From the Limbo of the Wings

By George Lambelle

When an Arab girl finds herself in love with the boy friend of an American Jewess, the result is a pair of psychotic and dangerous women. Against the backdrop of the assassination of the Egyptian leader, Anwar el Sadat in 1981, the women strive for revenge over more than each other. One joins the Israeli Army but her educational and physical skills take her to the Mossad, where she becomes a skilled agent. Even then, though, her paranoia leads to an audacious Israeli theft of the mask and gold coffin of the boy king, Tutankhamun, together with other priceless relics from the Cairo Museum. The police chase involves governments as the treasure hunt crosses Africa, America, Eastern and Western Europe, the Middle East and England. Police in three Continents have to battle against the ingenuity of professional spies and assassins as well as the activities of the Arabic girl’s pursuit of her hated rival. And while all that is happening another love story begins amid the murderous efforts of unscrupulous villains on all sides – all complicated by two women whose pathological hatred dominates their every act – not mention a brilliant instinctive Egyptian detective who believes in creative thinking – to the chagrin of the stiff upper lip senior desk trained copper in London.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press UK
• Release date: Jun 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781982281793

Book preview

PROLOGUE:

CAIRO, EGYPT, 1981

P olaroid spectacles and a wide-brimmed sun-hat shielded a fine-looking young woman as she walked in her composed way north from al Tahrir bridge.

With the river drifting in its flat, motionless way on her left, she reached the imposing structure of the Nile Hilton offering shade between its massive bulk and the Corniche el Nil — a frantic dual carriageway separating hotel and river. It was into this shade that the woman strode.

Usually her good looks would have made her more noticeable. But her clothing was unspectacular. A pleated black skirt and a white high-necked blouse set off with the minimum of jewellery sufficed to make her look good without being outstanding. Indeed she did not want to be noticed — or more particularly — remembered.

Around her, heat hazes shimmered silently beneath the climbing Cairo sun as it pursued its daily routine of sucking air from the city of a thousand years. Already there was a fussiness to the day with white robed Egyptians busying themselves about the city centre before the inevitable heat sapped their desire to work.

The more sensible — or fortunate — were only yards away at the side of the Nile enjoying shadows and hoping for a waft of cool air from the river. Optimists they might be, but wiser if their choice of a resting place had been an air-conditioned hotel lounge. Tourists and business people alike mingle in these places — glad of the chance to settle back and talk or simply laze.

For Esther Friedman this was the day for which she had been waiting almost two years…a day which followed more than a year of planning the detail. Now, only hours away, was the climax of a chain of events which would bring her face to face with those she regarded as her natural enemies.

The real heat of the day was still to come. Even so, at twenty-five minutes to ten on this Monday morning, only the foolish became excited and argued or hurried.

Such is life in the land of millionaires, beggars, tourists and dead pharaohs.

To Esther’s left the traffic honked and smelled. People jostled, but Esther strode on, a firm hand steadying her bulky shoulder bag. She moved into the unyielding flare of sunlight between the Hilton and the Bank of Cairo, which were separated by a street lined with palm trees and taxi drivers.

The prestigious hotel stands on the western boundary of Midan al Tahrir — Liberation Square — between the square itself and the river. But this was not the building on Esther’s mind.

She turned right to pass between the hotel and the bank. A palm tree momentarily flicked out the sun as her path took her beneath the comfort of its foliage.

She glanced over her left shoulder and prepared to cross the narrow street — her back now to the river and the Corniche.

Taxi?

The driver had appeared from nowhere.

I’m walking!

I take you to Pyramids… old Cairo….I have good car…You are American?

The questions flooded on wrapped in persuasive smiles, but she ignored the man and after a few moments even the persistent Egyptian gave up and returned to a low wall before the bank’s side entrance.

Ahead of her lay a car park, used mainly by air-conditioned coaches conveying a myriad of languages further to confuse the Babel of its distorted atmosphere. Beyond the car park lay the square and bus station.

