Desert Man Read online

  “What if I don’t want to be released?” He moved closer, and taking her injured hand in his, said, “It’s time for both of us to stop denying that there is something between us, Josie.”

  “What...what happened before, in the car I mean, was because of...” She shook her head as though trying to clear it. “It was because of the danger, Kumar. It heightened our...our feelings. Our emotions. But that’s all it was.”

  “I don’t think so.” He moved closer, so close that he could smell the clean, fresh scent of her skin and the fragrance of her hair. “And in California?” he asked. “Was there danger there when we kissed?” He shook his head. “No, Josie. The only danger then was the danger of your lips.”

  Before she could move away, he cupped her chin and kissed her. He felt the intake of her breath, the softening of her mouth, and though she did not answer his kiss, she did not try to move away from him.

  He took her hands in his and drew her up beside him. “Do not doubt that some day what we feel will be consummated, Josie. It’s our destiny.” He kissed her again, and against her lips he said, “When it happens, I will make love to you as no one ever has before.”

  “Don’t...” She swayed against him. “Please... Let me go.”

  He stepped away from her. “For now.” He rested his hand on the top of her head and curled the soft tendrils of her hair around his fingers. “I’ll call for you tomorrow morning and we will go to the hospital. If there’s anything you need in the meantime, you need only ask. I’ll speak to the cook and ask her to prepare a light meal for your dinner tonight. When you have finished, you will rest, yes?”

  He kissed her again and his mouth was warm on hers. Then he let her go and hurried out of the room.

  When he left Josie sank down to the blue sofa and closed her eyes. “Kumar,” she whispered, and trembled because she did not know what tomorrow would bring.

  * * *

  Hamid Mizra was as broad as he was tall. His gray-streaked hair looked as if it had been blown dry by a wind machine. His mustache was shaggy and he had a nose that made every other feature shrink in comparison. His teeth were large, his smile obsequious.

  He and Ahmed al-Shaibi were waiting for them when Kumar and Josie arrived at the hospital.

  “Prince Kumar,” Mizra said with great enthusiasm, “how good it is to see you. And you Miss McCall. A pleasure, indeed a great pleasure.”

  Josie acknowledged the greeting. “Shall we proceed?” she asked. “I’d like to start with the men’s section.”

  Mizra raised his eyebrows. “You mean that we—” he indicated Kumar and al-Shaibi “—we men will proceed to the men’s section of the hospital.”

  “No, Mr. Mizra, that isn’t what I mean.” She started toward the stairs.

  Mizra didn’t move. “Surely, Prince Kumar,” he said, “the American lady does not intend to go into the men’s section of the hospital.”

  “I’m afraid she does,” Kumar said.

  And though there was a part of him that did not approve of her take-charge attitude, he could not help but admire Josie’s spirit. She was here to do a job, and by Allah, she was going to do it, in spite of him, Mizra and the devil himself, if she had to.

  He had never been to the hospital before, but had relied instead on Hamid Mizra. The minister of health had assured him that the institution was as up-to-date as any hospital in the civilized world. And indeed, when Kumar, following behind Josie, inspected the men’s wards and private rooms, as well as the operating room, it seemed to be.

  “Now,” Josie said, when they had completed that part of the tour, “we’ll inspect the women’s section.”

  “Ah, madame, I’m afraid we cannot do that,” Mizra said. “It would not be proper to enter the domain of women.”

  “You’ve never been up to the third floor?” Kumar asked.

  “Of course not, Prince Kumar. But I have been assured—”

  “By whom?” Kumar asked.

  “Well, by...by Ahmed al-Shaibi, of course. Yes, yes, I have been assured by him that the women patients are just as well cared for as the men.”

  “No, they’re not!” Two bright spots of color appeared in Josie’s cheeks and without another word she started up the stairs.

  Kumar motioned to Mizra and al-Shaibi. “After you, gentlemen,” he said.

