not mapped or explored. The Pakhustis are hostile. Are you tough enough for that?”
“I’m tough," Sarah said thinly. “I’ve had to learn to be.”
The room where they sat was big and airy, with wide doors open to a garden of date palms and tamarisk. An ivory screen that dated back to the Moguls, under Babur the Tiger, shone softly behind Sarah’s tall Bombay chair. A servant moved quietly in the garden, the flicker of his high-collared sherwani catching Durell’s eye. There were uniformed guards out there on watch. This house was as safe as any place could be. Yet he felt uneasy. He was worried about Jane. And he could not solve the contradictions in Sarah Standish. Her face was severe, her body in her white tailored silk suit remarkable. He could not avoid the firm lines of her thighs and hips, the swell of her breasts under the simple striped blouse. She was an enigmatic bundle of frustrations wrapped in a gilt package of money and power, the product of an unnatural life that was reflected in her wariness of all men, whom she had to regard as predators. There was a challenge in her. He wondered what she would be like if she let her mouth rest naturally and simply relaxed.
“Please do not stare at me,” Sarah said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know I’m an object of curiosity to most people. I should be accustomed to it, but it makes me a little nervous.”
He said, “I didn’t ask for this assignment, Miss Standish.
I was chosen because I’m supposed to be acquainted with you.”
“Through Deirdre Padgett. I remember you well.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure you did. May I call you Sarah?”
“If you wish.”
“I’d like to know your real objectives here in Karachi,” he said. “The real reason for financing and going on this expedition.”
She looked faintly uncertain. “I am in love with Rudi von Buhlen. I want to be with him.”
“Is that all?”
“I am not quixotic by nature. I cannot afford to be.” She was firm and precise again. “There has never been any— adventure—in my life before. I decided that this would be good for me.”
“Is your goal the search for this mythical jeweled crown? Or is it the nickel?”
“You are not very flattering.” She smiled faintly, for the first time. “I can hire a hundred geologists to find more nickel. I don’t have to go about the world with a hammer, chipping rock. On the other hand, I don’t honestly give much credence to this story about Alexander the Great, or a crown that’s been lost for two thousand years. I’m not much interested.”
“Then why put yourself in danger like this?” he asked.
“Being with Rudi,” she said, “makes the danger unimportant.”
Rudi von Buhlen put down the telephone in his upstairs room and noted, with some surprise, that his hand was trembling slightly. He stood half-naked, having just stepped from the modern American shower stall in the bath next to his bedroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist. The hot wind blowing through the balcony windows brought with it the indefinable smell of the city and the Indus River wharves—a smell compounded of cooking, human waste and garbage, and oil storage tanks. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, saw the lines of strain on his handsome, tanned face. As usual, he admired the powerful musculature of his body, then dropped the towel and reached for his shorts and slacks.
His room had a tiled floor, a Sarouk rug, a huge bed in one corner with damask hangings. His hands still trembled. The shower had been tepid, the water coming from the tank on the roof under the broiling sun. He ran fingers through his long hair, turned, and saw Alessa watching him from the connecting doorway to her room.
“Was it Jane on the phone?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in town.”
“Are you going to meet her?”
“I’ll arrange something,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She was three
“I’m tough," Sarah said thinly. “I’ve had to learn to be.”
The room where they sat was big and airy, with wide doors open to a garden of date palms and tamarisk. An ivory screen that dated back to the Moguls, under Babur the Tiger, shone softly behind Sarah’s tall Bombay chair. A servant moved quietly in the garden, the flicker of his high-collared sherwani catching Durell’s eye. There were uniformed guards out there on watch. This house was as safe as any place could be. Yet he felt uneasy. He was worried about Jane. And he could not solve the contradictions in Sarah Standish. Her face was severe, her body in her white tailored silk suit remarkable. He could not avoid the firm lines of her thighs and hips, the swell of her breasts under the simple striped blouse. She was an enigmatic bundle of frustrations wrapped in a gilt package of money and power, the product of an unnatural life that was reflected in her wariness of all men, whom she had to regard as predators. There was a challenge in her. He wondered what she would be like if she let her mouth rest naturally and simply relaxed.
“Please do not stare at me,” Sarah said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know I’m an object of curiosity to most people. I should be accustomed to it, but it makes me a little nervous.”
He said, “I didn’t ask for this assignment, Miss Standish.
I was chosen because I’m supposed to be acquainted with you.”
“Through Deirdre Padgett. I remember you well.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure you did. May I call you Sarah?”
“If you wish.”
“I’d like to know your real objectives here in Karachi,” he said. “The real reason for financing and going on this expedition.”
She looked faintly uncertain. “I am in love with Rudi von Buhlen. I want to be with him.”
“Is that all?”
“I am not quixotic by nature. I cannot afford to be.” She was firm and precise again. “There has never been any— adventure—in my life before. I decided that this would be good for me.”
“Is your goal the search for this mythical jeweled crown? Or is it the nickel?”
“You are not very flattering.” She smiled faintly, for the first time. “I can hire a hundred geologists to find more nickel. I don’t have to go about the world with a hammer, chipping rock. On the other hand, I don’t honestly give much credence to this story about Alexander the Great, or a crown that’s been lost for two thousand years. I’m not much interested.”
“Then why put yourself in danger like this?” he asked.
“Being with Rudi,” she said, “makes the danger unimportant.”
Rudi von Buhlen put down the telephone in his upstairs room and noted, with some surprise, that his hand was trembling slightly. He stood half-naked, having just stepped from the modern American shower stall in the bath next to his bedroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist. The hot wind blowing through the balcony windows brought with it the indefinable smell of the city and the Indus River wharves—a smell compounded of cooking, human waste and garbage, and oil storage tanks. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, saw the lines of strain on his handsome, tanned face. As usual, he admired the powerful musculature of his body, then dropped the towel and reached for his shorts and slacks.
His room had a tiled floor, a Sarouk rug, a huge bed in one corner with damask hangings. His hands still trembled. The shower had been tepid, the water coming from the tank on the roof under the broiling sun. He ran fingers through his long hair, turned, and saw Alessa watching him from the connecting doorway to her room.
“Was it Jane on the phone?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in town.”
“Are you going to meet her?”
“I’ll arrange something,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She was three
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