The contradictions of Twentieth Century Cairo are never better exposed than in the great square. There, locals — unconsciously thankful for their practical flowing burgas — mix daily with tourists shadeless and undefended in clothing of a different thought.

Midan al Tahrir is hot, noisy and, in its own extraordinary fashion, characterless. A madhouse where people and traffic fight for supremacy. One of Cairo’s attempts to become modern, it has become instead a cauldron of burned out energy.

Esther walked through the car park and approached a beautiful garden on her left. The shade had gone and she blinked involuntarily as the sunlight flashed and glared back off the stone building. Her eyes turned away from the Twentieth Century as she looked upon her prey.

The Egyptian Museum!

The garden, with its nicely-designed fountains, pond and papyrus plants made a splendid frontispiece to the century-old building, which contained the heritage of an age of affluence beyond the dreams of even present-day Arabic oil trillionaires.

In the middle of the boiling noises of modernity, the museum only retained a present-day identity reflected by its outside walls only. Once through the doors, Esther knew the echoes of the outside tumult would never register.

In this building lay a wealth so great that there could be no serious attempt to measure it. Golden treasures of by-gone arts and cultures from thirty ruling dynasties of pharaohs; reawakened by archaeology and a Frenchman named Champollion, who first deciphered hieroglyphics — the picture language of ancient Egypt. Thus he brought about the development of Egyptology and with it a nation’s secrets, which, for five thousand years, had lain beneath the sands of North Africa.

For what?

Exhibition in a museum!

Scorn rose again within her.

Baksheesh!

The pleading voice at her waist belonged to the hand which pulled her skirt lightly but firmly — a skill learned early by the young of Cairo. Esther cursed under her breath. She had made the fatal mistake of stopping and thereby offering an easy target.

Imshee!

Get lost! Esther delivered the rebuke with added venom. The skinny bundle of rags jumped back into a white-uniformed security guard, coming to help in the clear hope of some baksheesh for himself.

Ignoring both, she passed through the gates and walked through the garden to the main entrance of the building which would bring to her and her countrymen a double reward — monetary and satisfaction from potential Arabic pain.

Her anger caused by the begging child resurrected her icy hatred of anything Arabic.

Esther had once been an American citizen.

Indeed the Ramada Renaissance Hotel near the Giza Pyramids knew her as an American. But not as Esther Friedman. Her passport had confirmed to the desk clerk’s satisfaction that she was Mary Bee Caroni, an American of Italian extraction, from New Jersey.

And now she was facing the moment which was already thrilling her with anticipation.

More than a moment of truth.

A moment of history!

A theft above crime.

Compensation for the wrongs done her and her people by these accursed Arabs. Esther didn’t differentiate between an Iranian, Iraqi, Saudi, Libyan — or Egyptian! They were all Arabs who deserved the worst.

How long before the word encircled the Globe?

Pausing, Esther glanced at the Arabs who, to her, were no more than objects of contempt.

Then she walked up the steps, through the security checks and was immersed in the cool gloom of the museum itself.

PALM SPRINGS,

U.S.A., 1975

P lay a let!"

Esther yelled the demand after crashing down into the tramlines. A rogue ball from an

adjoining court had skipped under her feet and brought her down in a frustrated

tangle of limbs. She scrubbed at her knee, bleeding from the scuffing it had taken from the

gravel and scowled –- not from the pain, but from her annoyance at failing to win a point

there for the taking.

She thrived on competition. Even here, during a friendly game at their racquet club.

You all right?

The voice belonged to a tall, blonde young man, who arrived to flip his ball up on to his racquet.

Esther glared at him.

I’m terribly sorry. That’s a nasty scrape.

He betrayed a more than passing interest in the owner of the scrape than the actual injury, a fact that didn’t pass un-noticed by Esther’s three companions — friends from her schooldays in Palm Springs, California, to where she had returned from Los Angeles for the summer vacation.

