‘Why should I?’ Ed laughed. ‘That’s what it’s there for — to be eaten. Besides I owe you people a debt of gratitude anyway. If Jan hadn’t turned up when he did, it would have been a week or more before I found the entrance.’
Julie was standing over the table. ‘You boys are so interested in what you’re doing, I’ll bet you haven’t any idea why I’m serving a turkey dinner.’ There was laughter in her eyes.
Jan stared at her with a puzzled frown. It was Ed who suddenly laughed out loud. ‘I got it,’ he cried. ‘I got it.’ And he thumped the table with his fist. ‘By God, it’s Christmas Day.’ And he jumped to his feet and dived into his tent, coming out with a bottle of cognac. ‘Merry Christmas!’ He was laughing as he held the bottle up.
‘Do you mean it’s the twenty-fifth today?’ Jan’s voice sounded surprised, as though time had crept up on him unawares.
Julie put her hand on his shoulder. ‘And tomorrow will be the twenty-sixth. Your wife will be in Ouarzazate tomorrow. Remember?’
He nodded. ‘Tomorrow.’ He repeated the word as though it were something unattainable and I saw him glance towards the Post.
Julie turned to Ed. ‘Afterwards, I’ll drive you down to the Post. There’s probably some mail for you.’
‘Oh, don’t bother.’ He turned to Jan. ‘We got more important things to talk about.’
‘But you must have your mail on Christmas Day,’ Julie said. ‘There’ll probably be some presents — ‘
Something in the expression on his face stopped her. He was standing with the bottle in his hand looking round at the tent. ‘I’ve been too much of a rolling stone, I guess. And I’ve no family anyway.’ He came over to the table. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink.’ And he began to pour us each a cognac.
We drank a toast and then we started to feed. Every now and then Jan glanced uneasily down the piste towards the palmerie. It was as though he were waiting for something to happen, for tomorrow — the future — to catch up with him.
About halfway through the meal he suddenly stopped eating, his eyes staring down towards Foum-Skhira. I turned in my seat and saw a little puff of sand scurrying along the edge of the palmerie. It was a French truck driving fast along the piste towards us. ‘Do you think Legard is back?’ he asked me.
The truck drew up by the tent in a cloud of sand. The bearded orderly from the Post was at the wheel. ‘Bureau,’ he shouted, pointing urgently towards Foum Skhira.
I got up and went over to him. ‘Who wants us to go to the Bureau?’ I asked the Berber.
But he insisted on sticking to his limited French. ‘Bureau,’ he repeated. ‘Vite, vite, monsieur.’ It was clear that for official business he regarded French as the only language to talk to Europeans.
I asked him again who wanted us, whether Legard was back, but he remained obstinately silent, merely repeating, ‘Bureau, monsieur.’
‘fa va,’ I said and went back to the others. ‘I think we’d better go and see what’s happened,’ I told Jan.
He nodded and we continued our meal in silence, whilst the orderly sat stolidly waiting for us in his truck. When we had finished I got to my feet. ‘I’ll drive you down, shall I?’ Julie said. Ed sat watching us. His freckled face was puckered in a frown. Jan drew me to one side. ‘I’m just going to have a word with Ed,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll join you. We’ve come to an understanding — a sort of gentleman’s agreement. I want him to realise that whatever Legard’s instructions about me, he’s free to go ahead on his own.’ He turned back to the table then, and Julie and I went out to the bus.
As we climbed in, she said, ‘I’ve got something for you, Philip. I wanted to give it to you before the meal, but I couldn’t because of Ed.’ She went through into her section of the caravan and came out carrying one of George’s canvases. She turned it round so that I could see it. It was a painting of the ravine at Enfida, showing the Mission house as a small white building above the green of the olive trees. ‘It’s just to remind you of us — to hang in your room when you build your new Mission.’
I looked at her, feeling a sudden lump in my throat. I took a step forward and then stopped. ‘But you’ve so few of his paintings. I couldn’t possibly — ‘
‘Please. I want you to have it. He would have wanted it, too. I told you, he was doing a painting for you when — when it happened.’
She held the canvas out to me and I took it, still staring at her. Her eyes were wide and close to tears. A pulse beat in her throat. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I murmured. ‘I haven’t words to thank you.’
‘Just remember where I have asked you to hang it.’
I looked down at the painting, not knowing how to tell her what I felt. And then Jan came in. Julie went past me to the driving seat and started the engine. We drove past the tent where Ed White sat alone and down the piste towards Foum Skhira, the orderly trailing us in his truck.
The day had clouded over completely now and the wind was getting up so that all the sky beyond the palmerie was brown with sand. It was like it had been the day before. But the wind was from the other direction now and as we ran along the edge of the palmerie, we were sheltered from the drifting sand and all we experienced of the rising wind was the thrashing of the palm fronds as the soft, springy trunks bent under the thrust of it, though away to the left, between us and the mountains, the sand was on the move everywhere. We didn’t catch the full force of it again until we drove past the remains of the souk and out into the open space between Ksar Foum-Skhira and the forts. And here, besides the sand, the windscreen became spotted with rain.
There was a Citroen parked outside the Bureau and we drew up beside it. ‘That’s not Legard’s car,’ Jan said. ‘He had a jeep.’
‘Maybe somebody gave him a lift back,’ I said. But I noticed as we walked past it that it wasn’t an Army car. Under its white coating of dust it was black. I had a sudden sense of being trapped and glanced quickly at Jan. He was frowning and his eyes were looking around him uneasily.
The orderly hurried past us, his cloak flapping in the wind. We followed him into the passageway of the Bureau. He went straight to Legard’s office, knocked and went in. I hesitated, trying to catch what was being said, but they spoke softly. And then the orderly emerged again and beckoned to us.
Julie went in first and then Jan. They both stopped and there was a look of shocked surprise on Jan’s face. Then I, too, was inside the office and the sense of being trapped was overpowering.
It wasn’t Legard sitting at the desk in there. It was Bilvidic.
He rose as he saw Julie. ‘Mademoiselle Corrigan?’ he asked.
Julie nodded. ‘We were expecting to see Capitaine Legard.’
‘Ah yes. But he stayed to organise his food trucks. My name is Bilvidic, of the Surete in Casablanca.’ He paused and regarded Jan, who had turned automatically towards the door as though seeking escape. But the door had closed and, standing against it, was a man who was obviously a policeman in plain clothes. He was tall, thick-set, with sallow features and a flattened nose. Bilvidic motioned Julie to a seat. ‘Tell me, Mademoiselle Corrigan, how long have you known this gentleman?’ He indicated Jan.
‘Not very long,’ Julie answered. ‘Why?’
‘And all the time you have known him as Dr Kavan?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you agreed to drive him down here to Foum-Skhira?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Miss Corrigan has nothing to do with this business,’
I said quickly. ‘If you want to ask questions, please put them to me.’
‘Very well, monsieur. Since you wish it.’ Bilvidic’s grey eyes stared at me frostily over their little pouches. ‘Why did you lie to me? Why do you say this man has flown from England? You knew that we would check.’