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THE FOG LAY LIKE A blanket over the landscape. The air was cold and damp. Wrapped in her thick, black, wool coat, Janine walked along the beach, the mist swirling around her, distorting the dunes and the shrubs into obscure shapes. She could hear the soft murmur of the ocean and the plaintive cry of a curlew on the estuary nearby. She liked this kind of weather. It made her feel safe, made her feel nobody could see her, and even if they did, they wouldn’t see her but just a, faceless, anonymous woman with no identity.
The solitude was her friend: healing, calming, giving her new strength, a chance to recharge her batteries. I’m still young, only thirty-four, she thought as she walked. I can start a whole new life when I’m ready. And this time, I won’t be fooled by a man or be seduced by power and money.
With the sudden realisation that she had reached a new stage in her life, she increased her speed, her back straight and her arms swinging. “Yes,” she said out loud, “I can do it, I can live again.”
Her words were hardly out of her mouth when she saw a shape coming towards her. A man. Running. She froze, her heart racing. As he approached, she could see him more clearly. Tall and lean, he ran with a steady pace, breathing evenly. She relaxed. A jogger on a morning run.
She was about to slip into the dunes when he noticed her. Panting, he stopped, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his tee shirt. “Morning. Sorry. Didn’t see you until just now. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“Maybe a little. I didn’t expect to meet anyone at this hour.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s late for me. I’ve just arrived from the States. It’s about three a.m., according to my brain. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run to see if it would help me unwind.”
“You’re very fit,” Janine remarked, admiring his toned body and muscular legs.
“Yeah, I suppose. Helps me cope with my crazy life.” He leaned over and put his hands on his thighs, breathing heavily. Then he straightened up again. “Phew, yeah, that should do it. I’m pretty pooped now. I’ll go and have some breakfast and then a long snooze.” He studied her more closely. “You’re not from around here?”
Janine backed away. “No, just visiting.”
“Do I hear a French accent?”
“Possibly,” she said.
He grinned, revealing a row of perfect white teeth, and held out his hand. “Enchanté, Madame.”
She took his hand. “Nice to meet you. And my name is—” She stopped as he put a finger on her lips.
“Shh,” he muttered. “No names.”
She didn’t know if he was joking or not, but she nodded. “Of course. But you speak French?”
“Yes. They say my French is very good. I worked in France.”
“They are wrong. Your accent is terrible.”
“I’m a bit rusty. My accent mightn’t be great anymore, but I still have a good vocabulary.”
Janine raised one of her eyebrows. “Vraiment?” she said and launched into a long sentence in rapid French, mostly about property laws, ending in a question about ownership and inheritance. This was her usual test when someone pretended to speak perfect French. She paused and looked at him sweetly as if waiting for a reply.
He shrugged and smiled. “No. Only when there’s a full moon,” he said.
“What?”
He grinned. “Yeah, okay. My French is terrible. Haven’t a clue what you just said. But I did work there. In English, of course,” he added.
“Where in France?”
He waved his hand vaguely, looking as if he regretted his statement. “Oh, here and there.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. Well, you know...”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
He nodded. “Somehow I know you do. No names, no details. Ships in the night. You and me, I mean.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He started walking toward the dunes, and she fell into step with him. It seemed so natural to walk with him, even though they had just met.
He looked down at her. “You have unusual eyes. Brown with little blue flecks, like tiny sapphires set in brown velvet.”
She laughed. Not because she thought he was funny, but because talking to him was such a pleasure—such a delight after her long period of solitude. His voice was pleasant too—deep with a throaty catch. She realised whom he reminded her of. Jake. He didn’t look like Jake, who was blond with a Scandinavian air. This man had dark cropped hair and green, nearly turquoise eyes, the colour of the ocean on a bright day. It was more his demeanour, his easy charm and a free spirit she instinctively felt he had. Just like Jake.
“That was funny?” he asked.
“No. Not really. It was just that I felt—” She didn’t know how to explain it.
“I know. I kind of felt it, too. You know, that we’ve met before. Weird, isn’t it?”
“A bit. But nice too.”
“Fate, would you say? If you believe in that nonsense.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”
They had reached the path that led to the house. He stopped walking. “I’d better get back. I only have a couple of days and then I have to go on another trip.”
“I see. Well, it was—”
“Nice to meet you. Yes. Maybe we’ll meet again some day?”
Before she had a chance to reply, he had turned away, jogging slowly up the path. She could see him jump over the fence in one easy stride and continue up the road.
Suddenly weak, she sank down on the cold damp sand. She touched it, picked up a handful and let it run through her fingers. Not like the sand in the desert, she thought. There, it burns like hot coals...