It’s all right.

I’ve got some medicated dressings. Always keep ’em handy.

I’ve told you. It’s all right.

But the sharpness in Esther’s tone was belied by the look on her face…feminine, slightly helpless…and clearly flattered by his attention.

Come on Esther!

Julie Purser was Esther’s partner and could see this conversation turning into something far removed from tennis.

Weeks earlier, Julie had noticed him and had been working on an introduction. Indeed she’d booked the court at that time knowing he would be there. Now Esther was one jump ahead. She wondered if the fall, although, apparently an accident, had been intentional, with the grazed knee a useful bonus.

Except that it was completely out of character for Esther. She never chased men. Julie didn’t know what to think.

He was helping Esther to her feet.

That’s a cute little limp, though, thought Julie, suspicions running wild. There was more in this than met the eye. Esther must want a little extra company during the vacation.

Thanks, said Esther sending a demure smile straight into the young man’s groin.

Guy Prothero, he said, extending a hand, which Esther held far too long for Julie’s liking.

Esther. Esther Friedman.

She stared at him as he stood there, six feet high; tan set off by his white leisure shirt; good looks enhanced by his concerned expression. Behind him a row of poplars pointed into the blue sky — the perfect backcloth for a portrait.

Let’s get on with the game, Esther. You’re all right.

Julie wished she’d never spoken. Jealousy shone from her sleeve. But her words had had no effect and somehow another round had gone to Esther. Or was it just her imagination?

Shall I get the dressings? said Guy.

Better not let it stiffen up. After the game, if you like.

After the game!

Julie froze.

She’d fixed a date. Just like that!

Fine.

Guy smiled for the first time and the breath caught in Esther’s throat.

I’ll look for you on the terrace, then, said Guy and Esther nodded, suddenly unable to find words. She gave a brave smile and limped back on court.

It’s still deuce!

Ready! called Esther, her attention apparently completely back with the game.

Guy backed slowly away, his eyes remaining on the girl.

He watched the game restart.

Esther was conscious of Guy’s attention from the next court and played like a demon. She made an impressive figure that summer afternoon. A natural athlete, she enjoyed most sports and was a champion runner at UCLA, where she studied science and engineering.

I see your limp’s gone, commented Julie sardonically after one particularly hard rally. But Esther didn’t appear to notice.

Esther and Julie won easily as a result of Esther’s form. When the game ended Julie could hardly bring herself to speak. Her deeply-laid plans had only set up Esther, whose opportunism had been galling, not to say, surprising.

Esther’s parents were practising Jews and she was believed to hold similarly strong beliefs. The assumption was that she was awaiting the right young man with the right background. It was part of her charm that she was able to speak about it to her friends, not only in the tree-lined Acacia Avenue, where she was born and raised, but at school and university, too.

High School in Palm Springs had been a happy experience for her. Quite apart from her success in the classroom, she was a fanatic about sport. Not that she bothered with games like netball. Athletics were her first love.

At University she was the best 1500-metre woman they’d had for years. Indeed anything from 400 metres won admiration. This was closely followed by swimming which, although she took it seriously like everything else, was mainly a fun pursuit. Fun, that is, until anyone tried to stay with her.

Speed she did not possess in the water. But her stamina was remarkable. In the swimming pool, her well-filled swimsuit, tall figure and gleaming fitness made her a centre of attention.

One blood decided on the direct approach.

Why don’t you and me get to together in my place. he said, rather too loudly for Esther’s liking.

That’s fine by me, Bobby, she said, If you’re up to it,

To be up to it he had to prove himself in the swimming pool.

If you give up before me, you’re out, she said and proposed a marathon in the pool.

He was ahead for ten lengths and stopped ostentatiously to let her catch up. To his surprise, she was close behind. He might have learned something about Esther there and then, if he’d thought about it.

