Temple Of The Moon. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ James would get wind of her visit and do something to prevent it, so she had persuaded Martin to notify the Institute that the party gathering in Merida was being joined by ‘G. Christow’ instead of ‘Mrs J. Warner’. Later she had chided herself for cowardice and had made herself write to James, telling him the truth. She had been on edge ever since, in case word came from the Institute, rejecting her. In the meantime she had gone ahead blindly with her arrangements, obtaining the necessary documents, and having her smallpox vaccination renewed.

      She had flown by jet from London to Mexico City and then had used one of the smaller domestic airlines to fly her to Merida. She would have preferred to travel there by train, stopping off on the way to visit the famous ruins at Palenque, but had sacrificed her own wishes under the compulsion to get to Merida and establish herself with the expedition.

      One of her first actions, after taking up her reservation at the hotel, had been to write a note to Professor Morgan announcing her arrival and sending it round to the Institute. She knew they would all be busy with last-minute preparations for the trip and felt it would be better to allow the professor to contact her at his own convenience rather than arrive on the Institute doorstep, tacitly demanding attention they might not have time to give her. For the past twenty-four hours she had not dared to leave the hotel in case a message came for her, but she had been disappointed. She told herself resolutely that much of the depression she was feeling was due to jet lag—nothing more. But James’ failure to meet her at the airport, followed by this chill silence from the Institute, was unnerving to say the least.

      The hotel doors swung inwards, and she glanced up instinctively as she had done so many times during the course of the day. But this was no influx of wet, disgruntled tourists. It was a man, on his own, and somehow Gabrielle knew, as her casual gaze fixed and sharpened, that he was no tourist. He was tall and long-legged moving with an easy animal grace in denim shirt and pants with a matching rain-spattered jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He threaded his way through the chatting groups to the reception desk where a smiling clerk turned to greet him. She couldn’t hear what passed between them, nor could she lip-read, but he was obviously asking a question, and Gabrielle felt a sudden, illogical trickle of apprehension along her spine as the newcomer turned, his eyes flicking almost indifferently over the tables. She sensed rather than saw the clerk reply, and knew with all the certainty of pounding heart and pulses that they were both looking at her.

      She picked up her glass with fingers that shook, and took a hasty sip. Surely this couldn’t be Professor Morgan? Martin had given her the impression of a much older man—a contemporary of James, she had decided in her own mind. For an endless moment, she made herself look down at the table, trying to pretend she was oblivious to his regard.

      ‘Is your name Christow?’ She had not heard his approach and she started violently, spilling a little of her drink. His voice was low and resonant, but held no welcoming warmth.

      Gabrielle looked up reluctantly. He was standing over her, his thumb hooked negligently into his belt. At close quarters, the attraction she had only sensed across the room was quite devastating and she was conscious that they were the cynosure of envious feminine eyes from adjoining tables.

      ‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘I’m Gabrielle Christow. And you?’

      His face was narrow, the cheekbones and jawline prominent, with dark hair in need of cutting springing aggressively back from his forehead. Against his deep tan, his eyes were as pale as aquamarines. They held incredulity and hostility in almost equal amounts.

      He said slowly, ‘My God, I don’t believe it. The fools! The bloody, incompetent fools!’

      Gabrielle stiffened, aware as he was not of the interested ears surrounding them.

      She said with a hint of ice, ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you.’

      ‘No?’ One of the slanting dark eyebrows lifted in a sardonic question. ‘Were you naively expecting to be welcomed with open arms? If so, I’m afraid, young woman, you’re in for a sharp disappointment.’

      Gabrielle was very pale. She stammered, ‘But I though—I mean, Vision made all the arrangements—I understood I was expected.’

      ‘We were expecting a photographer from Vision to join us—yes.’

      There was no doubting the implication in his words and she glared at him.

      ‘Are you questioning my professional competence?’ she demanded hotly.

      ‘That’s the least of my concerns.’ He hitched forward a chair, and straddled the seat, his arms folded across the back of the chair. ‘In any case, I shall not be in a position to judge it.’

      ‘Meaning?’

      ‘Meaning that you’ll be on the next flight back to Europe from Mexico City as soon as it can be arranged. We’ll cable Vision and if they care to do a hasty re-think and send us a replacement before we leave, all well and good. If not …’ He shrugged.

      ‘A replacement?’ she echoed dazedly. ‘But why?’

      ‘I should have thought it would have been obvious even to the meanest intelligence.’ The cool blue eyes went over her from the chic sandals to the scooped neckline of the sleeveless white dress. ‘This assignment is not for a woman, Miss Christow.’

      For a stunned moment she looked at him, then she managed a brief, scornful laugh. ‘What kind of absurd prejudice is this, may I ask?’

      ‘Ask away.’ He produced a cheroot from a case and lit it. ‘It has nothing to do with prejudice—just ordinary common sense. The rain forest is no place for an inexperienced girl. I should have thought your editor would have had more sense.’

      Gabrielle shook her head in disbelief. It had been bad enough coming from James, but to come all this way and get the same reception from a complete stranger was almost more than she could bear.

      She said coldly, ‘In Britain now women have equal opportunities with men. Legally we can no longer be discriminated against on the grounds of sex.’

      ‘That’s fine for Britain.’ He drew deeply on the cheroot. ‘But it cuts no ice in the Yucatan—which is where you are, in case you hadn’t noticed. The expedition we’re involved in has dangers and discomforts you’ve never even imagined in your comfortable London office. A man could—just—have made it. But you?’ He spread his hands, his eyes going over her dismissively. ‘No way.’

      Gabrielle stood up angrily, ignoring the speculative looks being directed at them from all over the foyer.

      ‘I should prefer to continue this—discussion somewhere less public,’ she said in a low voice.

      ‘Willingly.’ His smile lifted the corners of his firm-lipped mouth. ‘My place or yours?’

      Gabrielle felt her cheeks redden in spite of herself.

      ‘Professor Morgan …’ she began in angry protest.

      He shook his head. ‘Wrong again, I’m afraid. My name is Lennox—Shaun Lennox. Dennis Morgan is ill—a touch of fever.’

      She stared at him, a glimmer of hope appearing on her bleak horizon. ‘You mean you’re not even the leader of the expedition and yet you presume to come here—to give me my marching orders as if …’

      ‘Yes, I do so СКАЧАТЬ