Jason grimaced. ‘Don’t I warrant a bonus?’ he asked dryly.
‘You surely do.’
‘Then take the girl back!’ Jason’s tones were flat.
‘Give her a chance, Jason,’ exclaimed Sir Harold. ‘Heck, she’s just arrived. Let her prove herself. Don’t be so stubborn!’
‘Prove herself?’ Jason shook his head again. ‘You’re losing me again, Harold. Okay, okay, leave it for now. I’ll handle it. I’m too tired right now to argue with you.’
Sir Harold hung up chuckling, and after he had replaced his receiver Jason sat staring at the phone with puzzled eyes. It wasn’t like Sir Harold to be so obtuse. What in hell did he think he was doing? Unless he imagined that by sending a suitable applicant out to Castanya he might persuade him to give up his bachelor status. For long enough Sir Harold had been trying to get him settled. Maybe this was his final effort. Even so, it was an unsatisfactory solution, but the only one he could come up with.
IN the absent Caxton’s bungalow, Nicola King was taking a shower. The water which sprayed from the tank was warm, but invigorating, and she moved beneath its spray sensuously, loving the feel of the water against her hot skin. Despite the primitive conditions she was experiencing a sense of well-being and satisfaction. She was here, at Castanya; and there was absolutely nothing Jason Wilde could do about it.
She smiled as she recalled his outraged anger when he had discovered her presence on the site. Perhaps he had had enough of women for the time being, but she intended to see that he changed his mind. And then …
Her expression hardened. Jason Wilde would find out that there were still some things he had to learn. He was so big, so powerful, so arrogantly assured of himself. Well, she would change all that. Just how, she was not sure. But she would find a way, of that she was certain. After all, everything had gone according to plan so far. She was here, when everything had been against her achieving such a thing. She gave a slight grimace. It hadn’t been easy. Sir Harold had had to be persuaded, cajoled, gently flattered. He was a man like other men. And Nicola knew she was a woman men found attractive. Besides, there had been a sense of power in controlling a man like Sir Harold Mannering.
She turned off the shower, and stepped out of the cubicle. Wrapping herself in the voluminous folds of a huge bathsheet, she wound it sarong-wise round her body and walked into the bedroom. Seating herself on the bed, she began to brush her thick hair until it was a sleek corn-coloured curtain about her shoulders. As she studied her appearance in the mirror of the dressing table she felt a faint twinge of regret, of conscience, almost. Was that hard-eyed creature intent on revenge really herself? Was she really determining to wreck a man’s life? Where was her warmth and gentleness? Where was the eager young woman with confidence in herself and a zest for life?
She looked away from her image. That girl was gone – for ever. Banished by the careless actions of the man she had met only half an hour ago. Not that he was aware of the havoc he had wrought in her life. She doubted very much whether he was aware of the full extent of the havoc he had wrought in her sister’s life. But he would become aware of it, of that she had no doubt. And when he did – then she would have her revenge.
She dressed in a slim-fitting shift of apricot cotton, left her hair loose about her shoulders, and applied a little eye-shadow and some lipstick. It was no good endeavouring a full make-up. The heat would cake foundation applications to her skin in no time.
As she was completing her toilet she heard a tapping at the door of the bungalow, and she emerged into the hall, and called ‘Come in!’
Graham Wilson came through the door, smiling broadly. ‘Well?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you find everything you needed?’
Nicola smiled back. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced into the lounge. ‘Won’t you come in? I think there are some drinks in the cabinet there.’
Graham flushed. ‘Er – no, thanks, if you don’t mind. Jason is expecting you, and I think we ought to be going.’
Nicola nodded understandingly. ‘Ah, I see. Mr. Wilde. You find him a hard taskmaster?’
‘Heck, no!’ Graham was youthfully vehement. ‘Jason’s a grand chap to work with. All the fellows like him. But he hasn’t much patience with late-comers, and he knows I came to collect you.’
Nicola decided this was no time to attempt to alienate the image Graham Wilson had of his boss, so she just said: ‘Hang on while I get my bag,’ and then followed him out of the bungalow.
They walked to Jason Wilde’s bungalow, and it gave Nicola a chance to take a more detailed look at the site. The rows of living quarters edged a central highway, and at the far end a long low building was brightly lit, the music emanating from its interior indicating that this must be some sort of social centre.
Graham, sensing her speculation, said: ‘That’s the clubhouse. There’s a pool out back of there, and we really appreciate it after a day at the rig. Most of the men work a shift system, and the clubhouse is open day and night. There’s a restaurant,’ – he grinned, ‘I guess you’d call it a canteen, and the men can get a meal when they finish their stint. They work four days on and three off, generally. There are no accepted weekends here, like back home, and every month the men get a full week’s leave. Usually they go down to Gitana, on the coast. There’s plenty of activity at Gitana.’
‘So I noticed,’ remarked Nicola, nodding. ‘Our plane came down there. We drove through the town. It’s a little like Port of Spain, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve been to Trinidad?’ Graham sounded surprised.
‘Just a couple of months ago. With Sir Harold.’
‘Oh, I see. I didn’t realize—’ Graham broke off his train of thought. ‘Tell me, Miss King, how did you persuade our chairman to allow you to come out here?’
Nicola smiled. ‘That’s my secret,’ she replied evenly. ‘How about you? How long do you expect to be out here?’
‘Until the pipeline’s working. Right now it’s barely a third completed. That’s Jason’s problem. The local Sheikh is making things pretty difficult for us.’
Nicola nodded. ‘I see. What do you think Paul will have to do?’
‘Mannering?’ Graham shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably Jason will fix him up. Does he like getting his hands dirty?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’ Nicola was brief, and then they had reached the bungalow where Jason was living.
‘Here we are,’ called Graham, mounting the steps ahead of Nicola, and leading the way into the lounge.
Jason Wilde was lounging in a chair, a glass of lager in his fingers, and he glanced up wryly at their entrance. ‘You’re a little late for dinner, Miss King,’ he remarked sardonically.
Nicola, who was feeling ravenously hungry now, felt furiously angry. She was sure he was well aware of her emptiness, and had deliberately eaten early to force her into waiting until their interview was over when she would have to go to the eating place where all the men would be gathered.
However, she was an adept at concealing her feelings, and she replied, quite coolly: ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr. Wilde. I can wait until later. Perhaps Mr. Wilson would be so kind as to bring a tray to my bungalow?’
Graham was about to accept this proposition when Jason got broodingly to his feet. ‘My men are not waiters,’ he said harshly. ‘You can go, Graham. I can handle this.’
‘Yes. Yes, sir!’ Graham turned and left them, with a slightly regretful glance in Nicola’s direction.
Nicola managed