Her temper was famous. Not wild. She used it to drive herself. It even showed in her studies when a problem halted progress. Friends knew when it had happened. She would prowl her study, muttering until she found her answers.

Her temper was working for her in the pool as she churned on and on giving no hint of surrender. Too late, Bobby realised he was up against something more than physical fitness. This was someone revelling in the contest and accepting nothing less than victory.

How could winning be so important?

Esther pushed off from the side yet again with a snarling strength, her purpose unshakable. As they approached almost half a mile Esther was ahead and inexorably pulling away.

Bobby had had enough. His spirit, and then his pride had been deflated to the point of collapse. Esther completed two more lengths to rub it in before joining him at the side of the pool, chest heaving, but eyes shining in triumph.

She caught his glance and filled her lungs, sadistically reading his thoughts. Then she leaned towards him to allow her cleavage to rest his imagination.

Maybe you’ll have better manners in future.

A cruel punishment for his flippancy. Esther simply wasn’t interested in a serious relationship. Many took her out, of course, but there the resemblance ended. They was never more than a good night kiss. Indeed only a rare bird got more than one chance. Esther prized her freedom.

She was carefree and happy.

Summer term had ended shortly after her 20th birthday. Ahead lay examinations and when Esther returned to Acacia Avenue, it was as much to continue her revision as to rest.

So the appearance of Guy was all the more unexpected. When the game of tennis ended, there was still more time available on court, but Esther said she was tired.

Tired! Esther!!

Julie glared after Esther’s swaying figure as she led the way off court, sure that somewhere along the line she’d been out-thought.

Esther showered and changed in five minutes flat. Then she left her friends, saying she would see them outside. Julie tried, too late, to catch up, but when she finally made it outside, Esther and Guy were deep in conversation over a pair of fruit juices.

Julie sighed. Frustration set in. She was sorry for Guy as well as for herself. He probably faced the prospect of friendship and little more. That was always the way with Esther, but, instinctively, Julie had noticed a difference this time. The hurried departure from the courts…the swift shower…that was new.

Friend or not, Julie could have metaphorically killed her. For the first time, Esther, however briefly, was disliked. Julie’s attempt at joining the couple was embarrassing. Neither seemed fully aware of her presence. When she spoke, their rejoinders were made without looking in her direction. Worse, she felt their relief when she excused herself to intercept the other girls as they left the changing rooms.

Guy was not a Jew. And more than that, if ever a man played the field, Guy did. He was an accountant. Twenty-seven years old and well off. A real catch for whoever managed it, but surely never with a committed Jewess like Esther.

Julie slunk away to brood about the true meaning of friendship.

Guy and Esther arranged to meet the same evening. Any plans they might have had were discarded. They saw each other the following day.

And again the next night. Clearly Guy not being Jewish didn’t daunt Esther. She’d fallen in love. Out of the blue. Everything was out of control. For the first time in her life, she was unable to concentrate on her studies. Guy dominated her mind. He was filled with a natural charm that many a girl had already found irresistible. but her predecessors and the possibility of successors never entered Esther’s mind.

She took Guy to Acacia Avenue and introduced him with pride to her parents. They saw each other all the time, sometimes with Esther appearing at Guy’s office just for the sake of a short meeting. Sam and Mary Friedman realised straight away that it was more than a passing romance.

Suddenly, from never even having had a boy friend on a regular basis, Esther knew that she wanted — even needed — Guy. What was more she had no intention of hanging around waiting to be a loser. He would be out of reach and vulnerable to other girls when she returned to the university campus in Los Angeles. She wanted insurance. So, in this, as in anything which attracted her attention, Esther moved fast.

Guy found himself on the receiving end of a proposal, which took his breath away. Esther came straight out with it. They would live together. They would be lovers. In his home. When she graduated and began earning, she would make her contribution. Later on…well…they would see whether it would become more permanent.

