I usually pack for him,’ she explained in a rush. ‘Neither of my parents is much good at that sort of thing. I’m the domesticated one in the family.’

‘You’re too pretty for that!’

She smiled. ‘Pretty? You must be prejudiced in favour of—’

‘Honey-coloured blondes? I never thought about it before.’ He considered the matter carefully, smiling down at her. ‘I’ve always had pretty catholic tastes when it comes to the fair sex, but you’ll do for me. Indeed you will!’

She didn’t know how to answer that. It would have been trite to remind him that he didn’t know anything about her. She knew nothing about him either, but she wanted to. She wanted it more badly than she had wanted anything for ages.

‘But I’m not pretty,’ she told him.

‘Aren’t you?’ He was quite definitely amused now. ‘Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Haven’t you ever heard that?’

‘But one
knows
about things like that,’ she stammered. ‘I’d know if I were pretty!’

‘If you say so.’ He hugged her closer to him. ‘I’ll see you home if you really have to go, then I’ll know where to pick you up later on. But first, how do you feel about
acting as my photographic model for a few minutes
?
The sun’s just right now for a view of the domes at this end of the Maidan and I want a figure in the foreground. Will you stand over there
?
’

‘Me?’ She was enormously flattered. ‘You won’t really be able to see me, will you
?
Not if you stand far enough away to get in the whole of the outside of the mosque.’

‘I’ll know it’s you,’ he said.

She did exactly as he told her, standing in the portal of the mosque and looking up at the splendid tile-mosaics that side of the doorway. Each colour had been fired separately for the exact length of time that suited it best and made to fit the next-door piece until the whole intricate pattern was complete. It was a lengthy process, too lengthy for the impatient Shah Abbas who had ordered the mosque to be built, and on the other side of the portal the
haft-rangi
(‘seven-colour’) tiles had been used to speed up the work. These tiles were square and made up of several colours which were all fired at the same time. They served their purpose of covering the walls with colour quickly and economically, but they lacked the brilliance of the mosaic and their colours had faded a little over the years, not enough to matter, but enough to be noticed by a discerning eye.

‘Are you ready?’ Cas Ruddock asked her.

He was closer than she had expected and his camera was one of the most impressive she had ever seen, with more dials and changes of lens than she would ever have been able to cope with. She smiled across the space between them and he held up his hand to signal her to stand still and began to take a series of about a dozen photos almost before she had time to draw breath.

‘Now, we’d better see about getting you home,’ he said. ‘Can we get a taxi from here?’

‘Yes, but the buses are more fun. They stop almost outside where I live and they only cost two
rials.
You have to buy the tickets before you get on from one of those little grey kiosks. Do you mind
?
’

‘Not if that’s the way you want to travel.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll see you home and pick you up again at about seven-thirty. Will that do you? I have a yen to see the inside of the mosque today. I guess it must be one of the best known buildings in the world and once I’ve started work I won’t have as much time as I’d like to see the sights.’

Now that the moment had come, she didn’t want to leave either. If he wanted to see the mosque, why shouldn’t she go inside with him? Her father wasn’t expecting her back yet, though she would have to be back in time to see him off at the airport. Meanwhile, why shouldn’t she enjoy herself while she could
?

‘I’d like to see it too,’ she murmured. She stole a look at him and looked hastily away again from the amused admiration in his eyes. Was it possible that he really did find her pretty?

‘Now?’ he mocked her.

She was tongue-tied in the face of his assured acceptance of the fact that she would much rather be with him than packing for her father. He saw too much, she thought. If she weren’t careful he would know about the fountain of joy he had inspired within her, a sensation that was still too new for her to do anything about but wonder at. He might have guessed at it already, but she didn’t think he had. She stiffened her backbone and managed a quick, light smile.

‘Why not now?’

‘Why not indeed! Your father will have to make the best of his own ham-fisted efforts to get everything into his grip!’

And a fine mess he’d make of it, but somehow Stephanie found she didn’t care as much as she should. She didn’t even feel a trace of guilt at the thought of him struggling alone with his possessions. He had said he wanted it that way and although she hadn’t believed him at the time, why should he have said it if he hadn’t meant it
?

It was fun showing the mosque to Cas Ruddock. He listened to everything she told him with a concentration that made her think she was a better guide than she had previously known. She pointed out the relief of heraldic peacocks above the central door; the two minarets, both a hundred and ten feet high; the pool, the colours of which echoed the surrounding tiles; and the great doors themselves which Shah Safi had had covered with
beautifully fashioned silver plates.

