But Dr Strathallen’s lean features, as he gestured for her to precede him through an open door at the inner end of the hall, had the tan resulting from a naturally olive complexion being exposed to a hot climate for much longer than the longest vacation.
The large room where the interview was to take place was decorated and furnished with an elegance that married European taste with some fine things of Eastern origin. But precisely where in the vast Oriental world these artefacts came from she wasn’t sure.
To her regret, she wasn’t widely travelled. It was one of several reasons why she wanted the job. She longed to see more of the world. But that wasn’t her principal reason for hoping that, despite his unfriendliness—he hadn’t smiled or shaken hands—Dr Strathallen would prefer her to the other candidates.
‘Sit down.’ He indicated one of two sofas facing each other across a large low glass table.
‘Thank you.’ Nicole sat, placing her bag beside her on the cream-upholstered, feather-filled cushion into which she had sunk.
She was five feet six, but the sofa was designed for long-legged six-footers like the man relaxing opposite her. He was able to rest his broad shoulders against the back cushions whereas she had the choice of sitting upright or lounging which, in these circumstances, wasn’t an option.
For what seemed a long time he looked at her in silence. Nicole forced herself to hold his gaze while longing to look away. There was something extremely disturbing about that silent surveillance even though, like the security man, he didn’t send out the vibes of a virile man looking at a bedworthy woman. Not that bedworthy was the look she wished or tried to project.
Today she had dressed to look businesslike and efficient. Even so several men on the train and in the concourse of the mainline station had given her the eye. She knew, without vanity, that she was still attractive. At thirty-two, she hadn’t yet lost the sex appeal inherited from her far more glamorous mother.
When it seemed he was never going to break the silence, she found herself asking, ‘Have you many people to interview?’
‘Five...all equally well qualified. The choice depends on my judgment of who is best suited to the demands of the environment. Would you like some coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
As he leaned forward to reach for a bell on the table between them and give it a vigorous shake, she couldn’t help noticing the way his thick black hair sprang from a high broad forehead. Even if she hadn’t known about his doctorate, the highest academic degree in any field of learning, even if he had been a stranger sitting opposite her in an Underground train, she would have guessed he was clever, possibly brilliant
Appearances could be misleading but no one with a spark of intuition could fail to read the signs of a penetrating intelligence... or to pick up the indications that he might also be a demanding, even difficult leader in whatever field he excelled in. Uncompromising was the word that sprang to her mind. She wondered if she could cope with another dogmatic person in her life.
‘What kind of environment is it?’ she asked, eager to know what lay behind the somewhat cryptic reference to an exotic location.
He answered her with a question. ‘How’s your geography?’
‘About average.’
‘Do you know where Rajasthan is?’
‘Of course...it’s a state in the north of India,’ Nicole said coolly. She had thought he was going to quiz her about somewhere far more obscure. Not that she was all that knowledgeable about India, but she had often browsed through Dan’s atlas, wondering when, if ever, she might be able to satisfy her longing to see other countries, other cultures.
‘What else do you know about it?’
‘Not a lot. I know it has a famous desert.’
‘The Great Thar Desert.’
Nicole knew how the name was spelt but, until he pronounced it, she hadn’t known the ‘h’ was silent.
At that moment another man entered. He looked to be about fifty, with jet-black hair turning grey, a slight physique and thin hands. He was wearing European clothes but was recognisably Indian.
‘Coffee, please, Jal,’ said Strathallen.
With a slight bow the man withdrew.
‘At the western edge of the desert,’ Strathallen continued, ‘there’s an old walled city called Karangarh. How would you feel about living and working there?’
‘If I hadn’t been prepared to go more or less anywhere, I wouldn’t have applied for the job,’ Nicole replied.
‘But from the questionnaire you filled in it appears that your travels so far have been limited to a few conventional tourist resorts in Europe?’
‘Because I haven’t had the time or the means to go further afield, not because I haven’t wanted to,’ she told him. ‘After my mother’s death, my father wanted me to share his holidays and I wanted to be with him while he was lonely without her. Now he’s married again and has my stepmother to go on holidays with him. Which leaves me free to go wherever I please.’
This explanation wasn’t untrue. It was a version of the truth that would give a better impression than the whole truth. Nicole felt the facts of her life, except those relating to the job she was applying for, were nothing to do with Dr Strathallen. Also he didn’t strike her as a man who would have much understanding of the complexities and pressures affecting the lives of lesser mortals than himself.
The manservant returned with a tray. To have come back so soon he must have been expecting the request and had everything in readiness. Silence fell on the room while he went through a practised ritual of serving the visitor and then his employer—if in fact that was their relationship.
For reasons there wasn’t time to define, Nicole sensed that Dr Strathallen wasn’t the owner of this luxurious and sophisticated apartment It didn’t match his persona. Indeed the clothes he was wearing, a well-cut grey suit with a light blue shirt and dark blue tie, didn’t quite ‘go’ with the general air of the man.
She had no idea what was worn by the inhabitants of the Great Thar Desert, if it had any. But she had read a book about the fierce Tuareg tribesmen of the Sahara. She could easily visualise Strathallen riding over a rolling sea of sand dunes, mounted on a camel, with a black turban on his head and an indigo ‘veil’ protecting his nose and mouth from the gritty desert wind while his narrowed grey eyes searched the empty horizon.
What it was about the man that caused her imagination to present her with this vivid improbable picture, she couldn’t tell. Except that the body inside the businessman’s clothes looked more powerful than that of any men she’d encountered, and his face was a tough man’s face, not that of a number cruncher or anyone desk-bound.
The manservant withdrew, leaving them each with a poured cup of coffee, with a pot containing a couple of refills beside it. The cream jug and sugar bowl were near Nicole. She didn’t take sugar but added some cream to her cup.
‘Do you take these?’ she asked, ready to pass them to him.
‘No, thanks. I don’t eat biscuits either,’ he added, referring to the plate of English biscuits also left near her cup. Nicole had concluded that he didn’t when a plate and a white-on-white embroidered napkin had been set out for her but not for him. Normally she enjoyed biscuits, but right now she didn’t want to have her mouth full when he shot a question at her.
Normally calm and self-possessed as befitted her years, suddenly, in Dr Strathallen’s presence, she felt her poise cracking as if she were an apprehensive twenty-year-old instead of a mature woman..
‘How large a place is Karangarh?’ she asked.
‘A long time ago it was an important city ruled by a long line of