Guy accepted. He liked it. Modern-thinking. Neat! Cool! Avant-garde. It made him a free-thinker in a changing society, and Esther was enchanting. It meant an alteration in his life-style — the girl friends, that is. He would miss the refreshment of change, but maybe it was time he was thinking of settling down. Slippers and a pipe. His mind went through the possibilities. But usually it stuck on one thought. Esther really was a prize, who caressed his vanity.

There were difficult questions, of course, but they all came from parents concerned about a Gentile living with a Jewess. Guy was 27, living in his own home, and able to do what he liked. Esther had no such possessions, but had lived away from her parents for the past two years and was totally independent in her spirit — if not in her bank account.

There was a difficult scene when she announced her plan to live with Guy. Sam had already guessed what was coming and had prepared Mary for it. Tears flowed. In vain they tried to remind their daughter gently of her race and the inherent difficulties she might face. But Esther hardly heard them. Her mind was set and she was immersed in excitement.

There were practical considerations, too. Sam and Mary feared their daughter embarking upon an involvement which could undo all her student achievements — not to mention the matter of a sexual relationship and the potential emotional and physical risks.

Privately, something else concerned Sam Friedman. As a lawyer, he’d met all kinds and had learned to recognise people by type. Quite apart from the speed at which the relationship had developed, he had an instinctive certainty about the kind of man who had attracted their daughter. He knew she was emotionally undeveloped — even naive.

Worse, he felt that, despite his obvious calibre as a successful young man with a guaranteed future, Guy seemed too immature to be a safe guardian of their only daughter. At times his humour was over-frivolous and any attempt at serious discussion always ended with an off-the-point joke, which destroyed the conversation.

But Esther loved it. She found Guy irresistibly romantic.

Two parents watched their daughter preparing to leave home, possibly never to return, but hoping the opposite. Sam loved her, and in a weak attempt to show it, drove her and her belongings to Guy’s house.

They arrived at a detached, two-storey, red-brick and modern home. Sam found himself critical. Nice carpets, neat decoration, good furniture, a modern stereo, TV and video, a well-equipped kitchen and first-class fittings all round — a home without character.

Maybe Esther might be able to add a feminine touch, but Sam’s earlier misgivings had been fuelled by what he saw.

His drive home was sad, filled with thoughts of the Jewish wedding which now seemed so far away and which had always meant so much to him and Mary. That night, they both wept and prayed for their child.

The scene elsewhere was quite different. The beginning of a new life was launched with laughter and passion. Esther had prepared for their first night together by reading everything she could find about sex. She wanted to make Guy happy and knew it was going to be important.

Nothing had been too much trouble to ensure that this man would he hers for the remainder of her life. She had kept herself a virgin in the hope that one day there would be such a man. Now he was here and she would give herself to him offering and taking the pleasures reserved for the privacy of lovers for life.

They went through the motions of having a meal, but both had the same thing on their mind, so immediately after tea, Esther went upstairs. When curiosity attracted Guy, she was standing in the bedroom with the curtains drawn, but immediately in front of the bedside light.

It was straight from a sexy film she had seen.

Her silhouette beneath her nightdress caused Guy’s pulse to race. For a moment he was held by this new enjoyment of her beauty. Then he crossed the room and kissed her. For the first time she felt nervous. She had dreamed about this for years and desperately wanted it to be memorable.

But no amount of preparation was the same as the real thing. As his hands moved through their first explorations of her body she closed her eyes and fought a desire to curb him. When she opened them it was a surprise to find that he had removed his own clothing. His body was smooth and, she noticed, and had been tactfully prepared with Old Spice toiletries. Nothing like the man odour she had anticipated.

After a few minutes, Guy stood her up at the bedside and gently lifted her night-dress over her head. Once again, that feeling of uncertainty. She clung closely to him, suddenly shy. It was a relief to realise that he understood and, pulling the sheets to one side, he slid beneath them with her.