-o-
Halfway down the great pyramid, Janine slipped from Jake’s grasp and tumbled awkwardly, pinning her leg as she fell. She let out a yelp and grimaced. “My ankle popped,” she groaned.
He knelt and massaged her leg, smoothing down to her ankle. “Nothing broken. Can you stand? Put weight on it?”
Janine pulled herself up, hands on his shoulders. She gingerly lowered her injured limb. Pain shot up her leg and made her screw up her face. She shook her head.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Sorry.”
Off to the south, a brownish-orange wall swept toward them, threatening to reach them within minutes. “Shit. A sandstorm,” Jake said. “That’s all we need.”
“Oh God, what are we going to do? Is it dangerous?”
“Dangerous? Not really. But I’ve been in a Moroccan sandstorm once. I had to hunker down between two camels for several hours. Not a lot of fun.”
“How horrible.”
“We have to get away from here, quickly.”
“I know.”
Supported by Jake, Janine started down slowly. She groaned with pain the whole way. They both knew that if they fell or Jake dropped her, there would have been more than a sprained ankle to worry about. At the top, he had re-strapped his holster and Beretta 92F. Janine made no remark, being used to guns with those thugs around her husband, who used to keep their eyes on her all the time. Jake had told her the two men with binoculars were armed as well, probably with AK-47s. His Beretta was no match. So with great urgency, they made it down the remaining steps to where their guide had promised to wait.
But he wasn’t there. “Probably ran away when he saw the men,” Jake said, remarking that the guide had left one camel and a full canteen of water. “Only mode of transport right now,” he said.
“But I can’t ride a camel,” Janine protested, sinking onto the sand.
“I know a fast jeep would be preferable, princess, but I can’t see one around here, can you?”
“No,” Janine whimpered.
Jake glanced at her and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “Please, don’t start crying. We’re in this mess because of you. Now we have to do our best to get out of it.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“So Clyde here is our only chance. Plus, he’s better in a sandstorm than any jeep.”
“Clyde?”
Jake grinned. “Yeah, you know, like the camel in the song. Ahab the Arab.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Oh yeah, right. You’re French. Wouldn’t know fun stuff like that, would you?”
Janine shrugged. “Nothing seems much fun right now. It’s more like being stuck in a nightmare.”
“Sure is.” Without saying anything further, Jake hoisted Janine up onto Clyde’s back. He swung up in front of her and jerked the reins. Clyde didn’t like the idea of heading into the maelstrom, but it was their only escape. “The sandstorm will hide us,” he shouted at Janine and dug his heels into Clyde’s tough hide. “Cover your mouth and nose with that scarf of yours and hang on.”
“But it’s a Hermès scarf,” she protested, despite her fear.
“This isn’t about fashion, sweetheart,” Jake yelled against the wind and wrapped the cotton keffiyeh he had bought in Cairo around his face.
Janine tied her scarf over her mouth and nose and clung on tightly, slipping her hands inside Jake’s jacket. Just as Clyde trotted off toward the raging billows, a shot rang out. The bullet came so close to Janine’s ear, she could feel the heat. Jake kicked Clyde again, several times. He surged forward. In a few seconds they were in the storm.
For the next half hour Janine dug into Jake’s sides with her nails. She closed her eyes and mouth tightly, but it was no use. The sand got into every part of her body: her eyes, nose, ears. She could even feel it between her teeth. She pressed her face into Jake’s back, fighting to breathe to stay alive. She was expecting the old camel to collapse, but he plodded on. She remembered something about these animals she had learned in school. They had an extra eyelid to protect their eyes and could close their noses and lips tightly so no sand could get in, even during the worst storm. I could do with extra eyelids, she thought, screwing her eyes shut. She could feel the old camel move but didn’t know where he was going. At one point Clyde bellowed and tried to turn back, but even he seemed to have lost the way. Which way was back? He simply turned in a tight circle, as if confused. If the thugs with bad intentions were brave enough to follow, they’ll be lost too, Janine thought to cheer herself up. No way to track us.
After an hour, Clyde bleated and suddenly sprinted. Janine was surprised he had it in him. Maybe he had sensed a way forward at last. Even a return to the pyramid would have been welcome. Janine mumbled a question into Jake’s back, but he didn’t seem to hear. He answered that she should hang on, that sooner or later Clyde would take them somewhere. She continued clinging to Jake as tightly as she could.
The storm ceased as suddenly as it had started, and the sun came out, hotter than ever. They traveled on, following a crease between high dunes. Judging from the position of the sun, Janine figured they were heading east. The Nile was east—just how far she had no idea. Jake kept muttering about a shimmering oasis of clear blue water, three skimpily clad virgins and a bowl of fresh dates—probably to cheer himself up. But when they stopped at a semi-circle of mud remains, where a small outpost had been, Janine was relieved all the same. This was no oasis, but better than nothing. Better than just sand, sun and storms.