Then, inside the mosque itself, passing through the half-right turn that led into the courtyard and was made necessary so that the alignment of the court and the
mihrab
pointed towards Mecca, the direction which all faithful Moslems face when they make their prayer five times each day, she allowed him to digest the beauty of the court in silence for a few minutes.

‘It’s typical of the Persian four-
i
w
an
mosque,’ she told him when he seemed ready to go on. ‘An
iwan
is one of those open-sided, semi-domed verandah things. It isn’t a very good description, but you can see them for yourself. And look, if you stand here, you can see the huge turquoise dome that you can see when you first come into Isfahan. It’s a symbol of the whole city—the glory of the Safavid monarchs who dominated the building of the city. Shah Abbas was the one who really built Isfahan and made it what it is. But the best mosque of them all, much more exciting than this one, is the Friday Mosque, and he had nothing to do with it at all. It’s one of the most glorious buildings I’ve ever seen!’

He smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘I’ll get you to take me there one day—when I’ve found out the worst about how late we are delivering the goods on this contract. Telecommunications are the very devil to put straight when they’ve been allowed to get out of hand.’

Stephanie felt as though the ground had gone soft beneath her feet. ‘But it’s a British company that won the telecommunications contract,’ she said.

‘We’re an international company. The British division is doing most of the work out here because we’re using two of the most
modern
British techniques in our installations. We’re using their inter-city land cables that can carry eight hundred and twenty-five circuits and more, and also trying out the Post Office fifty millimetre diameter copper waveguide. But I don’t want to bore you with my work. What does your father do
?
’

‘Telecommunications.’

‘I see.’ He could hardly help but see it all, she thought. He had to know exactly why her father was at that very moment packing his bags and going back to England. He probably knew more about it than she did herself. Would he like her less because of it
?
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I don’t start work until tomorrow, so we’ll leave it till then, shall we?’

‘Can we?’ she said doubtfully.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “I think so. Unless I mistake the situation from tomorrow onwards you are going to be my secretary, as you were your father’s before me, but for today you’re just a girl I met in Isfahan and I’m no more than someone who’s determined to make you notice him in the short time he has at his disposal.’

‘Yes, but tomorrow, it won’t be easy for either of us, will it? I should tell you that I’ve never worked for anyone besides my father. You may expect too much from me.’

‘Are you such a bad secretary
?
’ he asked her.

She threaded her fingers together. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘But you think my standards may be higher than your father’s? Well, without wishing to offend you, my dear, you’re very probably right. If you don’t come up to what I expect from my secretary I shall have no hesitation in replacing you. There are other people in the company for whom you can work without having to go back to England immediately. But I’d rather worry about that tomorrow, if you don’t mind
?
Who knows, you might be better than you think!’

The most pressing problem for her was what he wanted from her now. She looked him straight in the face, unaware that her uncertainty was written clearly in her wide hazel eyes.

‘Do you still want to take me out to dinner?’ she demanded. ‘If I’m going to be your secretary you may not want to know me socially as well. I shall quite understand if you’d rather not.’

‘I’m not a snob, Stephanie Black,’ he warned her.

‘No. But you’re not to know that I won’t take advantage—’

‘Will you?’

‘I’ll try not to.’ Her eyes flickered over his large frame and she tried to imagine herself doing the same things for
him
she had done for her father, and she knew then and
there that it wouldn’t work. ‘I’d rather work for somebody else,’ she said.

‘We’ll see,’ he said comfortably. ‘I don’t eat my secretaries for breakfast, not unless they provoke me unbearably. Nobody who’s worked for me has ever accused me of being the tyrant you seem to be afraid I’ll turn out to be.’

Stephanie managed a dignified gesture of disapproval. ‘It isn’t that! I think I might manage the work, only when we’re not working, what then
?
With my father it was different. I looked after him in the office and I looked after him at home and the two roles ran into each other—
’

‘I’m not your father,’ he drawled.

He didn’t have to tell her that! ‘Wouldn’t you find it confusing?’ she murmured.

‘Not in the least!’ he assured her, an edge to his voice. ‘As far as I’m concerned my secretary will be one person called Miss Black. Any time I spend with Stephanie will be with quite a different person, and Miss Black would be very ill advised to mention my relationship with her, or with any other of my girl-friends. Is that clear?’