After that it was easier, but when she guided him into her for the first time, all the theories disappeared. She became tense. The first explorations had always been overshadowed by the big moment ahead. Even the satisfaction of feeling his first shudder within her was insufficient. If she was to be a complete wife to him, she needed more.

And that meant she wouldn’t — couldn’t — wait.

Guy knew something was wrong and she struggled with an explanation.

I want to try again, she pleaded, her disappointment all too obvious.

It was a challenge to Guy, too, and with great patience he allowed Esther to settle carefully into her first moments of new life as a complete woman.

It took a long time, but shortly before midnight, Esther’s tensions finally disintegrated as her emotions tossed away fears. Her nails bit into Guy’s shoulder and she cried out. An exquisite ecstasy sank into limp contentment.. The patience and skill of Guy brought her to a peak which left her limp and sobbing in ecstasy, bringing what to her was absolute permanence to their relationship.

She had discovered the joy of loving. Her dreams had come true.

Truth be told, Guy was glad when Esther finally lay into his arms.. Her smile of a newly found pleasure still played delightfully around her lips. He, though, was exhausted.

Esther purred like a well-cuddled kitten. Tired though she was, she still wanted his hands upon her and drew one of them through her hair and down beyond her neck and shoulders. And all the while she continued to stroke at the weak limpness at his loins until sleep overtook her.

When she awoke, she found that Guy had covered her up and she loved the thought that he had done so. Guy was ready again and so was she. The pair adventured together once more, with Esther delighted to discover there was more to learn. Afterwards it was she who covered her sleeping lover and slipped away before returning to wake him with his breakfast on a tray.

It had been perfect. Esther had taken the biggest step of her life — nothing to do with moving in with a man. The preceding 12 hours had been the confirmation of her teenage dreams to find such joy.

In the days which followed, Esther played housewife to her working husband with childish delight. Studying was pushed to one side.

For the first time, Esther’s love for her parents was submerged. Her concern for their feelings, which had always been strong, disappeared as she convinced herself that she had her own life to lead. If she noticed their concern and lack of enthusiasm, it never showed.

Came term time she was as bright-eyed and chirpy as ever. Despite her obvious sense of loss at leaving, she was also looking forward to getting back to work because now she had a new purpose. The successful completion of her studies would mean that she could get on with her real life — working with Guy to set up a proper home for a family!

Guy was proud of his new mate. She was a partner he could show off with pride and who, by her exuberant presence, increased his prestige – a trophy to outshine all others.

With the relationship now established, Esther’s enthusiasm for life and work grew daily. When she completed her next term’s work, she returned to Guy assuage the longing she had endured during their separation.

With energy to spare, Esther brought home ornaments, flowers and pictures. She even persuaded him to rearrange the furniture and to buy a few extras to fill up corners and make it cosier.

Cooking was something else which added to her joy. She tackled her new cookery book and its recipes with unbridled enthusiasm. And if the meal did go wrong, he was always ready to take her to a fine restaurant.

Indeed her original shyness evaporated and she delighted in allowing his eyes full reign over her body, sometimes even taking lascivious advantage of his male weakness by calling him to her when bathing or changing. She knew he enjoyed seeing her nude. She knew she possessed a beautiful body. It wasn’t vanity — just a desire to give him pleasure at every possible opportunity. And it was nice to share such intimacy. She knew he was delighting in it.

Idyllic!

Everything was new; everything was a surprise; everything was wonderful and Esther thought she would burst. Without any conscious effort she no longer had to plan the future. It was settled.

As the months passed, Esther’s concern for her parents reasserted itself. Although her father never said anything, she sensed his concern for her. Instinctively, Esther began visiting her parents unaccompanied. She fretted that, even in time, Guy might never win him over — as he’d won her.

She also recognised the importance of her studies. She knew that her future would be more secure with knowledge and qualifications, but to achieve them meant further separation.

Her attitude brought its rewards. She graduated with honours and was offered financially-backed post-graduate studies. The temptation to continue to even greater success became irresistible.

