Rose of the Desert Read Online Free Page A

nostalgia, "I haven't been home in twenty years."
    "Perhaps that accounts for a decided absence of the Dublin brogue," Julie smiled.
    Towards the end of the first week the desks were almost cleared, and some of the lines disappeared from Steve's freckled forehead. She saw nothing of Clay Whitman except at breakfast and occasionally in the evening when he would arrive at his bungalow, helmeted and spattered with oil. Dr. Rahmid had taken to calling for her each evening and sometimes she dined with him at his bungalow.
    He was a strange man, thoughtful to the point of being morose. She recognised a loneliness in him, and an avid dislike of the desert and its climate. He tended to harp on this in his conversation.
    "Why did you come to Guchani?" he asked one evening in the offended tones he often adopted when talking about the camp.
    Julie gazed up at the stars as they walked. She could never get over their size and brilliance out here in the desert. They hung like silver lanterns from a sky of midnight blue velvet. Reluctantly she answered the doctor's question.
    "Surely you know the state of the office. They needed someone desperately."
    "Yes. But it is a man's job. Men are very plentiful, are they not?"
    "Apparently not," Julie smiled. "They couldn't dig one up in Tripoli, but I've no doubt they will be flying someone out from another station."
    "But if you had refused," he persisted as they passed along the line of bungalows, "they would have had to get someone else."
    "I suppose so," Julie agreed slowly. She had often wondered herself why she hadn't given a flat refusal when Clay Whitman had arrogantly demanded her services, even if the company had sacked her on the spot, which was highly unlikely, as they were against female labour on the camps anyway. But even if they had, she wasn't completely penniless. She could have found her fare home.
    "It all happened so quickly, there really wasn't time to think of refusing," she explained, wondering if that were really the truth. On that freezing cold dawn at the foot of the hotel steps, had she really been as furious as all that, or had there been just a trickle of excitement coursing along her veins at the prospect of working alongside Clay Whitman ?
    "This is a great pity," the doctor sighed. "You should not be living under these conditions."
    "The conditions are not so terrible," Julie laughed, relieved that they had got on to another track. "The food is good, the bungalows are air-conditioned and the last word in comfort. Admitted the heat is a bit trying, but ..." she looked up at him in sudden sympathy. "If you're not happy here, Doctor, why do you stay ?"
    He shrugged, and Julie's sympathy turned to irritation. The young Indian was obviously a very dissatisfied man. He loathed camp life, and the desert and its environment, yet didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. Gazing up at the sensitive mouth and rueful black eyes, she forgot her annoyance and asked cheerfully,
    "Wouldn't you like to go back home?" Her suggestion had been merely a means of making conversation, but she felt she had hit the nail on the head. A slow smile spread across the dark handsome features, revealing gleaming white teeth. He stopped and circling an arm around her shouldfef drew her to him as though grateful for the idea, but almost at once the light had faded from his eyes. The smile was replaced by a dejected frown as he muttered, "I couldn't do that. My work is here at Guchani."
    Poor doctor Rhamid! He really was unhappy. But surely he could get out of the camp contract if he tried, find someone else to fill the position before he left. Still, it was his own business.
    She gazed up at him in silent sympathy, and standing there in the faint glow of the gas jets she became aware of another figure—Clay Whitman. He must have followed them the best part of the way.
    "Good evening," he said sourly, eyeing Dr. Rahmid's arm. The doctor dropped it hastily and stood almost to attention.
    "Good