  The nurse that Josie had seen yesterday met them when they came in. When she saw Kumar, she touched her fingers to her forehead and bowed. “Prince...Prince Kumar Ben Ari. I did not expect...I did not think that you yourself would do us the honor...” She looked at Josie as though for assistance.

  And Josie said, in her careful Arabic, “Prince Kumar and Minister Mizra would like you to show them the wards, Jumana.”

  “But they are men,” the nurse whispered.

  “If you would, please,” Kumar said. “We want to see everything.”

  The nurse, with a nervous twitch of her mouth, motioned the two men ahead of her. Josie followed behind. She didn’t speak or offer a comment. Kumar stopped at many of the beds and spoke to the patients. Mizra said nothing. His face had reddened, his mouth was tight. He looked neither right nor left.

  When the tour ended Kumar thanked Jumana and the other nurse in attendance, and the three of them, along with a silent and obviously nervous Ahmed al-Shaibi, made their way down the stairs and into al-Shaibi’s office.

  When they were seated and hot mint tea had been served, Kumar turned to Josie and said, “I’d like to hear your suggestions.”

  She opened her purse and took out the notes she had made the night before. “Three of the wards on the men’s floors are empty. Only one room of the ten private rooms on those floors is occupied. I’d like to take over one section of the second floor, two of the wards there and five of the private rooms and have them converted for women patients.”

  “But that cannot be done!” The hospital administrator jumped up out of his chair. “Impossible,” he declared. “Quite impossible.”

  “Sit down, al-Shaibi.” Kumar turned to Josie. “Go on,” he said.

  “At least six other nurses have to be hired and there must be a doctor in attendance or on call twenty-four hours a day. Another thing—the women are served their meals from a different kitchen. I haven’t inspected it or the other kitchen that prepares food for the men’s wards, but I have a feeling that the women’s kitchen is as inadequate as everything else on the third floor. That has to be rectified as soon as possible.”

  “Very well,” Kumar said without hesitation. “You’ll be in charge. I’ll see to it that you have whatever help you need.”

  Mizra cleared his throat. “If you will forgive me, Prince Kumar, I believe that I should be the one in charge.”

  “It should have been your job all along, Hamid. But since you have not done anything to improve the conditions of the hospital, I’m leaving all of this up to Miss McCall. I will, of course, expect you to assist her.”

  “Me? Assist her? But she is a woman. What you ask is quite impossible.”

  “Then I’m afraid I must ask for your resignation.”

  Mizra half rose out of his chair. “Excellency, I—”

  “Effective immediately,” Kumar said. And dismissing his minister of health he turned back to Josie. “I’m sure Mr. al-Shaibi will let you and Miss Barakat share his office and that he and his staff with assist you in every possible way.”

  “Of course.” Al-Shaibi took a handkerchief from his robe and wiped his brow. “Anything you say, Prince Kumar. Anything Missus McCall wants. Of course. Of course.”

  Kumar smiled. “Then it is arranged. She and Miss Barakat will be here tomorrow and you will offer them every help and every courtesy.”

  And al-Shaibi, obviously terrified by what had happened to Hamid Mizra, said again, “Of course. Of course.”

  When they were in the car, Josie said, “Thank you, Kumar. I guess there’s something to this prince-of-the-royal-family business, after all.”

  “Damn stra
ight,” he said, with a grin, using one of her expressions. “But don’t think that what you have undertaken will be easy. I’ve given the order that the hospital staff is to assist you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t meet with opposition. You’re a foreigner and a woman. The next few weeks will be difficult.”

  “I’ve handled difficult situations before.” She settled back against the black leather seat. “I can handle this one.”

  “Yes, I believe you can,” he said with a smile.

  * * *

  The next four weeks were the most difficult of Josie’s professional career. Though she received lip service from al-Shaibi, in reality he did little to help her. The most help she received came from one of the two male doctors on the staff. He had done residency work at the Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit and at Johns Hopkins, and though he still held to many of his country’s traditions, he agreed with Josie that the situation in the women’s section of the hospital was truly abominable.

