Rose of the Desert by Roumelia Lane Page B

obvious we're not going to find the ball I suggest we get back. I'm rather tired."
    A slight frown quivered over one golden eyebrow. He pulled her to him, his voice heavy with conceit.
    "You know, don't you, that most girls would give all they possess to be in a similar position to what you find yourself in now?"
    "And what position is that?" she asked lightly, determined to misunderstand him. "I'm miles out in the desert. I've had a very long day, my feet ache, and it's getting chilly. I think we should get back to the barbecue, the roasting should be well under way by now."
    She left him and walked quickly back to the fire. When she was almost there he joined her, asullen «mile playing around the full lips.
    "This cat and mouse game is quite new to me, but I'll admit it does add a certain piquancy to the situation."
    With glittering eyes he led her to the fire where the cook was handing out skewers of steaming meat. The men sat around in groups of varying nationalities, for there was a language difficulty in the singing as well as the talking. Instruments were produced; the English going for the mouth organ and the Italians the mandolin while the Arabs were just content to sit and clap their hands and wail in their peculiar half-key fashion.
    The English group welcomed Julie, hurriedly shifting their positions to make room for her. They sang a rather bawdy version of "There's no place like home," and harmonised with comparative success "The green leaves of summer", and all the while Alan stood apart smoking and staring moodily into the fire.
    It was somehow taken for granted that she should ride back in the front of the lorry with the two engineers she had sat between at the fire. She caught a glimpse of Alan stepping into a Land Rover. Back at the camp he joined her and they walked towards Clay's bungalow together.
    "If this is life in the raw, give me civilisation any day." He found a mound of sand and displaced it with a disgruntled thrust of his foot.
    "I suppose it is a little different from what you're used to," Julie smiled. The glow of an evening pleasurably spent was still with her, but obviously Alan didn't share her enthusiasm for camp-fire singing, hot skewered meat, and harmonica solos. Felling a little ashamed of her own complacency, she took his arm impulsively.
    "Alan, I haven't really thanked you properly for getting me this job with your father's firm."
    "You can't honestly be liking it here ?" He gazed around with some disgust. "A former London model just doesn't fit in with all this."
    "Well yes, I do like it. It's a marvellous experience, and I have you to thank for acting so promptly in getting me fixed up with my first job abroad." She squeezed his arm and smiled up her gratitude with a warm sincerity, only then aware of a dark presence on the veranda.
    "You two might have told me not to wait dinner."
    Julie had the impression that Clay had taken a deep breath and was rationing it out with each word. He stood up and drew deeply on his cigarette, illuminating the scowling angular features. The brown eyes were filmed with ice.
    They walked all into the lounge together, Alan drifting lazily to the tray of bottles and Julie murmuring her apologies. Admittedly it had been wrong of them to go off without any word, but that was no reason for Clay to act so churlish. She forced her eyes to meet his squarely and after locking for a moment, he swung his impatiently away.
    "I've been waiting for you to enlighten me on that last batch of figures you passed through. I personally can't make head or tail of some of the stuff." His tone was coldly sarcastic and he walked down to his desk, expecting her to follow. He drew up a chair and they sat for some time going over various papers. She noticed he had no difficulty in understanding her explanation of certain items and suspected he was being deliberately obtuse to vindicate his own bad humour.
    Alan had flopped in a chair and was smiling quietly into the amber