Guy’s reaction was so unselfish that she was moved to tears. He agreed immediately that studying was a priority and that she should continue.

I’ll always be here, he said.

Esther loved him more for his understanding. She knew he would miss her as much as she would miss him; this man who made her so happy; who knew her needs; who understood her; who loved her as completely and understandingly as she loved him.

If she felt lonely she was always able to pick up the telephone and he would talk to her as long as she wished. Nevertheless it was a strain. She missed him more and more.

Her parents’ feelings also nagged her thoughts. She yearned for their happiness as her new relationship began its second year. Esther was back studying after the summer vacation and for the first time in her life these pressures caused her to lose sleep.

Esther’s state of mind was a new experience she’d been unable to release. There was a foreboding she couldn’t understand. She knew it was silly but it wouldn’t go away.

I’m worried about you, Esther. You’re not concentrating properly.

The statement from her tutor, Harry Trevor came as a relief. It was enough for Esther to open her heart. The words flooded out. They were a jumble and, in the end, his experience with students brought understanding and with it a simple summary which put everything into perspective.

You’re not the first girl to fall in love, you know, he laughed. "Remember, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Take a break. Go home. Clear your mind for a few days. You’ll come back brand new. You’re under no real pressure at the moment. That’s probably why your mind’s drifting. When your thesis takes shape, this sort of thing won’t happen because your mind won’t be so idle."

Esther needed no further encouragement.

It’ll be a marvellous surprise for Guy, she told Harry and booked a flight immediately.

There was no time to call, but that, she assured herself would make the surprise all the better. She thought the flight home would never end. En route from the airport she stopped her taxi to pick up a couple of bottles of wine.

Arriving home shortly after eight-thirty she tip-toed into the house carrying a bottle in each hand. The stereo was on. The turntable was motionless. But Guy was not downstairs. A furtive smile fluttered. Her eyes added mischief. With childish indian stealth she sneaked up the stairs.

The bedroom door was open half an inch. She was able to push it slightly ajar and poke her grinning features inside.

Therein was set the scene which destroyed her world.

A naked girl was kneeling on the floor, head back, eyes clamped shut and her face twisted in a grimace of pleasure. On his back between the girl’s thighs, hands forward kneading the girl’s breasts, with his head pointing towards the door and in a state of advanced sexual euphoria, lay Guy.

Esther noticed with shocked detachment that her bedside photograph was missing. The bottles fell. The clinking roused Guy when he saw Esther.

He choked and his attempt to stand and overbalanced the girl.

Esther slid slowly down the bedroom doorpost to the floor, both hands covering her open mouth.

Ariana is…er…

Guy’s words hung lamely in the air.

Esther completed it in her mind:

…an Arab!

Esther knew her by sight, but they had never been on speaking terms. All her life she had kept her distance from Arabs, not being sure of how they might react to her, rather than from any rooted dislike.

That would change.

Two pairs of brown eyes met. Both beautiful. One pair feigning arrogance in an attempt to brazen out the situation. The other wide in anguished shock.

But the glassiness in Esther’s face was already disappearing. Her eyes narrowed and focussed on her rival. The brown of her eyes began to reflect a cold blue of fury. A fury directed at them both. She knew in that unerring female way that this was not an occasional occurrence. Guy’s past life had proved too much of a temptation and he was dabbling in it again. He was crouching before her, shaking his head in mute contrition.

The naked Ariana, however, retained her presence of mind and tried to programme herself into a reaction. It took the form of what to Esther, was a contemptuous laugh as she moved stepped over Guy towards the bed where her clothing lay.

It was in a heap which exposed only too obviously the rate at which it had been discarded.

Her laughter burned into Esther’s mind. Worse, the Arab girl walked straight-backed, almost casually, across the room, unembarrassed by her nakedness, her smile twisting into what was, to Esther, a sneer.

Guy continued to gape