Sheba. Part 14

Marie Ferret is half-French, half-Arab. She's the head of a trading organization which stretches from Zanzibar to Singapore. A very remarkable woman. She has regular trucks going up to the Shabwa area. If your husband wanted to get there in a hurry, that's the way he would go-'

There was a strange smile on her face when she looked up at him. 'Is she a friend of yours?'

Kane shrugged. 'I know her,' he said. 'She'll give me any information she has.' He walked to the door. 'If it's not too late when I get back, I'll drop in again.'

She stood up quickly and moved across to the table. 'I've written a letter to the Consul in Aden telling him I've found you all right.' She laughed rather self-consciously. 'He asked me to do so. He didn't seem too happy about my coming here on my own.'

He slipped the letter into his pocket and grinned. 'Maybe he had a point. I'll see you later.'

He went downstairs, crossed the foyer and entered the casino. Skiros was still sitting by the window, cheroot between his teeth and gla.s.s at his elbow.

Kane slipped into the opposite chair. 'Looks like you're having a good night.'

Skiros smiled. 'I do not complain. Luckily the world is full of fools who do not understand that the house always wins. What of Mrs Cunningham's husband? Have you managed to trace him yet?'

Kane shook his head. 'Gonzalez says he hasn't landed here, but you know how much one can rely on his word. I'm going to see Marie Ferret now. She might know something.'

As he got to his feet, he took Ruth Cunningham's letter from his pocket and pushed it across the table. 'Put that in the mail bag for me. It's important.'

Skiros nodded and snapped his fingers at a waiter. 'You're just in time. I'm sending a boy down to the jetty now. The mail boat sails on the ten-o'clock tide.' He gave the letter to the waiter with a brief command. 'Have you time for a drink?'

Kane shook his head. 'Another time, Skiros. I'll probably be back later on to see Mrs Cunningham again.'

Skiros smiled and the flesh creased around his eyes. 'I trust you will remember that this is business. She's a very attractive woman.'

Kane didn't to bother reply. He turned and forced his way through the crowd, crossed the foyer and went out into the cool night.

As he walked along the centre of the narrow street, he thought about the Greek's last remark. It would be foolish to deny that Ruth Cunningham was an attractive woman and yet, since that brief feeling of excitement and unease when they had first met on the jetty, he had been conscious of no physical feelings about her.

She was the first woman of his own kind he had met for years and yet she left him completely unmoved. But then, women were something he was extremely careful about. After all, Lillian had seemed a very pleasant girl during those first few months before they got married. Remembering what had come after, the thought that she was no longer a part of his life filled him with a conscious pleasure and he paused on a street corner to light a cigarette.

It was the best part of the day. The Hour of the Dove, they called it. The lights of the ships in the harbour were mirrored in the water, and from a nearby cafe came the sounds of music and laughter as someone celebrated a wedding.

Arabs in colourful robes crowded sidewalk tables, sipping coffee from delicate cups, talking endlessly amongst themselves. With the advent of night, the street had become a bazaar with stalls that sold everything from hand-made bra.s.sware to cooked food.

There was an air of excitement, of vitality in the air, and the night, like smooth velvet, brushed his face as he pressed through the crowd.

Gradually, the streets emptied as he moved away from the centre and climbed steadily through narrow, cobbled alleys towards the promontory which curved out towards the sea.

Marie Ferret's house was perched on the extreme end of the finger of rock, looking out over the harbour. It was a two-storeyed building with a flat roof, standing in an acre of garden surrounded by a high wall.

Kane paused outside a solid, iron-bound door and pulled the bell chain. After a while there was a movement on the other side and the door swung open noiselessly.

The man who stood revealed presented an extraordinary figure. A full-blooded Somali, his ebony face was topped by a flowing mane of black hair. He stood six foot six and was broad in proportion: a giant of a man in white robes.

His mouth twisted in a grin and he moved to one side, motioning Kane to enter. Kane smiled and said in Arabic, 'Is your mistress at home, Jamal?'