  With his help and the help of his male nurses, Josie was able to move the three tubercular patients into one of the private rooms on the second floor. After that was done she began converting three of the empty men’s wards into a women’s section. In order to do that a wooden partition had to be built dividing the floor so that the men and women would never see or be in contact with each other.

  Sarida Barakat helped her find five nurses, and Josie hired, in addition to Dr. Zahira Nazib, a young woman doctor from Morocco.

  She did not see Kumar during this time, but she knew from rumbles among the hospital staff that there was growing unrest in the country. She had seen the anti-American scrawlings on the walls and fences: “Down with the United States.” “Kill the infidels!”

  Several times she found it necessary to speak to Kumar on the phone, and when she did he was always available. When once she asked about the problems of political unrest, he brushed them off, saying, “The situation is not as serious as it seems. Kadiri has gone into hiding, so at least he is no longer working from within the cabinet.”

  “I’ve seen the signs,” she said. “About the United States.”

  “Pay no attention to them. There are a few rabble-rousers, but we are rousting them out. Soon we’ll have Kadiri, and when we do this will stop.”

  Several times he asked her to have dinner with him. Each time he did, Josie refused.

  “I spend most of my mornings at my office in the consulate,” she said. “By noon I’m at the hospital, and I’m usually there until very late. When I finally get back to my residence I’m too tired to do anything.”

  That was all true, of course, but it was not the real reason she didn’t want to see Kumar. The truth was that she needed time to sort out how she felt about him.

  She had come to respect him as the provisional leader of his country during his father’s absence. And certainly she was grateful for his having backed her up on the hospital issue and giving her a free hand there.

  But on a personal level she held back. When her work here was finished she would return to her own country. Any thought of a relationship with Kumar was unthinkable.

  That’s what Josie told herself.

  But sometimes at night when she lay alone in her bed she thought of him. And of how it had been for that brief span of time when, in the heat of battle, he had covered her body with his.

  * * *

  She got along well with Aubrey Bonner. He was a career state-department man, and although he took his job seriously, neither he nor Ed Petersen had bothered to learn the language of the country, as she had. For one hour every day Sarida Barakat gave her lessons in Arabic, and every night before she went to sleep Josie studied the next day’s lesson. She still had a long way to go, of course, but she was learning.

  During her second week in Abdu Resaba, Edith Petersen called to invite her to lunch. In spite of Josie’s busy schedule she knew, according to protocol, that she had to accept. She did, but as far as she was concerned, the luncheon was a disaster.

  When one of the servants, a girl who could have been no more than twelve or thirteen, dropped a plate while clearing the table, Mrs. Petersen jumped from her chair and shouted, “You stupid cow! Pick that up at once and get out of my sight.”

  She’d gone on and on, then, about the ignorance of the people. “The country is run by men,” she said. “Macho chauvinists who believe the only function of a woman is to serve and service them. They keep them robed and veiled, barefoot and pregnant.”

  With plump beringed fingers she drummed the pristine white cloth. “My God,” she’d said. “These damned Arabs. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  Josie had been appalled. But later, when she returned to her own residence, she realized that she herself had voiced the same words—macho and chauvinist.

  That gave her pause. Was she, in her own way, as prejudiced as Edith Petersen? Had she, even before she had come to Abdu Resaba, formed an opinion of its people? Of Kumar Ben Ari?

  So it was that the next time he called to invite her to have dinner with him she accepted.

  Chapter 9

  Because he thought Josie might be more comfortable in a restaurant than in one of the private dining rooms of the palace, Kumar had his secretary make reservations at the Royale Jamai. There was a show there he had seen when he’d entertained some Texas oilmen. They had enjoyed it, and he thought Josie might find it entertaining.

  Instead of the limo he drove one of the convertibles, and when he arrived to pick Josie up, Saoud frowned and said, “It would have been better to have used the limousine, Sidi.“

  “With the royal crest on the side?” Kumar shook his head. “No, Saoud, the convertible will draw less attention. After all, my friend, this is supposed to be a date, not a state occasion.”