Clyde plodded up to one of the walls and stopped, snorting his approval. They surveyed each of the four structures, open to the elements. If they had ever had roofs, no trace remained. The ruins might have been a hundred or a thousand years old. Inside, the sand had drifted high against the far walls.
Jake slid off Clyde and tied the reins to a bone-white post jutting through a wall. He helped Janine down to the ground, where she slumped, unable to get up. He unwrapped the scarf from his face and examined her bad ankle. There was a grapefruit-sized lump of various shades of purple and green just above the ankle joint. “Great. Stranded in the desert with a crippled dame, thugs behind us and only a half canteen of water.” He sighed.
“I’m sorry,” Janine groaned. “I’m not totally happy with the situation either, if you want to know.”
He grinned at her. “Hey, I’ve been in tighter spots but never with a more desirable female.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m not worried about being lost in the desert, or being chased by AK-47s or sharing a meager supply of water with a cad like you, either. It’s all seductive fun to me.”
“We’re both having a great time then, right?”
“The best.” Janine closed her eyes as waves of pain shot up from her ankle. She was encrusted with sand from head to foot and sweating profusely. “If only we could find some water,” she mumbled through cracked lips.
“I’ll have a look when I’ve settled you into the hotel.” Jake carried her inside the walls of the largest ruin, setting them up in a place from where they would be able keep watch in three directions. He went back and took the canteen and blankets off Clyde, who was now resting on his belly, content to be out of the sandstorm. Inside the wall, Jake flung the blankets at Janine.
“It’s getting late. Best make us a bed with these. Take one small drink, if you need it. I mean small. It’s all we have. It might have to last us days.”
She nodded.
“I’m going to scout around and see if there’s anything we can use to make a fire. It gets pretty chilly at night in the desert.”
“Don’t go far,” she whined. “I’m already cold without you.”
Jake climbed up a high drift behind the ruins and looked in every direction. “No oasis, no Nile river, no goons with automatics,” he reported. “No anything, except more dunes and the crease we followed, snaking off to the horizon. I was toying with the idea of pressing on tonight, but there’s no moon and it’ll be safer in the morning.”
“Fine,” she mumbled.
He settled beside Janine. “You okay?”
“It’s throbbing,” she said, pointing to her swollen ankle.
Jake folded his scarf to fit the swelling, then carefully dribbled just enough water on it so that it would be cooling and pressed it onto her ankle. “Take two aspirin and call me in the morning,” he said. “By then the swelling should be down.”
“We have no aspirin. All we have is ass.” She smiled at him but the corner of her mouth trembled.
He settled down beside her. “You’re good at cute remarks, babe. Any other time I would have laughed. Any other time I would have got inside your bloomers. But right now, I don’t feel like doing either.”
“I know.” She took his hand. “Tell me about yourself,” she said into the darkness. “We don’t really know much about each other, do we?”
“Not much, no. Let me introduce myself...I’m Jake Truitt. From somewhere in the mid-west. Semi-retired diamond smuggler, lounger at posh resorts and businessman when there’s any money in it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s as much as I’m going to share. How about you? Apart from your husband being that infamous Greek magnate with his own private mafia staff, I mean.”
“That’s the least important part. In fact, my story is a lot less interesting than yours. I was born in Marseille. My mother died when I was ten. Then I was shunted between relatives until I was fifteen, when I ran away to Paris and got a job selling shoes. Then I got lucky. Poor girl discovered at department store by talent scout and becomes catwalk model. That sort of thing.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot more to you than that,” Jake remarked. “How come you speak perfect English, for a start?”
“I spent a couple of years in New York.”
“That explains a lot. Yeah, your English is perfect, but it didn’t seem to have made any impression on your accent.”
“Vocabulary is easy. Pronunciation is a different matter.”
“True. But Eva Smith isn’t your real name.”
“Just like Jake Truitt isn’t yours,” she retorted. “But don’t call me Eva. Or that other name I’m known by. My real name is Janine. I haven’t used that name in years. I’d like to have it back.”
He laughed. “Sure, Janine. What’s in a name anyway? You’re a smart girl. Classy. Funny. And if I’m not mistaken, a sweet, wonderful dame all around.”
“That’s very kind,” Janine murmured, as waves of fatigue rolled over her. She closed her eyes, and despite the pain and a raging thirst, fell into a deep sleep.
-o-
The soft rain on her face slowly brought Janine out of her daydream. She rose and walked back to the house, her mind full of her memories of Jake. And the stranger she had just met, who was so like him.