The Somali turned from the door and nodded. He had been branded in the centre of the forehead as was customary with slaves in certain parts of the Yemen. He had tried to escape from his master, and on being caught, had had his tongue cut out in the market place as a warning to others.

His second attempt at escape had been more successful. Dying from thirst in the desert, he had been found by Marie Perret, who had nursed him back to health. He had been her shadow ever since.

He led the way along a flagged path between the fig trees to a covered terrace, motioned Kane to a chair and disappeared inside the house.

Kane inhaled the freshness of the garden. It was a riot of colour and the night air was heavy with the scent of flowers. Several palms lifted their heads above the wall and gently nodded in the cool breeze, leaves etched against the night sky, and a fountain splashed into a fish pool amongst the trees. There was a light step behind him and he turned quickly and rose to his feet as Marie Perret walked out onto the terrace.

She was a small, graceful girl of twenty-five and the soft contours of her body were accentuated by the jodhpurs and khaki bush-shirt she was wearing. Her hair was black, an inheritance from her Arab mother, as were the wide, almond-shaped eyes and rather full mouth.

The rest of her was pure French, and she smiled gaily and flung herself down into a chair. 'How are you, Gavin? What a wonderful night. I've just been for a ride.'

Kane grinned and offered her a cigarette. When he had given her a light, she leaned back in her chair. 'Did everything go all right in Mukalla?'

He took a letter from his inside pocket and handed it across. 'Sorry, I was forgetting. I saw your agent there yesterday. He gave me that for you.'

As she read it, he watched her covertly, marvelling at the change of expression on her face, cold, businesslike and purposeful. Since the death of her father when she was only twenty, she had ruled Perret and Company too with a rod of iron. From the Red Sea to the Pacific her name was a legend. Scrupulously honest, but shrewder than any bazaar trader.

She frowned slightly and called, 'Ahmed - here a moment!'

A heavily built, grey-haired Arab came out onto the terrace. He wore European clothes and held a pen in one hand as though disturbed from some important work. He was the general manager of the firm and an old and trusted friend of her father's.

He smiled and nodded to Kane, and Marie handed him the letter. 'Read that, will you? Gavin has brought it from Mukalla. Laval says he can take all the sesame oil he can get. If we move fast we can buy up all available stocks.'

Ahmed nodded and was about to go back inside when Kane said, 'Just a moment, Ahmed. Perhaps you can help me.'

Ahmed turned with a smile and said in perfect English, 'What is it, Gavin?'

'There's a Mrs Cunningham in town at the moment. She's looking for her husband. When she last heard of him he was supposed to be coming to Dahrein, but no one seems to know anything about him."

Ahmed frowned for a moment and then nodded. 'Cunningham - John Cunningham. Yes, I remember him. He wanted to go up-country to Shabwa.'

'When was this?' Kane demanded.

The Arab shrugged. 'About two months ago.' He turned to Marie and explained. 'It was when you were in Bombay. This Englishman landed from the boat and visited me at the office. He wanted to go to Shabwa. I warned him of the dangers but he wouldn't listen. We had a convoy of four trucks taking equipment to Jordan. I let him go with them.'

'And when did he return?' Marie said.

Ahmed shrugged. 'I'm afraid I have no knowledge on that point. As far as I remember he paid to be taken to Bir el Madani - the nearest Arab village to Shabwa. What happened to him after that I do not know.'

He turned to Kane. 'I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, Gavin.'

Kane shook h;s head. 'You've been a lot of help. At least I know this guy got as far as Bir el Madani. Before that I couldn't even prove he'd landed in Dahrein.'

Ahmed smiled. 'Well, if you'll excuse me. I've got a lot of work on my hands.'

After he had gone back into the house, Marie said, 'What on earth could this man Cunningham be doing in the Shabwa area?'

Kane shrugged. 'He was an archaeologist. Probably looking for rock carvings.'

'On his own?' she said incredulously. 'Surely not. Only a fool would attempt to travel in that area alone.'