  “I will, of course, accompany you.”

  “You will, of course, not.“

  “But, Sidi—”

  “No buts, Saoud. I wouldn’t take Miss McCall out at night if I didn’t think it was safe.”

  “I will follow behind.”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

  “I’d prefer I did.”

  “Zfft!” Kumar exploded, and with hands on his hips, glared at the tall man. It would do no good to argue. For years Saoud had been his father’s right-hand man, and when his only son had been born he’d turned much of the raising of Kumar over to Saoud.

  Saoud had wiped his nose when he was a child, accompanied him to Paris when he’d attended the Sorbonne and to Beirut when he went to the university there. He had counseled him through numerous love affairs and been by his side in battle. Saoud was a second father, the best friend a man could have, and Kumar had learned a long time ago that it did no good to argue with him once he made up his mind.

  “Very well,” Kumar said. “Follow us, if it will make you feel better.”

  With the slightest of smiles, Saoud touched his fingertips to his forehead and bowed. “As you wish, Sidi. I will tell Miss McCall that you are here.”

  She came into the room, and as it happened every time he saw her, Kumar felt a catch of breath in his throat. Tonight she was wearing a blue sequined jacket and a long blue skirt with a slit that came to just above her knee. Her hair was back in a chignon. She wore pearl earrings and a single strand of pearls.

  And though the pearls were all right, he found himself thinking, star sapphires. That’s what she should be wearing.

  The night was warm, the sky studded with stars. “You don’t mind having the top down?” he asked when he held the door for her.

  “No, it’s a beautiful night.”

  “I hope you’re hungry.” He pulled out of her driveway onto the road. “I haven’t asked you if you like our food.”

  “I like what I’ve had so far.”

  “Tonight you must sample everything.” He turned to smile at her. “You’re a bit thin, you know. We must try to fatten you up.”

  “For what?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrow.

  Kumar sm
iled. “Who knows?”

  The Royale Jamai was set half a mile back from the road amid a stand of palm trees. It was a magnificent white-and-gold building, glittering with lights. Tall black men wearing bright red robes and tasseled fezes took care of the arriving cars.

  Once inside the gold-and-white building, Kumar and Josie entered into what looked like the lobby of an opera house. The robed man who met them there said, “Good evening, Prince Kumar. How delighted we are to see you again.” He led them across the lobby to a large brass-encrusted door and motioned for Josie to enter what looked like a very large Bedouin tent.

  The lights were low and through the dimness she saw that instead of regular tables and chairs there were sofas big enough for two, with a table in front of each sofa. The setting was beautiful, intimate and quietly seductive.

  “Come.” With a hand on Josie’s elbow, Kumar followed the other man to one of the candlelit tables and seated her into a soft, deep sofa.

  “We will have champagne,” he said, when he settled himself beside her.

  “This is...” Josie looked around her in wonder and shook her head. “A little overwhelming.”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  “I do. It’s like something out of the Arabian Nights or a l940s movie. I half expect Humphrey Bogart or Peter Lorre to be lurking in the shadows.” She beamed a smile. “It’s beautiful, Kumar. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  He smiled back, pleased that she was pleased, and knew he had been right to bring her here rather than to the palace.

  The champagne was served. He touched his glass to hers, and when the orchestra began to play he rose from the sofa and held his hand out to her.

  “Come and dance with me,” he said.

  For a moment Josie hesitated, remembering how it had been the night they had danced at the rehearsal dinner at the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego. But because he had not released her hand, she let him lead her to the dance floor.

  At first she held herself stiffly, but his arms were warm and strong, and little by little she began to relax. Tonight he had worn a robe in a light tan color, of a material that was as smooth as cashmere. With his dark-as-the-night black hair, deep brown eyes and skin the color of golden sand, he reminded her of Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia, in that breathtaking moment when Sharif had ridden into view out of a haze of misty sand.